#it's endlessly fascinating and i genuinely WANT to see it get better

[dissapointu]

Hello, I wanted to ask you a little drabble with all the arcane characters.

Like how they fell in love with reader ( like what captured their attention etc)

It would be pretty cool in my opinion.

Have a wonderful day\night.

Aaaugh, I made of made this a bit long-(really long, that was sarcasm) I'm splitting it into two portions

Jinx-

Jinx didn’t know what to make of you at first. You weren’t loud or flashy like the people she was used to dealing with. You weren’t trying to prove anything, and yet, there was something about you that screamed different.

She first noticed it when you didn’t flinch at one of her explosions—not the way most people did, anyway. The boom had rattled the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and yet, there you were, brushing soot from your shirt like it was just another Tuesday.

“Nice touch with the blue sparks,” you’d said, nodding at her latest contraption. “Adds flair.”

Flair? Most people would’ve called it destruction. Most people would’ve screamed or run. But you? You tilted your head, eyes bright, genuinely impressed, and for a moment, Jinx was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t fear her; it was the way you saw her. You noticed the little things—the care she put into her work, the way she tinkered endlessly to perfect her machines. While others saw chaos, you saw art, and for someone like Jinx, that was everything.

The next time she saw you, it was intentional. She didn’t need to bring you a gadget she’d been working on—it wasn’t even finished—but she wanted to see how you’d react. Sure enough, you examined it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointing out details she hadn’t realized anyone else would notice.

“This is genius,” you murmured, tracing a finger along a carved design she’d barely remembered adding. “You really think through every detail, don’t you?”

Her heart did something weird then, like skipping a beat but more… explosive.

From there, it snowballed. You became her favorite person to show her creations to, the only one she trusted to see her work before it was ready. You never judged, never laughed when something misfired—just smiled and asked how you could help.

And Jinx? She realized she’d fallen for you one day when she caught herself trying to impress you. The realization hit her like a grenade: she didn’t just want you to like her inventions—she wanted you to like her.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said one night, leaning against her workbench, tools scattered around her. Her voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Most people don’t get me, but… you do.”

You’d just smiled, that easy, genuine smile that had hooked her from the start. “That’s because you’re worth getting.”

And just like that, Jinx knew there was no going back.

Vi –

Vi wasn’t looking for anyone. She didn’t have time for soft moments, not with everything she had on her plate. But then you came along, and she couldn’t help but notice how you carried yourself—steady, calm, unshakable.

The first time she really noticed you, it wasn’t some grand, sweeping moment. It was quiet. You were helping some kids in the Lanes patch up a rickety swing they used to pass the time. Nothing fancy, just you, a coil of rope, and that determined look in your eyes.

She hadn’t meant to stop and watch, but something about you drew her in. Maybe it was the way you didn’t hesitate to get your hands dirty or how the kids laughed around you, their faces lighting up despite everything the Lanes threw at them.

“You’re good with them,” she said after working up the nerve to approach you, trying to sound casual.

You glanced up at her, wiping sweat from your brow, and gave her a smile that hit her like a sucker punch. “Someone’s gotta be. They deserve better than this, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t just your words that stuck with her—it was the way you said them. Like you meant it. Like you actually believed in something better, even when the world gave you every reason not to.

From then on, Vi found herself noticing you everywhere. The way you stepped up when others hesitated. The way you didn’t back down, even when things got messy. You had this quiet strength about you, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.

She started finding excuses to stick around—helping with repairs, walking the kids home, sparring with you in the courtyard when the opportunity came up. And each time, she found herself drawn to you a little more.

“You’re somethin’ else,” she admitted one night, sitting beside you on a crumbling wall, the city’s broken skyline stretching out before you.

You raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncharacteristically shy. “Most people would’ve given up on this place a long time ago, but not you. You stick it out, no matter how hard it gets.”

You shrugged, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “Same could be said about you, Vi.”

That was the moment it hit her—like a punch she didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t ignore.

She fell for you in pieces, each small moment stacking up until it all clicked. It wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It was the way you fit—like you were exactly what she didn’t know she was missing.

And when she finally worked up the courage to tell you, your answer came with that same steady smile that had captivated her from the start.

“Figured it out, huh?” you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away.

Yeah, she figured it out. And she wasn’t letting you go.

Sevika-

Sevika didn’t believe in love. In the Lanes, it wasn’t something people had the luxury of chasing. Survival came first, and attachments were just liabilities waiting to stab you in the back.

But you were… different.

The first time she noticed you, it wasn’t because you were trying to catch her attention. You were too busy holding your own, stepping into a dispute between two gang members over stolen supplies. She’d leaned back in the corner of the Last Drop, watching the chaos unfold, ready to step in if things got messy.

But then you surprised her.

You didn’t raise your voice or threaten anyone. Instead, you stood tall, calm as you defused the tension with a few sharp words and an unflinching glare. You had this presence, like you weren’t afraid of anyone in the room—not even her.

“Bold move,” Sevika had said when you approached the bar afterward, ordering a drink like you hadn’t just stared down two brutes twice your size.

You glanced at her, your lips quirking into a small smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”

That was the moment she started paying attention. You didn’t just survive in the Lanes—you thrived. You didn’t let the weight of the place crush you like it did everyone else. And more than that, you cared. Not in some naive, starry-eyed way, but in a way that made you fight tooth and nail for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves.

It pissed her off at first. The way you carried yourself like you weren’t afraid of the darkness around you. She thought it was reckless, stupid even. But the more she watched, the more she realized it wasn’t recklessness. It was conviction.

You weren’t scared of getting your hands dirty, but you never lost sight of what mattered to you. That’s what got under her skin, what kept her coming back to the same barstool night after night, just to see what you’d do next.

She started finding reasons to stick around. Sometimes it was to share a drink, other times to offer backup when things got rough. You never asked for her help, but you didn’t push her away either, and that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

One night, after a particularly close call with one of Silco’s rivals, you patched up a cut on her arm, your hands steady as you worked.

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You chuckled, your touch gentle as you tied off the bandage. “Takes one to know one.”

It was such a simple moment, but it stayed with her. The way you looked at her—not like she was some feared enforcer, but like she was just… Sevika. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.

Over time, she realized she was looking for you in every crowd, waiting for the nights you’d sit beside her and trade sharp banter over a drink. She fell for you quietly, begrudgingly, like it snuck up on her before she could stop it.

And when she finally admitted it—to herself, to you—it wasn’t some grand confession. It was a gruff, almost reluctant, “You mean more to me than you should.”

Your response? That same infuriating, endearing smirk. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Sevika huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but the truth was, she didn’t mind. Because for once, letting someone in didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like strength.

Silco -

Silco had always been a man of control, ambition, and sharp edges. In the underbelly of Zaun, survival demanded nothing less. Trust was currency, and affection? A distraction. He had long since accepted that power was the only thing worth chasing.

But then you appeared.

You weren’t loud or showy, not one of those people clawing for his attention. No, you worked quietly, efficiently, in the background of the chaos he ruled. You were just another piece in his intricate machine at first—just another person serving a purpose.

What caught his attention first was your unyielding patience. Where others in the Lanes were frantic, desperate to prove their worth, you moved with a calm certainty, like you weren’t afraid of the storm around you. You fixed what was broken—tools, machines, even people—without asking for anything in return.

One night, you’d been tending to one of his injured men after a skirmish, your hands steady as you stitched him up in the dim light of the hideout. Silco watched from the shadows, curious. The man hissed in pain, and you responded with a soft laugh.

“Hold still, or I’ll sew you up crooked,” you teased, your tone warm but firm.

It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the way you carried yourself. There was no fear in your voice, no need to prove yourself to anyone. You didn’t care about earning his favor or gaining power. You just… were.

For someone like Silco, who thrived on manipulation and control, it was unnerving. People were supposed to want something from him. But you? You treated him like a man, not a king.

It wasn’t long before he started seeking you out. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance as he passed through the room, a quiet question about your work. You always answered him honestly, without flinching under his piercing gaze, and it left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day, he found you sitting by the docks, staring out at the toxic waters of Zaun. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the sight of you, though he didn’t understand why.

“You should be careful out here,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly. “And miss the chance to breathe? I think I’ll take my chances.”

It was such a simple thing, but it stayed with him. In a world that demanded constant vigilance, you allowed yourself to simply exist. It was a quiet defiance, one that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Over time, you became a constant presence in his life, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t grand gestures or impassioned declarations that made him fall for you. It was the quiet moments—the way you never cowered under his gaze, the way you challenged him without hostility, the way you saw him for more than his scars.

One night, as the two of you shared a rare moment of silence in his office, he finally allowed himself to admit what he’d been feeling.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, his voice soft, almost amused.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Dangerous? To you?”

He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve made me want something I didn’t think I needed.”

Your smile widened, warm and unguarded, and for once, Silco didn’t feel the need to look away.

In you, he found something unexpected: a quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect. And for a man who had spent his life fighting for control, letting himself fall for you felt like the ultimate rebellion.

Vander -

Vander wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. His life had been shaped by too much loss, too much responsibility. The people of the Lanes leaned on him, and he carried their weight with quiet strength. Love, to him, felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

But then, there was you.

It wasn’t some grand moment that captured his attention—it was the small, steady things. The way you moved through the chaos of the Last Drop, keeping the peace in your own quiet way. The way you never demanded his time but somehow always knew when he needed someone to sit beside him in silence.

What struck him first was your kindness—not the soft, fragile kind, but the sort that had edges. You didn’t let people walk over you, but you never hesitated to offer a hand to someone in need. In a place like Zaun, where survival often demanded selfishness, you were a rarity.

He noticed it one night when a brawl broke out in the bar. Two rowdy patrons had nearly overturned a table, and before Vander could step in, you were already there. You didn’t raise your voice or throw a punch. Instead, you placed a firm hand on one of their shoulders, your calm, measured tone cutting through the tension.

“Save it for the street, boys. We don’t spill blood where we share drinks.”

To his surprise, they listened. Vander couldn’t help but chuckle as they slunk off, muttering apologies.

“Got a way with people,” he said later, handing you a drink as thanks.

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Just trying to keep things from falling apart.”

Those words stayed with him. It was how you carried yourself—like you were always holding the pieces together, not because you had to, but because you chose to.

Over time, he started finding excuses to be near you. A quick conversation here, a shared drink there. You had a way of making him feel… lighter. Like he could let go of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after the bar had emptied, that he realized how deeply you’d settled into his heart. You were sitting on one of the tables, cleaning up a spill, humming a tune under your breath. The soft glow of the lanterns lit up your face, and for a moment, Vander just… watched.

“You’re staring,” you said, not looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me.”

You glanced at him then, your smile warm and teasing. “What’s on your mind, big guy?”

He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure. But then, he decided to just say it—Vander was never one for dancing around the truth.

“You. The way you care about this place. The people. Me.” He exhaled, leaning against the bar. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in all this.”

Your eyes softened, and you set down the rag in your hands, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased gently. “Took you long enough to notice me.”

He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Oh, I noticed. Took me a bit longer to admit it.”

And when you reached up, resting a hand against his face, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. In you, he found something he hadn’t realized he needed—a steady flame in the chaos of the Lanes.

Ekko -

Ekko didn’t believe in distractions. The Firelights needed him, the Lanes needed him. His days were spent fixing the mess left behind by Piltover’s greed and Silco’s reign. He had no time for anything else—least of all love.

But you? You didn’t give him much of a choice.

It wasn’t a single moment that caught his attention. It was a collection of them, like the pieces of a clock coming together. He first noticed the way you moved—quick and deliberate, like you belonged to the rhythm of the chaos around you. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Whether you were patching up one of the Firelights after a mission or organizing supplies in the hideout, you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that made it impossible for him not to watch.

What hooked him, though, was your laughter. The first time he heard it, he froze. It had been after a particularly rough raid. Everyone was tense, the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders. And then you cracked some joke—stupid, honestly, but something about the way you delivered it had everyone laughing, including Ekko.

That was when he realized it: you didn’t just survive the Lanes. You thrived in them. You brought light into a place where most people only saw shadows.

It started small—an extra second spent talking to you, a lingering glance when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d catch himself gravitating toward you without even meaning to, drawn to the way you lit up a room with just your presence.

But it wasn’t until one night, long after the others had gone to sleep, that he truly understood how deep you’d gotten under his skin. You were sitting by the glow of a makeshift lantern, tinkering with some piece of tech you’d salvaged. The light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the focus in your eyes.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced up, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone’s gotta keep this place running.”

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “You do too much, you know that?”

“Says the guy who can barely take a break,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” For a moment, he just stood there, watching you work. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him with a tilt of your head. “Do what?”

“Care so much. About all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hideout, the Firelights, the Lanes.

Your gaze softened, and you set the piece of tech aside. “Because someone has to. And because… I believe in you, Ekko.”

The sincerity in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. You believed in him. In a world that seemed determined to tear him down, you stood beside him, unwavering.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me anyway.”

That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.

Jayce -

Jayce had always been drawn to brilliance. Invention, ambition, ingenuity—they were the cornerstones of what he admired in others. And yet, none of it had ever prepared him for you.

The first time he saw you, it wasn’t in a polished Piltover workshop or a grand council meeting. It was in a small, crowded market on the edge of the Undercity, where the scent of oil and metal clung to the air. You stood at a stall, bartering for scraps and materials like your life depended on it—because, as he’d later learn, it did.

What caught his attention wasn’t just your resourcefulness or the sharp wit you wielded against the vendor. It was the way your eyes lit up when you held a seemingly useless part in your hands, already envisioning the endless possibilities it could unlock.

He didn’t even mean to approach you. His curiosity had a mind of its own. “What are you going to do with that?”

You turned, a little startled, but you didn’t back down from his inquisitive gaze. Instead, you held up the twisted hunk of metal like it was a crown jewel. “Turn it into something brilliant. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. And Jayce, who had spent his life chasing impossible ideas, saw a kindred spirit in you.

From that moment, you became an enigma he couldn’t resist unraveling. Every conversation revealed new layers to your ingenuity, your resilience, your unshakable belief in making the impossible possible. And the more time he spent with you, the more he realized it wasn’t just your mind that captivated him—it was your heart.

You were unafraid to challenge him, to push him, to remind him that the world wasn’t just equations and theories but people and dreams. Your passion reignited something in him he hadn’t realized he’d lost: a love for the why, not just the how.

One evening, as the two of you sat side by side, tinkering with a device in his lab, he found himself watching you instead of the work. The way your hair caught the light, the quiet determination in your expression, the soft smile when something finally clicked into place.

“You’re staring,” you teased without looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—how do you make everything seem so effortless?”

You grinned, glancing at him with that spark he’d come to love. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let the hard parts stop me.”

In that moment, he knew he was a goner.

Jayce Talis, the golden boy of Piltover, had fallen in love with you—not because of what you could build, but because of what you built in him: a renewed faith in the beauty of dreaming big, of chasing the spark no matter where it led.

And it apparently led to you.

Viktor-

Viktor didn’t notice you at first, not in the way others might have. He was too focused on his work, his mind consumed by blueprints and equations. But you… you were patient, always there in the background, asking questions no one else dared to ask, seeing things no one else cared to notice.

It was one of those late nights in the lab when you caught his attention. He was hunched over a schematic, frustration etched into every line of his face. You, seated quietly at the far end of the room, had been watching him—though you’d never admit it aloud.

“Did you eat today?” your voice broke through the silence.

Viktor didn’t even look up. “I’m fine,” he replied, a rote answer that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

You set down your work and crossed the room, standing just out of his peripheral vision. “Fine isn’t food, Viktor.”

When he finally looked at you, there was something in your eyes that made him pause. It wasn’t pity or condescension—two things he’d grown accustomed to. It was understanding, genuine and unyielding, as if you knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself in something bigger.

That was the first moment he realized you were different.

It wasn’t the last.

You had a way of grounding him, of pulling him out of his own head without judgment. Your presence was quiet but powerful, a steady force that didn’t demand his attention but earned it nonetheless.

What truly captured him, though, was your mind. You didn’t just accept the world as it was; you questioned it, challenged it, sought to understand it. You weren’t afraid to debate him, to push back when you thought he was wrong, and yet you did so with a respect that made him listen.

He found himself looking forward to your late-night conversations, the way you’d linger in the lab long after everyone else had gone home. You’d ask about his work—not just the mechanics but the why behind it, the hopes and fears he buried beneath his relentless drive.

One evening, as you sketched out a rough design on a scrap of paper, Viktor caught himself smiling. Not at the drawing, though it was clever, but at you. The way you bit your lip in concentration, the furrow of your brow, the quiet hum of satisfaction when you got something just right.

“You are remarkable,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You glanced up, surprised. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with a wrench. “Nothing. Just… your ideas. They’re… innovative.”

But it wasn’t just your ideas. It was you—the way you saw the world, the way you saw him. Not as a man constrained by limitations but as someone capable of more.

You believed in him, not just in his work, and that was something Viktor hadn’t realized he craved until you offered it so freely.

And as the days turned into weeks, then months, he realized something else: He believed in you, too.

It wasn’t some grand epiphany or dramatic moment. It was in the quiet, shared glances, the lingering touches when you handed him a tool, the way his chest felt lighter when you were near. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and whispered dreams, Viktor had fallen in love.

Not just with your mind or your presence, but with the way you made him feel—seen, understood, whole.

And for a man who’d always fought against the odds, loving you felt like the greatest invention of all.

[llamagoddessofficial]

I have a question related to the prison au. Sorry if this has been asked before but what if Mc didn’t com in as a nurse but rather a therapist. Like the jail’s first therapist and it was all mc’s idea because Mc thinks that if the prisoners have more of am emotional outlet they won’t be as aggressive to one another and will become better people/monsters after they get out. And Mc wants to make a difference for them because Mc knows that their jail life isn’t the best. Mc can tell sans is trying to manipulate them, and isn’t affected much by reds attempts to charm her as much, and Mc can see threw skill’s scary and can understand him more and teaches him how to communicate how he is feeling better.

Oooooo...

Sans: Unlike pretty much all her other counterparts, this Mc is onto Sans' shit from the very start. Originally assigned to him as a mere formality, she immediately clocks that this motherfucker is much scarier than anyone has noticed before. His 'therapy sessions' are more like mental chess matches between two very perceptive people. Her aim is to genuinely try to treat him, genuinely try to get to the bottom of why he's turned into this terrifying mastermind, and perhaps even help him; there's not much else she can do. No one will believe her. Sans knows that, too.

Sans loves it. At last- someone who really, actually understands him, and the monster (not Monster) he's become. Not someone from his past lingering endlessly on who he used to be, not another pawn buying his 'harmless' persona. He loves having someone who is finally, finally in on his game. He was already fascinated with her from the start, this just makes it so much more intense- he loves being able to drop the mask. He loves the challenge of having to find ways to manipulate that are outside of his usual routes. He loves her, she's all he lives for.

She wants to help him? Cute. He'll show her what the world is really like. Then they can be puppetmasters together.

Red: She's assigned to Red to 'help' with his constant violent outbursts, after he gets in a particularly brutal fight and has to choose between attending therapy or lengthening his sentence. He's not the first violent offender she's dealt with, and he's definitely not the first flirtatious patient... but he's definitely the first that seems so utterly determined to charm her. She's firm on not breaching her ethics and she won't allow herself to do anything more than just get along well with him.

Mc actually makes a big impact on his mental health. The instinct to open up to her is a hard one to ignore, given his affection for her and their great rapport, and Red just likes her more and more with every issue she helps him work through. He doesn't like that she absolutely refuses to be with him, and he sees it as more of a challenge than anything.

When he gets out, he'll make sure she knows he's still very interested in some private sessions...

Skull: Giving Skull a therapist kinda feels like putting a band-aid on a completely severed torso. But it was a legal requirement. He cycles through therapists who either immediately refuse to treat him, or get a few days in and THEN refuse to treat him. Mc is just another in a long line of therapists that the prison expects to see rolling in.

... Except... he's so good for her. He tries to talk, he's calm and never bites, he's highly engaged with the tasks she gets him to do with her, he quickly notices that the better he does the more they make her spend time with him. The less violent he is, the more she talks to him in that lovely soft voice. Anything for more of her voice.

... Issues arise when Mc starts to understand that Skull has developed feelings for her. Deep feelings. He's always trying to kiss, nuzzle or hold her- it feels unethical to keep treating him. But it's also a well established fact that her presence in his life has probably saved several lives. If she tried to tell the prison that she didn't want to treat Skull anymore, she'd probably get a response along the lines of "we don't care, just keep him from eating anyone's hands".

She's not really got much of a choice.

[ipostdumbthings]

Moonlit Dinner Date

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Characters: Gale, Tav, Astarion, Karlach

Rating: G

Genre: Romantic Fluff

Summary: Gale returns to camp one evening to discover a wild magic mishap from sorcerer Tav. Pre-relationship.

It was still fairly early in the evening when Gale found himself strolling back into camp, clean for the first time in days. Camp had been made late in the afternoon, they’d stopped near a river and a turn order was quickly established to get everyone in camp a turn to a small but blissful amount of privacy, and freedom from the muck and sweat. He was still toweling off his hair when he stepped foot in camp proper,only to find himself almost bumping directly into a certain pale companion of the vampiric persuasion. The look on the elf’s face made it clear that he’d been waiting for Gale for a while now, a look that said “you’re wasting my time”. The wizard didn’t love how often he saw it.

“Here’s something I never thought I’d say, but thank the gods you’re here Gale we need your help.” It might have been a jab at him, but Astarion wasn’t wielding his particularly cruel tone of voice, did Gale actually detect something genuine there? He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off immediately, not by the man before him, but by the bleating of a sheep. Of course. He didn’t need to look, but he did anyway, sidestepping the elf to join the camp proper. Not too far from the fire was a sheep, a rope tied loosely to its neck to keep it from wandering off. Affectionately petting and tending to it was Karlach, who looked all the more excited to see Gale.

“Tav?” He asked, already so certain of the answer, but received further confirmation when he spotted the bowl of water someone had laid beside the sheep with the name “Tav '' hastily painted on the side, no doubt Karlach’s work. It could be hard to believe that a woman of so much heat could have such a soft heart.

“Yes, she got a little bold with her spell casting I’m afraid,” Astarion replied, a certain quirk to the corner of his mouth indicating just how funny he found all this. It had endlessly fascinated Gale just how well Tav could get along with everyone here, and how someone with so much kindness and concern for others could find genuine affection and camaraderie with someone like Astarion. He was certain for the elf’s part, the friendship had mostly been a great source of amusement, provided he was well outside the blast radius when something went wrong. But Tav had disagreed with Gale during one of their chats about that, well not entirely, she knew Astarion found it funny when her magic went awry, but she was positive there was a genuine connection of trust and friendship between them. That was getting off track though, there was very much a situation he was faced with, one that was frankly frustrating, and should’ve been avoided based on his and her previous conversations. He heaved a sigh so deep he felt it in his soul.

“I specifically asked her not to cast her magic in camp for this reason. Could’ve been a fireball that sent all the tents up in flames,” he said, adopting a chastising tone as he addressed the sheep more than the two people. Sorcerer’s and wizards rarely saw eye to eye under the best of circumstances, given their different philosophies, their different experiences with magic. Sorcerers took magic for granted, and the one type of sorcerer you didn’t want with that sort of flippant attitude was one of wild magic, and yet Tav seemed blissfully unconcerned by the chaos she was capable of wreaking. He’d hope she’d learn something from this, but he knew better.

“Oh, no, that’s not what we need help with,” Astarion said, his genuine delight only seeming to swell.

“When you say it like that Astarion, it makes me feel like we’ve been arseholes,” Karlach said sounding like a guilty child. She even wore a pout. 

“She’s got grass, we put down a clean water bowl for her, her precious sheepish heart yearns for nothing. Frankly I wish people tended to my needs the way we’ve been keeping her for the better part of the half hour.” The elf sounded defensive, but not in a way that indicated he felt bad in the slightest for anything that was happening. Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a certain weariness he imagined his mother must have felt when she was dealing with his youthful magical indiscretions.

“If it’s not about Tav the sheep, then what exactly did you need?” The question was quick, clipped, and demanded an answer.

“Well, it’s not not about Tav and her adorable little hooves.” The way Karlach emphasized the last three words was further hammered home by her taking Tav’s sheep face in her hands and cooing at her.

“It’s a bet,” Astarion said, and could not suppress a grin as he spoke, “we were wondering if, someone were to… shear her, you know, shave off all the wool, while she’s a sheep…” 

“Would she pop back to being a human bald or naked? And what would happen to the wool when she turned back? Would that be her hair? Her clothes? Or would it stay wool?” Karlach finished the question, redirecting her gaze back to Gale with genuine curiosity. He blinked at the absurdity of the question, at the knowledge that they had been patiently waiting for him for half an hour just to ask. Karlach didn’t surprise him as much, but he would’ve assumed Astarion for the sort to get to the bottom of the matter himself.

“Ah. Well, I can't say I’ve ever tried it. Honestly I’m impressed at the restraint you’ve shown in not simply attempting it yourself.” He’d said it as a joke, but the look on Karlach’s face had the deep sigh renewed.

“We thought about it, but I’m too pretty for such a menial task, Karlach is too afraid of hurting her, and Halsin gave us a very stern ‘no’ and that same disapproving look you seem to be wearing right now.” Well, at least someone in the camp could be trusted to behave like an adult. He held Astarion’s gaze for several moments, making sure he fully expressed said disappointment, before finally looking back at the popular subject of the evening, Tav. He should still be irritated, but he had to admit the question was an interesting one, and far be it from him to not indulge the curiosity of others in regards to magic. Even if he didn’t exactly have an answer.

“Ignoring the ethical implications of you two attempting to shave one of your friends while they’re completely indisposed, hypothetically-“ he was cut off when the sheep made eye contact with him, and he felt the sudden, intense connection brought on by the tadpoles locked in their brains. For just a moment it didn’t make sense, just sheep sounds and flashes of the grass on the ground at the camp, but then he felt it: the disappointment. The sheep held his gaze, drifting to thoughts of the clearing nearby, the one with bright green grass.

“Wait. What just happened?” The words from Karlach pulled him from the moment, and his bewildered stare must have made it obvious.

“Did she just use the tadpole on you?” Astarion sounded positively delighted, the airy laugh erupting from him. Gale glared.

“Oh was it Tav-Tav, or Sheep-Tav? Why didn’t she do it to me? I was just staring into her little face?” Karlach asked with a mix of absolute whimsy and disappointment. She gently rested her hands under Tav’s face to coax the sheep to look at her again.

“Don’t take it personally, Karlach, she’s not really Tav right now, she’s well and truly a sheep,and you two were wrong about her wanting for nothing, she wants better grass.” With that he crossed the space to his tent and returned everything he’d taken for his bath, then snatched up a book. There was no telling how long it would take for Tav to become human again, and she’d been very clear about what she wanted. He could sit with her for a while as she indulged in sheepish pleasures.

“Shit are we being bad sheep guardians?” Karlach asked with a groan, she did start untying the rope from the stake in the ground, which she handed over to Gale when he approached.

“Do you mean shepherds?” Astarion asked, but Gale was very much through with the tom-foolery of the evening. Taking the rope in hand, he gave Tav the gentlest of tugs to get her moving.

“I’m going to take her to a clearing nearby, if she’s going to return to humanity with the taste of grass in her mouth it might as well be good grass.” Tav may have frustrated him at times to no end, but there was no denying that he respected her. Valued her, even. She was competent at decision making under catastrophic circumstances, unwaveringly compassionate to those in need, and a damn fine friend to anyone that allowed her to be. There were times that his fondness for her only increased his frustration about her casual disposition to her brand of chaos. He wanted her to care enough to take care of herself, to be careful. But he supposed, at least for the time being, she had him to do the worrying for her. Seemed a few others were up to the task too.

“Don’t forget her water bowl, Gale, I put her name on it and everything, you know, for next time it happens.” Karlach almost spilled the water bowl in her haste to hand it over, genuinely concerned he may leave it behind. The wizard took the bowl with a small bow of his head, yes even when he wasn’t around to watch after her, Tav was usually in good hands.

“I’m certain she’ll be touched by the kind gesture. Now come along, Tav.” With that, he gave another gentle tug on the rope, and sheep Tav seemed to know exactly what to do, which he supposed made sense, she had requested this.

—

He did have to give her credit for good timing, though, it was a lovely night. Stars twinkling above, the moon brilliantly lighting their little clearing. The air was cool, but not cold. A nice gentle breeze carried the sounds of the night time wildlife beginning their evening. Perfect night to sit with a book and enjoy the world for all its splendor.Even the company was pleasant, now satisfied with the grass she had available Tav was content to silently wander and munch nearby. He’d take breaks from the page to glance up at her to make sure she was fine, and frankly marvel at how he managed to enjoy her presence even as a sheep.

The two had shared many late night evening talks, mostly about the sort of things one expects a wizard and a sorcerer to discuss. Magic and its nature, mysteries of the universe, that sort of thing. They talked about other things, and he was constantly amazed by how much he enjoyed those chats just as much as he enjoyed the ones on his favorite subjects. Even in these trying times she approached life with enthusiasm, with passion and joy. Not to say she wasn’t aware of the impending doom that loomed above them, she’d let slip her air of exuberant confidence a few times to reveal just how deeply afraid she was. He’d realized then that she was attempting to shoulder all the worries of the team, that she’d been determined to be the source of comfort and hope when they couldn’t be one to themselves. He didn’t envy her. He did want to help her though. Which was yet another reason he was sitting out here with her.

It was a wonderful, quiet hour that past, and sheep Tav had settled in the grass and was deep into a snore when the magic dispelled. One moment a sheep snoozed happily, the next there was Tav. She sat up quickly, facing away from Gale. She twisted her head back and forth before rising to her feet. When she finally spotted Gale she broke into a big grin. A big, beautiful grin. She looked relieved to see him, happy to see him. He blinked back at her, and felt something stir in his chest that felt suspiciously like his heart fluttering. He hoped it was dark enough that she’d miss the faint tingle of redness on his cheeks he felt forming. A moment passed before he realized he was staring at her, and he quickly cleared his throat to break the silence.

“You should know, your dear friends seriously debated shearing you in pursuit of scientific curiosity,” he said, he’d intended his tone to be more chastising, after all he had asked her not to cast in camp for a reason. But his heart wasn’t in that, not at the moment, not with her looking at him like he was her safety, her comfort. It came out as the gentle, affectionate tease it truly was. Of course he knew he’d been fond of her already, but that look on her face under starlit skies was forcing him towards some rather hasty and unexpected realizations about just how fond of her he was.

“Oh to see if I turn out bald or naked?” She asked with an easy laugh, as she took a seat on the ground directly beside him. The urge to put an arm around her was one of the hardest he’s ever had to suppress. He settled for tilting his head to the side as he peered at her, watching the expression of good humor form on her face. He was finding he liked that one quite a bit too.

“A question you seem to have pondered quite a bit yourself,” he remarked.

“Well I’ve spent more than my fair share of time as a sheep. Always wondered why it was a sheep. Honestly, the universe probably knows I’d be too powerful as a cat.” She was looking directly into his eyes as she spoke, and he found himself even more acutely aware of how close they were and how intimate this moment between them was. The idea of her as a cat, however, was enough to get a laugh from him. Surely she’d be the sort to knock everything over, to break all your favorite things, and just when you were sure it was time to get rid of her, cuddle up on your lap and make you love her all over again.

“With your predisposition for chaos? I suspect you may be right.” He loved the way that made her laugh, the way her nose crinkled as her whole face lit up. She gave him a gentle shove on the shoulder, and he made a mental note to ensure an abundant future of that. She finished laughing and for a brief moment she sat and peered up at the stars before she looked back to the grass she’d been eating not ago.

“Awfully nice of you, though, to bring me out to this lovely patch of Baldurian Bluegrass.” She looked thankful. He blinked at her, and then looked at the grass, and then back at her.

“… You know what type of grass this is?” He must have sounded incredulous from her next little laugh. Tav was not much of an expert on the great outdoors, she’d never successfully identified an animal track, knew absolutely no potion ingredients, and seemed to be allergic to most things they came in contact with. She smiled a knowing smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“When I realized that I would be spending a decent amount of time as a sheep, I started growing little patches of grass at home, and had some brought in from all sorts of places. I figured, you know, spoil myself.” It was his turn to laugh, he shouldn’t have been surprised in the first place. That was exactly the sort of thing Tav did. 

“Ah yes, exotic grasses from across the globe. Truly a feast fit for a sheep of your caliber.” He teased, and felt that flicker in his heart when her eyes were back to him.

“But the one I always eat the most is the boring one, Baldurian Bluegrass.But do you realize what that means?” She asks leaning just enough that it felt like they were conspiring about something together.

“I can’t even imagine what’s about to come out of your mouth.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and he knew with such certainty that it would far from be the last. It excited him in a way that he hadn’t expected it to.

“You just took me out for a nice moonlit dinner with my favorite food. If you keep this up, Gale, I’m going to think you’re into me.” It was a joke, he was certain. Wasn’t he certain? He could almost be bold enough to lean over and kiss her, to wrap that arm around her and hold her. To spend the evening like this teasing and talking together. Almost.

“We should get back to camp, Karlach will be both relieved and disappointed by your reversion,” he said and cursed himself for being a coward. Tav took pity on him it seemed, leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he felt his heart absolutely pound in his chest. She rose to her feet quickly thereafter and offered her hand to him to help him up, which he gratefully accepted.

“Thank you, Gale, for taking care of me,” and there was that smile again, but it didn’t linger for long, and she was quickly starting the short walk back to camp. He didn’t let her get too far ahead though.

“It was a privilege and an honor, my lady.” He did stop to pick up her water bowl though, with her luck it would be helpful soon enough.

[scoobydoodean]

Just wanted to send a random positive ask to say you literally make my day better and I really love what you bring to the fandom (as you might have noticed by me liking everything you post after 0.5 secs if the notifications alert you lol). Also I love that you describe yourself as genuine in your bio, that’s the vibe I get from you 100% and it’s so nice to see, even in the few things in which we diverge or I just haven’t considered. Lastly, may I ask (and it’s a bit of a tall order) how you became so interested/invested/knowledgeable in media analysis? I find it such a fascinating skill to have.

This is very sweet. Thank you <3

As to your question—I've never really thought about it before! I don't have any formal education in any of this tbqh. I was an avid reader in my childhood and performed well in English classes through college, and I was involved in public speaking and debate from middle school upward, so there are some communication skills I started to develop pretty early with that, but my field of study is not related to literature. I started talking to other people about a piece of media I really liked on reddit when I was about 19 (that'd be 10 years ago now), and I think because the fandom for that piece of media was on the whole just extremely eager to discuss the story in great depth and explore the characters and themes and symbolism, I was able to work on explaining myself and forming my thoughts about stories I like within a fandom that was very small and encouraging and very positive about the story we were all invested in and the fact that it was a something worth analyzing in great detail. By reading the thoughts of other people who had interesting things to say or who challenged my perceptions and wanted to have conversations about what we agreed and disagreed on and why, I think I probably was able to learn a lot.

There are very few pieces of media I've become even remotely as interested in as Supernatural though, and I have definitely noticed that when I really like something, I tend to get extremely invested in rewatching/rereading it and trying to pick up new things to analyze just because I enjoy it, and there's something about Supernatural in that regard that is just endlessly appealing to me.

[shaanks]

>.>

Shanks and/or Kid.

Quin my lovely friend! :"D Thank you so much! Let's do both~ :3c

Shanks

How I feel about this character:

I genuinely love him, like. I think he's fascinating from a narrative standpoint, the place that he has to stand kind of straddling the gulf between the old era that birthed him and the new era he's been charged with stewarding in, like. He's tragic in my mind, because from a character standpoint he has everything - looks, intelligence, potential, power, influence - and yet he either loses or has to let go of everything he really loves, and wants to keep around.

I love that he plays really loosey goosey like his job is Beach and he's a silly funny guy, but can get awfully serious at the drop of a hat, I love the way he carries himself and the very careful vocal cadence he holds onto. Fascinating 2 me.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Oh goodness, you see the problem with hims I feel him to be THE king slut of all time, so I can be persuaded about like. a TON of pairings for him lmfao. The ones I usually default to are the same ones everyone does, Buggy and Mihawk, altho due to the way Shanks is and the advent of the Cross Guild I've had some funny forays into Shanks trying to seduce Crocodile lmfao. (and like. Me. lmfao <3)

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Luffy, Benn, Ace, the whole RHP crew tbh. It's odd bc I usually subscribe to the "all vice captains are insane about their captains" thing but I just haven't ever gotten that with Shanks and Benn lmfao.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Weirdly, it seems to be an unpopular opinion that he's a good guy, so probably that? I can't think of anything else I think about him that's especially against the grain.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

I just want him to live through this lmfao. There are several people in this that I love and am very worried about it, and he's one of them. I'd love for him to be able to reconcile with Buggy too, because so much of what's kept them apart for the last two decades has been misunderstanding of a difficult situation that happened when they were teenagers during a really traumatic event. I know that's not usually how things work in this story, but ya know.

**

Alrighty :"D Round 2

Kid

How I feel about this character:

I find him endlessly endlessly endearing to be perfectly honest. Setting aside the fact that I'm so attracted to him it regularly makes me act very silly, like. He's so smart! He's loyal to a fault! His crew adores him, he sticks to his convictions (for better or worse), he will tell you what's on his mind and deal with you honestly, and expects that of the people around him. Even when he acts all gruff about it, you can tell when someone has earned his respect.

He takes responsibility for the people in his care, he's incredibly brave and charismatic, and goddamn does he ever commit to his aesthetic, and the bit. I love him is the tl;dr. It's so funny bc I made it like 5 jokes into dunking on him about Law in Sabaody before I realized I'd backed myself into a corner about him bc like. Personally imo 2 me, if you think about him with any kind of seriousness, I think it's hard not to love him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Oh man. Killer obv top spot, but I've also gotten really attached to the big Kid Pirates Polycule bc of your thoughts on that subject. I like the KidLawLu polycule too, altho that's more for fun play in my mind. Fascinatingly I think he'd have gotten on like gangbusters with Ace, though I'm as inclined to make that platonic as romantic lmfao, either way. (Also, again...me. I love him lmfao.)

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

In a more serious way probably this is where Kid and Law and Luffy fall in my mind. I love their dynamic and how goofy they all fucking act about it lmfao.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

That he's really fucking smart. He's an excellent tactician when he wants to be, he's a mechanical engineer, like. Those prosthetics aren't just a bunch of junk mashed together that he's forcing to move, they have artificial articulating musculature, they have functional hydraulics, they WORK. Hell, Damned Punk is a plasma canon that you can SEE has actual refined mechanical pieces to it that he's able to pull together without even looking.

Also not for nothing but figuring out magnetic polarity and then getting that shit to behave itself in reasonable ways so that you can use it reliably in battle requires intelligence and serious skill.

His wisdom stat is a lil low but my boy's fucking brilliant.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

I get it. I GET why Oda [redacted current arc spoilers] for both him and Law. All I'm saying is he better fucking live through it. Him and his crew. I wanna see them again. :(

**

Alrighty!!! This was wonderful friend ; u ; Thank you for askin about my boys, I love any chance I can get to ramble about em. <3

if anyone else wants to play, give me a character and I'll break their ass down!

[analysisn3rd]

Dorian Gray

Morality

Dorian has one of the most changing, and interesting, moralities I’ve ever encountered. Throughout the book, I would say that there are three distinct changes of morality that he goes through. I will identify and explain them in detail, but first I will place them on the scale. The first portion of the book, he is in the pale section, a bit far from the middle grey part. During the second portion, he is in the grey section, leaning towards the dark region, and the final portion, he is in the same pale part as the first part.

The first portion is at the very beginning of the book. It’s when Dorian was just introduced to Lord Henry and was still getting to know him. He was exactly what he seemed then; boyish, innocent and “good”. He always had a moral code, and he always knew what is “good” and what is “bad”. During that time, he was acting along his moral code, because why else would he not? He’s seen a horrible person act immorally in the form of his grandfather, and he hated that man, so he decided to act as “good” as possible. However, he got tempted by Lord Henry’s ideas, and he started to contemplate the way he’d been living, and what his life could be like if he were to do what Lord Henry said. During this time, he got to know Sybil Vane and proposed to marry her. After he snapped at her, his morality caused him to feel terrible about what he did, which motivated him to amend things with her and stop talking to Lord Henry.

In the blink of an eye, the following morning, after a few mere moments of grief, his morality changed. He started to genuinely believe what Lord Henry told him; fascinated by the possibilities of life in the manner that was told to him. That’s when his morality changed, becoming darker, towards the grey section. The change was like how he described it to Basil; “I suffered immensely. Then it passed away.” He continued to have this same morality for the majority of the book, where he was fully aware of “right” and “wrong” but choosing not to act by them. After all, nothing happened to him when he defied them. He was still the same youthful, beautiful man that everyone was charmed by, and he will always be. Beauty, to him, is much more important than being good, which is something that Lord Henry had remarked in the book.

One of his many a-moral actions was killing Basil Hallward. This was an action that he thought was necessary, but he clearly didn’t realise the impact that it would have on him. At first, he was unaffected by his action, moving on normally in his life. Then it struck him. When the realisation of his action hit him, he fainted. Even though he would endlessly deny it, the murder of someone who he considered a dear friend has haunted him. That was, the way I see it, the reason why his morality changed back. This was the catalyst for wanting to be “good”. He wanted to better himself, to become a better man. The only reason for this, which Dorian denied to himself and others constantly, is Hallward’s murder. 

After all of his other heinous actions, he never felt a shred of guilt. He even found it amusing to see the painting change and become worse and worse as time goes on, and he thought that the same would happen with Basil’s murder. He was mistaken. The reason for why he felt guilt is unclear, but I think that the only reasonable explanation is that he, at least partially, loved Hallward. It was also his first murder, and it’s said that the first murder is the only one that actually impacts the murderer; it’s the only one that they fully regret, and I would say that the same goes for Dorian.

Overall, Dorian is someone who’s fully aware of the moral code, and of how his actions will be thought of. Yet, for most of the book, he chose to disregard it, as he wanted to indulge in beauty and the glorious life granted to him by it.

Personality and insecurities

Dorian has an incredibly interesting personality, and it’s what makes him such a remarkable character in literature.

Something that’s very obvious about Dorian is that he’s charming, and well-liked. He has an air of charisma that attracts people to him; they’re fascinated by him. This is mentioned in the book where it’s said that “There was something about Dorian that charmed everybody. It was a pleasure to even see him.” This is most likely due to his appearance and innocent act. Anybody would be drawn to a person who’s beautiful. People naturally gravitate towards what they like, and what they find interesting. Dorian simply happens to be both of those things.

A trait that I would use to describe Dorian is passionate. He’s very enthusiastic about the things that interest him, which is something that’s both natural and fitting for his personality. He’s inherently a person who loves to get absorbed wholly and fully by all that’s mesmerising. He’s so knowledgeable about all his interests and that doesn’t come without a lot of love and eagerness for the subject. An example of this is the book that he was given by Lord Henry, and how many times he read it and fell deeply in love with it. Another is how he learns everything he could about all that interests him.

Something I didn’t initially think to associate with Dorian is intelligence, which was very wrong of me to do. He’s evidently observant, although it’s not as impressive as a detective’s observation skills. This is clear as he observes people, watches their behaviour, to identify how he would act towards them; how he would show them that he’s “good” and innocent. He also has a little of a manipulative strand within him, where he uses his observation skills and intelligence to figure out how to blackmail people correctly and get them what he wants them to do, much like what he did with Alan Campbell. Due to his intelligence, he’s able to make people believe that he’s innocent, despite doing horrible actions. He may not be a genius, but he’s smart enough to protect himself and his reputation.

Dorian is a character with many insecurities and fears. There are three that I shall be discussing here in depth.

He’s terrified of losing his youth. This is because if he didn’t have it, no one would want him, which is something that Lord Henry said. He would be undesirable without his beauty, which is why it’s all that matters to him. This caused him to do anything and everything to preserve it, because he doesn’t want to be abandoned and alone, like he was when he was a child. He wants to be wanted, and he knows that, if it weren’t for his beauty, no one would want to know or befriend him.

I would consider him a prime example of the phrase “You become what you fear”. He feared his grandfather when he was younger, and, for the majority of the book, he became him. The biggest proof of this is the painting, as it was described to look like his grandfather quite a lot. The last thing he wanted to become is a cruel, hideous old man, and he indeed became that, even if people couldn’t see it. The painting concealed his reality, but it didn’t mean that it was any less true. Initially, he was horrified by this, so he rejected it and denied it. He’s not like that man. However, later on in the book, he began to celebrate it. The thing that stopped him from doing so was the worst thing that he had done; killing Basil Hallward. As I’ve mentioned before, it was the murder’s impact that caused him to become a better man. This was not only because of his horrible guilt, but also because of his realisation of who he had become; he had truly become his grandfather.

This was something that both Lord Henry and Basil Hallward knew was possible. Lord Henry was fascinated by it; knowing that Dorian is inherently someone who would agree with his ideologies and philosophies, and would always live by them, which is something that he could never dare test himself. He couldn’t do it, he’d lose everything he’s ever had, but Dorian could. Dorian will always be seen as innocent, due to his beauty and ability to conceal his crimes. Dorian had privileges that Lord Henry didn’t. Hallward, on the other hand, feared this. This is why he didn’t want Dorian to ever meet Lord Henry. He always wanted his innocent, boyish, handsome friend. He loved that friend dearly. He didn’t want his friend to be ruined by himself.

The last fear I’ll mention is how Dorian is afraid of people pointing out his actions. This ties into his aforementioned fear of abandonment. This is because if people were to find out about his true actions, they would despise him, and he would lose all his status. He would become a nobody, when all he wants to do is become a somebody.

Conclusion

Dorian is one of the most interesting characters I’ve ever read about. He’s very changeable, and there are a lot of layers to him. He’s incredibly amusing to read about, much like all of Wilde’s characters in the book. I simply hope that I did him justice within my analysis.

[jonsaslove]

Not sure if you want to expand, but how is Braime misunderstanding either of the characters? I think the beauty x beast retelling is right there... If you just don't ship it, I get that too cause I don't care for it myself but I thought it was, not canon exactly but it's THERE

Hey anon! Sure I'll expand.

Disclaimer, this is just my opinion and not something I even talk about very often as I try to not spend a lot of time focusing on things that I don't like. If anyone reading this likes Braime then that's awesome but it is not my cup of tea and I'd recommend skipping this post.

Breaking it down further, there are a few things I'll touch on. I'll talk about my thoughts on Braime's narrative, Jaime's arc, Brienne's arc, and then a bit more about the Braime fandom.

Braime's Narrative: I do think that Braime has an interesting story narratively and actually I do see the reason why people ship them, there is a lot compelling factors to their relationship. My hang up is the shippers who think they are an epic love story or they are "obviously endgame" and that the show "ruined them". IMO Brienne and Jaime are not going to end up with each other and that has never been the direction GRRM was going with them despite the obvious romantic aspect to their overall arc. I don't see it with them ending together. So again, my issue is less with people shipping them but more with people who truly believe they will end up together and will listen to no argument to the contrary. In contrast, I believe Jonsa should end up together and think it would be narratively satisfying but I'm more than willing to recognize that there's arguments against it.

Jaime's Arc: From the first time I started reading ASOIAF and then watched GOT it was very obvious to me that Jaime's arc was a tragic one. His relationship with Cersei has many toxic aspects but I don't believe that he is going to "break free" from it. In my experience a lot (obviously not all) of Braime shippers view Cersei as this abusive villain who has tricked Jaime into being with her and that she doesn't love him at all. Jaime and Cersei both do awful things to each other and the power balance in that relationship is endlessly fascinating but I don't think one of them is the clearcut victim to the other. If anything over his life Jaime feels more resentful to his father and the expectations Tywin has of him and how he is unable to live up to them.

Another key factor is that I believe Jaime WANTS to be a "better" man. He doesn't want to be known as the Kingslayer, he doesn't want to continue committing incest with his twin, but his arc to me is about his attempt to be a better man and his failure to do so because he is always eventually going to return to Cersei. This may not be narratively satisfying to those who hope for a "redemption arc" but to me it is what's most realistic. I don't believe any of the Lannisters are getting a "happy" ending.

Also, Jaime views Brienne as a possible means to being that better man but in the show we see that as soon as he tries with Brienne he realizes that "good man" is not who he actually is and he falls back into the same patterns. I don't see this as D&D's bad writing, I see it as the natural conclusion of Jaime's story.

Brienne's Arc: Brienne's story...this is something I admit I feel less confident about but I'll give my thoughts on her arc. I think Jaime's presence in her storyline has a lot to do with Brienne's rather rigid thinking about good and bad or right and wrong. She initially thinks that Jaime is nothing more than a Kingslayer but comes to see that people have more complexity than that. Her ideas about the world are challenged through her encounters with him and she grows as a character because of it.

I do believe that she has genuine feelings for Jaime but again I think Jaime's arc is meant to end with Cersei. I have less strong opinions on how Brienne's arc ends, but I think she will have a roll in Arya and Sansa's ending and be with the Starks at the end of the story. I also think one day she will find the love she is looking for from someone who isn't using her to try and prove something about himself. In other words Jaime trying to be in love with Brienne to prove he is a good man.

The Shippers: As for Braime shippers, I've already mentioned this but I think at large they have convinced themselves that this is a fairytale romance with a happy ending and I will simply never see it that way. I also will not forget the way many of them were frothing at the mouth at the idea of Jaime going to KL in S8 to kill Cersei and their unborn baby. Some of the posts from that time were genuinely nauseating.

Now there's a whole conversation to be had about me shipping Jonsa and Jon killing Dany, of course. There are obvious similarities and I could go further into depth with my thoughts on it but ultimately it's my opinion that the situations are different enough for it not to bother me. I also feel that the two fandoms approach Jon killing Dany and Jaime killing Cersei in vastly different ways.

All of that to say that the Braime fandom left a bad taste in my mouth from their treatment of Cersei, I don't believe it makes sense narratively for Braime to have a happy ending, and I don't believe a happy ending would actually "work" for either of them in the long run. I don't think they are well suited to each other on a basic level and I really believe Brienne deserves miles better than Jaime.

[kindestegg]

It bothers me seeing some people complain about TOH going a ‘boring’ route for the Collector ‘without moral grayness’ just because they hadn’t been imprisoned for killing anyone or destroying anything (as far as we technically know at least). The clues were already there in 2B that the Collector wasn’t malicious and probably didn’t even hunt Titans to begin with, plus it reminds me of that past fandom trend of ignoring the psychological impact of Belos’ abuse on the Collector, and reducing him to funny murders iPad kid.

Also, it feels like said people are ignoring the fact that, a more sympathetic side to the Collector being necessary here, they still very much did turn people into puppets. Like that was a thing that still happened in this episode. Besides, there arguably is a ‘moral grayness’ to this well-intentioned kid who still ended up betrayed, used, and punished, even by King to an extent, finally snapping in retaliation and betrayal. Idk it just feels like they’re complaining the story didn’t go in one direction for his character VS another, when both routes are equally compelling.

(holds hands with you and we skip over a field of flowers into the sunset together)

but really, you worded this pretty well and in a way i have also been thinking for quite some time!! really, its something ive considered making something about in the future because it fascinates me endlessly: there is just something so strange to me about the fact that to some people recognizing collector is a kid or that he has a complex backstory and is more layered than "sadistic selfish shadowy entity" means "ruining his character"

on the one hand i get it, sometimes people just want a mean old crazy villain who has no qualms in doing whatever just for the hell of it because they want to have fun, and i get it!! i really like villains like that- hell, part of the reason i even got interested on collector when i first saw them in hollow mind was because i love characters like that so much!! the bill cyphers, the discords, the quackerjacks, the dimentios, the jevils, the ecolos, i love all characters like that!!

but like... come edge of the world, hearing luz go "that collector kid" and going "OH SHIT THIS IS A CHILD" was game changing for me because?? you really dont see characters like that often that are also kids?? and idk about you but that was exciting to me! because it explores such an interesting path of like, how do you begin to approach an antagonist that IS so sadistic and self serving but also is STILL growing and still young and has still potential to be good?

old time followers of this blog will KNOW i have already talked all about that though... so what else can i say?

i will say i absolutely agree with you there on the cues being there. while i dont think its fair to say that it was easier before to infer he really didnt do ANYTHING, there were at least a lot of indications carefully laid out to make us empathize with them and understand their situation. like, isnt it interesting that at the start of o'titan, they couldve shown collector saying anything at all, since he thought he was all alone monologuing to himself, and they chose to have him talk about how lonely he was and then plead for king to stay with him? and then, as if to follow up on that, clouds has him doubting whether belos is his friend or not sounding genuinely concerned! we know from these clues that collector is a kid, that he is lonely, that being inside the prison has messed with his mental health, and that belos is unsurprisingly a terrible friend that is making him worry if he will uphold his end of the bargain.

all of these puzzle pieces were put there deliberately, including kings connection to collector, to first let us see a different side of this character and understand him better, and then second to also let king do this and prepare him to be more likely to want to consider collector as someone he could approach, even back in kings tide! because having that previous mental connection allowed him to wonder if collector could be reasoned with, and it worked! he stopped the spell for him! and like, once again, the writers utilize what time they have to quickly establish that the collector would rather play with king and holds no anger towards him or desire to hurt him! this is again, important as an indication that collector is not like we thought!

the whole "murderous ipad kid" started rubbing me the wrong way too, while i am brazilian so the "enzo gabriel" memes were endearing to me in a way, it became really frustrating seeing as how EXTREMELY few people back then seemed interested in exploring the tragedy of a character so young mentally having been stuck in an eternal unchanging prison and how that fucked them up, and how it being BELOS who he was stuck with was even worse! or even, hell, explore the fact he seems to not have wanted to hurt king and how their connection makes them perfect foils to each other and how they could be friends in a better world! but most people just saw him as a one dimensional murderous child (if even a child at all) and either ignored him completely or if not, had him do incredibly uncharacteristically violent and extreme things. and like, yeah, sure, this IS the kid who helped with the draining spell and was excited for people dying, but also like. come on buddy, if thats all there was to him, they wouldnt have tried to establish this other side of him during s2b.

and you are so correct on the puppet thing like!! that is STILL fucked up! even if he isnt physically torturing or hurting people, that is still not a good thing to do and it is terrifying to imagine losing control of your body and even consciousness for god knows how long! and collector doesnt care! he thinks that just because he is playing pretend and that this is how the game is played, that it doesnt matter that he is doing this. that is messed up! and it reminds us that this is still the kid who laughed about people dying, laughed about the grimwalker deaths. him being a sad and lonely kid with a compelling backstory doesnt change that. it just adds to more layers to his character.

i think you are on the nose when you say that it is just because people are disappointed they wanted a type of character and got another. though it is puzzling to me seeing them be unable to admit that they were wrong and that they did miss the cues early on and move on, instead complaining that it "came out of nowhere". i will say i think the BEST argument for them is that his character feels rushed and that it is confusing to add him into the series when he is so similar to so many other characters (caleb, hunter, luz, king, etc), because then yeah, i agree, it is a really odd late minute addition, specially considering he only exists because of the shortening, not in spite of it. and to that i can only say: i think collector wasnt a character added with logic in mind, but rather with pure pathos. dana and the crew wanted a fun out of left field super silly character that was entirely self indulgent and so they added him just for themselves, and as result, he is neither fully well fleshed out nor is he the most unique in terms of metanarrative role.

then again one COULD argue his role is more one of giving king a foil and someone he can further his own arc through, as well as giving better exposition to the history of the titans, but... yknow. ive already talked enough.

[silkendandelion]

Mirage In The Desert - Chapter 4 (One Year Ago, Pt. 2)

Summary: Having left the island what he believes to be permanently, River travels to Rainbase with Miss All Sunday. Mr. 0 reveals himself, and a contract is made.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for unsafe situations, extortion, gambling. Ongoing, will cover the Alabasta Arc. Cross-posted to Ao3, same username. Send me a DM: yell at me, send flowers. Cheers.

~*~

“Are you thirsty?” The woman, “Miss All Sunday”, handed him a canteen.

“Thank you, I hadn’t realized how dry this country is.”

“Does it rain on Oasis?” She seemed genuinely curious as she rested her chin on her palm.

“Oh yes, all the time. I guess I assumed you all saw the same rain. Maybe we’ll see some before we get to the capital.”

“It’s been two years since it rained. And you still think we’re going to Alubarna.”

Any protests he had went unaddressed. The most he knew about their journey and destination was this indirect, vague comment that only barely confirmed it was not the capital. More time together didn’t help as the mysterious woman managed to keep him talking endlessly about the tiny island he had left behind with nothing but her beck and call. His one valiant attempt to be standoffish yielded a single, perfect smile and the promise that she could be quiet as long as he could.

It would end up going on for days as the endless desert passed by the window.

“You were telling me about the Bananawani.”

His cheeks colored at her smile, this one somewhat warmer, like he was interesting. “It’s rude to only talk about myself. You could tell me where we’re going. Or just a hint? You had me buy nice clothes, that’s one, you—you said ‘days’ so we’re not leaving the island. Maybe it’s—”

Her laugh was melodious, reminding him just how little power he had, and how sweet his death would be if she killed him in this moment. They must look like friends on a weekend away, not a doomed man and his reaper.

“Talking will help you relax.”

“You’re a sadistic woman. You want me caught off guard when you kill me.”

“You think I’m going to kill you.”

“Stop being so ominous! Don’t laugh either!” He felt his shoulders fall anyway, doomed to find his reaper effortlessly charming.

“This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

That can’t be right. Beautiful woman, sharp as a tack. There’s no reason she couldn’t find better company than a terrified merchant who, for once, was poorly managing all the attention he attracted. Maybe she really was a killer.

“The, um...” He cleared his throat. “We’re not friends with the Bananawani, we just coexist. There’s a sort of sand bar just south of us, maybe it’s an island that never grew enough to break the surface. Females lay their eggs there in the beginning of summer and just before autumn they return to take the ones who’ve hatched. We take the eggs that don’t make it, but otherwise try to stay away from each other. Except Ramon, he is fascinated with them. He’s so obsessed that when he was younger he would swim out to the deep and try to ride them. We all think he’s a little crazy, but he’s still a good man. Very good—”

“We’re here.”

He froze, and his heart nearly slipped from his chest into the road. They had talked so long he had forgotten to look out the window, and obviously lost days to her easy conversation. There were trees in the distance, how long had it been since he saw anything but sand?

“This is what I expected the rest of the country to look like.” He tried to exit the carriage but a petite hand stopped him.

“I’ll tell the driver to wait. Change your clothes and I’ll be right here.”

“I’m not going to keep doing this. You give me orders but I’ve seen nothing for my compliance thus far.”

“One more time, Mr. Faustina. The man who will answer your questions doesn’t see anyone who isn’t dressed appropriately.”

He wanted to flee, slip out the second door and follow the sun back to the shore. But Miss All Sunday was in no hurry, no worry for his escape when she was sure that the desert would kill him even more efficiently than she could. Then again, they weren’t likely to retaliate if they thought him dead. A knock on the door startled him back into his body.

‘If you hurry, we can get lunch before our appointment.’

He squeezed the box containing his clothes, perhaps the last clothes he’ll ever wear. But the endless desert and his slow, painful demise could wait just a little longer.

One more time, Miss All Sunday. ____ ___ __ _

“Enjoy your day, ma’am. Sir.” The driver dismissed them as they were left in front of their destination.

River opened his mouth to speak but Miss All Sunday apparently moonlights as a mind-reader. “The city is Rainbase. And this is their casino: Raindinners.”

“A… casino?” He had never seen one, recognizing the word from a novel or two.

Certainly the biggest and tallest building in the city was the luxury resort and casino that sat perched atop the surface of it’s own lake. It looked to be made of gold, tossing back sunlight and brightening the sky. River looked to Miss All Sunday but she had her head on swivel, perhaps she wasn’t used to being in a crowd. And despite Claudia’s attempt to teach him manners, he stared openly at the expensive clientele that not only disappeared into the casino but walked by them, in and out of sparkling shops. He noticed they were staring back at him.

“Come, Mr. Faustina.” She beckoned.

“Welcome back, ma’am. And guest.” The staff greeted them, parting the doors open wide.

From gaudy socialites to the whispering wealth and tacky tourists that peppered the room, he felt eyes on him from every corner, drinking in his drapes of Oasin blue and gold. Face shielded by a veil, he felt more akin to a ritual sacrifice than any expected guest.

He heard Miss All Sunday’s voice beside him as they walked. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” His voice was firm but he counted his steps to quell his heartbeat, one foot in front of the other as the golden lights parted for the thrum of conversation on the casino floor. People laughed as they drank and games clattering added to the buzz of the chatter. River could hear their whispering even over the noise, the hissing of snakes and bureaucrats. Suddenly the attention he attracted easily was no longer a luxurious coat but a funeral gown, tight on his throat. If given the chance, these strangers would try to write his epithet without even knowing his name. And they didn’t care to know.

‘Is that the Oasin? I’ve never met one.’

‘How pretty.’

‘I’d heard Crocodile was getting a new business partner.’

“Crocodile? That name sounds familiar.” He murmured, more to himself than his handler.

“Does it?” She led him to an elevator, tapping a passcode to take them to the top floor. ____ ___ __ _

In his office, Crocodile looked up to the familiar clack of his partner’s shoes on a polished floor. “Welcome back.”

“Shall I send him in?”

“You’re late. I’ve been waiting.” Smoke fell from his lips and clouded the air between them.

“Oh? The appointment was for 4—“

“3:30—”

“Apologies.” She said as courteous as ever, but River saw her come back to the parlor where he waited with a satisfied, unrepentant smile. He was brought to stand in front of a large desk where an unapproachable man sat back in his chair, a fur over his shoulders and alarmingly golden weapon laid across his lap. He was taller than River remembered, suddenly recalling the face of Alabasta’s hero. Intelligent, dangerous, and apparently more deceitful than he advertised.

“You’re Crocodile.”

“Manners dictate you begin with your own name. And that you remove your face covering, it’s just the three of us.”

River yanked back his scarf, violet eyes much less than welcoming. “You know my name already, and I know you. I’ve seen you at the market, they called you a war, something—warlord. A pirate. I’m done being led around like some calf to slaughter, you’re going to tell me what’s happening—”

“For someone who’s never left his little island, you yap like a spoiled prince.”

“I won’t ask again—” River’s threat was cut short when the man dissolved in a swirl of sand to re-materialize in his space, hook pressed beneath his chin. River grabbed his forearm, the patch of flesh solid as he stood his ground, albeit shaking as he stared up into the face of yet another unknown threat.

“Threats beget violence, Mr. Faustina. This is your only allowance.”

He remembered Ramon’s voice when he first encountered an adult Bananawani in the sea. Don’t meet their eyes unless you’re prepared to fight and die. Unless you’re like me.

His hands gripped Crocodile’s arm hard enough to make the buttons creak and the warlord’s lip twitch, the only indication that River had managed to cause pain.

“I was tricked into coming here, traveling for days, taken from my home and my family with nothing but the clothes on my back. I think I’m owed much more than an explanation, Crocodile. Let’s talk business.”

Golden eyes gave way to mischief, practically lapping at the fire that radiated from this new variable. He had never expected to find a Haki user this close to the Red Line, let alone one that snapped and sparked in the face of overwhelming disadvantage. Too valuable to kill, too dangerous to leave free. And though Crocodile wasn’t one to waste time on self reflection or even idle pleasure, he was excruciatingly aware how long it had been since he felt electricity from just meeting eyes. Crystalline, expressive eyes that haven’t learned to lie, brave because they had never been defeated, too naive to know they needed a mask. What a treat.

He released the smaller man with a startling bark of a laugh, putting several steps between them. “Miss All Sunday.”

“Sir?”

“Leave us. We’re going to talk for awhile.”

“Sir.” The pleased smirk she wore as she left was all the reassurance River needed to know he might not die today after all. ____ ___ __ _

Their negotiations had lasted hours, through dinner, and solidified by a strong handshake among men. Crocodile’s skin prickled where he remembered River’s grip.

One year. You are to work for my organization for one year, as both penance for your assault and supervision for someone with your dangerous talents. We’re on the verge of civil war, you see, such power cannot be affiliated with either side. Either the war ends, or your time runs out. That is how long you will work for me.

His beautiful reaper had shown him to his room, a crisp little dwelling, draped in white and with his own bathroom. He went to his window, too high and too smooth to climb from, as he expected. There was water in a pitcher for washing, fresh linens in the cupboard. But little else. He opened all the drawers and cupboards for something to read, pencil and paper maybe. Nothing.

No one stopped him from wandering the halls, but there was little staff to do so until he entered the lower floors. The elevator was unguarded but several floors were inaccessible without a code, and a few staff-only floors immediately booted him back the moment he left the lift. No doorknob was left untouched in his search, though it seemed security was good at their job.

“Excuse me?” He asked but the passing housekeeper seemed to not hear him, engrossed in her journey.

He tried a suit that carried a briefcase, but no answer. “Excuse me, I just—”

A couple in matching furs smiled at him when he got to the ground floor. “Do you know how to get the private club rooms? You look like you know where you’re going.”

His face couldn’t hide his discomfort, but the pair looked undeterred. “… I’m afraid it’s my first time.”

“No worries, dear. You’ll have a great time.” They waved goodbye to him with their gloved hands, resuming their search down another hallway.

He finally came to the kitchen, spying a den-den mushi sleeping on top of a steel cabinet beside their prep line.

“HEY! What are you doing? Get out of here.” One of the chefs barked at him and snatched the snail from his hand.

“I need to make a call.”

“So find another phone. Go on, shoo.”

River refused to leave the door, feeling his eyes begin to prickle. “I need to use the phone. It’s an emergency… Please, I’ll pay you.”

“How much is a phone call worth to you?” He watched River take off his gold earrings, each fitted with a wild caught pearl.

“Pretty. Make it quick, the boss might call.”

“Thank you.” River took the snail and struggled to recall the code before hearing it putter at last, dialing across the country.

On his island, Esai was helping Claudia with the chores River had left behind, her household now down to one. His snail phone puttered, unanswered, until River couldn’t let it ring anymore.

“They didn’t answer, huh?” The chef said.

“...No. Suppose they wouldn’t.”

“Shame. I’ll take those earrings now.” He held out his wide palm.

“What? It didn’t even connect, no one was home.”

“You wanted to use the phone. No one HAD to answer.”

River felt a familiar itch in his chest, one that wanted to punch the chef as hard as he had hit the man at the market, right in his smirking face. Would Crocodile feed him in this place? Would this be the kitchen where his meals came from? How would the staff get even worse towards him if he abused the chef on his first day?

He reached up to take his other earring off, setting the pair in the man’s hand as he held them up to the painfully white kitchen lights.

“Really nice, I’ve never seen pearls this color. If you’ve got any others, Oasin, I’ll let you use the phone as much as you want.” He burst out laughing, pleased with himself as he pocketed the jewelry, and continued to stir whatever was in his pan. ____ ___ __ _

Crocodile isn’t a man to waste time and called for River first thing the next morning, immediately handing over legal documentation that River only held before signing as he was instructed. His tired eyes wandered the pages, half absorbing the half of the documents he bothered to touch while Crocodile smoked patiently, writing on his own work while the Oasin pretended to read.

Refreshments were brought to their meeting, and Crocodile took the break to take in the ignored cup of tea on River’s side of the table, the way his full, blue-black brow was furrowed and violet eyes were red with lack of sleep. He could smell him even over the coffee, like sea salt and perfume oils that were baked into his skin and hair by the sun, permeating any room he entered. His hair was streaked from long hours outside but he clearly cared for his dewy skin, and even when he didn’t speak Crocodile wanted to just look at him. But something was different.

“You forgot to put on your earrings this morning. Did you sleep poorly?”

River looked up from his papers after a long moment. “I didn’t forget. Phone calls are expensive around here.”

“Someone took your jewelry for a phone call?”

“I didn’t even get an answer.” He massaged his temples, his hand dragging down his face as he leaned back in the chair.

Crocodile stubbed out his cigar, breathing a long, fragrant cloud into the silence. Neither of them spoke before he leaned forward to write a note on his papers. “That’s enough for today. Rest up, your first mission brief is going out tomorrow.”

River got up without protest, intent on leaving in silence until Crocodile spoke to his back.

“Compile a list of things you need. Bring it to me before the end of the day and I’ll have Miss All Sunday bring them to you.”

He looked back at the warlord, his first smile of the day on his face. “Thank you, Crocodile. That’s kind of you.”

A jeweled hand waved him off, though River couldn’t bring himself to be offended as he began his list in his head, starting with pens and paper. Books would be third, though he assumed specific titles would be hard to come by on short notice, settling for “poetry”, “geography”, and “whatever Miss All Sunday likes”.

Sleep came easy with the promise of better things and he slept until the next day, awaking to the polite knock of his delivery.

“You look like you slept well.” Robin smiled and he reflexively touched his tousled hair. “I found everything on your list, you’ll have to forgive me for how much of it is books.”

“These are wonderful, Miss All Sunday, thank you.” He examined volumes of various size, some he had read, most he hadn’t. Her delicate hand suddenly offered a small velvet box, tied with a ribbon, and she relinquished it reluctantly as if accepting the gift was binding, and delivering it made her an accomplice.

“This wasn’t on your list but Crocodile sent it anyway.”

A single tug to the ribbon let it flutter to the floor, revealing his surrendered earrings, polished and pinned to a cushion. “I… Thank you. Thank you so much. And please give Crocodile my thanks.”

“All right. Have a good day, Mr. Faustina.” ____ ___ __ _

His mission brief promised the meeting of his new partner, Mr. 2, whose almost blank section of his instructions left them as mysterious as Miss All Sunday. They would leave in the morning for reconnaissance in a nearby sea, and were expected to meet resistance: deadly force approved. The anticipation of combat reminded him his swords were on Oasis, left behind with no time or method to retrieve them. No money either, having been suddenly thrust into a free market economy. But he was in a casino.

“The buy-in is 10,000 Berries.” The dealer informed him downstairs, deliberately not offering him a seat at the roulette table.

River took off one of his bangles and offered it to him. “I don’t have any money. This bracelet is inlaid with a rare sea glass, only formed once a year and deadly to harvest on beaches protected by Bananawani.” He hoped the dealer had both too little knowledge to challenge his fib and enough indifference to take gold for what it was.

“Cash only, sir.”

“Well—” River was interrupted by a man wearing a fur that matched the coat of the woman with him, and whether or not River recognized them, they remembered him.

“Oh come on. Oasins don’t use money, you have to expand your rules if you’re going to entertain a wider variety of customers. I’ll put up collateral to cover him. Go on, son, put your bracelet on the board.”

“Thank you… er, how do I play?” He looked at the pair and the woman smiled, all white teeth and bright lipstick, leaving colorful rings on the tip of her cigarette holder.

“It’s just chance, baby, you can’t be bad at it. If the ball picks the spot you chose on the board, you win.”

“Any more bets?” The dealer asked the table.

“We’ll double his bet, put us all on the same spot. What’s your name, son?”

“River.”

“Nice to meet you, River. I’m Don. My wife Patty.” He said as the wheel clicked, spinning and chasing the ball. The table all seemed to lean forward, crowded around the peppered grid that was weighted down by chips (and bangle) on 13 black.

“13 black.” The dealer called among their gasps, placing all the winnings into Don’s pile.

“That’s some beginners luck, son, here.” He puffed on his cigarette as he handed River a slice of his chips for the win. “Go again, let’s keep going.”

He moved his bracelet to another square, 1 to 12, and a single chip to red. Don matched the bet both times, and Patty offered River one of her cigarettes with a smile as she lit it with a kiss of her own.

“10 red.” The table erupted in hollers, drawing the attention of nearby tables as Don clapped his hands on River’s shoulders.

“How about that, he’s lucky!” His shaking almost toppled the cigarette free from River’s lips as they smiled and cheered. “How long are you gonna be here today? ‘Cause you’re spending the day with me, let’s drink to that. Crocodile’s gonna have to hand over the deed by the time we’re done here.” ____ ___ __ _

“Cash.” He told the lady at the payout counter that counted his money with polished red nails, quicker than even the shopkeepers he had served who handled cash all day long.

The shops were ready to close but River ran through the streets to find what he needed, hoping the cash in his pocket was enough. He came to a blacksmith with the closed sign already in his hand, and pressed his palms to the glass.

“We’re closed.”

“Can you just tell me if you sell swords?”

“That’s a strange question to ask—beg someone at the end of the day.” They met eyes, and the blacksmith appraised the pearls in his earrings, ones that matched the pearl in his own pendant.

“10 minutes.” He said as he opened the door to let River inside. The Oasin was scanning the shop with wild eyes, hunting for a specific prize as the blacksmith went to get stock from the back.

“What are you doing so far from home?” He watched the way River startled before holding up his necklace. “Your pearls. Thought maybe you’d bought ‘em, but you’ve got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen. You’ll have to get better at that. What’s got you scared enough to pound on my door at dusk for a weapon?”

“Would you believe me if I said I can’t tell you?”

“Yeah, I would.” He snorted. The trunk he produced was full of short swords, daggers, haphazardly collected to be sold under the table for frightened civilians looking to protect themselves in the coming war. They were dull enough he could dig his arm to the bottom and pull out a smaller box, dusty and scratched.

“You can have one of these. Their previous owner said they can only go to another Oasin. I think they’ve collected dust long enough.” The dilapidated condition of the outer shell gave no indication of the shiny satin inside, cradling two twin blades, too long to be daggers and too short to be swords. They were one solid piece of metal, carved on the hilt to the smallest detail in bright silver.

“Their names are Amante and Amigo. They haven’t done any great deeds but their previous owner insisted they have names. Said it makes the metal tougher.”

“I’ll take both. How much?”

The man assumed he had no money, and asked for the same bangle that River had almost gambled away hours earlier.

One year, come what may. Just one year and I can go home.

But River would remain a part of Baroque Works for 15 months and 3 days. And when he was finally unemployed, he wouldn’t be allowed to return to Oasis.

[necer0s]

So I finished my read of the 90s Superboy comic— plus Young Justice and Impulse, which I got sucked into along the way.  Definitely a fascinating read on all three counts, though obviously there were plenty of rough spots.  A few thoughts:

I love how every single member of Young Justice gets a character arc from the start to the finish.  (The middle isn’t necessarily so smooth at carrying it out, but that’s comics for you.)  No one personifies that better than Secret, who is the beginning and the end of Young Justice, but everyone gets one. Robin learns how to trust the team and show his face, Superboy learns how to open up and be emotionally honest, Wonder Girl learns how to step up and have confidence, Impulse learns a fear of consequences and empathy.  It’s very impressive.

Empress is a fantastic character, and I would love to see more of her. DC always has a good cast of magic-users, but not a lot of them are also good at actual fighting.  It’d be great to see her filling that role of magic user more often, especially in fanfic.  Just imagine— Gotham has to deal with some magical nonsense, and Batman really doesn’t want to call in Constantine. Tim has an alternative, but they have to pay for her babysitting.  It’d be great for a Danny Phantom crossover, since she specializes in contacting and contracting with spirits.  Zatanna’s a great magic-user for working with the younger heroes, but Empress has a nice touch of darkness to her that I think is essential to a DC mage.

Honestly, all the side characters in YJ are great.  Secret, Arrowette, Empress, and Slo-bo all have heartbreaking arcs, and almost all of them are self-contained to this one series.  In the world of comics, where characters tend to show up and then stick around forever, leaving and coming back and dying and resurrecting endlessly.  As much as I might like to see more of them, that’s a rare commodity and well-worth respecting.

There’s a lot of missed potential in various places among the three series, but one arc stands out to me: “A World Without Young Justice”, which follows up on the original villain that Young Justice faced together and has him use time-travel shenanigans to make the team into washed-up versions of themselves.  I really wish they had made the premise a little closer to the title, and shown us a world where none of the YJ members were ever heroes at all.  There was a great opportunity here to show us all the things that have gone wrong in a world without Young Justice— and by extension, show us all the incredible things these children have achieved— but instead they used that opportunity to sexualize Empress and make fat jokes with Cassie.

The Superboy series has a heck of a lot going on, and I’m genuinely not sure if the writers know about any of it.  Like, there are some very fascinating stories being told about child celebrities, clone rights, urban housing, identity... but they almost all feel like accidental side-effects of writers trying to tell a story about a “cool teen”. 

The Impulse series, on the other hand, frequently knows exactly what it’s trying to say and does a fantastic job saying it.  A more general read of Flash comics is definitely going on my list, because I love Bart and Max.  

All in all, an interesting and fun bit of reading.  I’m starting in on the 2003 Teen Titans, so we’ll see where things go from here.

[evansbby]

Omg yeah I don’t even think I thought of him killing her because I was so devastated with the last segment of the book, but you’re so right. I’m sorry if I’m a little fuzzy on the details lol, I literally read it right when it came out because I saw that it had dropped (so 2 years ago now I think…)

But yes, idk like I read the book many years after I had read the Hunger Games, so the monstrosity of Snow wasn’t as fresh in my mind (all I had memories of was the blood roses and his weird threats to Katniss, and obviously yeah his whole endorsement of Panem and the Hunger Games). But it was endlessly fascinating to get the backstory of all of that, how any of this had started, how his family was one of the destitute elites clinging to symbols of wealth to keep their reputation as an old money/power family. I guess seeing him as a child and then young adult made me see the pressures that he was under, growing up in a society that prioritized and rewarded grit, defining it as this winning quality that was pretty much comprised of always choosing yourself, keeping up appearances, and sacrificing other people out of necessity (but at what point do they realize they’re doing it out of a sick joy, not reluctance).

So yeah, those moments with Lucy, I completely agree, I don’t remember the specifics, but I remember thinking that this person hardened by the world he grew up in was inexplicably drawn to the light of a person who insisted on being herself, optimistic and eccentric and weird and a songbird in a world where evil and cruelty and being cutthroat was celebrated. She was the antidote to that society, and in all their moments together, I couldn’t help but hope that somehow she would change him, because they were so clearly in love. I almost put the fact that I knew how he ended up in the back of my mind, and let myself fall in love with their love. So yeah, when that scene happened and he left her behind…… idk but it literally felt like some piece of my heart breaking off and shattering in my chest. It was all these pinpricks of hope that love would be enough, her love and innate goodness would heal him and break apart the stirring seeds of malevolence in his heart. But obviously, it was never going to be enough. That book genuinely messed my heart up lol, sent me back to being like love is truly dead lmao (I’m better now)

Anyways I did not mean to turn this into a long ass review but I am so fucking excited you read this book!!!!!!!!!!!! Because I was so hype when I read it when it came out and so upset because literally no one was talking about it like where were all the hunger games fans????????? And I texted my friends about Lucy and snow and the heartbreak and recommended it to them but they didn’t read it so anyways I’ve literally been saving up this angst and have yet to organically come across a single person who even knows about this book. It hits different and it’s amazing and I’m done now and sorry for throwing this unhingedness in your inbox 🫠

majorly agree with all of this! and im still reeling from the book tbh, like there’s sooo much i wanna add to this but I just can’t find the words! I too have no one to talk to about this! None of my closest friends are readers! And exactly, the fact that Snow’s love was NEVER going to be enough and we as the reader know this is just… wow. I really really wanted him to change, be better. In the end, I wanted Lucy Gray to somehow outsmart him, get the best of him. Well, she didn’t but at least she found out the truth about him before she died. And you’re right about the feeling of your heart shattering… like I was reading it in a Starbucks bc I was running errands and I didn’t have the patience to go home and when I finished it I literally just sat there staring into space. That last scene by the lake haunts me. How Snow just… betrayed and left behind and killed the two people who loved him most: Sejanus and especially Lucy Gray. HE LOVED HER. But it wasn’t a pure love and it wasn’t enough 😭❤️

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Important context highlighted. I've had some very lovely conversations on that platform, but uhhhhhh there's definitely quite a few people who slept through English class. Or got all their knowledge from vague cultural osmosis, rather than the original source(s). WRT 40k, and Gman in particular, there's a constant barrage of "Guilliman is such a goody-goody two shoes!"--both from people who hate him and people who love him. They all think he's a hero, but he's not. He is a slightly better person than some of the other primarchs, but given that "some of the other primarchs" includes dudes who skin people for funsies, that bar is so low the devil is stepping over it.

I love Guilliman dearly. I was first introduced to him in the Dark Imperium trilogy, and the complexity of the character hooked me like cocaine. Guilliman is a very ideologically motivated character. He genuinely wants to be The Good Guy, and he usually thinks of himself as The Good Guy. But when you look at what he's actually doing and saying...Well. See above. Dark Imperium is especially notable because he spends big chunks of the books rethinking his past actions and perspectives, trying to figure out where he went wrong, even as he continues making the same mistakes. It makes for a very flawed, contradictory character, and I find the resulting complexity endlessly fascinating.

So to see all his rough edges smoothed off, to see him reduced to "the sensible, reasonable primarch" by his fans and haters alike--well, it gets my dander up.

I posted an analysis of a section from Dark Imperium on Reddit that I'm quite proud of, so I'm reposting it here:

‘Some of the worlds dispute the proof. They are more than glad to welcome our warriors, but the Imperial governors in two dozen systems quibble over reaffirming their oaths of loyalty. In one case, we have had an outbreak of intra-system civil war over the issue, where one lord has declared for you and three against. Some lie outright, telling us they were never part of Ultramar. Perhaps some of them sincerely believe it. A few are braver and insist the ancient treaties cannot be revoked, even by you, my lord, and are determined to retain their independence.’ ‘They are wrong,’ said Guilliman. […] 'They are… disquieted by the fate of some of their peers.’ ‘Only those who rule poorly have anything to fear,’ said Guilliman. ‘It is, naturally, the more autocratic rulers who oppose your rescinding of their independence.’ ‘Then they only delay the inevitable,’ said Guilliman. ‘They will fall into line and ask politely for mercy, or they will be executed.’ […] ‘I should never have set the Five Hundred free,’ he said. ‘My lord?’ said Ventris. ‘I should not have done it,’ repeated Guilliman. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was following the Emperor’s wishes, letting men rule the affairs of men.’

A lot of people look at this passage and think they’re seeing Guilliman clean up corruption in the 500 Worlds. I’m sure he will, but that’s not what’s happening here. This is an autocrat ruthlessly crushing resistance.

Why are these worlds resisting? Ventris claims that “naturally” the more autocratic rulers are the most resistant. Perhaps that’s true, but we also have to take into account that he is an Ultramarine talking to his genesire; he will be heavily biased in thought and word against Guilliman’s enemies. Look closer at how he describes the resisters. They invoke ancient treaties to justify their independence. They’re afraid of what will happen if they surrender. Using that information, let’s flip the chessboard and try to imagine what these demands feel like from their perspective:

You’re a human ruler. For the past ten thousand years, your planet has existed free of transhuman rule. You might even have the original treaty that granted your planet’s independence. You almost certainly regard yourself as an obedient subject of the Imperium.

All of a sudden, one of the legendary demigods of yore shows up on your doorstep and demands you to bend the knee. He doesn’t care about your treaties (which he probably signed!) or historic independence or anything. Ugly things happen to people who go against him. Oh sure, he claims that you’ll be fine, so long as you haven’t done anything wrong, but do you really believe that? You’re a ruler in the fucking Imperium. You know just how potential claimants are handled; you know how often misdeeds get dug out of the closets of inconvenient politicians. Shit, you've probably done that yourself to your political rivals. Do you really think that you’ll be okay? And if you actually care about your planet, can you really trust him to give a damn about the lives of your people? Transhumans do tend to be aloof creatures convinced in their own superiority…

Guilliman doesn’t consider any of these possibilities, not even for the purposes of negotiation. Guilliman doesn’t care. He’s right, you’re wrong, and therefore he’s justified in doing whatever it takes to make you comply. This is 40k. “Whatever it takes” includes cyclonic torpedoes.

The most damning part IMO are Guilliman’s words at the end. He didn’t grant these worlds their liberty because he trusted humans to look after themselves. He granted them liberty in obedience to Dad. Humans’ thoughts, beliefs, and opinions never entered the equation. And now, coming back to the Imperium at its lowest point, he concludes that it was a mistake to give humans the benefit of the doubt.

The Imperium lasted ten thousand years under human rule. It survived the Great Beast, twelve Black Crusades, the Nova Terra civil war, the False Primarch, the Age of Apostasy, three Tyranid Wars, and Throne knows what else—not just survived, but even thrived in many cases. Under transhuman rule, the Imperium lasted six fucking years before it exploded into civil war that nearly destroyed the whole empire and even the galaxy itself. But it was a mistake to let humans rule themselves. Riiiiiiiiight.

[mister13eyond]

Ngl tho, the "why do you as an adult care about what minors say all the time" arguments feel so disingenuous to me

Like, spreading misinformation about sex and kinks gets a pass just because it's a minor who's spreading it? Or when an adult is being accused of heinous crimes over their fanfics, they should just suck it up because the ones accusing them just so happen to be minors? This is so tiring. I just can't look at those arguments in good faith

That's reasonable! I think there's a threshold of reasonable push back you can and SHOULD give when people in fandom are spreading misinformation or mass harassing fan creators, regardless of age. I think it's always within reason to stand up against that and to put your foot down and refuse to allow bullying and harassment to happen in your circle or to make it clear that kind of shit is harmful and often entirely constructed on misinformation and falsehoods.

I think I've also just seen so many accounts (on Twitter, mostly, because it's a hellsite) where it seems like they're just... spending every. Single. Day. Immersed in bad takes, QRT-ing some stupid opinion a teenager has, constantly talking about antis, constantly engaged in arguments with antis, and it hits a threshold where it's like.... are you doing this because you care about freedom of expression and exploring dark or troubling topics in safe spaces anymore? Or do you just like to argue? I care a LOT about these things and I think the current puritanical pushback against queer sexuality and kink is definitely harmful and actively hurts people, but oh my god, sometimes I see people who spend every single day hunting down bad anti takes and I have to wonder when the last time they had FUN in fandom was. Like... I think there's this idea that we're fighting the good fight by arguing against these things, and I ALSO want to make sure that we have spaces safe to do so and knowledge on how these are perfectly healthy and human ways to explore subjects we would never want to encounter in real life, but once it gets to "hunting down and QRT-ing some 15 year olds bad take" it honestly just spreads those ideas to a BIGGER audience by broadcasting them, even in the form of debunking, you know?

I guess it's just a matter of, like, balance? It's so so bad for ANYONE online to constantly immerse themselves in things that upset them. That's a real problem with puritanical circles- they're constantly constantly immersed in these things they say are triggering or upsetting, and therefore go on the attack and harm people over fiction- but the opposite can be true too. Immersing yourself in a constant flood of abusive language, baseless accusations, misinformation and harassment because you are "fighting it" is bad for you! You can't spend all your time doing that, or it becomes a kind of self-harm, you know?

I will definitely admit I'm biased by my own perspective, but I will say anecdotally- I spent a good chunk of my earlier time in fandom neck-deep in the "proship vs anti" trenches and I felt... pretty consistently miserable. I was only following people who were proship, and I thought seeing bad anti takes deconstructed and taken down would make it better and more cathartic to follow these arguments, but it got to the point where every single day I was exposed to the idea that someone out there likely thought absolutely horrible things about me based on what I read/write/draw. I felt super paranoid and really scared of even creating things at all, anticipating I'd get dog piled at any moment... Eventually I realized a small handful of accounts were the ones CONSTANTLY giving traffic and attention to these harmful posts & ideas (in the form of debunking them/arguing back against them) and I unfollowed or blocked as needed to focus instead on, like. Actually just DOING the things I thought would make fandom better? Sharing kink fics or art, sharing my headcanons that could be heavier or more troubling, etc. And I have to say it feels A HUNDRED times better. I know there's still a lot of misinformation and harm out there, but I feel like it's so much more productive to me to simply... provide a good example to the alternative? To go 'hey, I'm one of those people who make and read the kinds of things that everyone says are horrible and make me a bad person.' while also doing my best to consistently be kind, supportive, communicative and show that I am in fact a happy healthy adult with good relationships and good support and people who love me? So that I can simply, focus on the positive side of what fandom and all its weird kinks and weird fiction have given me! Because these things ARE very much something that's brought a lot of positive things into my life.

Sorry, I didn't mean to soap box! I think you have a really good point- a lot of the time those arguments ARE in bad faith and are thrown at anyone who exhibits even a moment of pushback against harassment or harm just because it's coming from a minor. I just think there's also a really toxic side of the "constantly in arguments on the internet" subset of people who really need to step back and try and give themselves some healthy breathing room and cut off the onslaught of 24/7 exposure to abuse and misinfo 😔

[eldritch-spouse]

Could you maybe list some things bregg likes? Does he have hobbies? Kinks? Daydreams? Favorite food? This man has been in my head for like 3 days now (if you don't want to write this I'm totally okay with that)

[Hold on hold on- Let me- *stumbles over notes* Shit fuck-]

General likes:

Very sappy human entertainment among the lines of cheesy novellas, romantic comedies, dramas and even some trashy reality shows that fascinate him endlessly (*cough* 90 Day Fiancé);

Also, romance songs, get ready to have him mumble the oldies;

On that note, he has a little bit of trouble reading properly but he does collect strange magazines, monster and human ones alike, even if his favorites are the gossip human ones. He has no idea who most celebrities are, Breg just likes to see reputations burn;

As someone who spent the vast majority of his youth inside a facility, Breg despises monotony and loves anything that involves vivid colors or excitement. He's not an artist, but he enjoys decorating things, adding personality to living spaces, adding a personal touch to anything and everything he can;

On that same vein, he likes to exercise regularly and keep himself busy. As hilarious as it is to picture it, Breg would probably dig those high-effort dance classes at the gym. He gets really into the songs.

Hobbies:

Cooking. Listen... It's a work in progress, okay? Breg needs to learn a whole lot before he can serve a presentable meal that involves more than three steps, but he's nothing if not determined. And hungry. Very hungry. He hopes he can make sweets for you one day, and he most definitely wants a cheesy apron;

Singing. Privately, that is. Breg will probably choke up and crack immediately the moment he's caught singing by anyone. He used to hum a lot when he had nothing to do in his cell;

Learning. Breg doesn't have very many hobbies yet, and most of this is due to the fact that he hasn't had enough time to discover more aspects of society or leisure activities. He spends a good amount of his free time just absorbing whatever he can like a sponge. Even if it's misinformation.

Favorite food:

In spite of being pretty carnivorous, Breg has a strange affinity for fruits and loves pineapple particularly. Fruit salads are genuinely some of his favorite meals ever. He's not very picky though, aside from hating spices.

Daydreams:

Predictably, his biggest daydream is of living happily ever after with the object of his obsession, you. Disney style, you know? In spite of it not being possible, Breg often likes to picture the two of you having biological children and theorizing about what they might look like (not pretty, I'll just tell you here and now);

Along those lines, Breg would love to live surrounded by nature, so as to reconnect with all the opportunities to see the world he was denied of during youth. He'll settle for a yard where he can plant all sorts of things;

In a not so positive note, Breg does occasionally have very resentful, vicious daydreams of tearing people who remind him of his "captors" asunder in soul-shattering ways. This monster refuses to enter a hospital without throwing a massive fit. He better be dying if you're going to drag him there.

Kinks:

I will answer this on another ask, please wait a little <3.

[divinetheatre]

Why Did Hannibal Let Bella Slap Him?

hannibal and bella’s relationship endlessly fascinates me because it is so much different than every other relationship that hannibal has on the show. one of the scenes between them that intrigues me the most is when bella slaps him after waking up in the hospital alive, her suicide attempt thrwarted by hannibal. bella slapping hannibal seems uncharacteristic of hannibal to take on the surface. he’s killed people for less. insulting him is enough to wind up on his dinner table. i think the reason that he lets bella slaps him is because he truly does feel a form of guilt for saving her (also uncharacterstic of hannibal). let me explain. 

as i said, bella and hannibal’s relationship is different than every other relationship hannibal has. he purposefully seeks out people who are prone to violence and seeks to influence them to act on those urges. when hannibal meets bella, however, she is already dying. she offers no indication of wanting to hurt others. in fact, the first time she meets hannibal, she refuses to even partake in a meal in which an animal may have been killed inhumanely. bella’s only inclination towards destruction is against herself which she candidly explains to hannibal when she tells him she doesn’t want chemotherapy. i think for hannibal this is the perfect opposite of people who are prone to violence against others -- violence against the self as an inverted expression of what he wants to bring out in people. he tells bella that death is a cure, and he genuinely believes this is true. for will, death of others is the cure. for bella, the death of herself. 

jack’s relationship with hannibal is also important here. hannibal has been playing with jack for years, taunting him and evading him. he wants jack’s ire against the chesapeake ripper, otherwise, he would not be of any use to hannibal. just like his patients, hannibal would like to see jack give into his darker urges, even if they are steeped in righteous judgement. he also wants to see how low jack can be brought by bella’s eventual death. he makes himself a friend to jack by being there for him constantly when jack first finds out about bella’s cancer. while commiserating with him, he’s also digging his thumb into the wound if you listen carefully enough to their interactions. almost every time they talk about bella, hannibal brings up her eventual death (”now death has followed you home,” “when bella is gone you will feel her absence like a draft,” etc.) i’m certain that he wondered if jack would eventually assist bella in her suicide. 

so when hannibal saves bella, he’s making a choice between two sides of a coin, literally represented by the coin he flips before saving her. on one side, he sees bella’s suicide as her ultimate becoming. on the other side, jack assisting her is as close to his ultimate becoming as hannibal will get him (after all, he can’t even kill hannibal in contorno when he has him beaten). at his and jack’s breakfast meal the morning after bella’s attempt, hannibal tells jack, “it wasn’t what i couldn’t do for bella. it’s what i couldn’t do to you.” translation: i was perfectly happy to let bella die, but i could not take away the opportunity from you of helping her. hannibal’s desire to have jack help bella is also shown in mizumono. bella tells him, “you saved me for jack,” and “you moved my meaning.” yes, hannibal saved bella for jack. her new meaning is that jack will have to live with the fact that he euthanized his beloved wife for the rest of his life. this was the side of the coin that hannibal chose because although he had to wait longer for it, both desires eventually became true -- bella died and jack helped her. however, i think he did feel a form of guilt for making bella wait. he wanted for her what she wanted for herself, and for the time, he was unable to give it to her. being unable to swiftly complete his plan of care for someone is disappointing for him, hence him telling jack, “i guess i am a better friend than therapist.” he chose his “friendship” with jack over his “treatment” of bella. so when she slaps him, he takes it. he can’t hold it against her when he feels bad for withholding her cure from her. 

[0rb0t]

Absolutely love it. Absolutely love watching him get better, and still wanting him to DO better despite all the backsliding. Like I maintain that it is a actually vastly accurate, and visceral and ugly but realistic depiction of the process of healing from trauma, of the work that's required to be put in in order to grow and change into a better person, and not out of some "it's the right thing to do" but the idea that truth that you will feel better if you take care of yourself, and we see what taking care of yourself means, and the forms it takes. Rick genuinely looking out for his family is a form of taking care of himself, because he's getting to a point cognitively where the well being of his family is also important to his own well-being.

There's also a lot of resistance and pain and feeling like he's doing worse because growing out of bad habits that were comforting for so long feels terrifying and awful, and you will feel alone especially if you've caused tons of harm with how you used to act. But Rick actually isn't alone, and his family not deferring to him anymore isn't actually the L he at first thinks it is, it's an opportunity to embrace vulnerability, to join in on the family, to learn about them and lighten his grip on the wheel.

It is absolutely fascinating and heartwarming to watch him get better and do better, especially because of how ugly and visceral the process is. I'll forever adore it. I wish more people watched the goddamn pickle rick episode cause it's such a beautiful metaphor for avoidance and mental health. SAME WITH THE PISSMASTER EP! This show is always about using ridiculous premises in order to make its point.

Dudebros who get angry at seeing Rick change and claim that the show is bad now are stuck in that rut of thinking that human connection and love are failings because they keep failing at them, but in reality, they're terrified of looking past their ego and accepting vulnerability. They may have tried it and it didn't work out immediately and the back slide was too hard to fight through, but I wish they would.

This show is honestly one of my favourites to come back to, I'm endlessly blown away by it. Ricklantis Mixup is still one of my absolute favorite episodes.

I've probably posted about this before, but it fascinates me how other shows with dudebro followings make the protagonist increasingly worse until he's a sociopathic monster. The message is "This is who you think you are! This is who you're worshipping! You are literally the person that the writers are criticizing!"

Rick and Morty is still ongoing, but as of right now, it's gone in the opposite direction by increasingly making Rick everything that the bros hate. The message is more of "He's nothing like you! None of you are 'the real life Rick!' You missed the entire point of the show! We're going to make him nicer, and what are you going to do about it?"