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astracora · 4 days ago

Text

The Cat Curse - MC Edition

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Heavy hurt|Some comfort, Semi-canon compliant heart condition, Spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content).

Word Count: 4170

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Monster, by STARSET

Masterlist

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You've been responding to his messages, Sylus notes, but something's off. He's been away on some inane business trip, ever since you, the doctor, the fish, the prince and he had visited a new kitty cafe opening. He rarely gets to see you visibly excited, you are worse at showing your feelings on your face than he is. Whenever you're faced with animals, of any kind, even Mephisto, your eyes sparkle and you could easily spend hours upon hours sat with them. Even more so if they let you pet them.

The first time you'd seen the evol kitties, according to the doctor, you'd been unsure. They didn't look like cats. Something off and a little wrong, but they mewed at you and straight away you'd gently stroked their noses. As if unable to hold back.

Since then you would drag any of them along to play kitty cards. You didn't like the game, had no patience for strategy, but you did like petting the cats. Sitting there between every round, barely looking at the board, and tickling small whiskers. Much to the fish's distress.

While Sylus doesn't really care if he wins or loses around you, he's almost assured a win when playing with you because it's simply not something you care about. Distracted and unbothered by the game. He's only relieved that when he sprouted ears and a tail (of the caracal kind), you had been just as enamoured with those. Finally smothering him in affection in the same way, and being distracted by his tail. Though he'd never confess to competing with cats, at this point it's just an everyday occurrence.

He found he enjoyed playing most with the doctor, unlike when the man played with you, he took no soft approach with Sylus, and it was fun to butt heads with him. Stubborn as they both could be. That left you to lean your head on the fish's lap, the prince asleep against your side already, and play with cats, to a backdrop of 'You're cheating', 'I'm simply better at this than you.', 'If you would stop getting distracted-' that you mostly blocked out.

Rounds later, he paid the bill before anyone else got chance to, and picked up some cakes to take back.

Then he'd had his business trip to attend, having moved things around so on your rare day off, you could see everyone. It was never fun to drop you off, Sylus missed you anytime he could not see you, and though he was prideful, he had been honest about not being able to sleep without the sound of your voice. A confession you'd flushed at and tugged at one of the straps of your prosthetic.

He'd watched you waver over how to respond, biting at your lip, and fidgeting, as you fought against your urge to run away from him.

Trying didn't come easy, you'd told him. Honesty and openness, it got even harder when you'd lost your family, it got easier with every day you were given room to breathe by all of them, and every friend you held dear to your 'broken' heart. He didn't want to dig, or poke at old wounds, not now you were trying to live... but he often saw too much of himself in you.

Whether it was because of the way you'd grown up, or his soul inside of you, it made him even more careful and aware of offering you what you offered him.

"I'll miss you too, Sy. Call me, alright?" Your finally settled on, cool metal hand taking his in yours and squeezing. Before he'd left you, reluctant and complaining, he'd pressed kisses over your face, down your neck, and finally pushed you to the wall of your apartment building, to steal all the air from your lungs. Thigh holding you up, as he tangled his hands in your hair.

When he'd tried to pull away, he couldn't quite, leaning back in once, twice, three times, chasing the warmth of your mouth. Over and over.

You'd laughed, pushing him back to breathe, gasping, "It's a week. We'll be fine for a week."

A week... you aren't possessive enough, he thinks, spinning his pen in his hand. Half listening to Luke and Kieran talk. He feels as though he's emptied and lost, missing parts of what makes him who he is, and your messages feel... the same.

He could be reading into it... you're not exactly one to put your heart on your sleeve, or cling. You're independent because you've had to be, and he still hasn't had enough time to get you to lean all of your weight on him.

So he sends a message into the group chat without you, made in order to plan surprises or outings.

🐦‍⬛: Is everything ok back home?

⛄️: Aren't you busy?

🐦‍⬛: I'm taking a break.

They don't have to know he's tuning out his business partners, hoping they'll talk themselves out so he can leave.

🐠: lucky, some of us have r busy

🐠: [Attached photo]

🐦‍⬛: Please tell me that's not paint on my walnut table.

🐠: won't answer u then

⭐️: looks more colourful now

He rubs the space between his eyes, already dreading returning to the mess, and regretting letting the fish use his space for storing work while his studio is being fumigated. The partners at the table tense at his action, but he doesn't bother sparing them a glance, so they relax and resume talking.

🐦‍⬛: Is anyone going to answer my question?

⛄️: Is there a reason you're asking?

He hesitates, it's just a feeling, if he worries everyone, and it's nothing...

No, he didn't get this far by not trusting his instincts.

🐦‍⬛: Kitten's messages have felt off.

Two exclamation reactions are his instant response, the fish and prince. They start to type, then stop, then start again.

🐠: what way?

⭐️: have U called them?

⛄️: Calm down, they took some time off work because of a cold.

🐠: y didn't anyone tell us?

⛄️: I thought they would have asked Tara to contact you, or contacted you themselves?

🐦‍⬛: They didn't.

⭐️: ive been on mission for a couple of days, i can stop in tomorrow when its over

He puts his phone down too forcefully and looks at the room. He's... irritated. Not like he normally is when it comes to you, a childish way where he can't have enough as he likes from you. Like you're a toy he cannot stop playing with. He's almost angry, but mostly sad.

He's been patient, surely you can at least talk to him if you feel sick?

Sylus is done with this trip, he's bored of listening to people talk nonsense, and he has no need for anything they have to offer. "We're done here, Luke. Kieran."

Waving his hand absently and ignoring protests behind him, he leaves the room, phone in hand.

🐦‍⬛: I'm coming back now.

-------------

Jenna had sent you home, it's not the first time she has. You're terrified one day she'll get bored of having to keep track of your health. Or you'll really let her down, and get you... or more importantly someone else, hurt.

It's probably not a normal mindset to worry so much about what your boss thinks, or to fear disappointing them like they're your parent.

It's not like you have parents to know what's that like... but gran's disappointment every time you got into fights growing up... well it was enough.

Caleb used to cover for you, within reason. He lectured you, told you to pull yourself up and figure it out. That fighting every battle against every jerk you met, reckless and stupid, would get you killed. "Come on pipsqueak, use that energy for something better. Something worthwhile."

So many reasons you didn't want to or couldn't, you wanted to tell him... a hand clenched over your chest.

You were so tired of disappointing them both though, so tired of seeing worn eyes tending to cuts and bruises. Bandaging your back, or fixing the set of your arm.

Being a hunter was that answer. If you used what little life you had in you, unsure when your busted up heart would give out finally, then you could greet Caleb and Gran with pride. Your life was a tool, to make others better.

So every day you weren't working, felt like a day you were failing them... failing to be worth anything other than the core in your chest. A vessel with no purpose or value but to hold something you hated. That could kill you.

It wasn't like you could work like this though... you'd laughed at your partners when they'd sprouted ears and tails. Especially Raffy, he'd been so disgruntled at the fate that had befallen him. This was... probably karma. Pointed, soft ears on top of your head, pinned back against your skull. Pristine white, so they at least blended into your hair.

At your back, a bristled tail, huge and furry... already having picked up some dirt to sully what had been pure white.

It hadn't settled since it had appeared, and you wondered what that said about you...

Fucked up mess. Stupid fool. Useless.

Too loud, everything was too loud. You could hear your neighbours through the walls, all the cars below your apartment, every child crying, dog barking, cat mewling.

It hurts.

You covered your ears with your hand, but noise filtered in through the new set you'd acquired.

Hurts.

You'd grown accustomed to the state of your heart. If you don't pay attention you can miss something, and you care now... perhaps you always did, just too raw like an open wound to let yourself.

It's racing and panicked. You don't need your hunter's watch to know it's too fast.

Burying yourself into your bed, you cover your head with the duvet, grab at your headphones to shove them into your ears, turning them as loud as they can go, and bury your head under the pillows.

Your phone buzzes at your side, and you don't want to touch it. Scared to leave the cocoon you've built for yourself.

You'd begged Tara to tell Zayne you were sick with a cold, that you would be fine soon. She'd given you a heartbroken look that had made you bristle further, pity. Always pity.

You didn't want pity.

Before your fraying emotions could get the best of you, you'd fled the hunters association, hood up over your head and run home.

You can feel your tail trembling, struggling to swish under the blanket as you struggle to calm down, to at least get some sleep.

Maybe if you sleep it will go away.

Maybe when you wake up you'll feel better.

Useful.

Worth having around.

Not on the cusp of disappearing with nothing to show for yourself.

-----

When you'd woken up, tail still bristled, and newly acquired fangs digging into your bottom lip. Blood staining the bedsheet, you'd finally fished your phone out from your nest.

3am.

The world was quieter for it, and you wondered if this was part of why Sylus preferred the night to day.

You didn't remove your headphones, but you did finally open up your messaging app, seeing messages from everyone.

TaraTara💖: I hope you're ok bestie, if you need anything let me know.

Number One Lumiere Fan: Tara said you were sick, if you have time, I have a few shows you could watch to waste time. Only one is about Lumiere! Promise!

Simone (the one whose guns explode): Hey! Tara said you weren't doing so hot, if you want some company for a movie night, I make the best soup you'll ever have!

Captain: Remember to actually get some rest, take advantage of the break, alright? Everything will be fine here.

🐠cute fishie 🐠: hey cutie, wat do u think?

🐠cute fishie🐠: [Attached Image]

⭐️little star⭐️: missions going well, how are U?

⛄️sweet snowman⛄️: Tara said you're sick, I'll come over to check on you as soon as I can. Make sure you eat and drink.

🐦‍⬛pretty bird🐦‍⬛: Meetings are always more boring without you kitten, I hope you're missing me as much.

Your tail settles, curling against your side, fur flattening and you try really hard not to cry. You wish you'd thanked Tara when you left instead of fleeing, overstimulated and hurting.

Wounded like the cat you're teasingly referred to as. Feral and ready to hiss and scratch. You've spent so many years shutting people out.

Shutting Gran and Caleb out.

Shutting them out you wasted so much time until it was too late.

Why can't you learn?

You force yourself to respond, trying to sound as much yourself as you can... it's unnerving, to wear a mask over a mask. You wonder if you'll ever recognise your reflection.

You hesitate as you go to respond to your partners. You should tell them, reaching up to roughly pull the ears on your head. They'd understand, they've been where you are. Your brain says you should go to the kitty cafe, find out how to fix it this time around... but being out there, in the noise...

Instead you send some version of you're fine, and things are fine, everything is good. You're good.

You're together. You're useful. You're not a burden.

You aren't fragile and sick and useless.

You are worth keeping around, even when your heart picks up speed again, beating so hard against your chest that you fear the core wants to escape its fleshy vessel.

The straps attaching your prosthetic are digging into your skin, rubbing it raw, but you ache to even try to remove it. Fighting with the buckles and biting at the bit. You're still in your uniform, and you're sure by now you need a shower. The idea of water shooting a shot of anxiety straight into your chest, flaring up your tail, and your ears flatten as far as they can.

No water...

Maybe later.

Or you can really fill out how shit you feel with a wet wipe bath.

Caleb would kill you.

You don't want to think about it anymore. You want to let the quiet take over, or reasonably so with the screamo in your ears. Blasting the noise outside into nothing.

So you go back to sleep. Easing the pain in your heart with the only sure fire way.

---------

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Bolt upright in bed, hissing through your teeth, chest so tight you can feel your ribs.

You flounder, pulling at where your straps should be, but they're gone, no leather under your fingers. So you move to claw at your chest with one hand, gasping.

Hands grab you, and you struggle and you fight and you hiss. Fangs out, feral and ready to claw your way free. Arms far stronger than you pull you against a warm chest, tilt your head back and pills are placed in your mouth. You try to spit them out but a hand is on your throat, rubbing at your larynx. You swallow and then water follows it.

You splutter and cough, and you wriggle and struggle. Your head is pressed against skin, and you sink your fangs in.

Out. Out. Out.

"It's alright, you're alright, I'm here."

Blood fills your mouth and his scent surrounds you and you shiver. Blinking as your heart medication begins to do its job, easing the fractured organ in your chest. You spit, trying to clear your mouth of the taste of metal, shivering and shaking but your chest isn't constricting you now.

"Sy-" You cry outloud, he holds you, not bothered by the blood tricking down his shoulder. Of course he isn't, he heals it, the pain nothing in comparison to watching you choke on air you can't breathe. "Sorry. Sorry." You mumble against his skin, licking where you bit, crying and shaking. Wrapping your arm around his neck.

He assures you, and he rocks you both in his arms, rubbing your back and running a hand through your hair. Careful around your ears, not going far enough down to touch your bristled tail.

He hums and he rocks, and he squeezes you tight enough to ground you.

It's an hour or two later when you can finally feel any semblance of stable. You can't bring yourself to look at Sylus, he's stroking your cheek and wiping tears from your face, and all you can do is stare at the bed. You can't think of what to say.

You didn't take your medication, you hurt him... it's not the first time, but when this happened with Caleb you didn't have a cats' fangs.

Between you opening up and me prying, I prefer the former. He'd told you, after a terrible day, listing every way he would support you.

With all your sharp edge, you place your hand over his on your cheek, "I'm sorry, Sy."

He huffs, turning you in his arms so you're facing each other, but his one hand grips your hip, sturdy. Solid, strong. He doesn't hurt, but escaping would be hard. You try hard not to.

Though you can feel the... your tail swishing.

He looks at it, at your ears, then at you, red nosed and disheveled.

"Explain."

It's a command, brooking little argument, and though normally you'd refuse to take orders, you duck your head now. Avoiding molten eyes and seeking out something to focus on. The hand that was on your head, stretches out in between you both, palm up, and you take it quickly. Toying with his fingers, squeezing it in your own. Finding connection in your hand on his.

"Jenna sent me home, my evol doesn't work, I can't fight. I... it hurt. Everything's so loud."

You can't see it as he frowns, as your ears prick, then settle, seeking out all the things that hurt them. "I went to sleep, thought it would make this go away, but it didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You hear it then, the pain, like he's biting down on glass. Your eyes dart up and his eyes are glassy, warm red gone dull. "You left your prosthetic on. It was rubbing your skin raw at the angle you were sleeping. There was blood on your sheets." He presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in, "Then this. Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks, and you want to be sick.

You twine your fingers with his and choke on the words, "I didn't want to be a bother."

He hisses, his grip on your hand almost hurts, but you probably deserve so much worse. You lied to him, to them, and you hurt him. More than just biting at him.

"You need to tell me. No matter what. No matter what I'm doing, beloved. No matter the issue." He kisses your forehead, over and over and over again. "Promise me."

You nod, and curl your pinky around his, just like you used to with Caleb when he made you promise to come to him with an injury. The words are too stuck in your throat, your voice too sore to use, but you nod. Desperately.

"You're not a burden to be carried, kitten. Ever. Do you understand?"

You don't. You want to, but it's hard. There is no part of you that feels easy or fun, but you do love him. So much. More than you thought yourself capable of. More than you wanted, on borrowed time.

"I'll try." You promise, and it feels like you've cycled back around to the start. Promising to figure things out at home, promising to aim for something. A future you're not sure you're going to ever see.

He takes it in earnest, you do not go back on your word. You are loyal and once you trust, you trust with your heart and your soul. It is yourself you do not trust.

Instead he eases you back into his lap and stands, you flinch and release his hand to grab his neck with your hand. "You need to be cleaned up, I'll help." You go to tell him no because it's water, and you're more a cat than even he teases you for, but you have your head in his neck at this angle, and his scent is so strong. Your tail flattens and begins to flick, lazy and soothed. You hear him chuckle, vibrating through his chest and through yours. "I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

Sylus eases you through steps. He's seen you injured, he's seen you with phantom pains, and he's watched you battle nightmares. Wanderers with swords through your chest, your heart stopping, an explosion you can't stop. He knows what you look like when wounded, he also knows that you fear his reaction when you are.

It takes time to heal wounds, he knows that intimately. You'd never shed your rage or anger, not really. When someone has made mention of gods you'd scoffed, when someone has talked about EVER and their many plans to help humanity, you'd snarled. You trust no king, no god, no corporation to fix the world or the people in it. He knows you're always scared but you keep walking forwards anyway, and he admires and loves you for it.

He just wishes you'd take his hand when that happens.

He has not felt fear like seeing your heart failing you in his arms before, and no matter the violence of your struggle, he would let you rip him to pieces to survive.

He has so much time, and his greatest fear is losing you too soon.

He cleans, and he dries, brushing hair and rubbing lotion to ease the burns on your skin. He helps you dress, finding clothes that don't irritate your tail, because at least he is intimately familiar with that, and then he sits you down on the couch with vegetable soup. Not handmade, though he'd rather have done so. He doesn't want to leave you alone, so he orders what he needs. Sending the twins running around. He's sure you'd like to see them, but he's worried their exuberance will agitate the overstimulation you're combatting.

Watching your ears flick this way and that, picking up too much. As though you don't already struggle with the world's input.

He almost feeds you, wanting to heal you with his own hands, like he's anything like the doctor... he's not. His skills are in bloodshed, and he is as sharp edged as you are.

Except you have made yourself a weapon, to be worth the pain, and he was made a weapon, to survive the pain.

He does not move far away, however, kneeling at your feet, and massaging your calves while you eat. You try to pull your legs away, but he keeps them held, and continues his movements. You have soothed his body before, stitched his wounds, kissed where his scars would be, and he will not have you lacking his own love and affection.

A dragon does not love lightly. Though you don't remember the depths he has gone to for you. This is an easy act of devotion.

"You need to tell them too." He finally speaks, as you clear your bowl. He's relieved to see your ears are no longer flat, your tail is not bristled, you are as relaxed as you can be. You nod, guilt written in your face, and he retrieves your phone for you on black and red mist.

Sitting at your side, he grabs your brush and begins to brush your tail. You almost leap into the air, startled and dropping your phone onto the couch cushions. "Sy!"

"Cat fur can get tangled, especially long fur." He smirks, pulling you closer, and brushing through it with long fingers, "So let me take care of it."

You flinch at the contact, stare at where his hand is in the new found attachment, then keeping your eyes trained on your phone, you nod.

He's content to let you write out what you need to, to be honest with the others, he doesn't want to have that job. It's your mission to step out of your self made cage. So he brushes quietly, the twitching tail in his hands restless, but soon as soft as you can be in your relaxed moments.

Your head hits his shoulder, ears twitching in sleep as all the pent up energy and stress escapes you. Held in long white furs in a small brush. You mutter in your sleep, words he can't understand, and whistle through your nose, little noises that make him laugh.

The best, however, is the purring in the back of your throat, broken up by sleep, and the tail that has found its way around his wrist.

He does not move you, but he retrieves a blanket and holds you against him, cheek pressed to the top of your head, against your fur ears, and keeps watch while you finally find some peace.

⛄️: Are they alright?

🐦‍⬛: They will be.

#wonder writes #love and deepspace #sylus #reader x sylus #sylus x mc #lads x mc #lads x reader #sylus x reader #lads #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #this was meant ot be cute and fun to write... it ended up being very venty and i just yeeted it out into the world so godspeed.#mc is a feral cat and so is sylus #one is more feral than the other and no its not the dragon #i might just end up doing so many fake texts just for this group chat #the idea of the boys specific group chat where raffy and sylus actively try to torment each other #while xavier mostly watches but occasionally drops a bomb #and zayne has it muted unless mc's name comes up...#quick notes - mc's heart condition has no cure the medication is to keep it running hence why zayne is so determined to study the heart #they also lost their arm in a wanderer attack. and have nightmares about the chronorift event #after being told their heart couldn't be fixed they basically went out and started fights they had generally good reasons to help someone #but they got hurt a lot and had to be taken care of a lot. caleb suggested they become a hunter in order to put something good in the world #they have a lot of anger over their situation and over what they've learned about gran and the loss of their family #they also have that age ol' chronic illness and disabled fear of being too much for people... it do be like that #i might do a less heartbreaking part two... i really didn't mean to do this.. cries but its out my system... kinda...

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lord-squiggletits · 10 months ago

Text

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #i'm sure the doylist reason for the writing is just that pharma was a designated villain #so since he's a villain and 'crazy' it's fine for everyone even the good guys to treat him like complete trash #i just think from a watsonian perspective taking a sympathetic approach is way more interesting and logically consistent #what i mean is like. from a meta perspective one of the best ways to show that a character is super evil and not worth saving #is when even the good guy heroes. the ones who are supposed to be kind and compassionate and wise. see him as dirt #and this is also kind of a necessity in most plots bc TF is the kind of series that just needs action villains and long-term antagonists #so not every villain is written or has a plot to be made redeemable. and pharma is one of these bc he's not important or a legacy character #so from a doylist (meta) perspective you could read the autobots' disregard of pharma as a sign of #'this guy is not meant to have your sympathy as a reader. pay no attention to him'#but from a watsonian (in universe) perspective it paints a miserable picture of pharma being utterly forsaken by the ppl he served alongsid #and like yeah i'm super autistic about pharma so of course i view him with sympathy but like #the idea of being a loyal and good person for years only to be subjected to a Torment Nexus of #being blackmailed into breaking all of the oaths you held sacred. under threat of you and all your comrades dying horrible torturous deaths #then when your comrades find out about it they focus solely on the 'harvesting organs' and not on the 'blackmail' part #and then you get literally left for dead by your comrades and best friend hating your guts #and then you get rescued by a guy who uses you as a test subject for his evil machine #this is a fucking nightmare scenario like pharma could hardly be suffering more if the author TRIED to make him suffer #and for me it's like. the evil pharma did can't be decontextualized to what drove him to that. as well as the question of like #how easily ppl can write someone off as evil and turn a blind eye to (or even find satisfaction in) their suffering bc theyre evil #and either brought it on themselves or it's just karma paying a visit #like. i feel like if pharma WERE a shitty doctor and a terrible person his whole life then the delphi situation would feel like karma #but the way it's written and the lore retroactively put in makes it feel more pharma getting thrown in a torture carousel #and THEN becoming evil. but then being treated as if he was always evil or was some sort of bad apple #bc like i'm not opposed to LOLing when a villain gets a karmic torture/death related to the wrongs they committed #but in pharma's case it feels less like karma and more like endless torture + being abandoned by ppl who should have been more loyal

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 9 months ago

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[prev]

In the end, it doesn't matter. His plans, his intentions, his hopes, none of it matters.

In his dreams, it is disturbingly easy for Pure Vanilla to forget that the world is larger than the two of them, full of Cookies with their own plans and motives. In the careful cradle of his dreams, cocooned within Shadow Milk's constant presence, he hadn't even considered that there were other options.

Now, he is forced to confront them, and he can barely pay attention to anything. He isn't sure what happened in the first place, everything moving too quickly for him to process a thing. There is chaos everywhere, a flurry of colours and sounds and happenings whipping around him like a hurricane, the veil of darkness turning it all into a blur. The air is thrumming with unleashed archaic power, pricking his dough like pins and needles, and it all goes straight to his head, making him dizzy.

His grip on his staff is tight, leaning against it as he closes his eyes and borrows its gaze in the hopes of having a clearer view. It is just as indecipherable through his staff though, which means he isn't seeing things – the world really is coming apart at the seams, his nightmares unfurling before him.

And worst of all, Pure Vanilla is awake. He is wide, wide awake and cold with shock.

"There you are!"

Arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, the voice chiming delightedly in his ear. Pure Vanilla pulls away with a violent jerk of his body, not quite having the mind to be surprised that the arms let him, spinning around to face the other.

Shadow Milk stands, practically glowing with giddy joy, in a newly-crafted body of fresh dough, and it is strange to see him so solid. He stretches his arms above his head, leaning from side to side, before turning in a circle with a flourish, as if to show the body off.

"Wonderful, isn't it? And with this, Little Miss Guardian can't lock us back up again so easily! Certainly not with a dirty little trick like patching up some cracks." His voice is jovial, even as irritation flickers over his eyes at the memory of his encounter with White Lily. It disappears quickly, swallowed by tide of something that could almost be taken as childlike excitement. "Ah, it's so fun to have my own body again!"

It's the sort of happiness Pure Vanilla had hoped to see from him, but seeing it now, it just makes his heart ache fiercely, his chest seconds away from caving in. He is beautiful, a fact preserved even through the filter of his staff's eye, and everything is falling apart around him.

"What are you doing?" He asks, hardly more than a whisper, hardly able to manage those words anyway. It isn't the fact that Shadow Milk is out, physically here in front of him that makes him feel queasy. If it were only that, Pure Vanilla suspects he'd match him in his joy. It isn't even that he grabbed the first opportunity to escape, even if it wasn't following Pure Vanilla's plans for negotiation.

It is the upheaval sweeping around him, a complete lack of care for the surroundings and exactly as Shadow Milk was before, that is what hurts. Pure Vanilla had never lied when he said he believed in him.

"Celebrating, of course! This is my greatly anticipated grand return!" Shadow Milk announces cheerfully, taking an overdramatic bow before glancing at Pure Vanilla with a cheeky grin. His eyes glitter like stars, in that way that always mesmerises him. "Come on, Vani, dance with me!"

He reaches for both of Pure Vanilla's hands, not fazed by the fact that one is still holding his staff. He simply traps Pure Vanilla's hand between his and the staff as he pulls him towards him, using the momentum to whirl them around. Pure Vanilla stumbles, and without thinking, he scrambles to hold Shadow Milk back, his stomach and head churning uselessly.

It must show on his face, the horrible turbulance within him, because Shadow Milk's eyes all squint at him, some softly, others teasingly. He lets go of the hand not on his staff, instead wrapping his arm around Pure Vanilla's waist to offer him more stability. "What are you looking so gloomy for? Isn't this what you wanted?"

"Not like this, you know that." Pure Vanilla whispers, his now free hand balling into a fist and falling weakly to rest against Shadow Milk's shoulder. His sadness leaks heavy into his tone, but he can't help it, can barely articulate himself. "I wanted you to be better."

Shadow Milk doesn't reply for a moment, still dragging him through the motions of a partner dance. He seems to realise Pure Vanilla isn't planning to open his eyes anytime soon, because his eyes slide over to make contact with him through his staff, his grin simmering down to a smile, still unbearably cheerful. "You didn't truly believe that would work, did you?"

It's a harmless question, in the grand scheme of things, in the whirlpool of everything happening around them, but it feels like a cracking punch to the stomach. Shadow Milk had seemed reluctant at first, but he had never outright refused his idea. By the end of it, he even seemed to be considering it seriously, but something said as bluntly as that must be his true feelings–

"So you lied to me." Pure Vanilla murmurs hollowly, the cracks in his heart filling with sticky disappointment, all towards himself. He can't bring himself to hate Shadow Milk for acting within his own nature, not when he should have known. "...Of course you did."

For the first time since he regained a physical form, Shadow Milk's smile drops completely, replaced with a fake pout. Though it seems lighthearted, the stars in his eyes spark with annoyance.

"I would never! How could you say such a terrible thing about me, after all we've been through?" Shadow Milk laments with exaggerated sorrow, throwing Pure Vanilla into an awkward twirl as his free hand rests against his own forehead like a hapless maiden. Pure Vanilla's brain seems to scramble at the sudden movement, barely gathering his bearings as Shadow Milk's arm returns to his waist. He thinks he may be sick.

"Remember, I said you could try your little plan out, not that I ever agreed to it." Shadow Milk reminds him in a low croon, lined with condescension. "I even told you I thought it was a stupid idea! I may be the Beast of Deceit, but I never directly lied to you. I'm a little hurt you assumed I did. I thought you knew me better than that!"

And Pure Vanilla can't muster a response to that, spirit growing soggier by the second, because it is true. His hope had led him into assumptions that were misguided, how can he blame Shadow Milk for that?

Somewhere in the background, there is the rumble of an explosion.

"You might have been able to convince me, you know." Shadow Milk adds with a gossamer thin smile, his voice growing more serious. "There was just one eensy-weensy problem with your argument."

Pure Vanilla trips over something behind him with a frazzled yelp, unconsiously gripping Shadow Milk's shoulder as his hat falls off, and Shadow Milk uses the momentum to lower him into a dip, bowing over him as he finally pauses their dance.

"You assumed that I need to be fixed," Shadow Milk spits the words through his teeth with a slight growl, curling his lip disdainfully as he pushes their faces far too close together, "but there's nothing to fix. We paid the price for having power the Witches' themselves gave us, all because of their cowardice and fickleness." He huffs, smiling with a lack of mirth. "Good punishments always teach a lesson, you say, but our punishment was unjust, decided on a whim. What lesson could it possibly teach?"

Pure Vanilla stares at him wordlessly, ears buzzing nervously. He feels vaguely like he is in freefall, his body tensing in anticipation of hitting the ground.

Instead, like a switch is flipped, Shadow Milk's stormy expression clears back into that pleasant merriment.

"But enough about all that," Shadow Milk says with faux politeness as he straightens up smoothly, jerking Pure Vanilla back onto his feet and sweeping him back into a circling dance, "now is the time for celebration! Relax!"

Shadow Milk draws Pure Vanilla even closer to him, almost pressing their bodies together, and Pure Vanilla, despite himself, is struck by the warmth of it. Shadow Milk has always been cold to the touch in his dreams but here, in this new body, he is too warm, radiating a heat that suggests getting too close will burn.

Shadow Milk hums a jaunty tune in his ear as they sway to and fro, and Pure Vanilla's darts his gaze around in an attempt to ground his thoughts. He must focus. He isn't sure where the others are – are the children safe? Where is White Lily? Shadow Milk isn't the only one who escaped, of that he is certain, so it is likely they are surrounded by danger on all sides, and that isn't even taking Dark Enchantress' forces into consideration. But if Shadow Milk is focused on him here, that is at least one less Beast for them to handle.

There you are, he had said when he found him. Shadow Milk had been seeking him out specifically, and surely not just for an innocent dance, so why—

Pure Vanilla glances down with sinking dread and realisation, jam turning cold.

"You're here for the Soul Jam, aren't you?" He murmurs, more to himself than Shadow Milk, but he must hear anyway, because his humming trails off. Pure Vanilla doesn't give him time to process the words though, yanking his staff up and suddenly there is light.

It is an extremely clumsy spell that misses by a mile – Pure Vanilla isn't awfully practised in offensive magic, and on top of that, his dough is shaking with too many emotions – but it does the trick. The bright flash startles Shadow Milk just enough for his grip to loosen, and Pure Vanilla wastes no time in scrambling back and away.

He gets a good few paces away before he is stopped by firm tug on his wrist, almost knocking him over. The beginning of real fear begins to well within him as he looks down to find himself caught by a dozen strings, shimmering like spun silk, all leading back to Shadow Milk's own hands as he approaches through the parting haze.

"I didn't know you had that in you. Bravo!" He laughs as he claps, seeming to be at ease, the attack doing nothing to dampen his mood. He comes to a stop nearby, wrapping the strings around his hand once, twice before pulling Pure Vanilla forward in a long, smooth motion that allows Shadow Milk to tuck his arm behind his back as he leans forward to meet him. "But to answer your question..."

Shadow Milk reaches up to grab the clasp that holds his Soul Jam as Pure Vanilla strains against the strings, knowing that despite any fondness he might have for him, he had never planned to let him have this. He braces for it to be ripped off, he braces for it to be gently pried away for him – he isn't sure which would be worse.

He does not brace for Shadow Milk to bend down and press a delicate kiss against its smooth surface.

"I'm here for the Soul Jam and you." He smirks against it, eyes flicking up from its sapphire shine to Pure Vanilla's stunned face, frozen in place. "That shouldn't be a surprise to you, after all our time spent together."

"You must be joking." Pure Vanilla chokes out before he can say any more, voice stuffy with conflicting emotions, gripping his staff so tightly he's distantly worried it may snap. His head is swimming, so much so that he worries he will faint, even though he's never been prone to it. "You don't mean that."

"I do." Shadow Milk replies with breezy confidence, his expression falling neutral as he straightens up just enough to press their foreheads together. It is not quite as impactful with Pure Vanilla seeing through his staff, but the contact between their dough still burns. "I like you. So, because I like you, I've come to collect everything."

Pure Vanilla is seeing through his staff, so he knows he is not imagining the solemn furrow of his brow, the slight pinch of his mouth, the lifetimes behind his eyes, the lifetimes he has fallen for. He is sure, almost instinctively, that he is telling the truth, and the mere thought makes his insides collapse into themselves like an agonising supernova.

"Please," he begs helplessly, strangely hoarse, abandoning his staff's eye and welcoming the darkness, unable to look anymore, "don't do this to me. It's–"

–cruel, but the word gets stuck in his throat. It is an accidental cruelty, and it hurts, hurts more than anything else, more than words can describe, even more than the all-encompassing ache of Dark Enchantress' first appearance, and the realisation that she shared White Lily's shadow. At least, then, Dark Enchantress was clear in her hatred, never allowing an opportunity for hope to fester. For all the pain that caused, the distance kept his head clearer.

But what is he meant to do now, knowing that Shadow Milk Cookie, for all he has done and will do, is sincere when he says he likes him? It is an irony that burdens him like a curse, but he almost wishes that it was a lie. It would be painful either way, but surely being tricked outright and mocked for it would be easier to cut clean from, to compartmentalise.

An ugly, painful sob rattles through his chest, and he bites down on it before it can leave his mouth, shoulders curling inwards like a wilting plant. Shadow Milk's arms loop around them, weighing them down further.

"Look at me." He calls, calm and low and stern, a professor's tone, and Pure Vanilla shudders with another swallowed sob.

"Look at me, Pure Vanilla." He repeats, a little louder, but it is the use of his name that catches his attention like a snare. Shadow Milk doesn't often use his proper name, not when it is just the two of them.

Pure Vanilla finally opens his own eyes, slowly and with difficulty, gummy with unshed tears and unable to make out anything beyond colourful shapes. Shadow Milk's face takes up his whole vision either way, and it makes his pain worsen. He can't look at him, not now, with everything that makes up Pure Vanilla jumbled into a mess and the world around them jumbled to match.

Surprising himself, Pure Vanilla sluggishly shifts to bury his face in Shadow Milk's shoulder, his shaking hands dropping his staff to clumsily grip his back in tight fistfuls. It surprises Shadow Milk too, judging by his slight jolt, but his arms tighten like a noose around his neck, pulling him close into a hug.

"You're awful." Pure Vanilla croaks, muffled and aching, squeezing his eyes shut again and soaking in the searing heat of the other, eating him alive.

Between them, the Virtue of Knowledge hums discordantly, its fractured pieces reunited at last. Shadow Milk chuckles, a sound Pure Vanilla feels rather than hears.

"If I'm awful," he says lightly, rocking them from side to side in a soothing rhythm, "then you must be too."

fin.

#sorry in advance guys. this one is An Experience!#unfortunately the things i'm good at are Torment and Emotions so here we are #also i wanted the ending to be ambigious because this was meant to focus on the relationship #rather than the surrounding. apocalypse. so you can imagine what happens next as whatever you want :)#shadowvanilla #pureshadow #vanilla milkshake #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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hoofpeet · 1 year ago

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I'd probably have to read the printed version and web version back to back at some point to note all the differences but... ough

#sorry i'm going to be excited about this comic for the next month #nofna #okay having finished this now--#and sorry if this doesn't make sense to anyone who's completely unfamiliar with this comic in advance-#the 'popcorn ending' (printed version) is nice to see but i think the web version hits harder. if that makes sense #so i'm kinda tied on which ending i 'prefer'- i think both are good though #also considering i've read the web version a good 4-5 times and the printed version only once- i probably can't make that judgement yet #easy answer- i do like Nutsedge :] so it's nice to see the ending where nothing bad happens to her #but also- NT suddenly becoming a greenie-esque villain out of nowhere felt a little jarring #as well as SV suddenly turning a corner and becoming a 'good guy' (arguable)- considering the first three books are about #/him being too stubborn to change or accept any outside worldviews . Him suddenly coming to his senses felt out of place #<- probably biased because i like characters being bitter to the end and ultimately destroyed by their own hubris #the web version is probably‚ objectively‚ a bit better #but -#(spoilers- if you're planning to drop ~70 bucks on getting these books)#the conceit of SV actually perfecting his style‚ using it once‚ and then immediately getting tooth-brained- was pretty cool #assuming it's meant to parallel him spending months tormented by trying to perfect it while something's still missing-#and then dying before he can narrate it to the audience‚ so that we never know what he figured out.#hard to articulate these thoughts but tl;dr- popcorn ending also had a lot to think about

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nato-obenkrieger · 4 months ago

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can these homos get out of my head already i HATE them

#nates drawings #they are tormenting me i want them OUT OF HERE #it’s like that one scene from akira #LEAVE ME ALONEE AGHH #i kinda love drawing side profiles now guys.. i especially like connor’s in this drawing #he’s so gorguoeous #they’re soooo..#i think i got jared’s expression a little wrong. it’s more meant to be a shiteating grin (as jared is wont to have)#anyway i hate them i want them both dead #especially jared #dear evan hansen #kleinphy #connor murphy #jared kleinman

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hellofastudysession · 2 months ago

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am i rlly going to write a death note literary analysis when i could be doing other things

about the discourse going on in the tag abt "death note is acab and thats why the characters couldnt better the world with the note (/written in somewhat jokey matter)" vs "death note is trying to say we all have potential for evil, especially if you get a chance to insta-hurt ppl without repercussions, and it doesnt matter if youre a cop or not", i personally feel like it ignores the things that i like abt death note, which is "both of these things are true", and simultaneously "both of these things do not matter". the first part of this is dedicated to the first point, the latter to the last.

first point. i think its an important part of the message and themes (unintentional or not, and i lean on the former because... come on, can you really say the author intended you to not think of the cops as good people, at least compared to light and l) that light is a cops son, and that almost everyone who gets the death note is cop adjacent/thinks like a cop and is already corrupt/powerful when they get it (mello raised to think hed be just like l, yotsuba group is self explanatory; you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me teru "churchill" mikami, who was hand selected by light out of a bunch of rabid kira supporters, is a normal citizen). i appreciated the cop post bc its rlly important to not gloss over that aspect.

all of this would be an argument for "only someone like them would do something like this, and i am not like them, so im above them and immune to thinking about what id do with it", but... misa is the MOST important outlier in all of this bc her murders are solely selfish in nature and shes not doing any of this for "the greater good"!!! her nature of being an exception and still a very very bad person is really really important...

or it would be if death note gave a shit about her character at all!!! im not talking about her tragic side, im talking about exploring the ramifications of her killing people the way lights murders are (somewhat) explored. that would strengthen the message greatly! but shes dismissed and that weakens it overall. firstly, she's dismissed by the characters when l only sees her as a way to get to kira and basically shelves her the rest of the time. secondly, shes dismissed by the narrative when her character is gradually ground down to a stump and (not to sound perilously close to the bad takes ppl meme about) she never faces repercussions for her actions. every other character using the death note is treated relatively seriously, but misa just dies bc her love is dead. im not saying this isnt a... fitting punishment or that it isnt in character, but it doesnt fit snugly into the theme other people are talking about of "you reap what you sow" at all.

we do have something of an equivalent to misa's grayscale motives. surprise surprise, its light yagami. first is light's characterization in the musical (i will also note that misa never kills anyone in the musical). light's thinking is coplike, yes — he literally starts his first song by talking about "throw[ing] away the key" — but also, oddly enough, could be read as progressive and therefore sympathetic to tumblr ("let the corporations make the regulations / and hold no one accountable when everything gets wrong / let the rich and famous get away with murder / every time a high-priced mouthpiece starts to talk, his client gets to walk"). compare to the anime and manga, where his bigotry and pride and disgust come from a place of lukewarm dissatisfaction and boredom. the musical has much less time to play around with lights character, so it gives the audience something to immediately hook on. more on how that actually plays out later.

in the animanga, none of this is justified from the start. animanga light could say he was just killing people to make humanity way, way worse, and that wouldnt matter, because at the root of it, it was always his boredom that made him pick up the note. of course he actually believes in justice and believes hes doing the right thing (no, he believes he's doing the wrong thing, for the sake of the world... the right thing, because he is god...), but it was boredom at the start. all animanga light says about justice and righteousness and the law is a front in the end, bc he is exactly like l and misa — amoral. selfish. searching for entertainment. hedonistic. we know this. he kills naomi misora*. he kills lind l. turner. everything hes saying deserves to be dismissed from the beginning.

"but doesnt that mean you agree with the discourse post you wrote this post to argue against?" like i said, i agree with both of them! but i... still think its not right to reduce death note to the message of "the power to kill people is bad". because that is not exactly what the story is saying, even though that's literally its whole plot and therefore reaching that conclusion is self explanatory (lmao). let's look at the concept of mu. nothingness. "there's no heaven or hell". The Real Slay The Princess (Death Note Essay) Starts Here.

in light's final moments in the death note manga, while screaming about not wanting to die, he remembers that the first day they met, ryuk told light that "there's no heaven or hell. no matter what they do in life, all people go to the same place. all humans are equal in death". it is retroactively revealed that light knew this the whole time, operated under this knowledge for all the years we watched him — the knowledge that nothing he does is actually bad, that nothing any human does is actually bad, that shinigami are not "evil", that the universe does not care. that no one cares except humans. this oblivion absolutely terrifies him more than anything anyone could ever do to him. its what he thinks of before anything else as he flails there, screaming, dying. one could say everything he does after that day is him trying to escape that fact, or wrest control over it. but it doesnt work.

here are the lyrics of requiem, the musical's final song, sung over the bodies of l and musical light, a light who was at least somewhat good-intentioned at first: "sleep now, here among your choices / then fade away / hear how the world rejoices / shades of gray / gone who was right or wrong / who was weak or strong / nothing left to learn". this is the final message the death note musical and the manga chose to leave us with. there is no judgement. even after all that acknowledged hurt, after all the damage done, there is no judgement.

in the manga and anime alike, the world is just as fucked when light picks up the death note as when he dies. sure, we as readers can guess otherwise logically (and be optimistic, believing the world was never fucked regardless), but that's not what death note wants you to think. it ends with matsuda and another member of the task force noting how the world is worse again even though they killed kira (matsuda is clearly much worse for wear, but still determined), we see the shitty motorcycle band again, it ends with misa and a whole kira cult on a mountain even though kira died a long time ago...

its extremely important that light is never killed by any human or any aspect of the law. he is always killed by ryuk: a chaotic force completely detached from human sensibilities, one that does not care about good and evil. same with l; in the anime, manga, and musical, he is always killed by rems senseless, morally gray love (and you could argue in the kdrama that hes killed by love there too lol). justice is just a set dressing.

this is not just because death note is a tragedy, because good and evil can still matter in a tragedy. the theme of "nothingness" and "good and evil doesnt matter here" is also shown in a situation relatively unrelated to light winning or losing, or being good or bad. and its in fucking lawlight of all things. we all know ls not a good person. we know lights not a good person. this is tip of the iceberg death note knowledge. but the moment they start to interact, none of that starts to matter. textually, their relationship becomes more important than the people theyve killed and hurt. and the thing is? the thing is? THAT WORKS STORY-WISE. THAT'S ENTERTAINING. AND IT'S NEVER TEXTUALLY CALLED OUT IN A LASTING WAY. l and lights relationship, no matter how much i meme it, is genuinely important to the themes and "mu" because it makes it clear that despite all the pretensions, despite everything, this was never about good and evil. and it still works in the story. this is why death note is simultaneously a comedy — isn't the battle of good and evil supposed to matter more? well, fine, i'll keep watching this anyway. that suspension of disbelief comes crashing down the moment l dies, though, and a relationship built on nothingness (the "mu" sort, meaninglessness, not "character development" nothingness, theres plenty of character development) gives way to just nothingness (again, "mu", not light's post-l depression nothingness), forever.

(an aside: there is no one to root for in death note, and the only things to root for are either interesting character relationships, convoluted plots, or complete and total destruction: for everything to end so no more damage is done.)

not to say that death note does not encourage its readers to consider what damage they might do with the death note (obviously.), or that its characters never do. look at matsuda, a much easier heroic figure to latch on to than soichiro because of his unique place in the cast dynamic and because he's willing to consider both sides of the situation and kill light instantly for all he's done. its just that the story's own stance on the subject is... complicated by the existence of shinigami worldviews and by its own insistence that the world cannot change for the better.

also, this is not to say that this is executed well by the death note manga at all. it is a very strong tool, artistically, to establish and then violently remove any emotional connections between characters and make your story only about the exceedingly convoluted lengths characters go to to survive and catch each other so the reader can realize how ultimately pointless all of this is, but like... is that a good story choice if that's all you do? i would say not really. add in a good dollop of misogyny that destroys the second-to-last character who might actually be an interesting contrast to the rest of the cast's dull one-track focus on winning and justice, and youve got yourself a shitty story that... honestly still achieves what it went out to do, just not in a way id ever want to replicate.

anyway, back to the parts death note's actually trying to say. no matter what any human does in their life, no matter how they try to hurt or help the world, they all die in the end. hey, light, they all die in the end. once dead, they can never come back to life. and the seasons turn. and the world rejoices. and you say "goodbye"...

that's all.

no analysis of death notes overarching theme would be complete without nears final monologue, the definitive roast of light, the "you're just a murderer" speech: "what is right from wrong? what is good from evil? nobody can truly distinguish between them. even if there is a god." if we take this as talking about the actual god in the room (ryuk) as well as light, then near admits that humans will never be able to withstand these overwhelming forces and that, using justice and happiness and selfishness, they are just scrabbling to find meaning in things they ultimately have no control over.

but of course, near does not stop there. "[...] even then i'd stop and think for myself. i'd decide for myself whether his teachings are right and wrong." nears alright with not having control over everything, because near can still control nears own actions. these forces can and do exist, but they have no sway over nears own humanity — unlike light, who caved.

one of the creators of death note said they believe its message is "life is short, so everyone should do their best". the first time i learned this, i was like, thats... nice and optimistic, but an awful reading of the story! "life is short, so everyone should be desperate and striving like light yagami", who literally cut off other ppls lives for his own life? what character in death note are we supposed to strive towards when we "do our best"? they all do awful things with their lives! honestly, maybe they shouldnt have tried their best, if this is what their best is!

but with the view of "mu"... it makes a bit more sense. just a little. maybe.

there is no good and evil. there is only what humans think, and no matter what we do, we all die in the end. it is easy to be crushed and terrified by this in the same way light is, but what is more important than justice and righteousness and finding meaning is... doing your best. not being a person that hurts others too much. not letting yourself get swallowed up by an ideal. not going too far. and simultaneously, trusting yourself.

it leaves a few questions, though... was the currently dead l even a little bit right about his blatantly amoral approach, then? was there a point to this pain, and me slogging through this dumbass manga, and all the people that have lost their lives to a selfish teenage cop's son and the whims of everyone chasing after him? was there a point to any of this...?

the manga** never answers this. it stays clinically impartial until the very end. the musical is anything but clinically impartial (and i love it so much for that), and its ryuk that has the last word.

"there's no point at all."

of course theres no point. none of this was ever supposed to happen. that is what matters more than all the hurt and the crimes and the pain.

and that's... actually okay, because it's over now.

yes, death note has many really important themes present in its story, but its viewpoint is nihilism first and foremost. thats why its so fun and easy to play around with all the other messages, because no matter what fun or torment or awful things or righteous justice or absolute nothingness or sentimentality happens in between, there is always an end.

there is always the end.

#*naomi was killed off bc the author thought shed solve the case too quickly. ironic. i dont think it was meant to forward a theme other than #'light evil! oh no!!!' bc it had minimal buildup and absolutely no repercussions. it is just kind of smth that happens #everything in death note is just smth that happens bc. at some point i just have to admit its NOT RLLY WELL WRITTEN #but it says something. it says many things. and i like balancing the two in my head #death note #personal #**>reduces anime ending to a footnote /j #anime ending: light regrets COMING THIS FAR- not his crimes. he sees l as another regret and dies.#another example of the tragic self (and tragic relationship) ultimately being more important than morals #l would be proud of the torment he inflicted on light if he were not fucking dead #i would also bring up the argument that the way every death note character uses the note is so extreme that its hard to compare them #to real people but lets assume that the author was trying to replicate how actual human beings work as much as possible*#you made it deep enough into the tags would you like to hear about near and mello being nonbinary—#'there is an end so why not enjoy the middle? chain yourself to a hot boy eat strawberry shortcake be bisexual and lie'#*either that or they were just explicitly trying to have fun like they said they was doing #light yagami #sure ill tag my boy #'you cant say the curtains are just blue!' well can i say the curtains were shittily made #norrie if you look at this post ever again ill death note you myself

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