#the joke is not good enough to be repeated ad nauseum like this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kob131 · 4 years ago

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4DPZGlNP8I

I was watching MangaKamen’s video deconstructing Cvit’s Persona 5: Style Over Substance video and I...I just couldn’t watch it. Basically, Kamen’s own videos on RWBY and Cvit’s Persona 5 video are way too similar (in that both make logical fallacies just to avoid their assumptions.) So, despite covering this briefly, I’ll do it in full here.

And if MangaKamen himself sees this: You can’t keep responding to people, criticizing them for stuff that you do yourself. I literally couldn’t listen to your video on Cvit because of the hypocrisy. Stick to your own standards: people respect you more for it.

P.S. Don’t create a circlejerk in the reblogs and replies. I do not have the patience for it today.

Before I begin, I should point out a small bit of hypocrisy. In his “Cvit Doesn’t Understand Video”, he complains about an influx of videos all about going into unnecessary details about how X things suck, calling it the ‘Joseph Anderson effect.’ I bring this up because one of the videos he brings up is The Cosmonaut Variety Hour’s video on Kingdom Hearts (which is, being generous, 22 minutes.) MangaKamen’s video is, again generously, 38 minutes. And I do mean generaously because I automatically rounded up Cosmonaut’s and rounded down Kamen’s videos. I don’t think he should be complaining about that.

While you could argue he was also complaining about the title as well: A. Kamen’s first RWBY video was literally titled “Whats Wrong With RWBY?!” with a title saying “Here’s why RWBY Sucks” in big bold letters. B. His video makes fun of people who are there to disagree with his title and nothing else and C. I watched Cosmonaut’s video on Kingdom Hearts: He’s actually more positive towards Kingdom hearts 3 than Kamen is to RWBY.

This is a small microcosism of he issue with his hypocrisy: it ends up affecting the quality of other videos too.

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His first section is on ‘contrivances’ or ‘things that happen in a story that don’t make sense’. Before he even gives a true example, we run into yet another problem with Kamen. In his explanation, Kamen mocks the scene were Jaune gets hit on by the mothers of the kids he’s helping with an image of Miles Luna saying ‘Remember, NOT a self-insert!’.

Issue? The episode wasn’t written by Miles Luna, it was written by Eddy Rivas. How do I know?

The episode says so. This is especially egregious because he chews Cvit out for just typing in “Persona 5 sucks” into google and saying a certain source popped up...and yet typing in “Miles Luna Jaune Arc Self Insert” would actually bring up something that outright shows Miles is self conscious about Jaune to the point of avoiding his scenes (https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/7x3w4s/crwby_ama_w_miles_luna_kerry_shawcross_and_paula/du5dnc6/?context=3). So while Cvit may have been looking for evidence instead of thinking critically: he at least took the effort of doing a search result whereas Kamen probably made an on the spot decision with no sources whatsoever. Combine this with the fact this is not the first time he’s taken potshots at Miles and you have an effectively WORSE version of what he says Cvit did.

“But this is just a joke!” Yeah, and Sham-Amon was a joke about M. Night Shamalyan by Doug Walker. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t an insult and was correct (Shamalyan was actually a reason why the Airbender movie even RESEMBLED the cartoon.) That doesn’t make this okay, especially since I know a similar ‘joke’ towards someone he’s a fan of would get you a video made on you.

Now onto one of his examples: He says it makes no sense for Robyn to be allowed to run for Atlas’ council because ‘she is stealing supplies from the government.’ Issue is: judging by the footage he’s using, he’s talking about Volume 7 Episode 5 “Sparks” where Robyn created a blockade and stopped a supply truck Qrow, Clover, Penny and Ruby were on. She never actually makes a move to steal the supplies in the episode though. While you could argue it wwas implied because she had people behind them hiding behind camoflague-

In his Cvit video, he criticized the guy for saying that we don’t know how long Futaba’s friend was abused by her parents when Cvit makes the argument that the friend was abused for over a decade, never entertaining other possibilities. You know, what he does. (P.S. Sparks is the same episode with the Jaune-Mothers ‘joke’.)

He uses this faulty and hypocritical point to jump off into how it would be a bad look for her to steal from the government even if it was for a good cause and that most government prevent people from running because of this. See, not only is this still based on a point even Kamen would argue is not enough- The context in the scene (that Mantle hates Atlas government and Robyn’s platform is based off that discontent...Huh) would show that even if she was stealing, it would HELP her image. As for the ‘governments prevent people convicted of theft for running for office’- She hasn’t stolen anything yet STILL. Also, in his Cvit video, he complains about a point where Cvit’s source edited out preceding text to make the phrasing of a certain textbox look extremely awkward. So again, hypocrisy.

Then we have...another shitty joke. A really bad one too. It’s the scene with Weiss and Winter talking the training room with the audio taken out and speech bubbles that say ‘Why are we just staring at each other?’ ‘I dunno...just to look cool?’. Not only is this blatantly not what is happening (you can tell their heads are bobbing from talking), I literally cannot take this ‘joke’ any other way than a malicious potshot at the show. It doesn’t function any other way. I’m trying to be calm and concise but this stuff really harms any benefit of doubt I can give.

His next point is-Oh god damnit, the fucking Penny frame up AGAIN. You know what is more frustrating than a shitty point? A shitty point repeated ad nauseum. Before Kamen even made this video, I had already argued every single perspective of this. There’s literally nothing new he can give?

Security? We never see how Tyrian got in and considering his immense agility and stealth: he could snuck in or hid in the warehouse.

Fanaus night vision? Not all Fanaus have night vision and most of the crowd was seen trying to rush out of the warehouse (during a scene Kamen shows no less). He also says the show alludes to Atlas being a racially biased system...even though Jacques Schnee says he pays all his workers equally (AKA he treats all his workers like shit.)

Scrolls? Again, most of the people are shown trying to run away and no one who remains is said to have brought their scrolls.

Break in the argument for a smug laugh even though all he’s done is repeat other people’s failed arguments. (Issue with either being bitch basic with your arguments or copying others? I’ll have fought the issue long before you make it.)

Ends with saying “When the lights come back on, there’s no blood on Penny’s blades!” (Cognitive bias against Atlas. Like say, calling a character a self insert over a scene that wasn’t written by the person.)

He goes onto say that this is just the latest example of contrived writing but because his points are all faulty, it doesn’t come across as contrived: it comes across as normal but Kamen is too focused on making everything look as bad as possible.

“But what about Robyn’s Semblance?!”

I dunno, why do people say that the Covington Catholic kids are still racist when we have proof otherwise? Cognitive bias is a thing. Robyn wouldn’t try testing this (even assuming she COULD since it would be logical Penny just ran off after this in fear) because it al ready confirms her own biases.

His whole temper tantrum here is all based on around pure logic...something he himself has argued against in media. This thing goes on and on and it just test my paitence and gives me more and more reason to assume Kamen isn’t just missing info, he’s indulging in willful ignorance.

Then we have him bitching about Yang and Blake telling Robyn what is going on and how it’s contrived that they would think that Robyn was on their side since she hasn’t done anything good. Issue? This is all based on KAMEN’S perspective. A perspective that, at best, is heavily biased against Robyn.

Thing is, Robyn’s thefts (which began AFTER he said they did) were to help repair the break in Mantle’s wall protecting them from the Grimm, something Team RWBY agrees with. Of course they’d assume Robyn is a good guy since she’s acting in the interests of the people, something they do as well. Robyn’s only bad when you completely ignore how James brushes over the current struggles of the people is elected to protect and serve in order for his bigger picture, a method they don’t agree with. Something the show is showing isn’t a good idea as people see him as uncaring and unfeeling to their struggles.

“But Ironwood has been helping them!”

Cool. That has nothing to do with him alienating his own allies through his paranoia, causing Yang and Blake try and make peace with Robyn themselves. There’s also the fact that the team should be opposing this. After all, it’s the same thing Ozpin did to them and they chewed him out over it. And unlike with the lying to Ironwood, there would be no hints that this hypocrisy would be intended by the showrunners. So Kamen is literally advocating for bad writing here.

This was added in post edit by the way so the man literally shoved in a point that does nothing but push the theory he is biased without ever considering what is necessary in the show. Even though he demands it from others. It’s really inconsistent. Dare I say...the standards are contrived?

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Next is the ‘design work’ part. He’s says this is gonna be positive for a moment and it does lack his usual malice. Doesn’t mean it’s good.

He criticizes the designs of the main cast besides Ruby. He says that Blake’s design now emphasizes the color white despite supposedly being black before. Issue is that her alternate Vol.2 and Vol.4 designs also emphasized the color white and her original design has equal part black and white. Weiss’s is supposedly that her dark blue dominates her design and is too busy to be elegant. Issue is that it’s only on the jacket and it’s mostly the same color as her previous design (even having more white.) As for being elegant: I could definitely argue it goes for a military-esque elegance. And Yang is...too brown? Uh...her original outfit was dominated by being brown.

He praises Ruby’s for still having it’s red coloring but...it’s too red. Her original design was actually closer to being goth than Blake’s and was mostly black with bright red frills and her signature cloak. And her hair has drastically changed, like he complained about with Blake. He really shouldn’t be giving Ruby a pass here.

I have nothing to say about his point ‘they’re all too busy.’ I feel like any side I take will be too heavily influenced by my own feelings at this point.

He complains about the logic behind the long fabrics being easy to grab onto and says that because they justified the new outfits with ‘it’s cold’ they should listen here. Issue- Not only are these two different trains of logic but by his own arguments, he should be arguing for all of them to wear white and wear bulky armor since that’s logical as well, following his logic. He doesn’t set what the limit should be.

Honestly this whole part is just kind of fluff. A lot of nothing was said and kind of feels like it was put in just to make the argument ‘Well I said something nice about RWBY!’

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Next up is ‘consistency’. ... Oh god.

“Aura was rewritten!’ He never cites what happened here but I know this dance so well I could get paid for it. Aura has always been a thing you needed to activate, back in Volume 1 where Jaune was cut by a branch and Pyrrha said ‘why don’t you use your aura?’. The supposed inconsistency comes from WOR: Aura saying it was passive even though certain definitions and uses of passive work under these examples. He also says that people cant use their Semblances when they run out of Aura but they still do, citing that old example of Yang’s Aura flickering in her character short. Flickering, not breaking. Meaning she still has Aura.

He also adds in that point about the WOR Atlas saying that the cold of Solitas killed the Grimm. While they are depicted as freezing here, it should be noted that the Grimm have been known to evolve and adapt. Meaning they could have easily evolved to withstand the cold. Again, editing out context which he says is bad.

“Hey, Miles. Kerry. You ever gonna acknowledge what you showed in the World of Remnant again these days?”

Dunno, are you ever gonna acknowledge what you say in your own videos? Glass houses Kamen.

I also find it funny that he calls out the ‘it’s just a cartoon!’ thing out of nowhere on a tangent even as he previously blocked me over this. Apparently contrivance is okay if it can be used as a shield. And if he has a problem with this, look over your videos not even just the RWBY ones You have said harsher- deal with it.

He goes onto criticize the argument of not all Fanaus have night vision because of specific moments...with Blake and Sun, only two Fanaus. In fact, the first example has him say that Blake and Sun used their night vision to escape a White Fang meeting. ... White Fang. Fanaus. He’s trying to argue that this is a case of Blake and Sun having night vision to contrast when she apparently ‘doesn’t’ but never notices that his own argument kind of confirms what the show said.

Then we have his other example of Blake against Illa were she couldn’t see Illa. A chameleon Fanaus. With camoflague. Where lighting up the room would alter how the colors look to see her more easily. ....

This whole point was about how the show doesn’t give strict rules to the Fanaus night vision, even though other shows with more fundamental powers (as in, the thing their premise is based on) bend these rules (like MHA with so many Quirks not being related to their physiology or Jojo bending every single Stand rule) for their plot. This isn’t directly bad as he says it is and he never emphasizes why anyone should care other than the strawman of ‘STRICT RULES!’ even as his own favorites don’t follow that.

He also says there’s no repercussions for the Penny cover up since he says it was to cause a riot to attract the Grimm but the Grimm disappear and people are being arrested for their rioting in the next episode. ... The Grimm don’t invade until Episode 9. He’s talking about Episode 7. The arrest was for breaking curfew that Ironwood imposed afterwards to due the discontent from Jacques winning. Then we have the fact that Penny’s frame up leads to Robyn actually stealing supplies, which leads to Yang and Blake telling her about Amity, which leads to Ironwood’s paranoia taking over. So you know...kind of some of the biggest repercussions in the show.

I also remember he said it was to frame Penny in his contriavances section...which makes no sense if it was meant to cause a riot directly afterward. In trying to callout inconsistencies that don’t exist, he became inconsistent himself.

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Next part is “Don’t Show, Never Show”. .... How professional.

He begins by bitching at other people for misrepresenting his arguments about the Fanaus and how their oppression isn’t well shown. ... After he’s personally attacked the creators over a subject one of them is innocent and self conscious of and will mock that person for mocking his critics. Classy.

“Jacques is Orange Man bad stand-in-”

A. He never mentions anything about securing Atlas’ borders and in fact wants to OPEN them.

B. He’s never talked about making Atlas great or appealing to any sort of false patriotism.

C. He opposes the military whereas Trump supports them.

D. He has no slogans for his campaign, especially none like Trump’s/

E. He isn’t colluding with foreign powers aside from a generic bad guy orgnazation with no connections to the countries Trump is accused of.

F. Jacques being a slimy business man was made before Trump came into the presidency.

And G. Robyn Hill only connections to Hilarily Clinton is a gender and half a name (a name that is actually rather common in real life). In fact, considering her position is all about distrust in the government and appealing to the common man- She’s a closer stand in for TRUMP than Hilarlily.

Again, argument’s been made a thousand times, beaten it a thousand times.

His overall point is that Jacques is said to be a terrible parent but not shown, using the line from “This Life is Mine” ( Amazing how you conquered me, Chained me in servility) before going on to say that he ‘let her go to a different school’ (he was forced to), ‘Do whatever she wants so long as it doesn’t affect his business and reputation’ (contradicted by cutting her off, trying to limit her actions because of her ignoring his calls even though that does not affect his business or reputation), ‘spending his money at Beacon until she ignores his calls’ (finical abuse 101) and ‘she embarrassed him at a party by assaulting one of the guests.’

... The woman was outright mocking the people she knew, the ‘assault’ was an accidental summon, Jacques was trying to prevent her from just getting away from him, Jacques pressured her into singing for him despite her discomfort and never once tries to talk to his daughter like a person or calm her down, instead trying to silence her. All of THIS without getting his physical intimidation of grabbing her and slapping her, which is what Kamen strawmans the response being. Also ignoring what he did AFTER the slap, effectively trapping her in her room and spreading the idea she was unstable to save his image.

No amount of money matters here, ignoring once again that he tried withholding it once she acted outside what he wanted. That is the ‘chains of servility’ and I know you wouldn’t argue this outside RWBY. You’d be calling this ignorant beyond acception, Kamen.

“The worst examples of Jacques’ abuse happen outside the-”

Jacques’ worst abuse was being trapped in her own room for calling out the callousness of people smack talking a tragedy she went through. This is effectively mocking a war in front of a veteran then locking them in the basement while telling everyone they’re coocoo. That is in the show, stop trying to blame other materials THAT DO NOT EXIST just to appeal to a common compliant (about supplemental materials in RWBY).

“Well Winter abuses Weiss!”

So let me get this straight. A small smack on the back of the head before asking about her personal life to show she cares about Weiss (another example of cutting context) is at all comparable to abuse of parental power, controlling Weiss like a puppet and locking her up? What was your definition of contrivance and consistency again?

“Can I go off on a tangent?”

No. You have not earned that right. You have far exceeded any patience I should have given you. The fact I am STILL HERE is too much and I should just throw the rest of the video in that garbage dumb your delusion of the writing is. But I will STILL give you chance.

P.S. You use HBomberguy as an example? Even though one of the videos you chewed out in your Persona video (’Steven Universe is Garbage and Here’s Why’) is BASED OFF his work? So what? His hours long shit talking is okay? And no, this is not

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His next segment is titled ... “Okay What Is This Shit I’m Actually Cratching My Head I’m So Dumbfounded And Confused AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

... You misspelled “Scratching”.

He says the Grimm Attack after Robyn’s failed election was handled off screen. That never existed and the Grimm attacked THREE EPISODE LATER and is handled on screen.

He says that Jacques being arrested makes no sense because Watts can control technology and should have used it disable the security cameras in the Schnee Manor. As he outright says, Willow hid those cameras and Watts HACKS technology and cannot hack what he DOES NOT KNOW EXISTS. It’s outright said BY THE SHOW and SHOWN that he cannot just magically control technology.

He also questions how Willow got those cameras in there, ignoring that Jacques DOES NOT HAVE OMNISCENCE. Why she did when she SAID it was to make sure he didn’t abuse her kids. When doesn’t fucking matter. It’s all pendantic bullcrap. You can apply this to any situation in media and I know Kamen would bitch about the show’s pacing if they did this because it would be boring as fuck.

He says that there was no foreshadowing that Willow set these cameras up which I would like to give...if not for the rest of his video which illustrates to me he would have made this point with or without foreshadowing.

“How come Robyn isn’t being arrested because she stole supplies?!”

A. Because you keep inferring she stole supplies BEFORE the election, I’ll have to assume it’s the same here and say SHE DIDN’T.

B. If you aren’t and have changed to saying AFTER the election: The show SHOWS YOU that they’ve been trying to arrest her. She’s been EVADING them.

C. If it’s at Jacques’ house: Remember what you said about image? Wanna guess how damaged Ol Jimmy’s image will be if he arrests his biggest critic while under suspicion of rigging the election against her AND being questioned for supposed abuse of power?

D. Gee, not like the heating system in an artic climate shut down, Jacques just got exposed for helping a KNOWN CRIMINAL TOO, The Grimm actually invade, they have to save all the people, things collapse between RWBY and Ironwood and a fuckton of other things of higher priority than one woman stealing supplies to fix something IRONWOOD HIMSELF SHOULD BE FIXING.

“Hur dur, Salem generic’

Says the Jojo and Yugioh fan. Say, how did your precious VRAINS turn out again hm?

“HEY, WHY NO RUBY TELL IRONWOOD AND TAKE RESPONBILITY?!”

Maybe because there’s a bunch of soulless abominations currently running amok in a city full of innocents so she should take responsibility as an official Huntress and do her damn job while the comparatively combat inept Oscar handle the non combat situation. Or did you want contrivance to work in your favor even though you’ve been proven to be a biased liar who will betray everything he stands in order to make a shit point about a flawed show he couldn’t criticize with a fucking guide on it?

“Why not have Ruby stand behind and say ‘I’ll catch up with you later’?-”

Because you’ll cut context and make her look irresponsible. Your suggestions mean NOTHING when you have proven that you have no honesty on the subject and will flip flop to suit yourself.

Also I love how you mock Mediaocrity4 for ‘treating his opposition as idiots’ as your fucking video STARTED and is littered with you doing JUST THAT. Fuck, I bet you’ll do JUST THAT with this post.

“Oh look at this character who has been shown as overly emotional, rash and prone to not thinking when mad act in line with her character how dumb!”

Gee, like say...., A shut in otaku making constant video game and anime references in, let’s say, a JRPG filled with these references?

Huh, guess you agree more with Cvit than you say.

“Dur, fistcuffs mean Jojo!”

Oh wait, Fist of the North Star did it first. And it’s a stable in most fighting anime. But hey, who cares in Kamen shanks Jojo in the back if it means lashing out against RWBY amirite?

“It’s like the context of the fights-”

Where the Ace Ops against RWBY are highly emotional, having felt betrayed by people they though as comrades and acting individually instead as duos or even as a team while all being people with shown emotional issues failing to defeat a far calmer and more developed team that have been working with them and are aware of their flaws?

Or that Clover tried to blindly follow Ironwood’s orders just as Qrow did in the past with Ozpin as the two characters heavily mirror each other, Qrow tried to fight Tyrian at first even as Clover attacked him and never actually helped Tyrian (in facting ATTACKING HIM at one point) after Clover tried arresting him in front of Robyn, someone known to do rash things when it comes to Ironwood?

I’m so glad you decided to FOR ONCE IN THIS ENTIRE, NEARLY FOURTY MINUTE VIDEO actually pay attention to the show and not the memes of the people who agree with you.

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“Conclusion”

‘Like I said in the Steven Universe Movie, I don’t let the fanabse dictate my opinion on something-’

Which is why there wasn’t a single original viewpoint, perspective, criticism, wording or even ‘jokes’, all shit ripped straight from the mouths of others. It’s all shit I’ve seen before by other people. If I absorbed even more of this bullshit, I’d probably be able to see exact wordings in here too, I am THAT certain you didn’t think about this for yourself.

If you did, you would have noticed that you were repeating the exact same mistakes you constantly criticize in others. You would have seen that you were making assumptions based on your preconceived notion of ‘RWBY bad’ and not what the show itself was doing. You would have seen the vidnictive smugness you decried MatPat over. You would have seen the immense hypocrisy you called out before. You would have stuck to what you called your principles.

You have the failures of your biggest targets in this very video. The bias and brain rot of Quinton Reviews, the hack job of MatPat, the manipulativeness of Verlsify, the sheer level of bullshit of Cvit. You burned every single standard you set for others here, you did every wrong thing you screamed about, you failed in the same ways as those you profited from criticizing. Again, because I said all this THE LAST TIME and yet you got WORSE.

You mock and belittle the creators even as you give them every reason to treat you like shit because even the worst they’ve done looks justified compared to what you pulled. ‘Oh they said that people being mean is so bad!’ says the man preying on his weakness. ‘Oh he’s shit talking his critics!’ says the open liar. ‘Oh the writing was done by platypuses!’ says the man who wants to be taken seriously. ‘Oh it’s just a joke!’ Says the man who bitched out MatPat over jokes.

And I guarantee you’ll cry foul at me if you ever find this, decrying me as just a salty RWBY fanboy. And this time, I’m not accepting any excuses. You HAD your chances.

4chan trolls are more respectable than you. They have principles and stick to them. Fanboys are more respectable than you. They don’t claim to be anything else. And yes, your targets are more respectable than you. Their channels aren’t based on hypocrisy THIS deeply rooted.

I regret ever watching you because you were clearly speaking out of your ass.

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Post-Edit:

So i edited a couple of my less explained points to get my issue across. Just saying this here so that no one accuses me of editing the source for malicious purposes.

As for why I didn’t rewrite the last two sections to remove my anger: that stays to prove a point. I had tried to stay neutral or at least calm throughout the video. But my frustrations just kept on building as you became increasingly smug and condescending, even though you called out such shit against others. I can’t even respect your arguments as arguments because considering the erratic nature of this video as well as how out of place some of them are (”Orange Man Bad”): it sounds like you just took every single compliant ever said about Volume 7 and threw it in.

You end all your videos saying ‘Examine Your Fandom’. Did you ever do that yourself?

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druddigoon · 4 years ago

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🎭, 💥, 👤, 🎼, 💣

doing this late at night so you get not-sober drud. not-sober drud is not sorry for his actions. (not actually drunk just. very sleepy)

🎭 - what do you prefer in media; innovation, characterization, narrative/plot, or symbolism/deeper themes?

definitely symbolism/deeper themes. i like the deep shit. i like the fics that not only give me engaging plot lines, characters, and portrayals but also completely reconstruct my idea of a certain aspect of the world, so i can walk away a wiser man. of course, i also like media with innovation, characterization, and/or narrative/plot. however i’d like everyone to know what symbolism is like drugs to me and you can lure me into an alleyway by whispering “wanna hear some symbolism” into my ear

💥 - if you’re comfortable, have you ever “broken out” of a dream? have you ever been aware of the past outcomes of a repeating dream while you were still in it?

sunhei u knew,,,i will talk about this on and on et cetera ad nauseum but for some reason i always wake up if i fall. it’s only if i fall down a certain height (a little more than two meters is the shortest i’ve seen it) and i’ve gotten good enough at identifying them that seeing one brings up a jolt of lucidity and “oh don’t fall down, you’ll wake up” even when my dream itself isn’t lucid. it’s kind of a pain bc my favorite thing to do in dreams is to fly--i can’t fly without falling and my dreams are assholes sometimes.

yeah i have a lot of lucid dreams and do exercises to remember my dreams because some of them are on crack sometimes. will talk about dreams for hours on end

👤 - if you’re comfortable, are you yourself in your dreams? what do you think this means?

not really, as i’ve mentioned my dreams are big assholes and a good chunk of them exist solely to call me out. no joke. they’re pretty brutal about it too

sometimes i get to be male and have everyone regard me as male in those dreams. sometimes i get to fly. those are few and far between but i will cherish them all

🎼 - what inspires you to do creative work? what makes you feel disheartened in your work?

writing and drawing are the only things i’ve developed in life that haven’t been dictated by my controlling parents/societal pressure, so they’re very much of a safe space for me. everything i write/draw is a testament to the freedom of expression

me being disheartened in my work is just my normal state of being tbh. something about setting expectations high enough that i’ll always fall short.

💣 - what makes you angry? do you feel like you are different when you are angry, or just amplified?

everything. everything and anything. it’s easier to control my temper behind a screen (though some people know i won’t even be able to do that) but i am an aggressive, short-tempered jerk irl and quarantine has not been helping things. just on edge constantly; i was writing directly from personal experience during bede’s train scene

as for angry me, well, i get tunnel vision a lot and angry me is just More Tunnel Vision And Bad Mistakes than usual i guess ;_;

#drudrambles #not-sober me wrote a lot goddamn #sober me is going to regret this

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

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I was the one who asked that last question about the light vs dark and i loved the answer you gave. I hope you don’t mind me asking another. What do you think makes the darkside so difficult to turn back from? Speaking from my own personal experience with mental illness (depression, anxiety, diagnosed anger issues. All of this from birth) in know that all those things can send a person to a very dark place. 1/

Not literally like with the force, but it can do that to anyone and it’s like doing a muscle man marathon to get out of it. It takes incredible strenth to dig yourself out of it and sometimes it’s easy to NOT want to get out of that suffering, painful state because you get so used to it. 2/

I subscribe to the idea that force sensitives constantly have enotions being filtered back at them, even their own which is why they all have to be in control of their their emotions, because if they let emotions like rage and hate and fear and pain and grief and all those things you frequently feel when dealing with those kinds of things, it gets reverted back at you and you are stuck in a cycle of all these negative things the dark side feeds on. 3/

Imagine dealing with all of that as a normal person and then having this echo chamber of it directed back at you and some, i’m guessing, semi-sentient dark side that feeds on that and tries to bring you down deeper. I think another part of it is 1.) Sunk Cost Fallacy and 2.) as you said about Anakin fir example: “well, i ate two cookies, might as well eat the whole bag”. 4/5

I’m sorry this turned out WAYY linger than i originally intended. I’d like to hear your thoughts (i always do) about maybe why the dark side is so hard to pull away from. 5/5

Oh hello again, friend! You ask such intriguing questions, thank you for stopping by!

First off, mental illness sucks and I am sorry that it is something you have had to contend with. I won’t profess to know exactly what you have gone through, but when I was a younger Lego, things got pretty dark for a while, so I do know of that bottomless pit to which you refer and the absolute wrenching struggle it is to dig one’s self out, tooth and nail.

Now, there are a few ideas at play in this question so I want to start with the idea you float about how Jedi feel emotions in the Force as a kind of feedback loop, make one or two detours before getting around to why it is so difficult to come back from the dark side.

“The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”

Yoda basically lays out the Force for us in ESB, describing as an invisible energy field that for me, resembles the way we describe the energy between (and in-between) molecules. And subscribe to the theory that all sentient are at least a little Force-sensitive, if they are able to lower their own barriers enough to listen for that heartbeat, that rhythm and song of the universe (music of the spheres, in a way.) But for the Jedi, well, they are on a whole other level, and to my mind, that barrier I just referred to is a whole lot more permeable, no longer a dense, velvet curtain, but a gauzy, diaphanous veil separating two planes of existence - the one we know and some unseen dimension of energies made, if not visible in the strictest terms, visible to the mind’s eye by metaphor.

In this little scenario I have set up, then, let’s say our Jedi is happy. Simple happiness. If our reality is a glass of water, this one emotion is a drop of food coloring, let’s say green, which, when dripped into the water is coalesced around the focal point of the droplet (the droplet being the emotion within the Jedi) and then branching outwards with its tendrils, beyond the Jedi themselves. In this way, the Jedi can almost see their own emotion outside of themselves. But, of course, at some point, the food coloring will overtake the water and turn the entire glass green, in which case the Jedi has been subsumed by their own emotion unless they can erect some particular carriers around themselves. This, in Yoda’s words, would be control. (A vaguely problematic term that I will get to in a little bit.)

But without that barrier, it does become a bit of a feedback loop, the Jedi (or Sith) broadcasting an emotion which then clouds (aha!) everything around the Force-sensitive who can then feed off that cloud and repeat the entire cycle ad nauseum. And well, we know where that can lead. And so, in a way, that semi-sentient voice that is whispering poems of power, words draped in seductive scarlet into our Jedi’s ear is really their own voice, turned back on them, taking this outside form as a separate being because of this strange feedback loop.

The seeds of our own destruction - and salvation - lie wholly within us.

And so to escape the dark side’s pull, its suffocating cloud, one must, in a way, come out of themselves. Which is what leads us to the Jedi idea of detachment and control, to build that barrier which I referred to earlier, that space of nothingness where our green dye is repelled by that shadow of oxidation, where it can exist on the outside without feeding back, so one might be able to look at it as a scientist might - without passion.

Now, the thing is - and if I may go on a tangent for a moment - the Jedi, especially the Jedi we know during the Republic, refer to this too often for my taste as control, and prefer to totally bleach out any of the dye rather than observe from the outside. To my mind, the Order had become a bit polarized in the wake of Ruusaan Reformation, eager to stamp out any bit of dark side rather than to acknowledge each being’s duality - something Yoda himself rally only came to when he had his adventures with the Force priestesses. It also explains, to a degree, why he is so laissez-faire in The Last Jedi - finally, he has come to true balance, and knows that the universe swings on a pendulum of energy, that light and dark will settle and unsettle again. I know TLJ gets a bad rap in some circles, but I personally adore the way they approached Force philosophy and the Jedi, because balance, to the Republic Jedi - was good, good only. Which is why it was referred to as control.

But seeking control in a universe where we can never control, ultimately, is an of fear, which leads to anger, and etc.

However, your question is not about the foibles of the Jedi Order, but rather the dark side. Let’s take Anakin as an example. Anakin falls prey to his worst tendencies (and he is powerful in the Force, his connection with that other plane perhaps too strong, his ability to influence it unprecedented but also that open conduit making him more susceptible to everything I mentioned above.) He’s angry, he’s upset, and he turns that first on himself and then takes that fear and turns it on others, burning down the outer world with his inner. But he saves Luke. A fantastic act, but only a single act. Does one life saved balance out the atrocities of the previous twenty years?

To my mind, no. It’s like those studies they’ve done on reform, where it is often found that behavior changes before mindset. Meaning Anakin has to go through the motions before he is truly redeemed. That, to my mind, is one of the hardest parts, because you can’t just flip a switch and say, hey, I’m light now! Look at Ventress - it took her a while just to get to morally grey and she wasn’t nearly as full-fledged dark as Anakin got. Look at Dooku, who started out grey and through his actions, through his own need for control, fell further and further until he walked right into his own demise. (And this is astounding for a man so intelligent.)

Note, I’m not even touching on that unearthly drug, adrenaline, that anger can unleash, sparking up all those dopamine receptors and as a Force-sensitive, this is only going to be multiplied by a thousand. It’s probably like doing hard drugs and there’s a reason they say the dark side is addictive. And we all know addiction is one hell of a beast to fight, that even in the throes of anger, the hangover must be brutal, emotionally and to give that up to turn light?

Not easy. Not easy to do alone and the problem is as a Sith you have basically pushed everyone else away so who going to be your support if you even want to recover? (Note how Dooku was always trying to connect with his students. It says something.) And you know, if Anakin hadn’t died on the Death Star, despite everything, I think he would have had the best chance at redemption because Luke would have been there. It would have been a terrible, exhausting experience for all involved (not to mention Leia, who did not have Luke’s soft spot for her biological father, and for very good reason.)

Although after going on about all of this, I will say that from an author’s perspective, exploring a character’s fall and struggle is such an opportunity, narratively. But then again, I love to joke that writing is cheaper than therapy :D

#Anonymous #hello there #ask legobiwan #i could go on about force shenanigans #but i'll call it here because i have some real life lego things to do before it's extended naptime #the force #meta #jedi #sith #legobiwan and their weirdass metaphors

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kcwcommentary · 6 years ago

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VLD2x02 – “The Depths”

2x02 – “The Depths”

The episode opens, like the last, with a slight revisit to the end of season one. It doesn’t feel needed though. We just finished an episode dealing with the aftermath of the Paladins being separated, so it’s not like we need to be reminded. If this was the only issue with this episode, that would be nice, but it’s not. Lance and Hunk get the focus of the story this time, having crashed into a watery planet. Hunk throws up again; I get that the writers think this is a joke worth repeating ad nauseum, but it’s not funny anymore (if it ever was).

“I thought Pidge said that space was 90% empty,” Hunk says. This show really shouldn’t try to do anything science because they just get it wrong. Space is so much emptier than that.

Mermaids.

The first conversation Lance and Hunk have with one is creepy, though they don’t pick up on the creepiness. Of course, Lance wants to hook up with one right away. This aspect of the writing of Lance’s character is so tired. Hunk at least seems to have some sense and asks for help getting off the planet. The queen mermaid speaks as creepily as the first. Is there really a reason to use magic bubbles for air instead of their helmets? Well, it does let them eat, I guess. Sticking to the characterization, if it can even be called that, of Hunk, he eats a lot. Lance flirts with every girl he can. Lance also “whoa”s at the stereotypically female-curvy silhouette dancing that’s eventually revealed to be an octopus. The amount of privilege in this near-constant depiction of Lance’s heterosexuality is tiresome.

Lance and Hunk end up hypnotized and brainwashed. This is not a particularly exciting plot.

“I don’t need pants; I’m a mermaid,” Lance says while dreaming. That line is funny at least.

The mermaid resistance sneaks in through a hole in the wall and snatch Lance and Hunk. The show once again opts for a fat joke for Hunk, having him get stuck in the hole that everyone else could fit through. That’s not funny. The resistance leaves Hunk behind.

Lance regains consciousness and spastically freaks out at having been captured until he gets distracted by some small aquatic lifeforms he thinks are pretty. If someone’s freaked out enough to try to escape, they’re not going to be distracted like that. Once again, the show’s not good managing tone.

“We believe you are our savior,” one of the resistance members says. Literally: “Savior.” Ugh! Can we please stop with the outsider-as-savior trope, please. Given that outsider-as-savior perspective is eminently tied to pro-colonialist thought, and we have previously seen such pro-colonialism in the show back in 1x05, I’m not surprised that this episode, like that one, was written by Joshua Hamilton.

The resistance presents their “theories,” which are vastly inaccurate. These members of the resistance have been here, dealing with this issue for as long as they have, and they have gathered enough intelligence of the situation to be able to know precisely which room Lance and Hunk were sleeping in, able to get to that room and break them out unseen, but they don’t know how people are being brainwashed, despite that brainwashing happening during well attended dinners?

The show thinks its funny to portray these resistance members as if they’re conspiracy theorists. The squids on their head are supposed to be equivalent of tin foil hats. “Our heads are completely empty,” one of them boasts. None of this is funny.

There are only three resistance members? Are these people supposed to be the dominant species on the planet? Because the scope of this seems very, very localized to one building and the very nearby area. There is no way that an entire planet’s population minus three people have been brainwashed.

With the idea of “freeing the people,” Lance instantly jumps to a concluding idea that being a hero means being kissed by girls. This story is so out of balance. Rather than being serious and concerned about an imprisoned population, about mass psychological manipulation, about the fact that Lance’s supposed friend Hunk is still captured, Lance’s thoughts are on getting kissed. Ugh.

The resistance has means of producing a fish-based antidote to the brainwashing; why is this not being mass produced? I guess it’s supposed to be because there’s only three of them? But with strategic application, using the antidote bit by bit would help them free people to build up the resistance again.

Lance is captured immediately. He fails in his first several attempts to antidote Hunk, though he does eventually get him. The resistance attacks, revealing they have more antidote, even antidoting the queen, who turns out herself has been brainwashed. Some creature fell into the ocean from space and has been providing food that brainwashes in exchange for eating those it brainwashes? The production and consumption of energy in that equation does not balance. For some reason that alien creature decides now is the time to reveal its true worm-like form and attack.

The Blue Lion is better at maneuvering under water because it’s Blue. The elemental aspect of the Lions is not something that I find compelling in the least.

“We got to stop shooting where the creature is and start shooting where the creature’s going to be,” Lance says. This is not a revelation, despite the episode trying to present it that way. This is the most basic idea behind aiming to shoot a moving target. Lance, who’s supposed to be the best Paladin at shooting, should be so familiar with this fundamental of shooting that he wouldn’t even have to think to do it. Hunk’s slamming into a rock formation and causing part of it to break and fall slowly but with precision to a spot that he had no idea the creature would eventually end up in is just so badly written. Hunk had just complained about targeting with his Lion’s advanced weaponry as being too slow, the slowly falling rock method would be exponentially slower. Lance gets a new Lion weapon out of nowhere – why the Lion waited so long to bring it up, who knows.

Lance gets his kiss. Whatever. It would be nice if girls/women weren’t depicted as a reward for men. Somehow this society of mermaids that seems like maybe a maximum of a couple dozen people has interstellar technology. So, they send a beacon into space and Pidge arrives in response -- of course it’s Pidge.

Also, the planet itself, once again for this show, looks ridiculous and not like a planet.

This was really not a good episode. It adds nothing of importance to the overall story, it doesn’t reveal any new characterization. You could remove this episode from the show, and just have a line at the beginning of the next episode of Pidge saying she found Lance and Hunk, and you’d have the effect of this episode on the show. For a show whose production has acted like they didn’t have time to tell important aspects of the story, they really do waste a lot of time with useless episodes like this.

#voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #voltron criticism #vld criticism #voltron critical #vld critical #vld season 2 #vld 2x02 #commentary

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stupidspaceseven · 6 years ago

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feat.

Relationship: Emori/John Murphy

Rating: T

Summary: Murphy’s loner celebrity status means that he’s pretty content to make his own music and mind his own damn business, or so he thinks. But when an interview answer leads to a collaboration with The Dead Zone’s frontwoman Emori Ramiro they’re made to confront the loneliness in their jobs, and how they might rectify it together.

[A Modern Memori Rock stars!AU based on @diyozas amazing edit]

“So, where do we start with this whole collaboration thing?” It’s the first time she’s sounded fully sold on the idea, and his feet stop their insistent bouncing and settle firmly on the ground.

He scratches his neck. “I’m kinda notorious for being horrible at it,” he says, just to warn her about what she’s getting into. Some selfish part of him has already decided that he’s going to make this work with Emori. They haven’t even finished the meeting and he’s already looking forward to seeing her again, getting to know her determination better.

“I don’t exactly have much experience either,” Emori notes.

“Well you weren’t responsible for the most infamous band breakup in the twenty first century so…”

“You’re really tooting your own horn there. I was personally devastated when One Direction broke up.”

He almost snorts from laughing so hard. “I think we could make something great,” he says, something like butterflies in his stomach, but more promising. Nervous and powerful and threatening to spill out.

[AO3]

Murphy shows up for the Entertainment Weekly interview a half hour early. Punctuality isn’t generally one of his strong suits, but being early means he has time to finish his coffee and get in the right headspace. It’s not that he hates interviews, per say, it’s just that he’s notoriously bad at them; always saying something a bit too asshole-ish or otherwise bad for PR.

But Abby has him under strict orders to behave this time, and while forgoing a filter might be more true to life, it does make Abby’s job two times harder. And despite everything he doesn’t want to be a prick to his manager; she’s good to him.

So he finishes his coffee and constructs neutral answers to the questions he anticipates the interviewer asking. She’s probably hoping for something juicy, considering the interview is supposed to be about Delinquency’s breakup, but it’s been five years; he and Bellamy gave up on hating each other ages ago—you might even say they’re friends now. It’s nowhere near as dramatic as the media likes to think it is. But a bad quote from him could definitely make it seem that way.

He fiddles with the cord of his earbuds, listening to Something to Erase. Most wouldn’t consider it a calming album, what with its themes of abuse and neglect and heavy rock guitar, but it’s an old favorite of his, and its familiarity settles on his shoulders like a warm blanket.

“You’re early,” Bellamy remarks, just at the end of the seventh track, stepping off the elevator along with the interviewer.

“Fuck off,” Murphy says, stuffing his phone and earbuds into the pocket of his jeans, and then turns his attention to the interviewer. She introduces herself as Kara, and seems professional in a harsh and cool way, down to her pressed blouse. Good. He hates the overeager ones.

They settle down for the interview, him and Bellamy exchanging banter that Kara’s tape recorder eats up, and move on to small talk, easing them in for the bigger questions. The first few are about the breakup: What went wrong? What made it difficult? Do you regret it?

They are all questions Murphy had more or less anticipated. Bellamy takes the brunt of the answers. Quotes their differences in musicality and opinions, along with their hotheads. Says yeah, the change of direction in life was really the hardest. Mentions politely that they couldn’t regret it when they look at where they are now. He talks about what Mbege and Roma are up to, and Murphy feels like a bit of a dick for not knowing about Roma’s new modeling career in Europe or Mbege’s work in producing. His thumb is starting to bleed from behind the corner of the nail he keeps biting down on.

Kara notes all of the responses down with grace, even though something on her face suggests she’d like just a little bit more bite behind the answers. She looks to him for that.

“Do you think you might ever work together again, having a bit more age and perspective?” Kara asks.

“Nah,” Murphy is quick to say. “The whole thing was a failed experiment. We’re friendly again, but we work better apart.”

Kara nods shortly, and looks to Bellamy for confirmation, who agrees easily.

“Yeah, Murphy’s better off doing his own thing. Doesn’t like to answer to anyone.” Bellamy’s mostly teasing but Murphy can’t help but roll his eyes at the answer anyway. It’s not like he’s some anti-social diva, he works with his producers just fine after all, but he supposes being a lone wolf is part of his image now.

“Just in a hypothetical sense,” Kara says, turning back to him, “Who would you pick as an ideal collaborator?”

“An ideal collaborator?” he repeats, stalling for time. There’s a question he wasn’t expecting. He doesn't really pay attention to other musicians outside of listening to their music. In general he wants to know as little about other people as possible and that extends to celebrities who might double as his peers. But one band does come to mind.

"Probably The Dead Zone," he says, itching his nose. He had watched an interview with them on Youtube in between vine compilations one night when he couldn't sleep. He remembers the bands' discomfort at having to sit down with one of the late night Jimmys and seeing himself in Emori's off-color jokes and Otan's resting bitch face. He also remembers nodding along when they talked about their songwriting method, the chaotic writing and scrapping and bursts of inspiration that came at weird times of night. Maybe it's just because he was listening to them before he came for the interview, but in a perfect world he wouldn’t mind sitting down with them and hashing something out. "I mean genre wise we overlap almost completely, and I don’t need to tell you Emori’s vocals are great, she’s completely fucking exceptional." He could never manage to balance harsh syllables and aching crones the way she does, it's kinda amazing the more he thinks about it.

The interviewer is suppressing a smile for some reason as she jots down a few notes. Bellamy is giving him a weird look too, and normally he'd call him out on it, but he knows Kara is itching for some animosity to sprout between them, and he's under strict orders to be friendly, so he settles for delivering a questioning tilt of his head. But Bellamy just averts his gaze, still wearing that same smirk.

“The 100 has done a fair few collaborations, and I’d be happy to work with any of those artists again,” he supplies moving the interview along. It wraps up not too long after that, Kara thanking them ad nauseum and telling them they can expect the article up before the end of the week.

“Want to grab something to eat?” Bellamy asks as they make their way out. It’s an awkward time between lunch and dinner now, but Murphy’s never really been one to turn down food.

There’s a cafe down the street that Bellamy swears up and down is great, and at this weird time it’s mostly empty. The hostess gives them a poorly lit seat near the back.

“So how have you been, really?” Bellamy asks once they have their respective drinks. It’s Murphy’s third coffee of the day, but it’s frigid outside and he had slept like shit so he takes scalding gulps as Bellamy warms his hands around his green tea.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe I’m actually doing fine. I’m still riding that post tour rush.”

Bellamy shakes his head. That’s one of the things they had fought over the most when they were still in a band together. Bellamy hadn’t wanted to be on the road for months on end when he had a sister back home, but Murphy lived for movement, for new cities with weird bars and diners, for being miles away from his hometown. It’s still his favorite part of being a performer, even if it gets exhausting.

“So you’re gonna take it easy for a bit?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Murphy jokes, although he’s kinda under orders to be doing just that. Even if he has two notebooks full of mismatched chords and fragmented lyrics waiting to be stitched together. Abby’s certain that he’s gonna burn out if all he does is churn out music, but he knows it’s the opposite. Sitting still isn’t an option.

“So you’re gonna see if you can make that thing with The Dead Zone pan out?” Bellamy says, finally taking a sip of his drink.

“That was just a hypothetical,” Murphy says with half an eye roll.

“Seemed pretty sincere to me.”

“I mean, if it were on the table, sure,” Murphy says, setting down his empty coffee cup. “But I don’t know the band at all, I just think their music is good.”

“I just think it would be good for you to work with other people—” Murphy rolls his eyes again. “—so you can make some friends in the industry. Lay down some roots, start to feel a part of something. You don’t have to be a loner.”

“I’m twenty fucking six, Bellamy, you can stop mothering me any time now.” Murphy crosses his arms. He has enough friends: Bellamy and Raven. Clarke, if he feels like putting up with her. It’s more than he had in high school. And generally speaking he’s pretty happy, the anger issues are in check, and he’s making more money than 16 year old him could imagine. If he wants to stay in his lane and mostly out of the public eye then that’s his prerogative.

“It’s just an idea,” Bellamy shrugs.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Murphy moves through the obligatory questions about Bellamy’s life and work. Of course he’s doing great, and Murphy really does his level best at caring. But soon enough the conversation fizzles and Murphy slaps down a few dollars for the coffee and slinks out of the cafe.

There’s a voicemail from Abby that he missed and he sends her and Jackson, his overly calm PR guy, a text letting them know that he didn’t fuck up the interview.

When he gets home he slumps on his couch and half-watches reruns of Mythbusters. His head is somewhere between buzzed with caffeine and mindless from exhaustion and it makes him answer Abby’s follow up texts more sharply than really necessary. Or maybe it’s the conversation with Bellamy that’s irritating enough to start a headache. He hates that all these years have passed and Bellamy can still take a hammer directly to all these things inside him he likes to keep in the corners.

He wakes up in the dark on his couch at half past two in the morning with a drum solo beating against the back of his eyes and no memory of falling asleep. An infomercial for exercise equipment blinks across the TV and a blonde woman blabbers on about self improvement before he snaps it off and trudges to his room.

His narrow bed is far more comfortable but it also invites dreams about vinegary wine and leather couches and the same video always on repeat. In the morning they taste like loneliness in his mouth.

He doesn’t go to the studio at all that week, per Abby’s wishes, but he hardly moves away from the keyboard at his place either. There’s a bassline that he finally straightens out, and he spends several hours too many trying to find the right synonym for stillness before scrapping an entire verse. Friday sneaks up on him, and he probably would have forgotten that the article was coming out if Abby hadn’t emailed it to him with a quick nod to his ‘interesting answers’ and a reminder to check his twitter.

If it was up to him he’d be a ghost a social media, mostly because of the whole ‘social’ part, but as someone who has miraculously achieved a modicum of fame in this day and age it’s a bit of a necessity. He could have Jackson run it for him, but that would mean turning his public image over to someone else, a thought that leaves an itch at the back of his neck. And as far as he can tell no one else would be able to pull off the right level of snark anyway.

His notifications are always off though. He really doesn’t need to see tweets about fans wanting to suck his toes, or whatever. But today it seems like everyone is more concerned with the admittedly well written EW article.

Or more concerned with his quotes from the EW article taken out of context. For some reason him liking The Dead Zone’s music is newsworthy. Even People Magazine hopped on the bandwagon. Figures.

He manages to read ten tweets before his fingers drift to the keyboard.

is there a reason you’re all going into

overload? @deadzoneemori is a great

talent. this isn’t news.

He taps send without much forethought. In part it’s genuine curiosity, but he also wants to make sure the band sees it. Bellamy’s nagging must have been really effective if he’s putting himself out there like this. He puts his phone face down on the coffee table, and decides to make himself some eggs.

The distraction works for the most part, and it’s half an hour later before impatience has him checking his phone again.

Emori Ramiro actually replied.

Don’t worry. I know.

I’m on the phone with our manager. How

serious is this offer?

An anxiety settles into him that he hasn’t felt in years. Like audition nerves, or first date jitters. But he was always good at overcoming those.

dead serious. why not?

He smiles at his own rudimentary word play, and also, maybe, because he feels excited about something. It’s so rare that the future seems full of potential.

Of course it means something a little different to Abby when she calls two hours later.

“You know you’re supposed to give me a heads up before you go off and make plans like that.”

“Come on Abby, it’s a good idea. Right?” There’s a long pause on Abby’s end, her way of saying ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ in a manner his own mother wouldn’t even have considered trying to pull off.

“It’s not a bad idea. It’s lucky for you that their manager Sinclair is an old friend of mine and that you work under the same record label.”

“So you think I’ve got this whole collaboration thing in me?” He asks, finally able to stop fidgeting with his sweatshirt strings. Approval isn’t something he generally seeks out, from Abby or anybody else, but he does like when he gets it.

“Of course I think you have it in you, John,” Abby says, “We have a meeting next Saturday.”

So soon. In the industry it seems like things take forever half the time, bogged down by strict schedules and contracts and red tape. His manager is a bit of a miracle worker.

Saturday comes faster than expected, one of the benefits of not having an entirely structured work week. They meet in Sinclair’s office, a modest room that seems far more lived in than Abby’s office. With a single large window that lets in plenty of natural light, and a worn couch against the far wall where the frontwoman of The Dead Zone sits.

Emori Ramiro looks more or less the same as in every music video he’s seen her in, long dark hair, a glint behind her brown eyes like sunlight catching on the sharp side of a knife. He’s always liked her as a musician, but he doesn’t think it would be hard to like her as a person either.

“Hey,” she says, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s-it’s nice to meet you too.” He blinks a few times, shakes his head sharply once in an effort to remind himself that he shouldn’t be noticing how pretty she is.

He introduces himself to Sinclair instead, only to learn that they’ve met before. Turns out he’s Raven’s manager too, something he should have remembered if Abby’s stern glance is anything to go by. They start into all the technical stuff right away, schedules and contracts and copyright, stuff he does a poor job of processing.

Emori is rocking in her chair opposite him, and when he shoots her a weighted ‘I’m dying of boredom’ glance she mimics it with an actress’s precision. His muted chuckle seems to be enough to motivate her to interrupt Sinclair and Abby’s negotiations.

“We don’t have to figure out anything official yet,” Emori says, “we can just play around, see what we want to commit to?” She looks to him for confirmation.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem right to make big plans now.”

That promptly sets Abby and Sinclair into another back and forth, although a much briefer one. The pair shuffle out of the office a brief moment later, something about moody rockstars on their lips, leaving him and Emori alone.

“Don’t get me wrong I’m really excited to work with you. Meetings are just…” He shakes his head.

“I get the feeling. I think I liked it better when I was doing everything myself, but you get big enough and can’t really book your own gigs anymore.”

“I never did any of that,” he admits, “I’m just impatient.”

“I don’t find that too surprising,” Emori says, coming over to sit next to him. There’s half a second of awkward fidgeting, Emori tugging on the fingers of her winter gloves, before she continues. “Why did you wanna work with us?”

“Because you’re music is great,” he answers, a bit confused by the question.

“No one’s made a serious offer to ever work with us before.”

“You’re shitting me,” he says, sitting up a little straighter, investigating Emori’s face to see if that is indeed the case. “People find you that intimidating?” He asks when he finds no signs of deception.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Emori actually laughs, but in a bitter, cautious way. Something on his face must demonstrate confusion because she shakes her head in wondered surprise. “You don’t know.”

He feels distinctly like he got off the wrong exit of the highway, he shakes his head slowly.

“I’m a curse,” she says, “Always have been.”

“Seems superstitious,” he says, only to be met with Emori’s knifelike gaze. She’s serious. People don’t carry around knives unless they’re afraid of being hurt. “I don’t follow.”

“You know The Alliance?” She asks after a held pause, referring to a pop-rock group that’s as popular now as it was a decade ago.

“Course, they played the Super Bowl two years ago.”

“Yeah, well they started in the town next to us. We used to play at the same mall, do the same open mic nights. Just ran into each other a lot. I don’t know if me or Otan or Sienna did something to piss them off, or if they just hated the competition, but they’ve had a vendetta against us for years now. And when they went big they had enough influence to essentially get us on a blacklist.”

“That’s...fucked up,” he says. Music shouldn’t be about competition, and he can’t understand why anyone would want to tamper down talent like Emori and her band.

“Yeah, it was hard to get people to work with us and to gain a following for a couple years, but we got a record deal anyway, so they can suck it.”

“Screw ‘em,” he says with conviction, and Emori seems to soften a bit, her knife sheathed.

She shrugs out of her jacket only now, her scarf and gloves following. Her left hand has a slight deformity to it, her thumb small and awkwardly bent, and fingers long and fused. It’s something he thinks he should’ve noticed before.

“I was born with it like this,” she says, seeing him notice. “First part of the curse. My mom thought I wasn’t worth raising.” He can tell from the way she tucks her hair around her shoulder and neck that there’s more to the story but he doesn’t pry.

“Well screw her in particular. It’s pretty badass.”

Emori chuckles, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “So, where do we start with this whole collaboration thing?” It’s the first time she’s sounded fully sold on the idea, and his feet stop their insistent bouncing and settle firmly on the ground.

“I don’t exactly have much experience either,” Emori notes.

“Well you weren’t responsible for the most infamous band breakup in the twenty first century so…”

“You’re really tooting your own horn there. I was personally devastated when One Direction broke up.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Emori says, fishing out her phone. They exchange numbers, with plans to reconvene with fresh ideas somewhere more comfortable. It’s a particular torture an hour later when he’s lying on his couch staring at her contact information. Can he text her now? It’s only been an hour, and he doesn’t want to be pushy or insistent, he vaguely remembers something about a three day waiting period until it occurs to him that that rule is about dating. At risk of getting lost in his own head, he buckles and sends her a short message.

She replies quickly and eagerly, if the number of exclamation points is anything to go by, and it does a lot to dissuade his worries. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with coming over to his place, and once the plans are set the conversation turns away from the professional. They complain about New York construction and list their favorite places to get coffee and the banter is so easy Murphy doesn’t realize two hours have passed till Emori mentions that she has dinner plans.

They say their goodbyes and then he tucks his phone away to make his own meal. Chopping onions does little to distract him from thinking about Emori or the plucking feeling in his chest.

The next day she sends him a Delinquency tag yourself meme with no context other than a caption reading ‘I’m you.’ He laughs at the offbeat descriptions, Bellamy’s in particular, but ultimately has to agree that it’s accurate enough for him to claim his description for himself. It’s a deep dive into google images for him to find a decent Dead Zone version only for it to spark debate between them about if Emori can rightfully tag herself as ‘Emu’.

The day before she comes over he spends undue amounts of time face down in his pillow explaining to himself all the reasons why nothing is going to happen between them. They’re going to hang out and write a fucking awesome song together and he is not going to catch feelings.

The pep talk is more or less futile.

“Just the two of us?” He asks, ushering her inside the next day.

“You just get me, sorry,” Emori says making herself comfortable. “I basically do all the writing for the band, nowadays.” She spends a lot of time getting her guitar out after that, too long really. He considers not questioning her about it, normally he wouldn’t, but if they want this song to be any good they’ll have to get to know one another a bit.

“Why is that?” When Emori returns with a confused look he corrects himself. “Why are you the only one writing the music?”

“Oh.” She’s tuning the guitar know, ear turned to the strings. “The first album was all songs me and Otan wrote together growing up, before we got the record deal. We were really close back then. Now though-” she shrugs, “-we don’t have the same ideas about things as we used to.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he says, an offer at condolence. He’s never been good at understanding the whole sibling thing.

“I think it’ll be nice working with another person again.” There’s a nervous lining to that statement, like the alternative is an empty recording booth or to be stuck with just her own thoughts.

“Yeah,” he says, tearing his gaze away from Emori’s hopeful smile. “Speaking of…” He hands her his song-writing notebook. “That’s everything I’ve been working on recently, so you can get an idea. Sorry about my handwriting.”

He scratches his nose as Emori sets the guitar aside and flicks through the notebook. There had been a lot of internal debate about whether he’d show it to her or not. The notion usually left him feeling like a picked open scab, exposed and vulnerable, but as he watches her eyes flick over the musings of his mind it doesn’t feel so bad. She’s serious about it, seems to know it’s a big deal for him. A couple times her mouth will twitch with a smile, like something in it is good, or she’s excited to be able to read it.

“That’s usually how I start,” he says, when he can’t bear the silence anymore. Emori looks up.

“It’s great stuff, John.” He’s so touched by the compliment he doesn’t even register the use of his first name until she starts singing the fragmented lyrics that she’s singled out as her favorites. “‘Due north, a simple instruction/if only I knew how to work a compass.’ I really like the sorta sense of, lost direction. Wandering.”

“Yeah, I don’t really like stillness,” he says, “but one day...I wouldn’t mind stability either.” He can’t believe he just said that. Can something feel like a lie in your head and come out sounding truthful from your mouth?

“Yeah,” Emori says, musing, turning back a few pages, “Like ‘I’m dragging myself to the promised land/it’s more desolate than I imagined’.” She doesn’t sing it like he would, the vowel sounds are longer and all of it less droning. It’s like seeing the lyrics in a mirror’s reflection. He really likes it. “It’s hard to know what to put your faith in.”

“I have no faith,” he says. Emori blinks. She has knowing eyes.

“Me neither,” then, “That could make a good song.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon debating what sort of themes they want to work with, taking some of his lyrics and some they come up with together and trying to make them work. They agree to put loneliness at the center, focus on the ways in manifests and how they try and fail to combat it. It’s a start, and one with potential, even if they’re not yet positive what sort of beat it’s going to fall on.

She comes over again the next day so they can keep the momentum going. He hadn’t realized it was snowing until he saw the flecks of white in her dark hair.

“You cold?” he asks, taking her guitar case as she shivers and unlaces her damp boots. “I can get you something to drink.”

They sit on his couch and drink coffee as Emori warms up, somehow managing to talk about everything but their song. He likes to think he has some bizarre touring stories but Emori seems to have him beat at every turn, going into detail about how they got lost in Ohio on their way to Cleveland and ended up camping out in a corn field by sweet talking the farmer who owned it even though he had no clue who they were. In exchange he tells her about the time Jaha, the record’s vice president, had tried to sell him speed at a party once only for Emori to jump in and tell him he’d attempted the same with her.

“Was he high off his ass and trying to tell you that it’d take you to the city of light, or something?” Emori laughs.

“Yeah, I was like, ‘Paris is across the ocean’. I may have also called him dude to his face.” Emori’s laughter has her shoulders rocking to nudge against his. When she collects herself she lets her head lean against the back of the couch and doesn’t move away from the point where they’re touching.

“City of Light,” she says, eyes closed against the brightness of his overhead lighting. “Sounds fake. Like it’s too good to be true.”

“Like a place you put too much faith into only for it to suck.” There’s an idea in his head that he’s trying to grab with words. Emori perks up, easily catching on.

“I like a good metaphor.”

They move off the couch after that. Hunkered down over the kitchen table they’re able to work out the chorus, one about high expectations that get dragged down. He settles at his keyboard after that, and Emori drags over one of the kitchen chairs, and the two of them play around with chords.

“I thought you were a drummer originally,” Emori says when they get stuck.

“I started with piano, actually,” he says, considers opening up a little more, and goes for it. “My dad taught me. He was better than I’ll ever be, played recitals and stuff when he was young.”

“He died?” Emori has a perceptive ear, all musicians need one, but rather uniquely hers is able to translate to human observation too.

“He got a shitty conviction and then got killed in prison, yeah.” He plays the gasping bridge of “Flu Season” almost unthinkingly. “Then I learned drums during my rebellious teenage phase.”

Emori’s lips pinch at the tonal change but she goes with the flow.

“You know I wouldn’t have thought that phase ended.” He smiles in gratitude as she continues. “I learned guitar during my rebellious pre-teen phase. One of my foster mothers said that I wouldn’t be able to play because of my hand, so I taught myself out of spite.”

He’s noticed the unique way she holds the frets, only using her two longer fingers, putting down pressure at different points along the digits rather than just the tips. It probably makes for interesting calluses, but it seems to suit her just fine.

“That’s really badass.”

“I think so too,” she says. “I made Otan learn bass and a couple years later we moved and our neighbor Sienna knew drums and that was history. Did Delinquency really meet in detention?”

“Where did you think the band name came from? We were all unoriginal seventeen year olds with authority problems.”

Emori teases him by playing the main riff from “Whatever the Hell We Want” the band’s biggest hit. It was probably one of two songs on the album he and Bellamy ever really agreed on. He still plays it at shows sometimes.

Their session crumples after that, the pair of them playing or singing over each other until Murphy realizes how hungry he is and goes into the kitchen to make them some quick sandwiches. They talk more over the simple dinner, and even though in the grand scheme of things they didn’t get a whole lot accomplished, it still feels like one of the most productive days he’s had in a long time.

She comes over one more time before the weekend, and he goes to her place on Monday where he spends nearly two hours perusing her CD collection instead of doing anything productive. They book a studio room on Wednesday to try and work in a more neutral environment and Emori sorts out the song’s rhythm, fast during the verses before a lull in the chorus until it peters out at the end.

On Friday they meet Otan and Sienna at the studio so they can work on the incorporation of their instruments. It’s a grueling couple of hours, but by the end of it they feel almost done; he and Emori agree there’s one missing piece they need to figure out and then they can work towards getting it recorded.

He invites the band over for dinner afterwards, all the lessons about being personable Abby and Jackson have beaten into him over the years making an appearance. But Sienna has a young son at home, and Otan claims to have an outstanding plan to meet up with some friends so it’s just him and Emori.

“Does your brother not like me?” He asks on their way back. “Cause that excuse seemed kinda made up.”

Emori hesitates, and that would be telling if it weren’t for the huff of exasperation that followed. “I think he knew we wanted for it to be just the two of us.” She doesn’t quite look at him until, “Right?”

He considers answering with the more fair and welcoming response but ultimately he agrees with a quiet and telling, “yeah.” For a moment he thinks they may have come to an understanding with one another—they both want it to be just them—and that has to have larger implications, but Emori pushes the conversation forward and he has to tuck the thought away.

“So what’s for dinner?”

“Stir fry,” he says, and then has to go into a lengthy tirade when Emori questions his cooking skills. But she helps him chop vegetables against her doubts, and seeing her working in his kitchen, sneaking M&Ms from the bag in the cupboard and singing under her breath to the playlist they made earlier in the week, has him feeling warm in a way that has nothing to do with the stove.

“Ok I take it back,” she says once they’ve tucked in. “I guess I’m going to have to make you cook for me more.”

“Anytime,” he says with sincerity. Emori smiles, in that soft, surprised way she sometimes has and it doesn’t fall off her face even as they drift to talking about the session and then to a prank Emori had pulled on Otan a couple months ago and then of course Murphy has to explain the classwide prank war that happened his senior year and they end up lingering at the table long after their food is finished.

Doing the dishes is a slow process, even considering the small number of plates. And it’s not that Emori is particularly bothered with seeing her face shine in the ceramic, if anything she wants to stay longer, judging by the small steps she takes about the kitchen, making sure there’s no rush.

“You, uh, wanna watch a movie or something?” He offers, because it’s not like he wants her to leave either. “I don’t have much in the way of desserts, but…”

Emori accepts readily, and they settle on his couch half watching The Goonies as they attempt to throw M&Ms into each other’s mouths.

“Can I come over tomorrow?” Emori asks when all the chocolate has been eaten and the credits are rolling. “To finish the song,” she adds after a beat.

“‘Course,” he says, fighting the urge to play with her hair like he has been for most of the night.

“I have a meeting in the afternoon, but I’m free in the evening,” Emori says getting to her feet with tired effort. He follows her to his door. “Thanks for dinner, John,” Emori says, then steps forward to give him a hug. It’s a long hug, longer than it needs to be, tight and warm and comfortable. He learns that his chin rests perfectly on her shoulder.

“Goodnight,” she says as she slips out of his place, leaving him standing in his living room with a pounding heart and the thought that they’re both probably fucked.

She texts him the next day around five thirty telling him not to eat because she’s bringing takeout. She arrives forty five minutes later with a still warm pizza and a smile.

“Since you cooked last night,” she explains as they settle at his kitchen table, eating as they look over their notes and playback the preliminary recording Emori has on her tape recorder.

“I don’t think it’s a music problem,” he says around his third slice of pizza, after they’ve mulled in silence for a while, “I think it’s a lyric problem.”

“Yeah,” Emori agrees, scratching her brow, “I think the message got lost, or changed, somewhere along the line.”

Murphy flips to the front of the notebook, the new one he started just for this collaboration, and glances over the list of ideas they made.

faith (non religious)

optimism/pessimism

how to achieve ideals?

abandonment

loneliness

physically & metaphysically lost

discovery, leading to neg. consequences

Emori points to the fourth item. “I don’t think abandonment fits.”

He rests the point of the pencil next to the word, considering what she’s saying. It’s inclusion had been Emori’s idea originally.

“I think it’s important though,” he says, “It’s what’s contributing to the feeling of being lost, being alone.”

“But that’s more of the prelude,” Emori says, “The backstory of the song. Sure, the loneliness was fueled by abandonment, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Maybe it’s not lonely at all. You could still be trying to find something—the city of light—with another person.”

Her voice trails off at the end, like she’s not even sure if she’s convinced herself of the argument.

“So we make it more concise,” he suggests, “We don’t need to paint the entire experience, just one moment.” He crosses out abandonment and loneliness, to see where that leaves them. “Maybe it’s about being afraid to put your faith in something new. Feeling lost about what to do.”

“I like that,” Emori says, after a held moment of consideration. “Sort of being afraid of the future because of potential disappointment but wanting to live it anyways.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Except they don’t make anymore progress that night. Emori, despite her numerous near convincing arguments, is very tired from her day and can’t be made to focus.

They text back and forth the next day, suggesting lyrical changes they can make, sometimes a single line, sometimes more. The amounts to which they agree vary widely, and Murphy thinks it has to do with the way the words look in blue speech bubbles—it’s just not productive.

He suggests that they sleep on it, his brain feels picked clean, and he can’t see how Emori is doing any better. She agrees, but even over text he can sense her hesitation. And the same feeling duels in himself, the satisfaction of finishing the song combatting with the notion of what happens when they’re finished. Emori came into his life out of nowhere, he doesn’t want her slipping out of it in the same way.

Whatever this stage of inbetween is that they’re in, he hates it.

It comes up on Monday, when they’re dissecting the lyrics yet again.

“It just feels like a different song,” Murphy says. It’s the due north lyric, which is already in its third version. He’s near positive it’s impeding the song, but he also knows both he and Emori are too fond of it to scrap it entirely. Besides, a song about going on a fool’s errand holds a lot of potential.

“A different song of ours?” Emori asks, emphasis heavy on the last word.

“Yeah, I think so,” Murphy says. He hadn’t wanted to think about what would happen when they finally got the song nailed down. Part of him thinks Emori would like to spend time with him even when they weren’t working on a project, but now he doesn’t have to risk finding out. “We could do an EP?”

Emori nods, reaches out to squeeze his wrist in excitement, then draws a box around the discarded lyric, as if to indicate they’re packing it away to save for later.

Murphy sleeps late the next day, his dreams oddly calm despite the clear memory of a knife. It makes the time before Emori comes over shorter, filled with updating Abby as to their progress.

She sounds genuinely excited over the phone when he mentions how well it’s been going, and how much he and Emori seem to be meshing as artists, and it gives him new hope that they’ll figure out the song.

Emori is as eager as ever, and after a couple hours they’ve managed to reframe the themes of the song as planned. The song is good, easily one of his favorite pieces, but they still agree that something is just a bit off. Like there is a final piece that will click right into place if they could just find it.

But his voice is strained from singing and it still isn’t fixed.

“Wow it’s dark out,” Emori notes when they’re taking a break.

“Cause the sun sets at like, four thirty this time of year,” he says, marking down a change on his sheet music. Then considers her words. “Oh, do you need to get home?”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Emori says, “And I want to be here.” He’s selfishly grateful as Emori strums the opening cords, indicating they should start from the top again.

It’s a long night, one that eventually degrades to them lying beside each other on his (thankfully carpeted) floor. His ceiling isn’t anything to look at, but Emori has fun with seeing faces and animals in the spackle.

“It’s a little boy in a meadow,” she says, and he shakes his head because he really has no idea what she’s been saying for this entire conversation. Emori flicks his shoulder, as if it’s his fault that their brains don’t find the exact same patterns in everything. “Too bad he doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh, I know this piece,” he finally contributes, “John Murphy circa age ten.”

“Did you not have friends growing up?” Emori asks, the playful tiredness morphing into its melancholy cousin.

“Not really.”

“Me neither. Just Otan.” Her head lolls to the side to look at him. “I’ve been missing him recently, we see each other all the time because of work, but it’s not like really seeing each other.”

“Like you’re just going through the motions together?”

“Yeah,” Emori says, picking her head up with a smile. “See, you get me. That’s why I’m so glad we’re working together. Our last album…I felt so alone in it. I’m not used to music being like that.”

For him music has always been a way to pick himself raw. Clawing at feelings inside himself and exposing them so that they might start to heal. But working with Emori, being with her, has added another step, putting a balm on the wound, encouraging it to get better.

“I think...the reason the song isn’t working quite right is because we aren’t the same people we were when we started writing it.”

He expects Emori to mention the mere two and a half weeks they’ve known each other. Instead she says, remembering, “we cut out loneliness.”

He nods, some of his hair sticking up because of the static of it dragging against the carpet. Emori reaches over to brush it back. Her fingers linger around the shell of his ear.

“It’s late,” Emori says, maybe with regret. “I should get going.”

“I’ll call you a car,” he says. The two of them sway while they wait by the door, the long conversations of the day leaving them with silence now, as they make eye contact only to break it, over and over.

He sleeps with restless anticipation, the kind that comes the day before a new discovery one is expecting to have. The morning is rung in with four new messages from Emori that force Murphy to squint at the time stamps.

Emori

ok I know it’s 3am and you’re gonna think im crazy, but I think I cracked City of Light

Emori

On the surface it’s about dashed dreams and faith, like we were talking about

Emori

But really I think it’s about falling in love

Emori

And i KNOW love songs aren’t either of out styles but this works, at least in my head at 3am, I’ll come over tomorrow and we can finally hash it out (and I’ll try to get some sleep before then lol)

He considers the messages while he showers. It might work, he won’t know until she gets here, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to Emori about love for hours on end. He will though. He’ll do it gladly, even.

Emori is at his place by nine, two coffees in hand, and nothing on her face suggesting she got a max of five hours of sleep last night. In fact, she’s smiling.

“So it’s a love song?” He asks once their situated at his kitchen table, coffee gulped down.

“Yeah, think about it,” Emori says, scooching over so she can compare his notebook to the stack of post it notes she brought along. “Falling in love is about opening yourself to vulnerability right? And having faith that the other person will...love you back.”

He nods slowly in dawning understanding, the beat of his pen against the table a churning undercurrent. Three weeks ago he would have claimed to know nothing of love, but he thinks he’s starting to get the idea. “So the City of Light is really a metaphor for love?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That...makes a lot of sense.” Emori’s eyes are alight with the thrum of victory, and she doesn’t seem able to keep a smile from her lips. “I wouldn’t have thought you had so much love insight.”

“It’s sort of a new development,” Emori says, then clears her throat. “So we rewrite the chorus a bit, and maybe slow it down?”

It’s a scramble after that, reaching over each other to write things and then cross them out, holding their breath as the other drums a rhythm against the table or holds a note. They almost trip over each other on the way to the keyboard, where they share the single chair.

But an hour later the song is finished. When they sing it for the first time, it doesn’t come out the way it’s meant to be sang. Softer than it might ever be again.

Hide and wait or risk the stakes

I’ve never been one to take the bait

Of an even score or a glittering shore

I’m more comfortable in this zone of war

It was the end of it all when an old man told me

At the horizon is where you start your story

So I dragged myself to the promised land

It’s more ravaged then I imagined

City of Light, what do you hold?

Chances are I’ll never know

Tell me, why should I go?

There’s reward in the final mile

The upward tick of you pretty smile

And I want to hold you with these hands of mine

But do I have the courage to make us entwine?

I’m like Caesar at the Rubicon

with all the world watching on

To see if I can open my arms

But what if your embrace is too warm?

City of Light, what do you hold?

Chances are I’ll never know

Tell me, why should I go?

Is it a leap of faith if I’ve got nothing better to do?

You whisper in my ear

It is when it’s you

It’s you

Emori’s voice seems to shiver on the final note, her gaze fixed on him as his fingers relax over the keys. Her eyes are wide and her mouth parted as she takes steadying breaths. There’s a feeling in him like crying, or laughter, emotion so strong it has to spill from his body. He presses it into Emori’s lips instead.

Her mouth falls open as she kisses him back, her breath shuttering until the arm wrapped around his shoulder pulls him closer. Her waist is warm under her shirt, where his hands rest; it’s been so long since he’s kissed someone he had forgotten how comfortable it can be. How happy it can make him. Although maybe that’s just because it’s her.

He pulls away so he can tell her, stopping only to kiss her cheek.

“I have feelings for you,” is what he manages to say.

“Really?” Emori laughs, and he almost can’t believe she’s being sarcastic right now, except he knows it’s exactly why he’s falling for her. “Me too,” she says, more sincere, “I couldn’t sleep last night because I was thinking about you, and that’s what finally made the song click.”

He had suspected that Emori felt the same way, but the confirmation in conjunction with the kiss has his heart pounding. “I love it,” he says, “the song.”

Emori laughs as she nods and then kisses him again.

#memori #emori #emori kom spacekru #john murphy #the 100 #dailymemori #diyozas #the 100 fic #memorific #fic #sssfic #this got so long holy crap

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elcorhamletlive · 6 years ago

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fandom: MCU (post-CW, post-IW) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Fluff and Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Human Disaster Tony Stark

As most of Tony’s mistakes, it starts out when he’s drunk.

He’s drunk because of Steve. Because Steve is back now, apparently for good. He and his merry band of fugitives have been pardoned, the Accords are under revision, and he and Tony have made up. Truly, honestly made up. Few things put pointless fights in perspective like a Mad Titan knocking on your planet’s door.

So Tony and Steve are not mad at each other anymore. They’re speaking normally. All things considered, they’re fine.

That’s why Tony’s drunk. He’s drunk because Steve is back, and they’re fine, and that’s apparently all they’ll ever be. He’s drunk because Steve hasn’t moved back to the compound, instead settling into some shitty apartment in Brooklyn, and whenever he comes around for training or to work on Avengers business, he and Tony greet each other and make small talk about the weather and that’s it.

He’s drunk because he’s an idiot. Because he was hoping that, once he and Steve have made up, things between them could… be different, maybe. He was hoping they’d understand each other better. He was hoping he’d be able to look into Steve’s eyes and say something that wasn’t a snarky comment—hell, he was hoping he’d be able to ask Steve out for lunch or something, in between U.N. meetings. He was hoping they’d see each other more, and spend more time together, and…

It would be easier.

He and Steve are fine, but fine is not enough.

Therefore: alcohol.

Truth be told, the problem doesn’t really start because he’s drunk. It starts because he’s alone in his workshop, navigating through panels and archives aimlessly, and he runs into Vision’s latest The Sims file.

Vision has been into The Sims for years now. At first Tony thought it was hilarious, but Vision defended it earnestly, arguing it gives him good insight into human interactions. Tony had exchanged a meaningful look with Rhodey at the thought that Vision viewed The Sims as an accurate portrayal of human interactions, they shrugged, and now Vision is just into the game. Vision makes a lot of mods and shares them on the internet, and it’s a bit of a hit. Tony is pretty sure there are downloadable copies of the Avengers compound online, ready to be built in game.

Tony, on the other hand, hasn’t played The Sims for even a minute. He’s never been huge with simulation games—he either gets out of control with getting everything perfect or burns everything down in flames, no in between.

But The Sims 2 is, after all, a classic.

When the game starts loading, a corner of his brain (the same corner that constantly gives him great advice like buy Pepper a giant bunny or a suit of armor around the world, yeah, that’s going to work) wonders if Vision made models of them. Them, as in, the Avengers.

Then the same corner of his brain jumps to wondering if there are models of them, as in, Tony and Steve.

That’s where it gets messy.

As it turns out, Vision did make models of the two of them, but Tony chooses not to use them, because a) Viz gave Steve a beard, and Tony hates that fucking beard, he nearly started dancing in the middle of a conference room when Steve walked into the U.N. clean-shaved; and b) those pants he gave Tony to wear? Really, Viz? No way.

So he makes his own models. Or, fine, let’s just call it what it is, his own family. He makes himself and he makes Steve, and then he thinks making just the two of them is too creepy so he makes a dog, which, coming to think of it, doesn’t really help the newly-weds vibe, but okay.

He gives himself Knowledge aspiration, and after much thought he gives Family to Steve, because Justice For All is not an aspiration and he needs to pick something. He makes himself want to be a mechanic, and he gets Steve into law enforcement, because the lifetime goal Become Captain Hero is too appropriate to resist.

He names the dog Friday, which makes actual Friday lock up the liquor cabinet, saying I think you’ve had enough for tonight, Boss.

He does not start out the game with him and Steve in a relationship, but when he begins playing, all the immediate wishes of Sim Tony are about Steve. Talking to Steve, playing games with Steve, telling Steve a joke. Typical.

Then he clicks on Steve’s wishes, and there it is: Talking to Tony, playing games with Tony, laughing at Tony’s joke.

He clicks on Sim Steve, then clicks on Sim Tony, and sets Sim Steve to “Talk to Tony”.

And so they talk.

If only it were this easy, Tony thinks, clinging to his glass.

The next day, when Steve drops by to train Peter, Tony almost chokes on his coffee out of guilt.

Steve lays one strong, warm hand on his back, looking at him with worried blue eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony coughs, managing to swallow another sip. He doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. “Just, uh, didn’t sleep much last night. Might’ve drifted off while drinking. Hardly the first time that ever happened.”

“Oh,” Steve says, scrutinizing Tony with his gaze. Tony tries his best to not let I made simulated versions of you and me in my computer and I think they’re falling in love show in his expression. “You can’t keep doing this, Tony. It’s not healthy.” And Tony can hear the scowl in his voice, the disapproval. “What if we had a mission?”

The judgment on his face sparks annoyance in Tony’s chest, and he immediately slips away from Steve's touch. “None of your business, Cap.”

Steve’s face shows a glimpse of hurt before closing in an annoyed expression, and Tony turns away and leaves.

When Tony gets back to his lab, he wants to let that anger out. Because who is Steve to touch Tony’s back with that gentle warm hand and stare at him with those blue eyes as he judges Tony’s sleeping habits? No one, that’s who. They’re barely even friends and there Steve is, trying to give him orders, acting like he cares when it's only a moral obligation that makes him worry about whether Tony was sleeping enough or not.

Tony turns on the game. His plan is to build a pool, make Sim Steve go swim, remove the stairs, and then watch as he drowns.

The plan fails, though. Firstly because he gets too distracted building the pool (building stuff is the best aspect of the game, in Tony’s opinion – he, Steve and Friday have the best house of the entire neighborhood), and secondly because, when Sim Steve starts to want to get out of the pool and there are no stairs, Tony can’t help but feel like shit. He can’t do it. Even a bunch of pixels with Steve’s name is enough to make him weak.

So, when Death comes to pick Sim Steve up, Tony sends Sim Tony to bargain with her. He wins, of course, but he was prepared to hack the entire game if he didn’t.

Then Sim Steve comes to thank Sim Tony, and they start talking again, and – okay, it’s a mechanic of the game that sims of the same group will have wishes about each other, Tony gets it, but it still tugs his heartstrings when he sees the line up of Sim Steve’s wishes. It goes: thank Tony, hug Tony, shake Tony’s hand, learn how to make pancakes.

The last one has the positive effect of reminding Tony that this is still a fucking video game, and he’s making starry eyes because a version of Steve he made up likes him.

There’s pathetic, and there’s the level he’s at right now, which Tony suspects is an entirely new category of depressing.

Still, he clicks on Sim Tony, and the wishes are pretty much the same (including the one about pancakes, which reminds Tony he hasn’t taught either of them to cook anything yet, so they’ve been living off cereal and juice boxes). There’s just one difference: In the place where Sim Steve had Thank Tony as a wish, Sim Tony has kiss Steve.

Tony very determinedly breaks the Sims apart and sends them both to read culinary books. He will not go there.

But… It keeps happening. He puts the game on ultra speed and every time he leaves Sim Tony without a command, he wants to do something with Sim Steve; and vice-versa. Sim Steve goes to sleep and a balloon thought with Sim Tony’s face pops up over his head. Tony gets distracted for a moment and they just start dancing together in the living room, to the sound of Bonito.

Tony considers breaking them apart again, but… they look so happy.

And besides, there’s nothing wrong with fulfilling the Sims’ wishes, right? That’s just the goal of the game, after all.

So Tony lets them dance. And when they finish, he makes them talk. And they talk and tell each other jokes and hug each other over and over again until the romantic options show up, and then both of their wishes bars are filled with each other.

Tony makes them flirt – Sim Tony gives Sim Steve a rose, Sim Steve writes a serenade for Sim Tony, and Sim Tony tells Sim Steve a dirty joke. Tony makes them repeat that ad nauseum, even after the “have first kiss with Steve” action appears, because he’s not risking getting rejected in a video game, thank you very much. He makes sure they’re at 100/100 on the relationship bar, and then makes them kiss.

There’s cheesy music, silly animation and little hearts floating everywhere. They kiss some more, and then Sim Steve gets the wish to “Have a serious relationship”, which Tony locks for later (because holy shit, Sim Steve, take it easy, buddy). Then Sim Tony gets the same wish, and that’s when Tony decides that’s enough gaming for the night. He makes the happy couple watch TV and cuddle together, pointedly ignores the balloon thought with the “Woo-hoo” symbol that appears over Sim Tony’s head, and goes to sleep.

read the rest on ao3!

#stony #stony fic #superhusbands #stevetony fic #happy steve bingo #my fics

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animebw · 5 years ago

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Binge-Watching: Paranoia Agent, Episodes 4-6

Well, fuck. They never make it easy for me, do they?

Cuckoo’s Nest

You know, once in a while I’d prefer to get an easy anime to talk about. Between Penguindrum, Skip Beat, and now Paranoia Agent, the last few weeks have been filled with anime that regularly frazzle my brain when I try to put together coherent thoughts on them. My recent experience on this blog has been lousy with complicated, difficult, often frustrating shows that zig when I expect them to zag and go off in a million different directions I’m not properly equipped to analyze. It’s been doing a hell of a number on my brain, I can tell you that much. Next time, I hope I can binge-watch an anime that I actually feel inspired to pull meaningful ideas out of. Something that doesn’t challenge norms of storytelling or cloak its meaning in a million different layers of obfuscation, just a good time with no caveats. Because I don’t know how many more of these head trips I can take before I completely exhaust my mental capacity.

So, to recap: Paranoia Agent’s first few episodes set it up as a gritty, grounded psychological thriller/mystery about chasing down a murderous kid, but there was a clear underlying subtext that something far more supernatural was going on. The way Lil Slugger attacked his victims, coming after them at their lowest points as they begged for release from their miserable lives, he seemed more like an avatar of warped salvation than an actual kid. Imagine my surprise then, when the fucker gets himself caught before we even reach the halfway point- revealing his full face for the first time, in case the demystifying intentions of dragging him into the spotlight weren’t clear enough- and found that he actually was just a kid. Maybe. Possibly. Well, look, it turns out that I wasn’t wrong about seeing him as a divine agent come to save people from the pain of their wretched lives; what I wasn’t expecting was the fact that only he sees himself that way. The real Lil Slugger is little more than a chuuni asshole living out his LARPer fantasy in real life, imagining himself as the noble hero of a swords-and-sorcery video game as he cleanses society from the presence of the evil demon Goma. He’s not a cruel, calculating sadist or an inhuman presence; he’s goddamn Natsuki Subaru with the sanity switch flipped off. In other words, he is utterly goddamn ridiculous, and the episode that reveals this truth plays into that lunacy by suddenly transforming into a goofy, cartoonish dive down the kid’s psyche like something out of a Loony Toons short. Suddenly, the police officers are privy to the kid’s corny fantasies! And they have a waaaaacky comedy routine with the one straight man and the one who plays along? And they get pulled along on this wacky zappy adventure and there are hijinks aplenty and the faces are all ridiculous and expressive and I’m sorry, is this the same show that featured a cop’s cruel, inhuman descent into madness and tragedy of shattering masculinity as seen by his story of failure and savagery and pathetic cowardice contrasted by his attempts to frame it in the form of a macho hero boy’s manga in the very previous episode?

Yeah, I just... I dunno, what do I say about that? What kind of nonsense world is this where gritty realism can suddenly become supplanted with wacky cartoon logic like that? Who thought this tale of pain and poison and the darkness of the human spirit could sustain such a stupid, obvious joke for an entire episode without elaborating on it at all? It’s the same gag, over and over again; the one guy gets into it, the other guy doesn’t, is sarcastic and jaded, repeat ad nauseum with a muted production that is not built to handle this kind of colorful cacophony. Were these characters really built to handle this kind of abrupt tone shift that just shifts back to the status quo anyway once it ends and gets back to diving into the troubled psyches of daughters running from perverse fathers? What was the greater meaning that couldn’t be communicated in less than half the time it took for this tired bit to run its course? What was even the point of that?

What was even the point of... any of this?

...

I need to take a step back.

Window Dressing

Look, I’m not gonna lie, I’m really struggling here. I’m sitting in front of this post, wracking my brains to try and find some way to couch my thoughts on this set of episodes, and I just... cannot find a satisfactory way to do it. I ended my first session with Paranoia Agent greatly intrigued to see how it would develop from here, how it would build on its ideas to reach greater heights. But somewhere along the line, my thought process watching this show just sort of curled up and fell asleep. Try as I might, I am just not connecting with this show. I can’t bring myself to get invested in this story or these characters, to care all that much about what happens to them or what’s actually going on, to put any real thought into analyzing what this show is going for or how it’s gong about it. Flat out, cards on the table, Paranoia Agent isn’t working for me, and it’s not working on such a level that the intriguing questions I had about it early on have sort of slipped through my fingers with a half-hearted “Whatever”. And considering it looks like we’re gearing up to jump into increasingly surreal, paranormal territory with the arrival of a Jean Grey-esque character whose intense emotional needs end up summoning a storm to do her bidding- not to mention her familial connection to the mysterious old woman who’s been lurking in the shadows- that doesn’t bode well for my ability to keep this show’s pace. The weird diversion into cartoon sideshow territory is just one symptom of the issue here, and I’m not even really sure what the issue is yet. All I know is that I’m increasingly more and more un-invested in figuring out why this show makes the choices it does, and I don’t like the way that feels. Even with bad shows in the past, I’ve found merit in interrogating the direction they take and figuring out how the whole rotten mechanism falls apart. Here, though? I’m no longer certain I care enough to find the answer.

So, what the hell’s going on? Paranoia Agent’s a highly respected property from a legendary director, it’s got plenty of fans from all circles of this community, why am I not connecting with it? I don’t think my usual aversion to realism is enough of an explanation; there’s something deeper about this show on a fundamental level that just does not work for me. And while I don’t have a definite answer yet, I at least have the beginnings of an idea; a lack of internal life. The script is incredibly dedicated to using its characters and their stories as props for its greater narrative, moving pieces around to slowly tease out the grand reveal of the puzzle, but it fails to give me a reason to care about any of those pieces beyond a general appreciation of how they fit into the show’s larger point. I barely even remember the names of any of these characters, and I’m already starting to forget what issues brought them into contact with Lil Slugger. Why? Because we never get to see these characters as anything but how they fit into the story. The only things we learn about them, their wants, their desires, their living situations, all of it, it’s all just window dressing to describe why this particular person needs to be “saved”. We’re given the basic information on why every character is fucked up and how their fucked-up situation progresses, but what we don’t get to see is their humanity. We don’t see how their lives are affected by their situations, we just see the situations themselves. And as a result none of these people feel real. They’re pawns on a chessboard to be moved around according to the story’s whims, not active agents driving the narrative forward with their own wills. They’re narrative tools that are used to get to a specific point, and then their purpose is served and there’s nothing worth keeping around about them.

I realize I’m being frustratingly esoteric with this criticism, but that’s because I’m just as baffled and nebulous about this feeling myself. I can’t pinpoint any specific moment that explains what I’m talking about, any scene that really made me see the show in this way. I just know that I don’t see the Perverse Father as anything other than a perverse father, the Two Detectives as anything other than stock detectives, the Broken People as anything other than their cracks and fractures. They are their story purpose and nothing more; but with nothing more than structure, why do their stories even matter? Why should I be invested in what happens to these characters when they have so little character to speak of beyond being walking information sheets? Stories cannot survive on structure alone; with no meat, Paranoia Agent is only bones. And there’s only so many times you can gnaw on bones before they lose all their flavor.

The Holy Warrior

With all that said and done, where do we go from here? Well, like I mentioned earlier, it seems like the show is gearing up to really start bringing the trippy dream logic into play, potentially shifting into full surrealist/magical realist territory by the time all is said and done. Despite the reveal that Lil Slugger is just a deluded brat, there’s no denying that he does have some sort of power. He can see the “red glow of Goma” in people, though what that glow represents isn’t clear yet. And the power of his bat has been confirmed as a measure of relief from peoples awful lives, erasing their memories of all their hardships to free them from what pains them. He comes to broken people and relieves their anguish by taking it from their minds. But it’s also revealed that the “Lil Slugger” Sagi saw was only a figment of her own imagination; she’s the one who injured her leg. So is Lil Slugger actually just a self-imposed mass delusion, a representation of the ways these broken people flee from their pain without trying to address it healthily? But then, who’s the very real kid in custody who attacked everyone else? Was he literally born from Sagi’s self-deception? She was the first victim, after all, so was the force of her trauma enough to literally manifest him from nothing as an active agent free from her control? But also, he’s not the only supernatural force in this show; not only does the old man still have much to reveal, but the granddaughter of the old lady has made an appearance and proven than her emotion-driven rages can drive the universe to bend to her whims. And then, what the hell happened to Sagi when the cops revealed her deception to her and she was knocked over? Was she just literally thrown by the weight of the truth, or is she somehow connected to the granddaughter who got Sluggered right at that moment too? What the heck is the connection there? What the hell does any of this mean?

And more importantly, will I care enough to be excited for the answer?

I’m not sure. I’m less sure of anything regarding Paranoia Agent than anything since Penguindrum. I just hope I’ll find something worthwhile to talk about when all is said and done, because I don’t like feeling like I’m wasting everyone’s time on a project I don’t care about. Surely there’s gotta be something of value in here. I just hope I can find it.

Odds and Ends

-Good lord are the taiko drums on the soundtrack doing their best to make up the difference.

-”Get me some smokes.” “Is there a character named that?” aksjdhasdk why

-”Oh this is great, the kid’s even got his own soundtrack.” GOOD FUCKING BYE

-”Tell me the truth, you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Those are the eyes of a dead man.

-I appreciate how Frog-Face is an actual frog in this delusion.

Alright, enough of that. Hopefully, the next stretch will bring better tidings, yeah?

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #paranoia agent #mousou dairinin

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aqualianbird · 6 years ago

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So, I am having a relatively stressful episode at work, I have enough alcohol in my blood to make me feel chatty, and there isn’t nearly as much Saint Seiya talk on my dash as I’d need so here it goes :

Let’s talk about ... well, Seiya

It’s dificult for me to comprehend exactly how many fans of Pegasus Seiya there are around. Often it seems like he is the most hated and the most loved character in the fandom simultaneously. No, seriously, I don’t think even characters that were designed to be hated like Tatsumi or Kasa got as much (and for the latter even Shun said the dude was going way too far)

For my part I plead guilty to the first one; my sympathy for the Pegasus knight only lasted a dozen of episodes. I often joked to my sister how the reason I never watched the anime a second time (despite a habbit of feeding on re-runs of favourite shows instead of new ones) was entirely because I couldn’t stand the idea of watching so many frames of Seiya again.

Nevertheless, I always made it a point never to completely exclude completely him for any headcanoning or writing I made around the universe, especially if it touched Athena and the 5 main bronzes - few are the sound reasons to exclude him from the universe that was nammed after him.

I never say much or write much about him because, despite my irritation with the character, I never wanted to reduce him to being The Clown, or make him the bottom of all sorts of jokes.I may be wierd but even if he is a fictional character I wasn’t going to treat him unfairly ... In general we could say I could never picture him in a way that would make him more appealing to my eyes, as a writer or a fan.

So here in this saturday midnight let me first speak ill of Seiya, and then speak way less ill of him (and if you survive to the end you will find out it really is related to my work, that’s what got me thinking)

The many facettes of Pegasus Seiya and how they made me grow as a writer

(Since this is getting long I figured it needed a title)

If I want to speak ill of Seiya first it is because I am a big fan of riddles. In general I just like to understand the logical connections between everything (you have no idea how satisfied I was the day I found out the anime colours of the gold saints’ hair were chosen to contrast with the overwhelming yellows of their armours. Really it’s just like watching those videos were everything fits perfectly into everything). And I think I did figure out why the “Seiya hate”.

Furthermore, with the exemple of Seiya I started understanding many advice given to beginers about character-building and protagonists. I also hope this first part will illustrate how I always tried to “see the good” in Seiya.

I always thought he was a admirable character - in theory. I believe this is a shared feeling, nobody would dare say Seiya is a poor character absolutely useless to the dynamics of the series.

(Ok I’m idealising a little. but the least one could say is that the content he generates is usually quite neutral)

Everything he does is heoric : he never gives up, he leads, he defeats enemies 300x bigger than himself, he helps those in need ... Seiya is really good, almost perfect in everyway except for his mischievious side, and worthy of all the praise he gets within the universe - in theory.

But oh god how annoying he was in practice

I wonder how many people reading this have never rolled their eyes during one of those typical “Seiya comes to save the day” moments.

So why ? Why is he annoying so many people ? Or, at least, why is he not inspiring as much as other characters of this series do ? I think I found the solution to that riddle (and I know it to be true for at least me and my sibilings)

Personally, I can easily name the moments Seiya irritated me the most. Disrigarding this one scene in a filler where Seiya makes a sexsit comment, it was in the scenes where he appeared at the last moment to save the day and everybody was cheerfully calling him name. Or how he was always the only one to be able to defeat the “big bosses”. All these scenes irritated me in how they were written to make him look as the big hero and protagonist of the show.

Which, you know. He actually is.

The story relates his steps - check

Does heroic stuff : self-sacrifice, never gives up even if the situations look desperate - check

Is indispensable to the plot : he defeats the big bosses, so yes - check

So why ?

Tying to put more words on this, the following sentence formed into my mind : “It is faked protagonism”.

With hindsight I am affraid Seiya’s character suffered a lot from the fillers of the anime in the same way Saori’s roles in fillers left the wrong impression of “damselle in distress” and Shun as “the crybaby always needing his brother to save him”. The fillers repeated ad nauseum the same formula : “enemy attacks - the bronzes go to fight them - Seiya gets hit on the head a lot - Let’s make him hit on the head three times more to show it has nothing to do with the last enemy they fought - He still miraculously avoids head trauma and defeats everyone and is the only one getting carried in triumph”. As a result, his heroic trait was completely banalizing and we were left us thinking “Does he ever do anything new ?”

Talking to my sibilings and seeing the trends on Tumblr the past years, I believe this feeling has been refrazed a lot as “We want to see x characters instead of Seiya”.

This is the point in this analysis where the wannabe writer in me starts putting her two cents. How come even minor characters seem to be more appealing than Seiya ?

I always did get what kind of traits Kuru wanted to give him. In theory. But in practice, they never seem to manage getting past the screen. Leaving out the glamour the Gold Saints’ name offer, if we compare Seiya to the other Bronzes, even taking only manga canon events one could say he suddenly appears quite pale as a character.

For instance, in the course of the series, Shyiru begins undergoing major character developpment from day one; he who had great pride looses his battle against Seiya.

In the later arcs, he sacrifices his eyesight to save his friends in this beautiful scene, which ensues in another character developpment moment where he learns to fight blind, goes to the big 12 temples battle blind. He is the first to kill a Gold Saint -actually he is the only one to have killed 2 gold saints in this battle- and we are very often reminded he is sacrificing a happy life with Shunrei everytime he goes on mission to save the world.

In a similar way, it is easy to be reminded how Ikki is battling his past everyday, how Hyoga is struggling to build a future everyday, and we could all appreciate Shun’s amazing strength in for instance the battle against Pisces or the beautiful scene of his sacrifice in Hades

Next to this, Seiya just seems to be “beaten around”, an idiot who tags along without bringing much into the group aprat from yelling “Saorii-saaaaaan” untill the osts dry up causing him to rise up and defeat the big boss on the cue of pegasus fantasy. And yet, he still receives all the glory in the narative and is at the center of attention.

The general impression me and my sibilings got was “He is the protagonist just because the series is named after him.” The naration and the fillers seem to have built a house of cards around his punch, which is definitively what irritated me and my sibilings and I am theoretising most of the fandom as well.

Now in his defence, his comedic trait and good contact with people does not have much room in end-of-the-world battles against gods that only address to humans talking down to them, and as mentioned the fillers did not do him any favours. The plot of his lost sister is quite forgotten after the first arc, and unlike other characters it does not seems like he picks up any other defining traits during the course of the series. (Personally, the ultimate strie that just made me loose all patience is the shipping with Saori that Toei has going on)

Which is where I realised : this is probably what everybody means when talking of “insuficient of character developpment”

We often see the words “character develeppment” in critiques or writing tips. Everybody stresses how important for your story it is. But it is only recently, paired with the exemple of Seiya that I have truly realised what this means.

I read somewhere that “If your protagonist becomes perfect, if he is not longer evolving, then he stops being a protagonist”. I think with Seiya I could sense the results of keeping a protagonist that is not longer evolving in the story.

One could also argue he is not sacrificing as much as the others. Like sure, he is ready to sacrifice his life every time, but it also never seems that his life is in any real danger - he only ever ends up in the hospital after the big guy is defeated. He never seems to suffer any consquences of his injuries during the battles - has the narative ever implied he could not throw his punches as well as usual because of his injuries ? He mostly attacks, falls down, can’t move for a few minutes and then gets up again. It is more a narrative of “If you don’t succeed, try harder and harder untill you do”.

Which helped me put in practice another writing advice : do not let your main characters excape the consequences of their actions.

It does not mean everything has to be realistic (of course they can loose way more blood that humanly possible and still survive because it visually increases the dramatic effect). I come to realise it means that if you give too much free passes, the stakes will not feel as high, and your plots will bear much less tension than they potentially could.

Going back to Seiya as much as his actions are heroic in theory, they do not feel heroic to most people watching it probably because his "never giving up and keep punching” attitude does not have consequences. They have as much effect as him getting out the trash : it sure is unpleasant, it smells baad, the trash starts leaking, it’s disgusting, you hears noises inside the trash disposal and nobody wants to know what would thrive in this smelly and juicy environement, but in the end it will be over in a second. You just throw away the bag, maybe you got a bit of trash juice on your shoes but it will easily be washed away by water.

Taking the same problem from a different angle offers the opportunity to look into giving traits to your character :

We can all agree that “never give up and keep punching” was intended to be Seiya’s main trait of character. It seems, however, it did not result to be as memorable or as inspiring as planned. Which reminded me of this other piece of advice :

“If you give your character a trait you consider his most defining characteristic, but never challenge it at any point, this trait is going to have as much effect as a mole on their cheek” - it is now loud and clear to me.

With the exemple of Seiya, I would add variety in the challenges is important, because repetition decreses tension, and less tention also means less investment in one’s story (or the story involving one particular character).

And if repeated to much, it becomes annoyance towards one’s character.

Calling myself out - Time to work on liking Seiya

Now this has gotten so much longer and personal than I ever expected, but after speaking so bad of Seiya I really do not want to leave out the part where I speak good of him. Especially when it involves my favourite kind of riddles with Saint Seiya characters : fill the gaps.

As mentioned before, it was always quite clear what traits Kurumada wanted to give the Pegasus Saint. Let’s start with the most obvious ones:

Mischievious side, implying as well that :

Has a sense of humour

Quite good with people or at least with kids

Rebel/independent side (flashback of Saori ridding Jabu, the begining of the anime)

Never gives up

Is a good leader / is capable of bringing people toghether / of rallying people to his cause

The last ones on the list are quite easy to forget about him, because of the “lack of challenge” discussed earlier (nobody would have ever forgotten about his leader skills if let’s say he had prevented Hyoga from turing over completely to Poseidon to stay with Isaak). In that spirit, I recently came across an idea that would make those two traits more “challenging” and give a more human dimention to his character.

Now the fact he was since always a bit of a rebel has an influence on his leader capacities, as being an independent mind he stands out and will not depend much external factors to go in a direction. But this alone does not make such an unchallenged leader as Seiya.

Now this is where my current employment helped this reflexion : I work customer service, more precisely a position involving processing and solving issues.

The very first advice I was given during training was “Always sound confident. Even if you understand jack about what the customer is talking about, just sound confident. Make believe that you know your shit even if you are just about to google a crash course on the subject. Because if they even think for a second that you don’t know they will eat you“.

And let me tell you how accurate this advice is. I became the favourite of this Italian lady who always had problems with her printer because I read to her in a very confident voice an article I was reading on the spot after punching out her question in google.

It is not easy, and it really pumps your adrenaline, but it is true : if you sound confident people are going to follow your lead and believe in what you say. Even if you yourself have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.

Now today, I was thinking how this could be the secret behind “The Miracle of Seiya”; maybe this is why Seiya is very good at being a leader, and even more, why he is very good at being a leader in the apocalypse fighter army of Athena.

He reassures everybody and gives them hope by making them believe he has 100% confidence in a given situation and that everything is under control, much like I became a printer and Wifi expert in the eyes of that Italian lady even though I actually dread those motherfuckers.

That would totally explain this bit at the Cancer temple too, this scene we all make a little fun of, where is is all “Don’t say that Shiryu ! We must think that we have still 9 hours to save Saori !” and moments later he seems to be ignoring his own advice saying “that’s not a lot” (Could be also something lost in translation tho)

And with this sort of influence on other people, he finally becomes a crucial character to the story, as he becomes the glue to the team without which it is possible the other bronzes would not have been as solid of a team, maybe even disbanding as the challenges they faced seemed often hopeless.

And with that I think I am ready to write something involving Seiya someday ...

#fair warning :#this blog is in serious danger of becoming a compilation of the owner's monologues #hello procrastination my old friend #seriouly tho these other fandoms seem to have such interesting or funny meta discussions #oh well

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dbhgrace · 6 years ago

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Technicolor Beat

Connor x OC (fight me), some time after the events of the game

2072 words

Connor and Grace have a few minutes to relax while Hank is out.

( @dbhsimon, since you were interested. And you’re welcome to share it with anyone else that might be interested. If you want.)

“What do you even do all day whenever Hank is done?”

The question admittedly caught Connor by surprise. Grace was kneeling down in front of him sitting on the couch, tending to the ankle he had damaged the day before. This is why he wasn’t attending the briefing for the new case with Hank; Hank was overly concerned that somehow the rest of him would break if he didn’t get the ankle fixed right away. It was too lucky that Grace was around to help. She had been indispensable to the Detroit deviants since Cyberlife now refused to perform repairs on androids that had the audacity to demand autonomy. Her extensive experience in manufacturing years ago proved to be very useful in a time of shortage of spare parts and experienced technicians willing to help.

“I don’t know,” Connor responded, “he normally doesn’t go many places without me. Wait for him to come back I guess.”

Grace lifted her head from her focus on his leg and gave him a quizzical look. “You don’t do anything for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Like… Hobbies?”

Connor paused. “What counts as a hobby? I like to ‘screw around with that coin,’ as Hank puts it.”

Grace snorted, returning her attention to his ankle. Connor heard a quiet but definitive click, then Grace rotated his foot a few times.

“There,” she said, leaning back with a small, satisfied smile. “That should do it. Might take a little walking to get everything settled into place, so movement might be slightly restricted until you walk it out. So to speak.” She pushed a strand of hair that had strayed from its lose ponytail back behind her ear.

Connor tested his range of movement a moment longer as Grace pushed herself back up to her feet. “Thank you, Grace.”

“Don’t mention it. Just be careful and try not to break anything for, oh, at least a day. I have other people to take care of, you know.” She smirked, then huffed quietly and put her hands on her hips. “Mind if I make myself tea?”

“Hank won’t miss it. I don’t even know why he keeps it, he never touches the stuff,” Connor added, raising his voice slightly as Grace walked into the kitchen.

“Maybe he drinks it when you’re not around,” Grace replied.

“I’m always around.”

Grace shrugged, as if Connor would be able to see her response. “Then he keeps it around for guests who come by to fix his android son after he fucks up jumping through a window seven feet off the ground.”

From the living room, Connor could hear the hum of the electric kettle warming water, then the low hiss of hot water being poured into a mug. Grace reentered the living room a few moments later, delicately cradling the steaming mug in her hands. She lowered her face near the mug, then grimaced and withdrew as if stung by the steam.

“Why don’t you turn on the TV so we’re not just sitting here in awkward silence?” she asked.

Connor looked up at her. “You don’t have to go?”

“I don’t have any pressing issues. Markus can call me if an emergency comes up. And I could use a break.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t mind do you?”

“No, no, of course not.”

Grace was already halfway to the other side of the couch, as if she had anticipated his agreement. She sat down, careful to not let her tea spill over, and crossed one leg over the other and leaned against the arm of the couch in a comfortable posture. She contemplated the still steaming tea briefly, then seemingly decided it needed more time to cool before turning the television on.

“-berlife claims that they have tracked the location of a lost prototype to somewhere in Detroit after an extended period of being untraceable. This android allegedly has important company in-“

“Next channel,” Grace interjected, and the television complied.

The face of the news anchor was replaced with an advertisement that seemed to be in the middle of setting some elaborate, clever joke to draw people into buying their product. Grace did not seem to mind the lack of unique broadcasting content.

“News is too frustrating right now,” Grace said, answering the question Connor had not asked her. “I know what people think of androids every time I have to scrounge for a replacement arm, or fight to keep someone’s thirium pump regulator going long enough to replace it along with three units of blue blood. I don’t need reminded when everything at the church is going relatively well.”

Connor continued to look at her a moment longer as she continued to gaze solemnly at the bright screen, then turned his attention to the television as some announcer appeared to introduce contestants of some sort. He wasn’t familiar with the face on the screen, but a quick scan revealed the man was a host of a dance contest that was nearing the end of the season.

“Is this you introducing me to a hobby?” Connor asked, turning back to Grace. The man continued to drone on about the contestants’ stories in the background.

“Nah,” Grace shrugged, “watching TV isn’t really a hobby, per se. But it passes time. So it’s an idea for something for you to do while Hank is gone, instead of staring into space contemplating the meaning of life.”

“I don’t contemplate the meaning of life.”

Grace chuckled, now attentive to the changing image. A couple was now on the screen, the man dressed in a smart tan suit and the woman in a yellow ruffled dress that was short in the front and long in the back. The fashion was reminiscent of what may have been considered very stylish twenty years ago, and the music and scenery around them reflected that aesthetic.

The pair were well synchronized; they had been practicing for weeks. Everything flowed into what seemed to be one long, fluid movement, but if he looked closely enough Connor could watch the components of footwork and pattern across the floor that contributed to the dance as a whole. One wrong step would be noticed, but the two were impeccable in their timing. Connor didn’t know much, or anything really, about dancing, but he got the sense that these two were doing well.

Grace sighed wistfully a few feet away. “I’ve always wanted to try dancing,” she said.

Connor waited a moment, continuing to watch the couple, before answering. “Why haven’t you? That could be a fun… hobby.”

“Don’t have a partner. And it feels too strange to go to a class to learn to dance with a complete stranger.” She took a hand away from her still untouched tea, then continued to speak in a lower, exaggerated tone of her own voice, gesturing with her now free hand. “Oh hey, guy or lady I’ve never met, we’re either equally terrible at this or I’m infinitely more terrible than you. Wanna pretend to figure this out and feel so embarrassed that we’ll have someone else next week, repeat ad nauseum until one of us quits?”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that’s how it would go,” he said.

“Maybe,” Grace said, shrugging. “Guess I’m just too shy to find out.”

The conversation reached a halt. The room would have been quiet, if not for the old 00’s song playing from the television. As the well-choreographed dance came to a stop and the host introduced the next pair, Grace turned to ask Connor his thoughts. Her question was stopped as she opened her mouth, immediately noticing the blinking yellow circle at his temple.

“Oh, what are you scheming?” she asked.

Connor snapped his head toward her. “What?”

“Please,” she said, “as if I don’t know what that LED means. It only blinks yellow like that when you’re confused or thinking really hard about something. What are you scheming Connor? Did you decide to yank me out of my shell and sign me up for a dance class?”

“Not exactly.”

“Wh-?”

Her confused protest was interrupted as Connor pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to stand in front of her perch on the couch. He extended a hand towards her, and she continued to look up at him.

“Come on, we’ll be equally terrible,” he said, pushing his hand an inch closer.

Grace sputtered briefly. “Con-“

“It can be like a trial version. You can see if you want to do it again next week with a stranger. Repeat ad nauseum.” He insisted another inch further. “Come on, the next song will start any second.”

Grace exhaled a sharp, short laugh. She set the mug aside, safe and out of the way, then took Connor’s hand and let him help pull her to her feet. They stood just a few inches apart, their hands still clasped together. They both hesitated for a beat, then together settled each of their free hand on the other, his hand resting gently at her waist and hers delicately clasping his shoulder.

“You’re going to mess up that ankle I just fixed,” Grace said.

Connor shrugged. “I don’t mind if you have to stay around a little longer.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the lighting as the nearby screen transitioned into a red backdrop. Or perhaps Connor actually saw Grace’s face turn just a shade pinker.

Music began to play from the television speakers, and the pair began to move. This song was certainly much more recent than the previous, released only in the last year. A bright female voice sang over an upbeat, technicolor beat. But Connor and Grace did not hear the lyrics; they were too focused on the movement of their own feet.

Their dance was not an ugly, stumbling thing of two novices. They made full use of the cramped space amongst furniture, stepping and twisting, and within just a few measures Grace was grinning as she whirled herself through a twirl, then pulled herself back into Connor’s arms. His expression lifted when her free hand rested itself on his chest.

“You’re suspiciously good at this,” she noted, raising an eyebrow.

“I cheated,” he admitted. He raised his hand to point at his temple quickly, then rested it back on her waist. “Preconstruction and reconstruction.”

Grace rolled her eyes, but her expression was still light. “Of course you did.”

“You’re pretty good yourself, you know.”

Connor noted her brief expression of surprise at the compliment, but her face quickly settled into a relaxed smile. “Guess I’m a quick learner,” she replied, gazing to the right shyly.

The music had not yet stopped, but their movement had come to a lull. Even Grace’s breathing was controlled and even, despite the activity only a few moments before. The few inches between them had closed. Connor realized suddenly, somehow, that Grace had looked back up at him, and he had been looking back for a few seconds. Or a minute. Or an hour.

Her hand inched up his chest towards his shoulder. His hand pressed just a little more firmly on her waist.

The lighting in the room brightened as headlights outside turned into the driveway.

Grace gasped and jumped back, out of Connor’s arms and into a table. Her wince was quickly followed by a thud as her mug toppled down, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, and turned towards the kitchen.

“No, I’ll-“ Connor protested. But she was already gone, and it was only a short period before she came back with a handful of towels.

The front door opened as Grace knelt down next to the table to clean up the tea. Connor remained standing the same way he had when Grace had jumped back from him as Hank walked through the door. Hank remained still for a few seconds, as he took in the scene before him. His posture relaxed, and he waved casually at Grace.

“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d still be here.”

“Sorry,” Grace replied, smiling at him quickly then turning her attention back to the spill. “Made a mess.”

“Better?” Hank asked, twisting his neck to casually gesture towards Connor’s ankle.

Connor looked down at his ankle, then averted his eyes to look down at Grace. She was looking back up at him. Connor returned his gaze to Hank after a split second of mutual silence.

“Much.”

#listen i love naming fics after songs I love sue me #writing #dbh

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landywinslow · 4 years ago

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The Ides of March

What do you call the anniversary of something you didn’t want to happen? Is there a name for that? Maybe it’s just “anniversary,” but with a dark timbre of voice? Either way, there’s an experience that most of us shared about twelve months ago, and I’m not sure exactly how to commemorate it. Like, part of me feels like celebrating something. Resilience. Survival. Etc. But part of me wants to spend the day laying in the fetal position with a bucket of strong drink.

Overall, I feel proud. I’m proud of the ingenuity of our species collectively and individually. I’m proud of all of us for navigating (however awkwardly) the restrictions and profound anxiety of all of it. I’m proud of the millions and billions of us who have stolidly continued to place one foot in front of the other amidst loss of loved ones, loss of income, loss of any and every sense of security. I’m proud of all the people trudging forward with ravaged mental health, emotional exhaustion, and the crippling sense that we aren’t moving forward at all but sliding and struggling down a filthy muddy slope of futility. Despite everything, we continue. Maybe not to do anything but we continue.

March 13th, 2020 was a Friday. In The Before, I joked about Friday the 13th’s being bad luck. I haven’t joked about it since. It hasn’t been an intentional avoidance, just the fact that our collective existence in the past year has felt like such a string of unbelievably heartbreaking bad luck that I can’t conceptualize it as lighthearted anymore.

I mention all of this because that thirteenth day of March, the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty was, unbeknownst to me at the time, my Last Normal Day.

A year ago my family was at the end of a long and grueling battle with a cockroach infestation that had taken up almost every waking thought for a month. The exterminator had come twice, prompting us to completely disembowel and deep clean the kitchen three times. I was kicking myself for the gentle “All Life is Sacred” approach to the small, seemingly non-roach insect I had caught on the counter weeks earlier, and dumped gently into the bushes outside without a second thought. Dealing with a colony of pests while parenting four young kids and starting a new job at a big event venue in town (insert ominous music) was exhausting me faster than I could caffeinate.

All of the vague news circulating about a virus swirled around the periphery of my very challenging present. I saw an infographic that said it was less dangerous than the flu, and that eased the itch of anxiety enough for me to put it on the back burner. Dozens of doomsday prophecies had come across my proverbial desk, and had amounted to nothing. I doubted this would be any different. I joked to my neighbor, “Everyone else is talking about this coronavirus stuff, and I’m over here like, ‘Virus? What virus!? My house is FULL OF ROACHES!!!’” as we stood together watching our kids tumble around with each other in the twilight. “The only part of it I’m nervous about,” I remarked, “is school closing. I had a horrible homeschooling experience and my education is shit. I’m terrified to be responsible for their learning, and I’m at the end of my rope as it is!”

Oh sweet, innocent child. If only she knew how much could (and would) be woven, tied, taped, and glued on to the end of that rope.

That Friday was drizzly and cold. I decided to be uncharacteristically optimistic and make the best of it by doing something out of the ordinary with the kids. We drove to the nearest indoor mall and wandered around, window shopping and riding the escalators. When we got to the little spongy, rubbery playground they wanted to play, so after depositing their shoes and socks next to a dozen others in the little cubbies, I opened up my phone to zone out a bit. I stumbled across a meme that said, “Just a warning, this week starts with changing the clocks, moves to a full moon, and ends with a Friday the 13th… Good luck people! Ps: Don’t forget to wash your hands.” I chuckled and sent it to a couple friends.

Everything was fine until a little toddler I didn’t know came up beside me, sniffly and coughing. As I reflexively shifted away from her, a shadow of dread crept into my chest; Maybe we should go wash our hands. I called my kids over and reminded them to not touch their faces until we were finished playing there, which in child-code meant: Pick your nose and/or lick your hand immediately. I rolled my eyes and went back to my phone. A friend or two had posted about closures in their cities, cases beginning to accumulate. I began to worry, but it wasn’t here right? I became increasingly aware of the crowds of people around us, the very first anxiety about group contagion that I can remember experiencing. It’s not here I reassured myself, malls seem contagious in the best of times. But even as I worked to calm the bubbling fear, my passive assessment of risk silently transitioned into something more tangible. I gave the kids a five minute warning, and seconds later a text alerted me of a new post in our school’s parent portal. My stomach dropped, somehow cognizant that this was the fateful moment. My hands trembled, hesitating over the preview: “Dear Staff and Families...” until finally the weight of not knowing was heavy enough to push my thumb across the screen, unsealing the portentous message.

I skimmed it so quickly for bad news that I ended up having to re-read it three times before finding the key information: “There has been a community-based transmission of COVID-19 in San Diego county. As such, we are cancelling all field trips, social events, and learning center instruction through April 10th.” The hammer fell so gently at the end of that sentence that it didn’t sink in all at once, but rolled around on the surface of my mind for a few moments. All instruction... Cancelled until April 10th. Tears queued up along my lower lids, the first of a very long line. No sense in putting it off, I sighed after a moment of silence for the coming trials. I called my kids to leave and to give them the news, already knowing that their initial reaction would be the opposite of mine. School closed for a month was a dream come true for them. But I knew it wasn’t a month off of school, it was a month of not going to school. A month of my brain stretched thin, full of holes, having to face up to one of my most visceral and life long insecurities. Homeschooling meant working double time, through crippling self doubt, first to learn all of the concepts myself and then, juggling four grade levels, attempting to translate the information to humanoid pinballs who would much rather be doing something else. I felt sick with dread.

In reality, a month would have been such a lenient sentence, wouldn’t it? The disbelief I experienced back then while attempting to look forward is an inverted version of what I feel now looking back. The exact same sense, but from opposite views. Last March I couldn’t believe how impossibly long a month seemed. Now I can’t believe that I thought a month was so long.

After we left the mall, I dropped by our school to pick up a workbook and spoke with one of the teachers. We laughed together at how silly it all was. We were sure that it would pass quickly and said that maybe we’d make the most of it by snagging one of the newly affordable flights. The next day I went to work and repeated that conversation ad nauseum with my coworkers. “They say it’s not even as bad as the flu!” We parroted back and forth, because it comforted us. At the end of our shift we all gathered around to ask our boss about job security. “None of the shut down orders apply to us,” she assured, “and we’re booked solid for the rest of the year. Nothing to worry about here!” That was my last shift.

I recently rewatched some of the entertainment content that came out a year ago. Clunky interviews and table reads done from whatever corner of the house was quietest; celebrities looking slightly dishevelled in their own clothes and diy hair and makeup, recording from iPhones and laptop cameras without proper lighting. Everyone kind of hunching over a screen that was balanced on whatever flat surface was nearby, just like my friends and I do it. It was like everyone’s mask came off, and underneath we were all the same: exposed, scared humans attempting to hold on to any semblance of normalcy within reach. During my rewatching, I found a Tonight Show interview with Lin Manuel Miranda that aired five days after my Last Normal Day. Following a maladroit preamble, Jimmy Fallon says, “A lot of people are saying to me, ‘You must be getting a lot of work done right now, a lot of writing done.’ Are people asking you that?” and in the desperate tone of every disoriented parent, Lin replies, “I’m not getting work done! I’m learning how to teach math!”

I found the interview equal parts endearing and heartbreaking. We were still so bright eyed and cautiously optimistic that a solution was right around the corner. We just had to flatten the curve. A year later, it feels like all capability for optimism has been sapped, leaving nothing but an indigestible husk. And yet, here I am. For months and months and months every plan has had to change, every expectation has had to pivot, and every experience has been seasoned with disappointment. The reflexive code of, “I can’t do this. I can’t possibly do this.” has run through me on an infinite loop. But I did do it. I am doing it. All of us are. We continue. Despite the stress and isolation and loss and grief we experience. We exist. We are self sustaining verbs, even in what feels like stasis.

Do you see what I mean about not knowing how to feel about this anniversary? Even at our most beaten down, we are remarkable and there is such a tension between the positive and negative of that. In her poignant and encouraging article for The Atlantic titled “5 Pandemic Mistakes We Keep Making,” Zeynep Tufekci writes, “Hope nourishes us during the worst times, but it is also dangerous. It upsets the delicate balance of survival—where we stop hoping and focus on getting by—and opens us up to crushing disappointment if things don’t pan out.” In all honesty, I’m not ready to hope again. It’s too much to ask, after these last twelve months have burned through every reserve. But I’m also not ready to mourn this last year. The weight of loss has already hung so heavily that asking anything more of us is unthinkable.

A few months ago I began casually looking into the 1918 flu, as a sort of morbid self soothing exercise. I enjoy reading about it because, while the impact was devastating, the similarity of restrictions and the photos of everyone wearing (less fashionable) masks brings a comforting sense of camaraderie. But mostly I like reading about it for one single fact: it ended. I think that’s the most hope-adjacent perspective possible. We don’t know when our pandemic will end, but whenever it is, it is inevitable. When I put it like that, acknowledging that there was that day last March when everything changed for me, and acknowledging that there will be some other day or days where things inevitably continue to change… acknowledging that there’s no way possible to get back to old normal and no way yet to get to a new normal… it brought a sort of acceptance. I’m not ready to hope or celebrate or mourn, but I am ready to accept. Ultimately, I think acceptance is the only possible way I can commemorate this milestone that is not a beginning or an end. This anniversary of my Last Normal Day simply exists. Just like me. Just like you. I accept that it is a single milestone on a long, treacherous path, and I will keep trudging forwards through however many more days are before me, finding little spots of color and beauty as best I can. The other thing I notice while reading about the last pandemic is how it segued almost seamlessly into the Roaring Twenties. I don’t know about you, but whenever it is that we finally look around and find ourselves in the falling action of this pandemic’s narrative, I sure as hell plan to live it up.

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canvaswolfdoll · 7 years ago

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CanvasWatches: Winter 2018 Anime Season

Another season of Funimation Dubs has come and gone. I watched yet another small handful of animes, so I might as well properly establish a tradition.

Winter 2018. The way the seasons get named will probably always throw me off, since I mentally assign winter as the end of the year (possibly an influence of Harvest Moon) but Spring’s straight forward enough.

This time I watched four animes to completion and dropped one. I also kept meaning to binge the first series of Cardcaptor Sakura (since Crunchyroll so nicely put the dub up for free) to jump on Clear Card, but then I… didn’t. Didn’t find time.

As usual, in order of completion!

Dagashi Kashi Season 2

The return of this series was inexplicable, but fun. Though the episodes were cut down to just 15(-ish) minutes apiece, which was a little disappointing content-wise. Sure, the half-hour episodes of the first season were essentially two clearly divided segments, but actually committing to half-length episodes means this season had less content.

The first half continued the formula of ‘Hotaru comes in, acts weird, then gives a Dagashi lecture’ before she vanishes for the second half of the season without giving an explanation.

After which point, two new characters are introduced: a convenience store manager with suspiciously familiar eyes, and Hajime, a college dropout who wears glasses and doesn’t actually know much about Dagashi. Both are great additions, and Hajime becomes a good “student of dagashi” character, but the convenience store manager (whose name I forget) should’ve been mined for more material, especially with the reveal at the end of the series.

I’d like a third season to explore what’s possible with the full cast (since Hotaru only has one scene with the two newbies), but I admit such is unlikely.

The Ancient Magus’ Bride

This is a series that probably deserves a full review in its own right, and maybe someday I’ll come back to do so. I started it last season, and now it’s concluded.

Magus’ Bride so wanted to be Fullmetal Alchemist, which is ultimately it’s greatest failing. Sure, it was initially cute whenever I could laugh and say ‘Look, just like FMA!’ but after a while, it stops being funny and gets suspiciously familiar.

Ultimately, the world was too big for its story. Characters are introduced, new world details revealed, hints to backstories uncovered, but the series is bad at pay off. Either a conflict is solved within the first couple minutes of the next episode, or it’s always unresolved. I kept waiting for the mystery of what Elias is to take focus, but it’s only ever teased.

It could’ve been so much better if everything related to alchemy was cut (because Magic and the Fey are enough for fantasy), the final antagonist had more appearances, and if the show was longer.

And the central relationship between Chise and Elias just never found its way to romance. The two remained locked in Teacher/Student[1] for the entire run. Elias doesn’t fully understand emotion, and Chise is codependent. I never reached a point where I could nod and say ‘Ah yes. They’re in love.’ The imagery used in the final scene isn’t earned.

I will say the Devimon arm’s great, though.

Pop Team Epic

It’s… fine.

There are some genuinely funny moments, and the meta-gags (switching the voice actors for the two leads every episode, changes between the two halves) are inspired. However, it’s clearly a series doing it for the Meme, to be turned into GIFs and short videos. So after a couple episodes, once I got the tone and humor, it wasn’t very engaging. Especially since each episode is essentially a 15-minute episode doubled and redubbed.

I’m not a big fan of memes. Or, rather, Meme culture, where a joke structure gets caught onto and reinterpreted until the next hotness arrives. Sure, sometimes some brilliant parodies of the meme arise, but internet memes can wear thin real quickly. Most importantly, memes just don’t feel clever.

There’s nothing more tedious than listening to a group of improv performers repeat Spongebob quotes ad nauseum.

Even watching the anime on a weekly basis burns out too quickly. Pop Team Epic will live its best life as gif sets, popping up sporadically. As a series, it’s best viewed spread out and sparingly.

It’s cotton candy. Quick pleasure, no substance.

Karakai Jozu No Takagi-San

This one’s just cute. Sure, the central relationship doesn’t fully advance, but it’s still cute.

It’s also an example of gag-segments done really well. There’s a consistent theme between them (Takagi embarrassing Nishikata) and a progressive advancement (Takagi subtly trying to get Nishikata to realize their mutual feelings) and continuity.

There’s also the occasional side story starring a trio of girls from Takagi and Nishikata’s class which I wasn’t as invested in, but Foxface apparently enjoyed more than the main plot, so there’s that second-hand endorsement.

Really, the only thing the series did wrong was not winking at the original manga’s sequel series. Would’ve been an adorable capper.

Citrus

And the one I dropped. I was hoping for another cute romance with some drama due to culture and the taboo nature of the relationship. Why not, pressure makes diamonds or whatever?

However, the basis of the relationship was way too Assault-y for my tastes. Yes, they’re trying to build up the trauma of the abuser making her that way, but it’s uncomfortable. Not in a ‘oh, shame on you for thinking this would be hot’ slap-back which I would’ve respected, but instead in a manner that is just not okay.

I might retry later, so that a binge would condense the discomfort, but I’m also comfortable with abandoning it.

---

So that was Winter 2018. What am I looking forward to for Spring 2018?

Well, My Hero Academia is back for season 3. That’s a must, but still waiting for its first episode to get dubbed before I begin.

I feel required to watch Steins;Gate 0. I watched the first series at the excited request of old high school friends (and it took me a while due to needing a Dub). I thought it was okay, but a little overhyped by aforementioned friends. Still, it wasn’t offensive or particularly poorly executed, so I might as well watch the follow up.

A Tumblr Blog I follow seems to love the Golden Kamuy manga, so might as well. Might be good?

Space Battleship Tiramisu is food comedy IN SPACE! It may not be Delicious in Dungeon, but I dip my toe in sci-fi from time to time.

Then I might pick up Darling in the Franxx, though Mecha is a genre I’ve always had difficulty getting into.[2]

It’s not a particularly exciting season, but worst case scenario, MHA is the only one to survive my gauntlet and I have more time to catch up.

Maybe I’ll even invest in HiDive. It’s catalogue has a few of my white whales.

Well, until next time, check out my other works, send me questions, support my Patreon. Hopefully I’ll find the resources to diversify my content.

In particular, bringing CanvasReviews into other mediums.

Kataal kataal.

---

[1] Then again, I might be tainted by my hatred of Hot for Teacher.

[2] Gurren Lagann has been attempted a couple times and I intend to keep trying. Neon Genisis Evangelion is a lost cause for many reasons.

#CanvasWatches #anime #Dagashi Kashi #ancient magus bride #karakai jouzu no takagi-san #pop team epic #CanvasReviews

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the-tales-of-horror · 8 years ago

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Law & Order Doesn’t Always Lead To A Happy Ending

Original Link By feyedharkonnen

“Knock, Knock”

“Who’s there?” I said it automatically now, which is what happens when your kid tells knock-knock jokes incessantly, having discovered their appeal about a week ago.

“Smell Mop” It was funny the first few dozen times she asked me this one but even as the guy who told her most of the jokes she now regurgitated, ad nauseum, in every waking hour, the novelty was wearing thin.

“Andi, honey, Daddy doesn’t want to knock-knock right now, I know, let’s watch your favorite show!” I jumped to my feet and yelled “DUN DUN!” Andi squealed with delight at the hallmark of her favorite, Law and Order. Who knew 3 year olds would prefer police procedural dramas over Dora the Explorer. I’m still waiting for Boots and Dora to find Swiper in an alley, having been killed by his fence.

I turned on the TV and went in the kitchen to make us some PB&Js and grab some Sunny Delight. It turned out to be a re-run, as was the norm at 2pm on a Thursday, but it was new to Andi, so she sat in her accustomed spot, right next to me with one of my arms over her shoulder, using my bicep as a pillow. The bright little sprite was wise enough to realize that Jerry Orbach, who played Detective Lenny Briscoe was also the voice of Lumiere in Beauty and the Beast. She referred to him as “Loomy Bisco”.

This episode was a good one though and it involved a missing person, so at the end of the episode, as L&E will often do they flashed across the screen, real missing people, both adults and children. I had gotten up to clear our mess of paper plates and refill the Sunny D when I heard Andi, “Daddy, that’s Unca Billy and Jeffy!” I looked up and saw on my screen, a younger version of the old guy William, who lived across the street from me with his grandson Jeffery. It certainly looked like them but I didn’t want Andi to get overly excited and exascerbate her asthma. “It kinda looks like them honey, but that couldn’t be them, does Billy look like a bad man?” She thought about it for a moment and then said “Ok Daddy, you right.”

I sent a text to my wife who was at work and told her what we’d seen. She called me about 5 minutes later and told me I should contact the 800 number for missing and exploited children to give the tip, you know, just in case. So I did, all the while pacing by the large picture window in the front room, seeing if there were any activity across the street. I explained to the person on the line that I wasn’t entirely certain, but someone on one of their broadcasts could be my 60-something-year-old neighbor and his “Grandson” could be the kid this guy abducted 9 years ago. I felt like an idiot and that I was betraying him in some way by jumping to this grandest of conclusions. If we’d had the technology in 2001, I could have sent a picture somehow. I didn’t own a fax machine and my indestructible Nokia just didn’t have the capabilities.

“Sir, this is very important,…” The person on the line interrupted my wandering mind, “I’m sorry, ma’am, what was the question?” The woman repeated herself, “Do you know if the gentleman in question owns any firearms?” It was a bit of a jarring question after making a call on a whim. “Will? Yeah, the guy is an avid hunter and fisher, has a collection that would make Charlton Heston proud, I’m kind of jeal…” She cut me off, “Stand by please sir.” and the dulcet tones of Kenny G’s “Songbird” filled my ear, gross.

30 seconds later, a man came on the line, “Mr. Jacobs, my name is Carl Singleton and I’m a Special Agent in Charge of the Cincinnati Field Office for the Federal Bureau of Investigations.” I held my phone away from my ear and stared at it for a moment, looked over my shoulder at Andi watching Disney and brought the phone back to my ear. “I’m sorry, did you just say you were with the FBI?” This was becoming surreal. “Yes sir, I’m going to ask you a series of questions about your neighbor, William.” I balked at the idea of divulging the information at first. “Are you serious?”

“I take things of this nature very seriously Mr. Jacobs. Please just answer the questions.” He asked how long we’d lived here and how long we’d known Will, any distinguishing features, quirks, and odd behavior in public around Jeffery. Questions about his temperament, any substance or alcohol abuse issues, and suspicions of any skeletons in my neighbor’s closet. I felt like I was in front of the McCarthy Commission ratting on suspected commies. I answered as best I could but nothing seemed to concern the FBI guy until I mentioned Will’s ring and a scar on his chin.

“Wait, go back to the ring, can you describe it?” I thought for a moment, “Yeah, everybody in the neighborhood can describe that ring, it’s just like the ring that Tom Selleck wears in Magnum P.I., you know, the cross, Will is a huge Magnum fan.” I could hear Singleton muffle his end of the phone and yell something to another person, he came back to me. “Mr. Jacobs, I’m going to ask that you refrain from any contact with William at this time while we look into some things, it may be nothing.” And with that, he ended the call, leaving me to stare at the cordless phone in my hand. The nothing he spoke about happened 20 minutes later as I watched 2 unmarked cars block off the end of my street.

I picked up the phone to call my wife and was greeted by a dead line. I grabbed my Nokia and it read “No Service”. I looked out the window to see men clad in black tactical gear dodging between houses toward Will’s house, the activity outside finally caught the attention of Andi, who had been riveted by Disney this whole time when a helicopter wheeled overhead and took up a stationary hover about 150 feet above my neighborhood. “Daddy! A Whirlybird!” she squealed in delight, that’s what we called them. I told her to go back to the tv while daddy tried to figure out what was going on. I walked to my front door and opened it.

Three feet to the left of my door, the muzzle of an M-16 swung up to my chest then dropped again just as quickly and the uniformed gentleman who held it said through gritted teeth, just loud enough for me to hear, “Sir, get. The. Fuck. Back in your house, and stay there.” And he pulled my door shut. I noticed Andi a few feet away with wide eyes, “Daddy, that man said a bad word!” It made me laugh through the nervousness in my stomach, “Yes baby, yes he did. Shame on him.” There was no keeping her away from the window now since she’d seen the chaos going on in our little corner of the world.

I turned my Lazy Boy in the front room toward the picture window and got popcorn, since there was nothing else I could do. Andi sat on the arm of the chair commenting on the various figures running here and there. After about an hour, a black car came though the roadblock at the end of our street and came to a stop just behind the large RV that had been rolled in, a tall grizzled looking man got out and fixed his tie, Andi stared after him with rapt attention, “Loomy Bisco?” she asked. I laughed and said, “No baby, Loomy is on TV.” As if that would distract her from the guy in front of my house who clearly looked like he could be Jerry Orbach’s younger brother.

He spoke with one of the tactical guys for a moment and then went in the RV. After 15 minutes of static nothingness, a group of the uniform clad men burst into action, one team in the front, and I can only assume one team in the back, I knew the layout of Will’s house, as we lived in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, his house was almost identical to mine. At the front, a large man stepped up to the door with what looked like a large metal pipe with handles; he swung it back once, and brought the end crashing into the door just to the left of the doorknob. The frame, to the right, came apart like kindling and the door swung violently inward.

The big man swung to the side and the uniforms, huddled in a line, streamed in the gap like an armored centipede with a shield at its head. I can’t tell if it was five seconds later or ten, but the front picture window exploded outward in a fireball, the concussion blowing in my window and showering Andi and I with small chunks of glass. I picked her up, and ignoring the cuts to the bottom of my feet rushed to my bedroom at the rear of the house. I looked her over and aside from a few small cuts here and there, she was fine.

I could see her crying, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing except for a high-pitched ringing in my ears. I felt something oozing in my ear, and judging from the small amount of blood coming from Andi’s, I could well guess what it was. I walked, Andi in my arms to the front of the house to peek out the window to see if there were new developments, there were. It was a nightmare of burning cars, people staggering around blindly, carnage, the team that had entered Will’s house, what was left of them, was strewn across the once carefully manicured lawn, viscera and limbs here and there.

I didn’t have to worry about Andi seeing this scene of devastation as she had her face firmly planted in my shoulder. I could feel her tears soaking my t-shirt. The Loomy Bisco look-a-like came staggering out of the RV, a red stain about where you’d guess his appendix would be, the stain spreading slowly, his hand absentmindedly, occasionally touching the small, shiny, crimson shard of metal that protruded from his shirt. I walked as steadily as I could toward him. I could start to hear things very faintly through the ringing.

My voice sounded, to me, like I was speaking from somewhere around the vicinity of my chest. “You’re Singleton, aren’t you!” it was more of a statement than a question. He looked at me, confused, I could see him saying “Who the fuck are you?” I mimed the sign for a telephone and said “Jacobs”. His eyes passed over me and then Andi, then around the scene; his eyes showed regret, “I’m sorry, I should have known it wasn’t going to be this easy.” He waved over a group of rushing paramedics, refusing treatment until his knees buckled and it wasn’t his choice anymore. They looked us over and we received a ride to the hospital to check us for any internal injuries. I called my wife to let us know what was going on.

Tabitha nearly beat us to the hospital, that woman is a Formula One driver when it comes to needing to get to the hospital, as evidenced by her collection of speeding tickets from Andi’s occasional visits due to her asthma, which, surprisingly had not made an appearance as a result of the excitement of the day, I don’t know if my baby was in shock and it just hadn’t hit her yet, I was ready for anything by now.

Andi had fallen asleep in her exam room near the ER so Tabitha and I stepped into the hallway to discuss what had happened. A familiar, by now, face strode up to the pair of us and introduced himself to Tabitha.

“Carl Singleton, Special Agent in Charge, FBI. I can only assume you are Mrs. Jacobs. May I speak with you and your husband a moment?” We looked in Andi’s direction and he nodded, “Agent Samuels will be watching her.” He introduced a tall black man with scrubs on who nodded deferentially to us and proceeded to enter the room and take a seat in one of the chairs near the bed.

Singleton led us to a quiet office off one of the many hallways and sat heavily in a chair, wincing when he did so, he stopped his hand from goin to where I’d seen him bleeding back in the neighborhood. “You alright?” I asked, he responded with “I’ve had worse, but that’s not why we’re here. Your neighbor…” Tabitha chimed in, “Will?” Singleton sighed and corrected her, “Will as you call him is really one Staff Sargent Jonathan Merrill; former Army Ranger, veteran of three tours in Vietnam, and a psychopath of the highest order.

He initially came to our attention in 1977, shortly after his medical discharge from the Army. He claimed to be suffering from severe PTSD and was in custody after murdering his wife and four children in a particularly bloody fashion, a Family Annihilator is what the eggheads at the Behavioral Analysis Unit classed him as. He escaped custody on his way to a lifetime stay at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas and has been on the run from us ever since, leaving us a trail of bodies from one side of the country to the other, even foraying into Canada and Mexico. This is the closest we’ve come to him in 7 years.”

“The eggheads really want their hands on him alive because he’s unique as far as serial killers go, they usually stick to a pattern and that becomes their thing, and I rarely, if ever changes. But with Merrill, he’s a special snowflake, he changes, he went from the family, to prostitutes, then hikers, then truck drivers, and now, teenage boys, we want to stop him before he changes his stripes again, so to speak. The Bureau refers to him as Mercury, because he’s so fluid and deadly. It wasn’t until recently, with forensic advances, that we were able to attribute dozens of other victims that we had originally thought were completely different killers with varying modes operandi. Personally, this guy terrifies me.”

“Why have we never heard of him? We could have…” Tabitha started to say, but Singleton cut her off, “The powers that be kept this under for wraps for reasons that I was never made privy to, but now, after today, they can’t hide this anymore. They’ll have to give us more now, or at least give us a deadly force option, he’s responsible now for the deaths of nine of our best tactical operators. That’s on my conscience because I underestimated the lengths he would go to escape and evade us, but this was calculated, that bomb was waiting for us. And that’s not all, when the explosive ordnance disp… I’m sorry, when the bomb squad finished clearing the residence, they found several… disturbing things.”

He paused and chewed his bottom lip a bit, as if trying to decide to tell us. “We found what we believe to be several graves, which means he’s been active and we will be unaware of if he has changed anything in regards to his M.O. until we autopsy the victims. One of the oddest things was a book of knock-knock jokes, we have no idea if theirs any significance to it.” Singleton shrugged, dismissing the statement he’d just made. I felt my intestines turn to ice and I was on my feet and sprinting down the hallways before my brain came to a full realization of why. Andi.

The world started to come back to me a little at a time as I ran, people shouting at me for running in a hospital, the pain in my feet from the glass I’d stepped in earlier, the dull quality to sounds from the blast damage. I got to the room where we’d left Andi with the undercover FBI agent. I pushed the door open to an empty room. I heard a groan from the other side of the bed, I scrambled around the side to see Samuels gasping for breath through the ragged hole in his throat, foamy blood surrounded the wound and streamed down his chest. “Where’s Andi!?” I screamed at the dying man. Fear and sorrow filled his eyes just before he died and he pointed above his head to the bed-side table. There was a note.

“Knock Knock, Neighbor, (turn over)”

I felt a paralysis of sorts set in as my mind filled in the blank, “Who’s there?”

I turned over the note as I heard Tabitha and Singleton come into the room behind me.

“Nobody, bye bye.”

#Law & Order Doesn't Always Lead To A Happy Ending #Horror Story #Scary Story #Creepy Story #Reddit NoSleep #TTOH

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deadcactuswalking · 6 years ago

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The Beauty of “Doin’ Your Mom” by Ray William Johnson

Love him or hate him, Ray William Johnson is a pioneer of new media. He was one of the most famous YouTubers back in the day in what was about the late 2000s and early 2010s, and was really the first dude to make a true, long-term career on the platform, forming a company just to fund his Equals Three show, which, yes, it’s somewhat unwatchable but it’s vintage YouTube so I give most of it an excuse and play it off as dated comedy from someone who was actually old enough to know better, but it was a different time and I’m actually consistently impressed by Ray and how he continues to pop up everywhere as nostalgia for the early days of YouTube starts to seep into this post-ironic era of Internet culture, as people remember the remnants of the more sincere YouTube, with people like Quinton Reviews, TheGamerFromMars and wavywebsurf making informative videos about the classic YouTube and its viral videos that propel someone into stardom for at least about 15 minutes. Now we’re in the age of a company-fuelled platform that treats its community of content creators as the fries on the side of their order of The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Do I miss the days of “Chocolate Rain” and when any viral hit could make it through the cracks? Of course I do, but it’s not like that can’t happen and memes can’t spread, look at how Lil Nas X has taken advantage of the memes surrounding “Old Town Road” to build his own career – and it was only a matter of time before massive companies learned how to use the Internet. I’d argue Ray is at fault at least in some capacity for making the transition to a talk show highlights website a tad cooler, though, and it’s not like he wasn’t making himself and his show (As well as his animated “Band” which I’m pretty sure is just him) a brand in itself. Ray overall was a fascinating man and still is, and whilst most of his content isn’t looked upon fondly, he does have a few gems in there, like “Orphan Tears” from the Your Favorite Martian days, one I still jam to every now and then, because it’s catchy and whilst incredibly dated now due to the club beat and Bill Cosby references doesn’t feel like it won’t last the test of time like most other YouTube content that has ever been uploaded, especially its music – including the more recent stuff from people like the Paul brothers, but before “It’s Everyday Bro” there was another iconic comedy hip hop track on YouTube that I’d argue is a much more judicious choice for analysis, and it was by Fatty Spins – often stylised as FAttY SPiNS for the sake of confusion – a hip-hop collective fronted by Ray William Johnson and his friends Micfri (The white dude) and Breeze, a singer and according to this song, guitarist? They released about six known songs and have since been lost in the sands of time, at least for all we know. This is my review of the hip-hop classic, “Doin’ Your Mom”.

SONG REVIEW: “Doin’ Your Mom” – FAttY SPiNS (Ray William Johnson)

This song only has 400,000 views on its music video as we speak and it’s on the official channel for the band (The description states Micfri uploaded it) so I’m perplexed, I thought it was much bigger but I suppose it’s either a late reupload or it was never as viral as I assumed. Anyway, let’s dive deep into “Doin’ Your Mom”.

Doin’ your mom, doin’-doin’ your mom, doin’ your mom, doin-doin’ your mom...

I’m not even going to get into the absolutely insane video that screams early YouTube but it’s pretty cute, it’s just a bunch of adults probably too old to be yelling along to the repeated refrain of “Doin’ your mom” but they’re having fun with it at least, although Micfri makes no effort to actually lip-sync. My favourite shots in the video include of course the iconic intro where they walk on the street with a boombox like they just walked away from an explosion and the acapella version of the hook plays in the background like it was the most grandiose chorus in the history of music, but also honestly any shot where Ray is making a face, like at about 1:20, the shot with the green-screened purple background while the hook’s playing. I know this is intended to be funny (That’s why I didn’t do this for April Fools as I was going to; it felt too contrived) but there are parts in the video that seem so natural and like they thought the song was so much better than it is, and it’s almost more humorous than the song itself. Let’s briefly cover the instrumental while we’re here – it’s nothing all too special but it’s a fitting backing for the epic feel the song has, with the reverb and echo on Ray’s voice as he sprays over an odd yet VERY late-2000s fusion of rock and hip-hop, as there are some GarageBand-sounding guitars and a buzzing synth that help propel the intense strings that almost carry the song, with additional little tweaks like the twinkling synths adding a lot of punch but not making it too cluttered. Honestly, there are some parts of the song that seem like genuinely great musical ideas that may seem kind of wasted on this topic, like the screeching guitar solo or when the beat cuts out in the middle of each verse just to return with the guitar added and an additional synth melody, with both Ray and Micfri’s verses reflecting this change in a shift of their flow. I should probably add that Ray is actually a pretty good rapper for a YouTube personality, and his voice is suited for tracks like this (Yeah, somehow the chorus never gets old despite being repeated ad nauseum). As one of the comments said on the band’s Equals Three Wiki page (Yes, that exists and its comment section is hilariously absurd), he kind of sounds like he could voice Knuckles the Echidna. That’s enough rambling about how oddly appealing this song is sonically and let’s get straight to the meat and potatoes.

COOL TRANSiTiON

The last line of the hook has always puzzled me.

You know we straight, we doin’ your mom!

“Yes, I had to confirm I am in fact heterosexual by engaging in intercourse with your mother”. I know “Straight” is part of hip-hop slang and refers to people who don’t engage in criminal or dangerous activity like gang violence...

Yeah, we straight but if you wrinkle up the situation, he will go grab the iron – Tyler, the Creator on “OKRA”

..But did we really need reassurance from Ray William Johnson that he and his friend Micfri aren’t shooting people? – Oh, and what does this have to do with doin’ my mom? I shouldn’t worry, the verses go into fascinating detail about how Ray and Micfri met my mother as they trade bars recalling the event.

I’m doin’ your mom, yes, yours! / I first saw her in the Wal-Mart picking out your drawers

Micfri’s first verse is probably the most normal verse here, and doesn’t really have anything I can make all too much fun of other than an awful pun, until it ends because the last line is... well...

Five minutes later, she agreed to get with me / So we went and rocked the minivan like, “Giggity, giggity, giggity”

Micfri goes painfully offbeat just to shove his awkward Family Guy reference in there because I guess it still was 2010 and the show was still relevant, although I’d argue it has more of a place on YouTube now that those funny moments compilations are piling up way more views than they should. That’s all fine, right? Like there’s nothing in this verse that is too interesting, but that dreadful joke transitions pretty hilariously into when Ray comes in...

I was ridin’ your mom like she’s Mario Kart / I gave her a lift back to her crib ‘cause her car wouldn’t start

Yeah, okay, he stretches out some sentences and mumbles a few lines so they barely fit the meter but it works in such a janky manner because the rest of the song is an absolute mess anyway so if anything Ray is just making it work, because, mmm, he just gets it. I love he pronounces words here as well, it’s odd as hell, especially when he accentuates “Car” with a high-pitched and slightly Canadian accent?

How many times I tap that ass? OVER 9000!

Oh, my God, I forgot about this part. This is obviously a reference to the ancient Dragon Ball Z meme where Vegeta says Goku’s power level is at “over 9000” in the 4Kids dub and it was probably funny then, but with the gang vocals and his enthusiastic delivery, it’s even funnier now with nearly a decade of hindsight. There are some jokes that legitimately hold up though, mostly because they’re not incredibly dated and instead rely on Ray’s wit.

Yeah, she called me Pledge ‘cause I knocked the dust off her

Come on, that’s actually pretty clever, I suppose. Ray’s still a comedian after all despite all the memery so he has some clever jabs throughout his verses at least, especially the second verse, which is... even more interesting.

I like your momma’s big butt, and I cannot lie

That’s a cool reference that doesn’t feel forced because it fits in with the song. Nice, we’re seeing some improvement.

We make sexy time, yes? And every night I tap that / She saw me butt-naked, now she thinks I’m half-black

Wh... What? I thought Ray WAS half-black? Is that the joke? I don’t know, I mean seemingly it’s saying how black men are stereotyped to be packing under there but HALF-black? Aren’t you underselling yourself a bit there, Ray? Also, he’s already half-black, or at least mixed. I mean, he’s said the N-word once or twice before on Equals Three so I assumed he had to have some sort of privileges. Is he just that insanely tanned? This is probably the second most questionable punchline in the song, we’ll get to the worst one in a bit.

And I blame it on the al-al-alcohol

Wow, this song really IS dated, huh?

She likes the donkey punch, she likes the dirty Sanchez / Sometimes, she even likes to fool around in YOUR bed

Okay, that is epic, and by that I mean it’s the only bar in this track that feels like it was a good diss directed towards the listener, because most of this song goes into grim detail about the intercourse with said listener’s mother but none of it is as ruthlessly personal as that one.

And I’ll be honest, she likes me to Chris Brown her when she acts like Rihanna

Oh... Oh... That’s, uh, that’s a big yikes from me, Ray, Jesus, okay, well, this was topical in 2010 but I’m still not going to excuse this. I don’t mind using Chris Brown’s domestic assault case as a punchline against him because he deserves all the vitriol he gets, but relating him leaving Rihanna bruised and bleeding after having her phone smashed and being punched and freaking BITTEN to having rough sex with the listener’s mother is insanely insensitive, and how the drum pattern cuts out for Ray to say the last part, especially with the reverb on his voice, makes it even more awkward. You’ll be glad to know, however, that Micfri immediately justifies that horribly problematic bar with easily the best on the track.

She’s so therapeutic when I need to cure my restlessness / I (Brrrrrr) motorboat your mom’s breastesses

I don’t know if it’s the “Brrrr” or the “breastesses” but this line is hilarious to me, and I have mostly no idea why it’s such a good one. Anyway, the verses are finished now, so you expect us to have just a few repeats of the chorus until the song ends, right? But no. We have a bridge, and it’s the gorgeous climax of the song (No pun intended) that honestly may just be the best part, other than the comments on its Wiki page, but we’ll get to that. Breeze croons the bridge in cheap Auto-Tune, and the amount of vocal effects that are added unnecessarily to accentuate the oddly profound lyrics here, that are said only twice but are so essential to why the song has aged much better than it seems to have on the surface.

I’m havin’ sex with your mother and that makes me (Better, better) better than you

There’s something I can’t describe about this bridge and the subsequent guitar solo that makes it work so effectively, and I’m left speechless by it every time. The best part is I’m not joking for the most part, and this song, despite its mind-numbing chorus and incredibly dated and at some times shockingly offensive lyrics, it’s aged incredibly well because it knows it will not be taken seriously and is entirely self-aware, but in a way that doesn’t seep into the song’s content. Most memes these days are TOO self-aware, so when a legitimate, genuine meme comes along that embraces it instead of revelling in it, I’m fully supportive.

You was at the club / Bottoms up when I first met you – The Boyboy Westcoast on “Bottoms Up”

Boyboy embraces the meme and he has a very lighthearted perspective and modest attitude on the song that makes his self-awareness less of an aging factor, and it’s the same for Ray, but some of the memes feel self-aware to a fault when they’re all too loud about the sarcastic manner in which they desperately cling onto a self-awareness that may not actually be there, like when the Backpack Kid did that awfully cringeworthy Verified video on Genius about his flossing song. The heart wasn’t there and it felt plastic and manufactured, but it’s all present in Ray, Micfri and Breeze, as they’re all having fun dancing in the video and while they know they’re really stupid and they look like lunatics, they don’t care... and disregarding the comments of the wiki page in which anonymous users respond to in-depth analysis and rankings of the Mario Kart games with “I will end you”, and no, I’m not kidding, that is the beauty of “Doin’ Your Mom”.

You know we straight, we doin’ your mom

deadcactuswalking

Seriously though check out the wiki page for both the song and the band (They’re linked here). The comments are beautifully absurd.

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