#a lot of them are within a singular story or are in different stories

[hoseoksluna]

SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group. 

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away. 

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour. 

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream. 

He must’ve lost his mind. 

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact. 

Especially not mine. 

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of. 

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it. 

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year. 

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness. 

Except for me. 

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular  hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang. 

The key to Jungkook’s heart. 

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers. 

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched. 

Or at least I hope so. 

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through. 

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts. 

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. 

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long. 

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me. 

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both. 

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes. 

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened. 

It unnerved me. 

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form. 

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh. 

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain. 

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl. 

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell. 

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body. 

None of them know that I match him, too. 

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey. 

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself. 

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name. 

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise? 

Who’s next? 

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious. 

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.  

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos. 

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire. 

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.” 

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?” 

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils. 

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it. 

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see. 

Fuck. 

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer. 

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy. 

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body. 

I can’t get hard. 

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture. 

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust. 

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her. 

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management. 

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit. 

A reason far from plain. 

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk. 

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance. 

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head. 

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am. 

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us. 

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep… 

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long. 

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room. 

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive. 

I wish— 

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.” 

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday. 

It’s her that I’m thinking of. 

And how much I messed up. 

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers. 

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate. 

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me. 

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft. 

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy. 

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head. 

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness. 

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken. 

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask. 

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan. 

And it’s not her. 

It could never be her. 

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again. 

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings. 

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl. 

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her. 

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that. 

Not anymore. 

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me. 

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens. 

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her. 

It’s my fault. 

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking. 

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve. 

Her slender nose crinkles. 

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it. 

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings. 

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it. 

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long. 

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me? 

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it. 

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers. 

It’s something that doesn’t feel right. 

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly. 

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again. 

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me. 

How cute. 

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.” 

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing. 

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face. 

Hers. 

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing. 

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group. 

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way. 

I haven’t even known her for a day. 

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo. 

The finger-fucking gesture. 

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me. 

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle. 

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again. 

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands. 

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night. 

And it’s not her. 

It’s my wound. 

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace. 

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me. 

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me. 

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me. 

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again. 

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it. 

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more. 

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I… 

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life. 

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time. 

Why am I not fighting it? 

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility? 

Why am I letting myself feel? 

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much. 

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me. 

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t. 

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be. 

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough. 

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt. 

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will. 

Not mine. 

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again. 

Feel. 

I feel. 

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path. 

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong. 

There’s only grayness to me. 

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour. 

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook. 

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it. 

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her. 

And with my belief, the rain thickens. 

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her. 

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl. 

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut. 

A fear of closeness. 

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit. 

A fear of reliving something so painful again. 

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left. 

And I crumble. 

I mirror the rain I abhor so much. 

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me. 

Good. 

No feelings; only emptiness. 

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts. 

Alone death. 

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision. 

That is my Sun-mi. 

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me. 

A familiar male voice calling out to me. 

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders. 

Her work of art. 

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense. 

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her. 

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me. 

And she did. 

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted. 

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me. 

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection. 

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair. 

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it. 

But I gain nothing from her. 

Silence. 

One that Jungkook breaks. 

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.” 

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.” 

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?” 

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.” 

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend. 

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?” 

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me. 

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either. 

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much. 

His gentleness is everything to me. 

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi. 

The rain will stop. 

The sensitivity will stop, too. 

And time will stop soon, one day. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[birder-of-remnant]

A Story Done Right

Kill Bill, The Princess Bride, Blue-Eyed Samurai, Wrath of Khan. Our media is saturated with revenge stories. Even children's tales often have revenge as a sweeping premise (e.g., the countless Star Wars villains as a modern example, but older tales such as Cinderella were even more rife with vindictive messages). And to be honest, I have never cared for this plot type.

Revenge stories are usually violent, merciless, myopic, and pretty disregarding of 'collateral' losses. Not all, but most lack any type of interesting moral symbology and substitute dynamic storylines and complex character development in lieu of exciting action scenes and a prosaic fixation on bloodshed. There are certainly exceptions to this, many of the titles I listed above actually have a lot of great things going for them. But I would say that these qualities are in spite of their focus on revenge and not because of it.

And there are an endless number of animes, movies, books, and other stories based on revenge that simply do not appeal to me (not judging other people if they like violent action media, just not my personal taste). Most of the time, I am just left feeling empty at the end, like Neo after volume 9.

But there is one exception to this theme. One revenge story that leaves me feeling whole, not empty. From the banner image, I think it is pretty obvious which story it is. This is my own highly subjective opinion, but I truly believe that the fight with Adam represents the perfect revenge story. And here is my reasoning.

Revenge is Not The Hero's Purpose

In too many stories, the premise begins with douchebag 'X' killing damsel 'Y', leading to hero 'Z' killing a lot of henchmen and blowing up a lot of buildings all for the singular purpose of making Mr. X pay. Once they achieve this purpose, they look around aimlessly before wandering off to have a milkshake or play golf or something. Yeah well, this story does not do this. Killing Adam was never the objective for Blake and Yang, because they have actual goals that involve saving people and not just executing some vendetta.

Don't get me wrong. I love redemption stories, I find them so much more satisfying, especially when the character in question has to struggle to overcome the gravity of what they have done (note: a redemption arc does not mean instant forgiveness, it might never end with actual for absolution for what they have done). I love Emerald's story and think it has a lot of interesting twists that it can take. But there are some characters who are just too far gone to save. And Adam fits that perfectly.

He has a tragic backstory and I truly pity him. But he is also an abusive, murdering shitlord who manipulated and groomed Blake (I wouldn't be surprised if he physically or sexually abused her, which is somewhat implied by her frequently defensive body posture, but is not definite). He kills out of spite and represents Yang's demon, who she could have become. It was cathartic to watch him fall, but I am ever so grateful that his demise was not the purpose of Blake and Yang. Because killing him out of spite for what he did to them would not be much different than the way he lashed out at others for the traumas that he has endured. Some might call it justice, but justice and revenge are two sides of the same coin and the edges between them can be blurry.

The point is, Yang and Blake are so much more than Adam. They killed him out of necessity, not out of hate.

They Are Set on the Future

As I mentioned, I often feel empty at the end of a revenge story. When the villain lies dead within a pool of their own blood and the hero has achieved everything they sought to accomplish, what more is there really? Often, I feel like the story has reached its ending without really achieving anything of note. Often, without really making the world a better place. A plot about revenge is not the same as one about taking someone down to save other people. The former is what Adam wanted and it would have made the world a worse place. But Yang and Blake are protectors. The fight was exhilarating and satisfying, but it ultimately humanized these characters whereas most revenge stories do the opposite, treating human life as cheap entertainment to be killed in the most 'epic' way possible.

But more important, the fight left me feeling excited about the future, rather than feeling burn out from seeing the villain die. Adam was fixated on the past. He was a character of the past. He represented Blake and Yang's trauma, their old demons and fears. He had no further place in their character arcs, because they had evolved into something so much more. Killing Adam was not the end of their story as it is in so many revenge plots. It was simply a new beginning. It felt whole and wholesome. Past, present, and future.

Because it is the People Who Matter

Ultimately, the fight was never about killing Adam. It was about bringing Yang and Blake together. About having them overcome the demons of their past. About the importance of mental health. About their individual traumas (abandonment issues & PTSD for Yang and Blake's fear of hurting others). About the challenges that LGBTQ+ people face in finding security in a hostile world. It was about these two, fucking amazing characters and the ineffably wondrous relationship that forms between them. One based on actual fucking support, equality, and love.

That is all I have on this right now. Hopefully, I did not offend too many people by criticizing typical revenge stories. But I have been wanting to talk about my love and appreciation of this scene for years. I know there have been so many more people who have discussed these same themes and points before, probably more adroitly than my rambling mess, but this is my rambling mess. Thanks for reading!

Random side trivia 1: Mandy Patinkin, the actor who played Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride, is famous for his iconic line, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Mandy felt that the scene was symbolic of feelings towards the illness that took his father. But regarding revenge against people, he actually dislikes his iconic line and how it idolizes revenge.

Random side trivia 2: I love Jeff & Casey William songs and I just love BMBLY (except or that creepy line about the birds and butterflies knowing, wtf). But as an ecologist, I should note that bumblebees do not make honey. Jeff was thinking of European honey bees. Bumblees are cute, fuzzy, chunky super pollinators that live in the ground, in hollow plant stems, or other obscure spots and are either solitary or have very small hives. They virtually never bother people and are super pollinators, actually much better pollinators than honeybees (which are super awesome cool in their own right, but also highly invasive in the western hemisphere and hurt our native pollinators D: And yes, I cherry-picked the ugliest picture of one that I could find). Many bumblebees are endangered, just like our beloved Bumblebees. Save the bees! AND THE BEES!

[skepticalcatfrog]

Kerch, Ghezenism, and the Van Eck Family

The title pretty much sums it up. This is a rather extensive analysis, and to be honest with you all it is 2,500+ words. So get into this absolute beast at your own risk!

~~~

From my experience in this fandom, I've seen it discussed very frequently how important religion is in the Grishaverse. Not only is it very deeply developed, to the point where many of the different countries have unique beliefs - which I'm not sure is seen very often in newer literature - but the various religious systems are also deeply important to many major characters, such as Matthias and Inej. However, one aspect of Grishaverse religions that seems to be overlooked somewhat often is the Kerch religion of Ghezenism. This may just be me, but I have a lot of thoughts on it. A big reason for that is that Wylan is, and always has been, my favorite character, and the culture surrounding Ghezen is actually a very important part of his character for many reasons. When you look into it in the way that I have, you discover that there are a lot of peculiar aspects of Ghezenism that make it stand out, as well as many ties that it has to major aspects of the story.

Right away, one thing that makes Kerch religion different from the others is how deeply connected to the economy it is. So much so that a lot of aspects of the two subjects are one and the same. Given that Ketterdam is a city largely fueled by commerce, it makes sense that Ghezenism would heavily tie into Kerch culture as well. Symbols of Ghezen can be found in many places throughout the city, even beyond the Church of Barter. A very good example of this is Vellgeluk, the island where the Crows meet Van Eck expecting to get their reward from the Ice Court heist: “Smugglers called it Vellgeluk, “good luck,” because of the paintings still visible around the base of what would have been the obelisk tower: golden circles meant to represent coins, symbols of favor from Ghezen, the god of industry and commerce,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 44). This just goes to show how many people in Ketterdam, and the wider country of Kerch as well, put their faith in Ghezen. Vellgeluk is a chosen place for smugglers to do business, specifically because favors of Ghezen are still present there. 

Another interesting part of that passage is the fact that Ghezen is referred to as the god of industry and commerce. Kerch may have other gods, but as far as I can remember - and I may be wrong, but I don't think I am - we never hear about any of them. A similar situation can be found in Fjerda, where Djel is specifically the god of life, implying the existence of other gods. In Fjerda, it is very clear that Djel is mainly what they base their culture and belief system around. This makes perfect sense for a god of life, but isn't Ketterdam’s situation a bit more unusual? The most frequently discussed god, Ghezen, represents industry. We can assume Ghezen is the primary god within the Kerch religious system. Not to mention that their largest church is called the Church of Barter, barter obviously being a term that has much to do with economics. Ketterdam, if not the entire country of Kerch, seems to have no real concept of the separation of church and state. They quite literally hold auctions inside of the church; the auctioning of Kuwei is not a singular event.

The impacts of religion can also be seen in the culture and behavior of the people of Kerch, as seen in a brief section of Crooked Kingdom. “Kerch women—even the wealthy ones—didn’t bother with anything as frivolous as embroidery or needlepoint. Ghezen was better served by tasks that benefited the household,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 14). Obviously, things like this are much more typical of religion. But I would argue that even this holds traces of the same values expressed by the connection between Ghezenism and the economy. It is specifically mentioned here that Kerch women are encouraged to participate in tasks that will “benefit the household”. This displays one of the very prominent aspects of the Ghezenite religion, which is that one of the most important things a person can do is be productive, and create a prosperous life for themselves and their family.

In addition to direct ties between Ghezenism and the Kerch economy, occasionally the legal system is put into the mix as well. While considering what consequences his father might face after the events of the auction, Wylan reveals this piece of information: “Knowingly entering into a false contract for the purpose of subverting the market wasn’t just illegal, it was considered blasphemy, a blight on the works of Ghezen, and the penalties were harsh,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 41). Essentially what he means by this is that not only is tampering with the economy against the law, but it is also heavily frowned upon in a religious sense, and anyone who does so will face punishment from both sides. This is extremely unique, even within the Grishaverse. This single sentence also reveals another very interesting thing about Kerch society. The market, as it exists in Ketterdam, is believed to be a creation of god - it is referred to here as being a part of the “works of Ghezen”. That, more than anything, is concrete proof of just how interconnected the economy of Kerch is with its primary religion. This also means that committing a crime such as Van Eck did isn't simply illegal (which we can assume he has no issues with), it is also an act that goes against his own religion. But stop to consider for a moment: does he really have a problem with that either?

There are numerous examples throughout both books of Van Eck blatantly abusing the values of his own religion. On its own, the teachings of Ghezenism aren't inherently bad. After all, things such as tampering with the market for your own gain are actively discouraged using the threat of blasphemy, which I'd say is generally beneficial. The issue, however, arises when Van Eck in particular attempts to twist some of these values in order to justify his own actions. If there is one single quote from the duology that exemplifies this, it would be this one: “Ghezen shows his favor to those who are deserving, to those who build cities, not the rats who eat away at their foundations. He has blessed me and my dealings. You will perish, and I will prosper. That is Ghezen’s will,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). Van Eck openly believes that, since he is a member of the upper class, he is somehow more deserving of a blessing. He is insistent that “Ghezen's will”, or what he interprets as what Ghezen wishes for him to do, is to trample others in order to further his own success. 

It doesn't matter to him who stands in his way, and it never will, because his goal is only to make himself more wealthy; he simply hides this behind a thin veil of piety. This motivation is especially clear when he is speaking to Inej while he is holding her captive. “When I leave this world, the greatest shipping empire ever known will remain, an engine of wealth, a tribute to Ghezen and a sign of his favor. Who will remember a girl like you, Miss Ghafa? What will you and Kaz Brekker leave behind but corpses to be burned on the Reaper’s Barge?” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 7). He frames people less fortunate than him - in this case Kaz and Inej - as forgettable and unimportant. The only thing he considers truly important is wealth, which he equates to power. He even references Ghezen here, claiming again that all of his actions, as well as his empire and legacy, are meant to show his dedication to his religion. He also claims that his ability to attain this level of success is a sign that Ghezen favors him. That in particular is a display of his extremely warped view of Ghezenism. The truth is that his success can only be attributed to his unethical actions, but the fact that he claims it is due to Ghezen's favor means that he will never be able to be convinced that he is wrong. He has what he believes to be an airtight justification.

His classism is also extremely evident, while indirectly, in an exchange between Kaz and Wylan earlier on in Crooked Kingdom. ““Your father much for charity?” “No. He tithes to Ghezen, but he says charity robs men of the chance at honest labor,”” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 2). This shows that Van Eck is very protective over his wealth. Which, quite frankly, is more likely than not the exact opposite of what Ghezenism is intended to promote. Based on what we are shown from an outside perspective, it seems as though one of the main aspects of Ghezenism is to create a prosperous economy for everyone. However, what Van Eck seems to believe is that he is intended to simply accumulate as much wealth as he possibly can, and keep it all for himself.

It is incredibly clear that Van Eck doesn't care about the well-being of anyone other than himself when it comes down to it. It could be argued that he cares for Alys, and will care for their child when it is born, but this simply cannot be proven. Just look at the exact mirror of this situation: Marya and Wylan. Wylan states about his parents, “I think he really loved her. They fought all the time, sometimes about me, but I remember them laughing a lot together too,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 14). If we are to believe that this is true, and Van Eck truly did love Marya, that doesn't change the fact that he didn't hesitate to send her away as soon as he discovered that Wylan couldn't read or write. There is no evidence to say that he wouldn't do the same to Alys, under similar circumstances. 

And, of course, this all leads back to the matter of Wylan. When Van Eck decided that Wylan wouldn't be useful to him, he stopped caring about him very quickly. Near the end of Six of Crows, we hear more of the specifics on Van Eck's opinion of Wylan. “I have hired the best tutors from every corner of the world. I’ve tried specialists, tonics, beatings, hypnotism. But he refused to be taught. I finally had to accept that Ghezen saw fit to curse me with a moron for a child. Wylan is a boy who will never grow to be a man. He is a disgrace to my house,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). Van Eck believes that Wylan is a curse from Ghezen, purely because he thinks that Wylan will be incapable of producing profits for their business. This is perhaps one of the most egregious examples of his blatant abuse of his own religion, because he is entirely willing to abandon and even murder his own son in order to fulfill his goals, which he claims is all Ghezen's will.

There is no feasible way Wylan would be able to grow up being raised by Van Eck, and not be affected by his religious ideas in some way. In fact, there is evidence contained in the text that proves this rather thoroughly. There are even certain things that have already been cited within this analysis that can be circled back to, such as the quote just above. This quote exemplifies the sort of treatment Wylan was subjected to while growing up. This is mostly speculation, but it's safe to assume he was told at a very young age that his own father considered him a punishment from god. That is objectively terrible, and we know that by the age of eight his father was his only parent. The psychological impacts that that would have on a child that young are unimaginable. 

Additionally, we can return to this quote from Crooked Kingdom: “When I leave this world, the greatest shipping empire ever known will remain, an engine of wealth, a tribute to Ghezen and a sign of his favor. Who will remember a girl like you, Miss Ghafa? What will you and Kaz Brekker leave behind but corpses to be burned on the Reaper’s Barge?” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 7). While Van Eck is not talking to Wylan here, and Wylan isn't even present at the time, this passage still indirectly displays Van Eck's feelings about Wylan. Here he is expressing the fact that he maintains that if a person is not able to create wealth and prosperity for themselves, they are essentially useless. As we know from the previous example, he believes this of Wylan as well.

It is evident that Wylan was taught Ghezenite values from a young age. While examining the exterior of the Church of Barter, his thoughts include this: “He didn’t need to be able to read the words engraved over the arch. He’d heard his father repeat them countless times. Enjent, Voorhent, Almhent. Industry, Integrity, Prosperity,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 31). This is confirmation that Van Eck frequently encouraged Wylan to think about these values, and it can be inferred that it likely wasn't in a particularly positive manner. Industry, integrity, and prosperity are clearly the three main ideals of this religion, and we can easily be led to the conclusion that Van Eck is certain his son is capable of none of them.

It is also suggested that Wylan may even associate his father's disapproval with religion subconsciously as well. A good example of this is in Crooked Kingdom, after Wylan is taken to the Church of Barter. “Van Eck shook his head. “Every time I think you cannot disappoint me further, you prove me wrong.” They were in a small chapel topped by a dome. The oil paintings on the wall featured battle scenes and piles of armaments,” (Crooked Kingdom, Chapter 31). While this is also simply meant to provide the reader with a description of the environment, the juxtaposition between the two halves of this passage cannot be an accident. What we can observe here is that after Van Eck once again expresses his ever-present disappointment with Wylan, emphasis is immediately put on the fact that they are in the church. This, along with the other passages listed, creates a clear link between Wylan's negative relationship with his father and the effects that their shared religion has had on it.

What I consider to be one of the most important quotes for this subject, despite also being the shortest one used, comes near the end of Six of Crows. After Wylan has played his role in foiling Van Eck's plan to trick the Crows, he says this: “Maybe you can pray to Ghezen for understanding, Father,” (Six of Crows, Chapter 45). This is sort of the first act of retribution that the reader sees from Wylan. He has just made his father look like a fool, and then he practically spits in his face by taking the thing that was used against him for so long - their religion - and using it against his father instead. Not only is this moment incredibly satisfying, it also marks the beginning of Wylan's growth as a character that eventually leads to him being able to stand up to his father in more ways.

Despite being arguably the least explored Grishaverse religion in online spaces, I find Ghezenism to be extremely interesting when it comes to the ways it ties into the themes of the story. It represents wider, more general themes found throughout the book, such as the idea that people often value their own success over the well-being of others, but it contains even more when examined under a closer lens. It opens the door to a completely new aspect of further analyzing the relationship between Wylan and his father, and introduces vital elements of in-depth characterization for both of them. The way Wylan and Van Eck each view the same religion is highly indicative of their individual values, and that is a very interesting thing to expand upon. It simply goes to show just how much thought went into creating both the culture of this world, and the characters who live within it.

[hunny-pp]

PENACONY 2.1 SPOILERS /

[basically a more elaborate version of my twt thread on this]

I don't think I'm the first or only person to say this, but I do think Gallagher is v likely a memory zone meme

EDIT: heres pt 1.2 with additional evidence

Sunday deduces that Gallagher is an amalgamation of fifty-one Family members, who he's inherited physical traits from to create the appearance he has now.

Gallagher alludes in his own story that he may not be human

In short, Memory Zone Memes are amalgamations of multiple fragments of the Memory Zone, all have reflections of different memories, cognitions and emotions.

A meme in definition is when something, usually ideas, culture or behaviour is passed to another person through imitation or non-genetic means.

It makes sense for Gallagher, as he mimicked the physical traits of Family members without taking them or that trait away - these NPCs are very much fine and you can interact with them. It's more like a copy-paste onto himself.

Other little details include: -This could change in the future depending on if we get any fire units, but for Gallagher specifically, he takes the Raging Heart materials - which is harvested from a Memory Zone Meme-type enemy. This one's a bit of a stretch but it fits nonetheless

-His signature colour is magenta - shown in his clothing, his marketing materials and in the VFX of his attacks, his claw and his brew. This colour is specifically his and not something he had inherited from someone else.

Memory Zone Memes, especially "Something Upon Death" have stark magenta/purple/pink eyes and cores. When seen from afar or at least in a general sense, the shades are similar enough

-The writing style of Gallagher's stories feel strange, like different aspects of Gallagher's personality and life are on the outside looking in. Akin to a reflective surface giving off different reflections from different angles of the same subject. It adds to the idea that there are multiple aspects and fragments within Gallagher all looking within each other.

Mixology and The Dreamjolt Hostelry:

Gallagher's main interest outside of work is mixology. Like any culinary craft, there's an inherent science behind it, and it takes a lot of work and knowledge to craft well constructed cocktails and drinks. Symbolically, mixology complements Gallagher, as he himself is a combination of a diverse range of people. When you view these inherited traits isolated, you know they come from someone real - but when put together, they form One Complete Gallagher - cohesive and seamless.

While you can say the same for different branches of culinary arts, mixology in particular symbolically represents Gallagher the most. This is just from a layman's perspective but when I view the same with cocktails - from a general inspection it's one cohesive drink even if from taste or watching the process, I know it's all made with different components.

Notably, when Gallagher talks about mixing drinks, he describes it as akin to combining different emotions, experiences and memories into a singular cocktail and it's reflective of both customer and bartender's own current state of being.

His philosophy on mixology links back to the concept of Memory Zone Memes, manifestations of fragmented memories, emotions and cognitions nestled into a vessel.

The reason why I bring up the Dreamjolt Hostelry is because of the Vignettes in a Cup event (spoilers for it). It's not explicit in his stories or voicelines, but going by the Trailblaze quest, it's implied that the Dreamjolt Hostelry is the lounge/bar he regulars for a drink or to hone his craft as he's v friendly and familiar to Siobhan and is seen in the 2.1 trailer to be serving a Dreamjolt Domescreen (whether it's Lady or not doesn't matter).

Dreamjolt Hostelry is in the sealed off dreamscape Reverie, where the corrupted Dreamjolt Troupe monsters and Memory Zone Memes reside. Notably, where you encounter Something Unto Death in key moments of the story.

I'd like to believe Gallagher is very comfortable with the company of monsters, going by the fact that he himself is non-human.

In Vignettes in a Cup, Siobhan explains that the reason why she mixes drinks for the Dreamjolt Troupe monsters is that it helps regulate their emotions - since the dreamscape is falling apart and in turn they have become unstable.

Gallagher himself in one of his idle animations drinks an unknown concoction from his hipflask once his scar starts acting up - in which it settles back down. It's hard to discern in this point in time how long this has been going for, but as a non-human entity (meme or not), the dreamscape's decay is also likely affecting Gallagher and thus he has to regulate himself.

Why Do The Heathen Rage?: In the mission "Why Do The Heathen Rage?" we learn a lot of the Watchmaker's secret history as well as a general run through of Gallagher's own personal story.

First off, a lot of Penacony's trailblaze mission titles are references to songs, literature and media relevant to the themes of Penacony and/or by American classical authors or poets (ie Heaven is a Place on Earth, Cat Among Pigeons, The Tell-Tale Heart).

Why Do The Heathen Rage is both based on Psalm 2.1 Old Testament, but also it's a fragment of an unfinished novel by Flannery O'Connor. Fragment of a novel -> Gallagher is made of fragments of different people -> Memory Zone Memes are fragments of (I'm booed off the stage for being a broken record).

The story tells of a man called Walter Tilman who lives on his family's farm. There he starts to write letters to different people - particularly to Oona Gibbs, a black civil rights activist. However, he writes to her under the guise of a black man, and writes with the intention of testing the commitment and integrity of her beliefs.

Going with what we know in hindsight, Gallagher is masquerading around as a human, likely as a Memory Zone Meme as we've realised hopefully by now that they're the monsters most likely to pull something of Gallagher's calibre off.

This is all I'm gonna talk about from "Why Do The Heathen Rage" mainly because my additional theories are based off leaks and are more speculative.

Bonus section: "Something Unto Death" When it comes to Gallagher's connection to the Memory Zone Meme "Something Unto Death", a lot comes from his many symbols of death. This is just a bit of a bonus since we're talking about Gallagher likely being a Memory Zone Meme, we might as well address the elephant in the room as well.

For brevity, we'll call the little guy "Death Meme". Death Meme is a Memory Zone Meme created from the Dreamscape's fear of death and murder as "death" shouldn't be something that can happen in the dreamscape.

Gallagher has a FUCK ton of symbolism and nods to death. The most striking is that Gallagher's iconic "I'm Thirteen", which is the number for the Major Arcana "Death". (For additional reference I also think Thirteen could be the amount of Amber Eras he's lived in, or that he's at least 1300 years old. Also since he has a lot of dog theming, 13 dog years in human years is around 60-80 depending on the dog's size).

Additionally, thirteen is a common number to represent bad omens and misfortune - namely the well known Friday the 13th superstition, amongst other things.

When Gallagher makes you a drink, no matter what choices you make - the cocktail will have a memento mori/death/morbidly themed name and he will accompany most of them with a sardonic toast.

Gallagher's eidolons are names of different cocktails which fit his mixology theme. However, Corpse Reviver, Last Word, Death in the Afternoon and Blood and Sand are all death centric names, as if he couldn't get edgier enough.

There's also the call into question his playstyle, where he's a much more aggressive battle healer than the likes of Luocha and is the first abundance character to provide debuffs on the enemy, and derives healing through damaging opponents.

Conclusion: If you've read this far then I'm assuming you're as normal about Gallagher as I am. But yeah, there is so much to him I haven't touched on, his connections to the Enigmata, my continuation on this theory based on leaks and his shared past with Mikhail, what I think he'll do in the plot moving forward. This patch and its characters are themed around hiding secrets and that there's more than meets the eye. Gallagher in particular has proved to be the most mysterious of the trio, as while we've gotten a clear enough picture of both Acheron and Aventurine but there's still enough intrigue to keep them going, Gallagher's just given me more questions than answers man.

[waywardsummoner46]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Sink Into the Darkness, My Light | Four | ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

"Join us, my Light."

Two centuries ago, the ruler of the Light disappeared, plunging the universe into chaos and disrupting the sacred, unspoken balance of the universe.

The eight rulers of the Darkness never stopped looking for her; their obsession never once waning since she vanished.

Recently, they've sensed something. Never around long enough to pinpoint but so euphoric that it sings within their veins. And since meeting you, well... slowly they begin to understand why.

"Sink into the darkness with us."

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

「✦」 PAIRING - yandere ot8!ateez x (?)reader

「✦」 GENRE - ancient gods!au, fantasy!au, magical powers!au

「✦」 WARNINGS - mind control, gaslighting, dom/sub, subspace (of a sort), temporary amnesia, manipulation, YANDERE AND DARK THEMES

「✦」 WORD COUNT - 1,406

「✦」 A/N - Did I vanish again? No? Good answer. Anyway, I AM BACK NOT THAT I LEFT. Shorter chapter this time but there is a lot of lore packed into it. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

「✦」 TAGLIST - @yandere-stories - @adorawritesalot - @yoongisgirl69 - @sadtoru

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

• one • two • three • four • five •

──•~❉ ᯽ ❉~•──

You woke to the worst migraine of your life. It throbbed against the walls of your skull and felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer and relentlessly battering your head.

  You let out an unattractive grunt, one hand coming up to massage your temples and the other trying to rub sleep from your eyes. You cringed at the amount of gunk that had gathered over night, although you were grateful for the good night’s sleep that came hand in hand with it. 

  Letting out a long sigh, you lowered both of your hands. The early morning atmosphere was very calming, despite the pounding migraine, and you took the time to appreciate it whilst it lasted.

  You took the time to recollect your birthday; it had surely been a hectic day, a birthday unlike any other you’ve had before, to say the least. Yunho and Yeosang were back in your thoughts (and if smiled slightly then that was no one’s business but your own). They had truly made your morning, their kindness and general warm exteriors effortlessly making a pleasant feeling spread through your chest. 

  It dissipated once you remembered Seonghwa and Wooyoung. 

  There was something… off about them. Completely opposite to Yunho and Yeosang. They instilled a feeling of such instinctual wrongness within you that you found yourself grimacing absentmindedly. Seonghwa had been welcoming with a presence that demanded attention, and there was nothing wrong with that. But then, he’d taken such a drastic turn in emotions after he’d styled your hair. Mumbling, crying, even laughing almost hysterically - and for what?

  Wooyoung was an even more different story. Something about the guy gave you chills and you’d barely interacted with him for more than half an hour. And how did he manage to get Jiwon to finally settle down? He’d completely bypassed her aloof nature and her inability to keep major secrets from you. 

  You let out a long sigh and shifted slightly, and a mild prick at the back of your neck had your hand snapping up. You felt around your hair, feeling that it was still styled how Seonghwa had done it yesterday. But apparently he had placed a hair pin at the back of your head that you hadn’t noticed yesterday. 

  “Huh,” you said as you examined it. The hair pin was gorgeous; holding it vertically, you saw that there were two separate parts to the hair pin, the bottom of each connected by a singular rose gold chain. Both pieces were single helices in shape, however, one was the deepest black you’d ever seen in your life - squinting at it, you swore it was almost sucking in the light around it but you chalked that up to your sleep-addled brain.

  The other side was the most ethereal and pure white you’d ever bore witness to. A complete juxtaposition to its partner and yet somehow complimenting it so beautifully. You grazed your fingers gently across the narrow curve of the strand, eyes completely transfixed on its blinding glow, and you felt a spark, almost like an electric shock, travel from your fingertips down your arm and directly to your heart.

  And just like that, you entered a memory that was not your own.

A figure knelt before the dias, before the eight beings who sat on thrones of a grandeur impossible to capture in any form of literature, made of materials unfathomable to a mortal mind. 

  It was a young man, no older than twenty five, that held an audience with the eight. Seven of them unfamiliar to the furthest extent… the remaining one a love so old that words could do it no justice. And it was she, sat in a dress as weightless as the clouds and as treasured as the gentlest of snow, that gazed upon him with such heartbreak and betrayal. 

  Not anger, though. She could never be angry at him. Being angry at him was a poisonous thunder in her chest and a stain on her very being, irreversible and endlessly damaging. And he knew this.

  That didn’t stop him from taking her trust and thrusting it into her back like the sharpest of knives, 

  A delighted giggle echoed around the vast space, stars and galaxies and planets existing so peacefully around the circular platform these beings had created. He knew that His Lady of Light despised this stage more than anyone, despised the theatrics of sitting with the seven Lords of Darkness and utterly despised why the universe had called her here… called them all here.

  The King arose, and so did the Queen. The King raised an elegant brow at her behaviour, delighted to see her so far out of sorts that she had reacted physically. The young man knew that he was the cause, he knew that what he had done could not be undone. Nor could it be forgiven. 

 “Something you wish to say, My Lady?” The King asked, a morbid and sadistic pleasure behind every syllable he played with his tongue. Any mortal would sway to the symphonies he spoke, completely blinded to the sins woven between each letter. He was the worst of them all. He was the first. 

  Just like she was. 

  The young man’s eyes darted to His Lady’s dress as a light, almost imperceptible grey had begun to tease its edges. A human would never have detected it… but he wasn’t exactly mortal anymore, was he? 

  His Lady of Light hesitated for the briefest moment in time, enough for the seven Lords to smirk cruelly at her turmoil. And yet, with her head still raised high and eyes holding emotions unwilling to be released, she sat back down.

  “Wonderful,” The King crooned. He turned towards the young man, giving him his full attention once more. The man gulped, one of his last remaining human responses to fear and stood as the King beckoned him with a grin. 

  A chilling hand grasped the man’s chin. A flash of perfect white teeth and then a pain so intense that every nerve in the man’s body was alight with Hellfire. Shaking, he lowered his head slightly and whimpered loudly at the sight of the King’s hand puncturing his chest and grasping his heart.

  His gloves were off. There was no barrier from his corruption. 

  His Lady of Light could do nothing but watch her lover die. He did not perish but to her, to her heart, he might as well have. The call of Death would  have been a mercy compared to what the King was making him. 

  The man could feel an inky sensation spreading from his heart and down every lining and every nerve in his body. He imagined that black veins marred his skin. 

  There was a slight… itch, though. On his cheekbone. He knew not what it was nor where it came from but that sensation was firmly behind a fortress of onyx with a gravitational pull so undeniable that the man fell to his knees once more. This time in reverence of the King.

  The man heard a sob in the distance but even that was drowned by the pure evil binding to every blood cell in his body and replacing it with unparalleled power, power unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life. 

  His Lady would say that such power was a burden, a responsibility no one should have to bear. And now, the Lady’s words were of little concern to him now, a distant trickle of memory in the face of a waterfall of temptation, of sin. 

  “There you are.” 

  The boy stood. His eyes now a pitch black.

  “Our very own-”

You woke to the worst migraine of your life. It throbbed against the walls of your skull and felt like someone…

  A piercing ringing next to your ear made your eyes squeeze together in pain. Frantically, you aimed messily for your phone on your nightstand and pressed the answer button and regretted it immediately.

  “Morning! How did you sleep?”

  “I slept well, tha-”

  “‘Kay, cool! I’m suuuuper busy today and Wooyoung left his phone at that place we went to last night. We would go and get it but…” Why-oh-why did Jiwon have to mention Wooyoung, he gave you pins and needles even just thinking about him.

  Shaking your head silently, you responded, “It’s alright, Jiwon. Tell Wooyoung I’ll… go and grab his phone this afternoon. I’ll call you when I’ve got it.”

  She squealed and made a hasty goodbye. Nothing exasperated you more than that girl, you’re sure of it. 

  Time to start the day, you supposed. You hauled yourself out of bed and noticed that ‘The Hidden War Within’ was opened and on the floor. Your eyes skimmed the passage it had landed on, muttering a soft, “Awesome, the first entry is poetry? Who wrote it?”

Anonymous.

Inspiring. With that, you made your way to the bathroom and tidied yourself up for what would most definitely be a gruelling day.

[alwaysonf1]

lewis is doing what?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 3k

Warning: Changes in the timeline for the sake of the story.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: This is my first F1 fic, which makes me nervous so why not start with a series.

Many Drive to Survive haters like to pretend everything that comes from the show and what it’s about are beneath them. That they couldn’t possibly care, and that the only important thing is the race on Sunday. And yet the day after the latest season drops you can find them amongst the chaos trying to figure out what the hell were all those hints about a new form of content that F1 plans to release. 

Interwoven with the usual storylines and mild dramatics there was a lot of talk about how drivers show their families the support they’re given. How they show up for them in their careers and bits of their lives. It was weird at first, but then it sent off alarm bells when an almost fourth wall breaking moment happened where the Netflix team was blatantly dismissed. 

“I think we have this one Netflix, but thanks for the help.” Those were the exact words spoken by the head of marketing as she closed the door to a room where you get a glimpse of team paraphernalia but see no faces. 

Every social platform that you can find an F1 fan on has it trending and the conversations (and screams into the void) are fast paced. But Twitter is where the real unhinged and brain cell losing behavior is happening. 

And the most accurate guessing.

Almost everyone within the community is discussing what that snippet could mean. Is it the end of DTS as they know it? The end of it completely? Are F1 and Netflix severing ties? Will F1 be taking over? Is this some little game they're playing with their viewers to keep them tuned in? Is it something completely different? What the actual fuck is going on?

In the middle of those questions are those who think themselves a genius or are delusional enough that they can’t help but form some wild ideas of what’s to come.

Someone must be retiring. Multiple people are retiring. There’s going to be a reality show ala Keeping Up with the Verstappens, where everyone learns that Max’s little trauma dumpy memories with Jos are just the surface level of how insane that man is. Someone is getting married. Someone is getting married to another driver. A nepo baby is going to become the “voice of the fandom” and host a show about the drivers during race weekends and it’s going to be all the wrong things. A dating show for all the singles. A behind the scenes at the lives of drivers and their families, but like Family Feud. And the penultimate dude bro dream of them getting to spend the season hanging out with drivers and get confirmation that their toxic thoughts that alienate most of the fan base is true.

After about twenty-four hours it all dies down. Everyone is still wondering, but they don’t feel like they’re losing their minds while they try to be the one who can say they were right when they news drops.

As if timed, the second that F1 drops in trends the F1 admin drops a graphic with the faces of six people who are clearly positioned like the thinking face emoji on every platform that they use. In the captions it says: Week in the Life - Sibling Edition.

If Twitter was home to the first wave of screaming, it belongs to Tumblr the second go round. Everyone is so excited for the content that someone must have thrown up from how aggressively happy they feel. Everyone is talking about who they want it to be and what content they’d love to see from which sibling. Those who make gifs are especially excited to get everything they can, though they won’t be outdone by those whose brains and fingers will be entities on their own once they get hold of a singular moment that will inspire the fic of everyone’s dreams.

Those who always have something negative to say are there as usual, but they aren’t as loud or upset as they often are. Being nosy doesn’t stop just because you want to pretend that you only care about the race, as if someone doesn’t have a file of screenshots from all the times, they’ve attacked the character of a driver for something not race related at all.

The reaction to this is the kind that instills faith in what is being done. The kind of thing that tells all the upper management who didn’t like it that it was a good idea, but also puts a certain bit of weight on the content team. They need this to deliver. Need to keep the hype, especially since the first episode doesn’t drop until the start of December and they’ve already recorded half the series so a failure could stop the rest.

So once the Singapore GP ends, Daniel Ricciardo’s face is no longer gray. You get to see that goofy smile and wink. You’d think they told everyone he was getting a permanent seat with a three year contract with the reception to it.

It’s Charles Leclerc for Japan. 

Lance Stroll for Qatar.

Carlos Sainz for COTA.

Alex Albon for Mexico.

And coming off his first P1 of the season, Lewis Hamilton for Brazil.

For the next week or so if a tweet isn’t about excitement, disdain, or shock in regard to this new F1 exclusive content, it has a certain main character at its center.

[genericpuff]

Since you have mentioned your own original webcomic has time travel, do you have any advice for people who want to make comics or simply write stories that deal with time travel?

Could be any kind of time travel, like time loops, characters traveling to the past/future, dealing with paradoxes, etc.

Short answer: don't LOL

Long answer: Obviously if you wanna tackle time travel, go for it, but the first and most important rule of any time travel is to establish your rules. How does the time travel work? And how will you commit to consistency?

Some basic time travel rule structures include:

Clone travelling - This is the most common form of time travel that's used the most. When you go back in time, your past self is present alongside your present self. Examples include Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Doctor Who, and Austin Powers.

Singular consciousness travelling - This is one I've only seen used a couple of times, and the only one I can think of off the top of my head is Life is Strange, but what I like to call 'singular consciousness travelling' is the form of time travel where instead of travelling to a point in the past, you return to a version of your past self, fully aware of the future that awaits you but 'stuck' within that past to live out the timeline in real time again. Though it's not as commonly used, it's one that will typically present less paradoxes as there are less moving parts to worry about. Prophecy storylines also use a similar philosophy to this, albeit without the literal time travel and more so 'time travel' via premonition (could we call Raven from That's So Raven a time traveller?)

Loops - This is a form of time travelling seen in media such as Groundhog Day, where a person continuously travels back to the same point in time over and over again to relive the same events until they can somehow break the loop.

There are loads more of time travel structures I could go over, but those are three of the most basic. Regardless of which structure you use, you have to be willing to commit to it. It's like choosing a writing perspective and tense, if you choose third person past tense ("he said, she said, they said"), then suddenly switching to first person present tense ("I say", "I do", "I feel") without any context to establish that switch will be jarring. Make your rules, and if you have to break them, make sure they're broken for the sake of the story (ex. if you present some sort of plot twist to reveal the 'true nature' of the time travelling plotline).

Here's a great video that goes over some different time travel plotlines from movies/books/etc.:

As for my original comic, we go for the time travel = multiverse theory approach, where any changes made to a timeline in a past state will not change that timeline's future, but rather, create a new timeline where those past changes are true and written into the script, essentially relegating every single new timeline to a parallel universe. This is essentially how it's done in Avengers: Endgame , but instead of characters abusing the laws of quantum physics to travel back in time, it's characters abusing a magical book of diary entries that are primarily used by the main character to help him control and guide his time travelling abilities. Every diary entry essentially serves as a roadmap for him to find his way back to his home timeline from which he disappears every time he jumps. Much of the story is written entirely atop a paradox, specifically the bootstrap paradox:

(because if there are gonna be paradoxes no matter what you do, may as well have fun with them!)

There's a lot more I could go into regarding that, but for the sake of sparing the handful of Time Gate readers here of spoilers, Time Gate's laws of time travel dictate that you can't really change your past, just the future for other versions of you that you create when you try to change things.

All that said, I will say that in most cases, thinking too hard about any time travel story will cause it to fall apart, because time travel is a fictional trope that relies a lot on logical sequencing of events to work. So you kind of do just have to 'let it go' and have fun with it - but having rules to stick to will make things less of a headache for everyone, especially when it comes to telling a coherent story. Even my own criticisms of LO's time travel really don't matter in the end, because LO's problems go far deeper than some cheaply-made time travel and any of the time travel problems in the story will undoubtedly be explained away as "timey wimey shit". I'll still be pissed about it, but time travel isn't real (at least not for you) so it's not worth getting too bogged down by. Just do your best to tell an entertaining and coherent story.

[airrec]

Let's talk about the relationship between "personal level redemption (i.e. one character starts making changes for the better)" and "the corrupt institution/context in which the characters are developed to hurt each other".

Now, one or two characters reaching the point where they say "that's it, no more, I don't want this, this is not right, I am choosing not to continue on this path" is great, don't get me wrong. Redemption (AKA the path towards trying to do better, to make reparations, to not repeat the mistakes of before - forgiveness is not an obligation here, only that the character has recognised their hurtful actions and has ceased them and is now trying to do better) on a personal level is so important, and should not be diminished in value.

However, it is also simply and factually true that when it comes to the context in which certain characters have made those terrible choices or been forced to become something they otherwise might never have become, that in order for there to be actual long term solutions, those corrupt systems, those violent institutions - those must be dismantled. These things must stop in order for the system to not just keep on chugging, to not just break the next set of characters as it broke the last ones.

Sometimes, a character cannot realistically meaningfully travel very far down their path to redemption before something changes or shifts within that system in order to allow them that. For example, a character who is constantly on the defensive because people are hunting them down to try to kill them doesn't have the option of not defending themselves (usually with violence) unless they choose to die at their hunters' hands. Even if they do not start fights, they can't disengage if others start them first; in order to stop, others must also stop.

It is unfair, in contexts where there is a great and systematic corruption, to place the onus of a "happy ending" on singular people if there is no intention of dismantling the system that gave birth to such horrors. How cruel, how unjust, to take one person and say to them, "this is all, totally and completely, your fault, and it is your responsibility to change because you are the thing that needs fixing here."

Think of it like climate change: yeah, sure, putting your rubbish into the correct bins and reducing your personal carbon footprint etc is helpful. But what change you can make, if you make it alone, if you make it isolated, will never meaningfully chip away at the global level of pollution caused by the whole system. What needs to happen is a lot of people banding together to force the system to change, and for those who benefit from it to be held accountable. Because that's the other element of tragedy: there is nearly always someone benefitting from the tragedy, and it is not often those who are the most blamed or slandered.

Yourself may be a good place to start, but it is not where it ends. It is a long hard road, to the recognition that there are many factors that contribute towards tragedy - to the personal choices of characters, and to the reasons they made those choices in the first place; the action = reaction, the consequences, the pressures, the emotional and mental factors, the physical factors, the numerous interweaving stories of everyone trying to protect them and theirs, and sometimes in doing so hurting others.

Redemption and understanding how tragedy came to be is rarely as simple as we want it to be, and this complexity is a feature, not a bug. If you want to be able to point at someone and say "there; that is the bad thing" then 99/100 times I would first take a good look around to see what made the bad thing bad. Then I would take one good look at yourself in the mirror, and ask yourself if you could have been the bad thing, too, if things had shaken out just that little bit differently - the answer might not be one that comforts you.

[qtubbo]

also like phils lore is kind of solo lore. he relatively stays to himself (+eggs) while turbo's rp is heavily invested into morning crew, fitpac is heavily invested into morning crew, bagi and Mike both hang out a lot with them. Phil does hang out with morning crew ofc but the group dynamic isn't really a part of his thing, you know? so I can see why people don't really put him into their morning crew fics other than there sometimes because he is only there sometimes + he usually gets on a little later than everyone else if he does hardcore so he misses the initial log-in check in. like if you believe he's part of the group that's fine but imo he doesn't seem very heavily invested in it, just friends with most people in it yk? and that's fine!! he's just not a core part of it for most people's interpretations

Morning Crew is a very particular dynamic that formed from 3 people who hung out just with each other almost everyday because of how early they logged in. While at the beginning it was kinda undefinable, oh is it just Morning people? Is it a friend group? Is it just the name of a trio or a general title? As Fit, Tubbo, and Pac’s lore started combining, it became a very particular them thing, they help each other because they’re close. Tubbo’s lore specifically involves directly how Morning Crew is a group of 3, and does not involve Phil in the slightest it’s just not a consideration to him. Pac and Fit, while in very different ways, do engage a lot with how the dynamic of Morning Crew affects them emotionally, Fit relies on them for company, while Pac becomes stressed out without them.

Phil’s lore on the other-hand is very isolated, it has nothing to do with his dynamics with Morning Crew, they exist outside of him. There is no issue with people making solo lore, but all of his lore being so solo is a statement in itself about how he’s not part of that group. As you said even if we go with the requirements of logging on earlier, Phil is either entirely within the afternoon group, or as most times at the end of Morning Crew time. He is also not as grouped up as them like the newest inclusion Bagi is, when Phil hangs out with them it’s individual, he’s close with Fit and Tubbo but not them together. Plus not being close at all to Pac and Bagi, but as noted involving Mike that’s not fully limiting since he is not close with Tubbo. Bagi hangs out with Morning Crew as a unit, unless we are heading towards afternoon time she’s normally with all three of them, or at least a majority of the group.

It’s just that Phil doesn’t really fit the requirements people generally use to determine Morning Crew and as anon said he doesn’t want to. Phil exists within his own story, and his friendships are singular he has no intention of being part of the Morning Crew family. The other ccs also just don’t consider him a member even though unlike Bagi and Mike he was hanging out with them fairly constantly when they formed, he just makes no attempt to be part of the group and the group makes no attempts to have him join.

It sadly comes off to many that the inclusion of Phil in Morning Crew by fans is due to his popularity and want for their cubitos to be part of a group. It’s fine to include him, but just don’t get mad when others don’t.

Phil’s just their friend, close to some but he doesn’t need the title and he’s perfectly happy with that.

(This was not meant to be so long sorry)

[year2000electronics]

OHENSBNDMDNG okokokok let me tell you a story. While thinking back on brozone's flashback at the start of band together, my mind fell on grandma Rosie Puff, and how I've come to be really intrigued in her. How did she end up having to raise all of brozone on her own? Where the hell are their parents? But most importantly, how can we make one of the only other character traits of hers that have not much to do with brozone have some sort of hidden lore to it? I'm talking about the scene where she shows to be very very enthusiastic and serious about rummy, and supposedly other gambling games.

And for a while I've been SUCKIJG AND CHEWING on that crumb of bread. LITERALLY.

What could this mean for the world of trolls? Does gambling exist within singular troll genre clans? Orrrrr is there some sort of clandestine gambling world going on outside of the old troll tree where trolls of all different backgrounds and obscured pasts come together to gamble together? What the hell am I on?

But anyway! That thought never really went anywhere. It just stood in my mind. But I had no idea what to do with it.

And then.... Your trolls Royal Flush au came out of NOWHERE.

I've only just started reading the Google doc and I've gotten past the adaptation of brozone's fallout and, I just gotta say that I really appreciate you giving Rosiepuff a whole lot more autonomy and control over a bad situation. Instead of just staying in one place, where she barely made any huge life decisions that affected Branch (other than sacrificing herself) and having a very vague picture of what kind of person she was, this single paragraph in your Google doc about what she and branch did after brozone disbanded has done A WHOLE TON OF HEAVY LIFTING TO CHARACTERIZE HER THAT I REALLY, REALLY HOLD DEAR.

How she probably became a beam of hope to little baby branch after realizing his brothers are never coming back.

How her bold decision to completely change her and branch's life for a better future, makes her a strong, determined, and confident person.

How... She must've been the ONLY PERSON in Branch's life he could still rely on at that point.

Its just... I've known this lady for a single paragraph but her death just means so much more, and HURTS so much more. Dying in the place she used to thrive in.

SUDDENLY THIS BEAM OF HOPE, THAT WAS THE MAIN SOURCE OF BRANCH'S STRENGTH was taken away from him. So suddenly. So unexpectedly.

I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF

Sorry I went on and on about a character who had one paragraph dedicated to her.

But she also got one paragraph

So therefore she's worth talking about.

In trolls one, we're supposed to care about Grandma Rosiepuff's death because of her assumed importance to Branch without really knowing ANYTHING about her.

But in this AU, you just painted such a clear image of her, we knew her for one paragraph but we also realized she's all that Branch had for a good portion of his lonely childhood. So much more than just one scene of her being taken by a berger, than just one paragraph.

Just!!!!!!!!!! I'm happy I'm really happy with what you did with Rosiepuff. Slay in peace, sweetheart.

BUT NOT JUST THAT-

THIS ENTIRE AU'S WORLD BUILDING.... Is really really thorough!!!!! Like!!!!! It's so well done!!!!! I loved the introduction to the world at the start of the Google doc, AND I LOVED HOW YOU INCORPORATED THIS WORLD BUILDING FOR ROSIEPUFF'S BACKSTORY.

AGHJHHHH I NEED TO CONTINUE READING

Thank you if you went this far!!!!! You deserve roses for all the amazing work you have ever put out into this world big or small, I'm excited to see where this goes.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

THANK YOU SO MUCH AAA!! yeah i knew that if i was doing a big casino au i couldnt NOT give grandma rosiepuff some connection to it i mean come ON!! i think thats generally a big overarching theme of how the city of luxgoode takes advantage of vulnerable people and like, taunting them as if risk can make their dreams come true. people will ruin their own lives if they can save the ones they love, even for some of the casino owners (gristle and creek obvi but i think even chaz is a lower rung in this system, it goes up to the 1% mount rageons, especially and mostly v&v's parents)

i also just. love the idea of brozone sharing traits w their grandma. jd may have pulled a lot of the weight but she did raise them too!

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Have you ever seen the SuperCarlinBrothers series on what if Harry had been in Slytherin?

Got any thoughts on if differing house would have changed anything in an interesting way?

I did listen to it a while ago (I put their videos as podcasts sometimes while I'm drawing or doing something else), and I agree with some of them and disagree with other parts.

The first year is probably the one I agree with them most on and the further in the story we go the more our visions diverge. Obviously, this is a what-if scenario and therefore almost entirely made up of speculation and headcanon, and even in my own mind I don't have a single true version of how it'll go since there are tons of potential variations and many fics about this.

If there's interest I could write, like, an outline of what if Harry got sorted into Slytherin fic I'd probably never write, but there are a lot of variations in this what-if and it's going to need to be split into multiple posts that detail what I think is likely, what could happen and what I'd like to happen if Harry was sorted into Slytherin.

Because, like, there are so many ways this could go and still be possible. Like, this what-if is essentially 30,000 different what-ifs in a trench coat. Because like, how would Snape react? It's possible he'd be nicer to a Slytherin Harry, and then that changes book 1 quite drastically. But it's equally possible the similarity to James Potter would override that. Both are equally plausible for this what-if. And what would Dumbledore do? Would he do something at all or more likely, just watch with growing concern and hope this isn't another Tom Riddle but keep the test of book 1 going, to see what kind of person Harry is (I think the second is more likely because Dumbledore tends to hope, so he'll hope Harry is a Gryffindor deep down and Harry telling him he sees his parents in the mirror of Erised would confirm it to Dumbledore). And I wonder how kind Hagrid would be to this sorting, I mean, the fandom doesn't talk about it much, but Hagrid definitely has a favorite house considering he's the one who told Harry: "There was not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin", so, I don't think Hagrid would be as friendly to Harry if Harry was in Slytherin, which means no Hagrid spilling info about Fluffy and the trials in book 1 (Harry would still learn all that information, but it'd be from a different source). But it's possible Hagrid would look past it since Harry is the son of James and Lily and he can't be bad.

And I think Harry will make friends within Slytherin, like, I disagree with SCB about that, I don't think all of them would be assholes. I also think Harry is more of a social chameleon than SCB gave him credit for. He acts the way we see him act because he mirrors Ron's behavior a lot of the time (especially in first year), in Slytherin, he'd try to mimic the Slytherin's behavior, so he wouldn't necessarily be that much of an outsider (he'd still have his sass, Harry should have his sass in every AU). I don't see him ever becoming a blood purist, but I can see a Slytherin Harry being a bit more aloof and carrying himself a little differently. I mentioned here, here, and here, how Harry can be colder and ruthless when push comes to shove, there's a reason the hat offered Slytherin. I do agree with SCB, that it's likely Harry would still be friends with Ron and possibly also Hermione, but even here there are different possibilities depending on what we change so Harry would get sorted into Slytherin in the first place. The story of the books could change a lot, but also barely change at all, depending on how you choose to interrupt certain characters and decisions.

The point is, there are a ton of moving parts and I don't really have a singular answer to how I think the books would go if Harry was in a different house. I have, like, this tree of possibilities.

[measlyfurball13]

Seeing as your one of the only people I know who is into Transformers, would you mind info dumping about it?

I know very little of anything about it besides the old "Micheal Bay!" Joke, and that it was initially made to sell toys, but that doesn't really mean anything.

So tell me, is there "more than meets the eye" to this franchise?

HOOOOOOOOO BOY

The single most important thing to know about Transformers is that there is no singular canon. Rather, there's a TON of different continuities, or basically alternate versions of the same universe. Transformers is a franchise that basically tells the same story over and over again, altering each time while keeping some very basic core themes and characters.

Optimus Prime is the leader of the Autobots. Megatron is the leader of the Decepticons. The Autobots are the good guys, the Decepticons are the bad guys, and they have been fighting a war for millions of years. It is rare for continuities to change these core facts. They might be modified, but they will never be unrecognizable.

In one continuity, Optimus might be a younger, more inexperienced leader. In another, he may be old, wise, and powerful. In some continuities, Optimus and Megatron have personal beef with each other through their backstories, making them almost lost brothers of a sort. In others, Megatron is a stranger and Optimus is an impersonal victim of his cruelty. Each time this story, the story of Transformers, is told, little details like this change.

Generally, continuities try to keep a certain "feel" to them. While sometimes a continuity will completely reinvent a character, most of the time it will try to keep a character within a few (arbitrarily chosen) character traits and/or role.

So, if this story has been told over and over again, and there's certain established expectations for characters, what was this all based on? The answer is the original 1984 animated cartoon! This cartoon is referred to as "Generation 1", or just "G1" for short. This is the cartoon made to sell toys. The animation quality is poor, the dialogue and music are cheesy, and I absolutely love it to pieces. I would highly, highly recommend that you watch the first three episodes, which basically acts as the pilot for the whole show. It really writes the characters at their most iconic and introduces the setting.

Now that you understand that G1 is the base, you can go from there and explore other continuities! Remember, continuities don't connect across different mediums (with the very distinct exception of one specific continuity, which I'll get to right after this) so feel free to find one that interests you. In general, each cartoon (or close series of cartoons) is a continuity. Allow me to list some of the more popular ones:

Transformers Beast Wars. This is arguably the continuity that follows the established G1 pattern the least, since this is the cartoon that followed right after it. In this one, the transformers turn into animals and battle on a prehistoric earth. This one is well-renowned for its surprisingly deep character writing, but the antique 3D animation is the biggest hurdle to enjoyment. It's kinda the continuity that's the most forgotten.

Transformers Armada, Energon, and Cybertron. Also known as the Unicron Trilogy (no, not "unicorn"!), this one was made in Japan and then dubbed and exported. They introduce a lot of anime-inspired features into the lore such as powerups and the like. Armada is regarded very highly with good writing, the other two not so much. The continuity between them is fairly loose. You could absolutely get away with watching just that one. Here's a link to Armada.

The Michael Bay films. You already know this one. These live action films are in a continuity of their own. In all absolutely fairness, the first movie is pretty good, barring Bay's more childish flairs. If you don't mind the U.S. military being portrayed as the absolute good guys, I think you'll genuinely like it.

The Bumblebee movie. Special shoutout to this one! This live action movie is in its own continuity that's really fun. This is an excellent movie and I love it so much, please watch it at some point.

Transformers Animated. This is one of the most widely beloved continuities in the entire franchise. People really, really like this show. It takes the franchise in a refreshing new direction, with the first season feeling almost a bit more like a superhero cartoon than a "traditional" transformers cartoon. The Autobots are the absolute underdogs in this one and it's hard not to root for them. Here's a link. This one's a good one to start with.

Transformers Cyberverse. This one is a web series that was focused for a younger audience for the first season, gets decent in the second but then gets absolutely and insanely fucking unhinged in season 3. I. . . don't recommend this one for any beginners? It's a trip. That first season is pretty unbearable. The second season starts out feeling like you missed something, and then gradually gets kinda better. Season 3 is insane. Look, just tackle this one after you've tackled the others. Don't start here.

Transformers Earthspark. The newest of the bunch, this one is releasing on Paramount Plus. I've really enjoyed what I've seen of it! It's a much more down-to-earth approach to the story. It changes some characters but in interesting ways. The new characters are excellent as well. You can definitely start with this one.

And finally, without further ado:

Transformers Prime.

I fucking LOVE this one.

This one is my favorite and was what really got me into the Transformers fandom. This cartoon takes the good innovations from the Michael Bay movies and then actually tells an amazingly competent story with it. It's the Transformers cartoon with the darkest tone by a long shot, and it really sells that this story is about a war. Characters die! The serialization is suuuuuuuper tight- one of my favorite examples is that injured characters have to spend time onscreen healing back up.

This cartoon also gives a significant amount of focus and exploration of the Decepticons as a faction as well, which is rare for the franchise. Both the Autobot and Decepticon characters will charm their way into your heart.

This show is equivalent in quality to Avatar the Last Airbender to me. I know that's probably overhyping it. You may not like it as much. But I really really really love it.

Here is a link to the first season.

But wait! There's more. Welcome to the Aligned Continuity!

Transformers Prime is actually part of the franchise's first attempt to really connect a story across media platforms. The result was. . . mostly successful? Definitely a lot of plot holes/errors, and some of the continuity is trash, but I want to highlight two videogames specifically:

Transformers: War for Cybertron. This game is a third-person shooter by High Moon studios. They do an absolutely stellar job with this one. Taking place on Cybertron, the home planet of the transformers, this one acts as the first part of an indirect prequel to Transformers Prime.

Transformers: Fall of Cybertron. If the first game is good, then this game is amazing. The devs layer on more amazing mechanics to those introduced in the first game, with some of my absolute most favorite moments in all of gaming happening in this one. It acts as a second part of the prequel to Transformers Prime.

The writing in both of these games is so amazing, and the gameplay is so much fun. I know you love videogames, so that's why I'm recommending these two you. HOWEVER, the cost is that these games are stupid difficult to get ahold of. You'll most likely have to sail the high seas, yo-ho-ho, if you catch my drift. I play these on my Xbox 360. Best of luck to you!

Anyways, there are other entries into the Aligned Continuity. There's a set of three novels that I've heard are stellar. If you're looking for a show for young kids but that is also fun for you to watch, you could always check out Transformers: Rescue Bots. That one has a small but devoted fanbase of older fans.

But do NOT touch the cartoon in this continuity called Robots in Disguise. Do not. It's marketed as a sequel to Transformers Prime. It is not. Not really. It's like the Halo 5 of Transformers. Every day I am reminded that it exists I am in pain.

---

And there lies the end of my introduction! If you actually did read all of this, congrats to you. Ironically, I'm not sure that you've really ended up more knowledgeable than you started. I didn't really go over anything specific about characters or plot or lore or anything. But I hope I've illustrated my point that to do so would be fruitless- this story exists in so many different iterations that you just have to go out and find the one that resonates the most with you, y'know?

My recommendation for getting acquainted with the franchise is to start with those first three G1 episodes, then move on to either Animated or Prime. You could also pick Beast Wars if you're looking for something with a more retro 90s charm, which I know you like from Marathon.

[alliepretends]

been thinking about your post on aromanticism and fandom with riz, and before i say anything else, i want you to know that I 100% agree with you. my primary interaction with fandom is through ao3 and fanfiction, and the heavy focus on shipping and romance has shaped what fandoms i choose to actively read fanfiction for: because I do not want to read romance heavy stories, I'll interact with fandoms/fanfic on a much higher level for fandoms that contain a large amount of gen works, regardless of how much i enjoy the source content in comparison.

within d20 fanfic, out of the 1167 fics with the Riz Gukgak character tag, only 89 of those fics have the aromantic asexual Riz Gukgak tag, and within the 95 fics total that have the aroace Riz tag (apparently there are fics with the aroace riz tag without tagging him as a character?), 18 of those 95 fics are tagged with Riz/Fabian, but only 12 are tagged Riz Gukgak-centric. In d20 fic overall, Riz/Fabian currently comes in as the most written relationship, with 365 fics. The highest written platonic relationship is Adaine & Aelwyn, who are sisters. As someone who personally, also does not like fabriz, queerplatonic or otherwise, and primarily enjoys reading about platonic relationships, this is, not gonna lie, disappointing to me.

However, like you said, it IS incredibly important for the aroace people who DO want to have/see qprs represented to get that! I want them to have it, and im incredibly happy for them that they do! yes, it's not something that i would enjoy, (it just doesn't align with my interpretations of either character) but like you said, a lot of aroace people find qprs to be an integral part of their experience, and seeing stuff get represented is so, so important!

this brings me to my actual point: you talk about how fandom falling in with your (and mine, i agree. you've encapsulated how i feel about riz.) point of view, this would end up alienating other aroace people who don't share the same view, or experience in their identities, and I don't want that either! The thing is, to me at least, that's just not how fandom works! Yes, in canon, if they confirm riz to be aroace (please please please please please) they will end up giving him one singular experience. it's impossible for him to represent all the wide and varied and wonderful ways for him to be aroace in canon, but that's what's beautiful about fandom for me! The metaphor you used for fandom was fighting over a bone, and while I definitely understand why you feel that way, to me, I cannot see it the same way at ALL. For every single individual person who watches fantasy high, there will be a completely different interpretation of each and every character, and all of them will be true. The thing is, when we're talking about Riz as an aroace character, well, there are not a lot of aroace people just in general, and fewer of those aroace people are going to have the same point of view, and there will be less fan-created content centered around this part of his identity as a result.

The solution, because there is one! is not to fight over the bone, or give up the bone, or keep the bone for ourselves, because there is no one bone. The beautiful thing about fandom, when the character passes from the creators hands into ours, is that there are infinite ways to interpret the character, all of them true, and when you don't see enough representation of the interpretation you have, the solution is to take YOUR interpretation and share it with the world. Write fics! Write massive text posts! Encourage and lift up the people who create things you DO relate to! Share what this character is to you and what you want him to be, and while it may not be a large percentage of people, you will find people who feel/have felt the same way you have. You're already doing it. You did, after all, reach me. I guess my point is, be the change you want to see in the world?

I understand that your whole point was about how fandom is so heavily romance focused and how that's frustrating, and maybe this isn't what you want to hear, maybe you just wanted to have a nice little complain (complaining and sharing your frustrations is good for the soul) and that's totally okay. I'm simply an optimist, and you seemed kind of doomy about it, so I just wanted to let you know that there is hope, and community, and people who feel the same way that you do, and hey, maybe if we work together we can create small pockets of fandom that can give you and everyone who feels the same way the aro rep they want to see in the world.

(I am so sorry for how long this got. um. sorry. thank you for putting up with me, I hope you have a wonderful day!)

It's lovely that you have such an optimistic perspective on this. And I hear you about wanting fandom to be a place that has space for a multitude of interpretations, but I think you're kind of missing my point. This goes beyond what you're saying, but it's something I get frustrated about in every fandom I've been in. There's a tendency for fans to want to ignore that fandom is a culture. That fan behaviors are shaped as much by cultural trends within fandom as by the desires of individual fans. Those cultural trends can be really harmful. But because fans often tend to treat fandom as a space outside of culture, and tend to act as if each individual character/ship/fandom is only made up of people having a personal engagement with the text, it becomes very difficult to address the problems that are deeply rooted within fandom culture. And those problems in fandom culture are reflective of the broader cultures of which fandom is a subculture, but they are also built, exchanged, and cultivated in a unique way within the subculture. That's how oppression works, relatively few people are actively trying to hurt others, but people all want to see their actions as independent from a larger cultural context so they don't have to worry about how they might be contributing to a culture that hurts people. It's why fandom, a space historically made up primarily of women, spent a very long time shielding itself from any accusations of sexism (which ran and continues to run rampant in fandom - as seen in everything from how female characters are treated to how m/m ships are forced into heteronormative tropes) by pointing to the failures of the source material. Despite the same problems occurring across the majority of fandoms regardless of the source material. And despite the justification not really holding up when one examined how many one-dimensional male characters fandom was happy to flesh out. I'm not a POC and I don't want to speak for POC but I've read enough critiques of fandom by people of color to know that racism (of all kinds) is an equally rampant problem in fandom.

And this issue of fandom as culture was what I'm talking about with Riz. The discourse over Riz's aromanticism frequently gets heated on this website. And I wanted to make a post exploring why that is. Because while discourse about any aspect of fandom can get heated (we're all emotionally invested here), I felt a particular weight of baggage in this discourse that I thought was worth attempting to bring to the forefront. There is a culture of romance-centrism in fandom. There is a culture of devaluing friendship (found family is great, but in my opinion, it has also become a way of talking around the devaluation of friendship in fandom spaces). There is a culture of characters only getting fic or analysis written about them if it fits into the context of romance or into a romance-dependant context of family. And so the baggage that I was trying to draw attention to with my post is that cultural baggage. Someone shipping fabriz may feel unfairly attacked by the desire of many people to keep romance away from Riz ("it's just a ship," "it's just me projecting on to the character," "it's just fandom, we're all supposed to have fun here.") And I wanted to point out the cultural hostility toward aromanticism in fandom spaces that makes viewing Fabriz that way impossible for someone whose spent any time observing and struggling with the broader culture of fandom. My metaphor about being thrown a bone was more an acknowledgment that being aromantic in fandom is always hard and that our options are limited trying to address this cultural problem by just talking about one character does leave a lot of people out. But this is the problem we have and the character we've got.

You're right that I was kind of doomy and gloomy about it. I'm not a person who likes to put myself out there in fandom. I'm fundamentally a lurker. This blog originally existed as a practice in positivity and contributing my own ideas. But after I left the fandom I started it for, I didn't come back to it. And it took me feeling mad about something for me to be motivated enough to post again. I already kind of regret it. But my intention wasn't just to have a good complain. My intention was to make the case that this particular discourse has a deeper cultural weight within the subculture of fandom. One that, if not considered properly, can easily allow people to shrug off their own role in building that culture. And it's a culture that is actively harmful for people who live romance-free lives (whether they are aromantic or not). I don't need there to be less romance in fandom. I just need there to be more space for characters like Riz to be allowed not to engage in it at all and still be considered worthy of fan attention.

Anyway, this is preachier than I like to be. I do appreciate that you are trying to bring optimism and empathy to fandom. But I also hate to be misunderstood. So I hope this clears up my point for you.

[gacha-incels]

@frozenemus I want to eventually do a larger and much more researched post regarding misogynist men who are drawn to these types of games: socially, psychologically, financially and historically especially in South Korea. I don’t want to wait that long to reply here so I’ll let you know my thoughts so far which are by no means going to be a comprehensive look at everything.

Yes, I think these games pander to what this type of man already believes about women and this is why they will flock to them. The “gacha game” medium comforts him with the always-available cartoon woman who can literally be “won” (not through confusing things like treating them with respect but rather money),will never leave (until EoS), obeys all his orders (through gameplay), and always looks perfect (because she is drawn that way).

I believe these games and in effect all mainstream pop/entertainment media (among other things) serve to uphold the status quo in one way or another. This is not a phenomenon unique to gacha games themselves. Media like this can have a significant affect on its population, which is why you will see the US military finance so many films, tv shows and videogames. I don’t think any singular pop media can do something as drastic as completely change a population’s opinion regarding an issue, but rather it can flatter its audience by showing them an easy lie rather than confront an uncomfortable truth, which in turn serves to solidify certain concepts in a society. This media often reflects back onto the consumer a stereotype or dichotomy they feel safe with, which in turn creates a kind of feedback loop of comfortable falsity that becomes enshrined as truth. This can be something as seemingly benign as replacing an actual eagle’s cry with that of a hawk’s because that’s what the audience “expects to hear” or more sinisterly the “third world filter” used in many North American productions when showing scenes in a country viewers “expect” to be in poverty. There’s been a lot written within the past couple years regarding “copaganda” entertainment which exemplifies a lot of this type of thing. Similarly I believe it’s been studied that when in times of big changes or economy crashes, more sequel movies will be made and toy store aisles will have an extremely stark divide between “boy’s toys” and “girl’s toys”. It’s in part to comfort the society that fears the unknown future with both saccharine nostalgia and familiar dichotomies with clear and dividing gender roles to fit into. You don’t have to think or be worried- it’s all been decided already so just get in the box.

The medium of “gacha game” itself I believe is the first thing that should be considered- the first message conveyed to the consumer is what medium the “artist” chooses to tell their story. In a whole host of ways, interacting with a book is different than a play which is different than a movie, etc. You can find, for instance, older books where directors write about the need to recognize and utilize the unique facets of film to get meaning across rather than fall back on the familiar and easy stageplay of the theater. Off the top of my head, I think Tarkovsky, Cocteau and Maya Deren have written about it in their books, and a more contemporary book I especially liked was Doug Aitken’s “Broken Screen” interviews. Anyway you’ve probably read or heard of Marshall McLuhan’s “the medium is the massage”(message), it’s something I would like to elaborate on in a future post so I won’t get into it now. The most unique aspect of the “gacha game” is gambling and often spending large quantities of money for in-game anime style characters to play as/command. Like I said in the last post, these games ride or die on high spenders dropping cash to max these characters out. EVERYTHING about the game must cater to this consumer first and any “artistic intent” will be filtered through the expectations of these customers. None of the story beats or, more importantly, character designs can afford to offend the gacha gamer. Artistic intent and concepts are neutered simply by the medium itself- sorry but this is why I find it ridiculous to see so many people venerating Arknights and Limbus Company as making some incredibly progressive statements regarding capitalism or feminism. It is antithetical to the very medium with which they chose to tell their “stories”, especially when the companies can tell their incel playerbase “don’t worry, we fired that nasty female artist! this game is just fantasy, no need to think about real life atrocities or those hateful feminists.” This gives these men the ego boost they want and imbues them with a sense of power, especially over women who they frequently get fired. Even this is part of gacha games- the power these men get to control a real woman’s financial fate and to make a company publicly refer to feminism as a hate movement. What does this tell you about their intended audience? This is getting long so I’ll make another short post regarding some character design specifics. Hopefully this somewhat could answer your question lol

[mask131]

So…I followed your advice in researching Greek Myths and learning them via the Authors. And uhm…I was curious because something bugged me.

Now I’m bad at history, but as far as I knew, Laurel Wreaths were mostly common in Rome, rather than Greece? (I could be wrong) so I had like a nagging feeling. And found out that the Daphne and Apollo myth (And probably also Hyacinthus I’m looking into that) was told in Ovid’s Metamorphosis? I could be wrong, so far I’ve only seen Ovid as the original author.

Sorry- I saw your post about Arachne and thought about what other myths were originally purely Roman then were mistaken for Greek Myths and wanted to add this into a possibility-

A LOT of stuff were invented by Ovid! Myself I learned only a month ago that Morpheus was "invented" by Ovid and I was like... wow. (There were dream-gods in Greek mythology, but they were not singularized, and the persona of Morpheus as the individual god of dreams was invented by Ovid)

Now, I don't know much about the specific use of laurel in Ancient Greece vs the Roman empire, but if you ask about the origin of the story of Daphne and Apollo, they are definitively Greek and Ovid did not invent her (though he told the story in a very, very different way).

The story of Daphne's numerous misadventures was recorded by Greek authors - and while it was quite late records, which would make us wonder if it isn't a late development or invention, they all rely on older sources attesting a presence of Daphne's legend for quite a long time. The two major records of Daphne's legend by Greeks are Pausanias' Description of Greece (2nd century CE), and Parthenius of Nicea's "Erotica Pathemata" (1st century BCE). BUT Pausanias explains that the legend he collects has been known for a very long time in the area around the Ladon river, to the point of implementing itself within the worship of Apollo, while Parthenius begins his story by pointing out he is merely retranscribing the text of older sources - a book from a 3rd century BCE historian named Phylarkhos, and an elegiac poem by Diodoros of Elaia. But given these two older texts were lost, we only have the latest record, hence this feeling of "novelty" when the story is actually at least around since the 3rd century BCE...

In fact, the existence of Daphne in Greek mythology long before Ovid's Metamorphoses is also proven by how massively different the Greek records of Daphne's life are from Ovid's tale. Everybody knows the story of Daphne through Ovid, since it was the most popular and widespread one... But both Pausanias and Parthenius report the same legend, which is very different from Ovid's rewrite.

In Ovid's tale, Daphne is said to have been Apollo's first love, and that the god's feelings were caused by Cupid as a way to take revenge after being mocked (Apollo, as a talented archer-god, mocked Cupid's own archery talents). Cupid shot a love-killing arrow in Daphne's heart so that the nymph would reject all forms of love, and she became "like Diana" - by refusing any form of marriage or romance, and fleeing the company of men and rejecting all her suitors, preferring the loneliness of the woods and the pleasure of the hunt - her father, the river-god, insisted on her giving him a son-in-law and grandchildren but she insisted she wanted to remain endlessly virgin like Diana. Meanwhile Apollo had received a love-inflamming arrow, one that not only caused a deep desire and mad love within the god for Daphne, but also made this attraction stronger and more obsessive each time the god saw the nymph. As such, Apollo tried all he could to please her and woo her and seduce her, but each time he tried the love-repelling spell on Daphne caused her to flee in fear and disgust and terror ; and the more she fled, the more Apollo found her beautiful and desirable, thanks to Cupid's curse ; and thus he followed her, but the more he pursued and insisted the more she fled. Their respective love and hate kept growing and growing until Daphne, exhausted and not wanting to flee anymore, stopped by the shore of her father the river-god and begged him to transform her so that her beauty would be gone, and she would not be loved anymore. Her father turned her into a laurel-tree, but it was no use, as Cupid's power as too strong: Apollo was still in love with the beauty and radiance of the tree, and he could feel Daphne's heart beating in the plant; and similarly Daphne's hate still lived on, as when Apollo embraced the tree and kissed its branches, the tree shivered and was repelled away from the god's body. But Apollo ultimately decided that if she could not be his bride, he would make Daphne his official tree and symbol - and to this, Daphne actually agreed as she offered her "leafy branches" to the god.

That's the Roman story of Daphne invented by Ovid. What is the difference with the Greek story he took inspiration from? (Because it is very clear that Ovid's source was the story twice told by Pausanias and Parthenius ; and told by others before whose name were lost...

1: In Ovid's story, Daphne simply admires and imitates Diana's behavior. In the Greek legend Daphne was ACTUALLY one of the huntresses of Artemis. Or to be more precise Parthenius explains that Artemis found Daphne "dear" to her because she shared the goddess' life-choices, refusing to live in cities, not hanging out with other girls, hunting in the mountains with a large pack of hounds... And Artemis loved Daphne so much she offered her a gift: she would always shoot straight at her target and never miss.

2: There's no Cupid/Eros in the Greek legend. Daphne is not Apollo's first love, she is not cursed with rejecting all love, he was not cursed to love her to insanity - this whole episode was invented by Ovid. Apollo is still in love with Daphne in the Greek legend, but it is just a regular love.

3: The Greek legend has a character that Ovid completely erased. Leucippus. Leucippus was another man who was in love with Daphne but knew that she was a lonely huntress closely linked to Artemis... Understanding he could not seduce her in a conventional way, Leucippus put up a convoluted plan to win the girl's heart. He dressed himself as a woman and created for himself a female persona. He approached Daphne and pretended to be a fellow huntress ; Daphne agreed to let her join her hunting party, and she soon grew to admire this bold, strong woman so unlike the other girls of Greece and whose strength and hunting talents far surpassed those of a common maiden... In fact she grew such affection and admiration for the fake-huntress that Daphne developed a dear and solid friendship with her: it was said she was always by Leucippus' side, refused to let Leucippus away from her, and kept embracing him/her and clinging to his/her body. However, since Apollo was also in love with Daphne he grew both jealous and angry (since, as the god of truth, he knew of Leucippus' deceit), and decided to reveal the truth. He implanted in Daphne's mind the idea that she had to bathe in a given stream: she went there with her "attendant maidens" and female servants/fellow huntresses (Daphne is never said explicitely to be part of the huntresses of Artemis, but she herself lives in a group of "wild women" very similar to Artemis' huntresses so... it is strongly implied she is one of them, especially since she literaly lives like the goddess and has been gifted by her). Leucippus of course refused to bathe, despite the other girls' insistence, and since he refused still, they tore his clothes away from him... discovering he was a man all along. And since this group of women act on a Artemis' huntress logic, they did what seemed the most reasonable thing to do... kill Leucippus by plunging in his body all of their spears.

4: The Greek legend does agree that Daphne begged a third-party god to turn her into the laurel tree to escape Apollo's love-hunt, but the details are different from Ovid's tale and the story is more lacking in explanations... All we know, from Parthenius' record is that Apollo appeared to Daphne right after Leucippus was killed. Why? We don't know, but he clearly came to profit off the fact his romantic rival had been killed in shame/crime, and that he had a part to play in the "reveal" of Leucippus' deceit... But all we know is that Daphne fled Apollo, and he pursued her, and to avoid being caught by him she begged to be hidden from his sight, and thus she was turned into a laurel tree. But in the Greek legend she doesn't beg her father the river-god... she begs Zeus, and he is the one who grants her request and protects her from his own son.

Things are even worse in Pausanias' record, since he stops after Leucippus death and there is no story of Apollo hunting down Daphne in any way... He doesn't even speak of any metamorphosis ; and yet he does mention that Daphne was associated with the laurel, and that the heavy use of laurel in Apollonian rituals and games was because of the god's love for Daphne. (But from yet other sources contemporary to Pausanias' writings, such as the "Life of Apollonius of Tyana", we know that the story of Daphne being somehow "replaced" by a laurel-tree was well-known, though it wasn't always said why such a thing happened)

In conclusion, as usual with how Ovid tweaks the Greek legends, it is interesting to see how he shift the character and what the character is supposed to be about. Thanks to Ovid the image we keep of Daphne is the one of a victim fleeing in fright and fear, and her relationship with Apollo is depicted as a frightening and cruel tragedy orchestrated by Cupid... And yet, we do know that Daphne started out as a badass huntress of Artemis, and that her original story was about a man changing his gender in hope of winning her heart - to the point the involvment of Apollo was seen as a side-detail that could be omitted (Pausanias even claims that Apollo's involvment in the legend was an addition by the priests of the god, and not present in the main folktale)

Mind you I am not at all an expert on Daphne's character or story - and I am sure others are more informed than me... But that's the few things I know

[writingpiecesak]

Paying Attention

Summary: You’re sort of a chatter box to anyone that will listen. You ramble about a million different things that sometimes doesn’t even relate to one another. So while trying to tell a story that actually means something, you fall on deaf ears. Not to Bakugou though.

“Then! A huge boulder of cement was flying through the air and I was just about to use my quirk to stop it when–guys?”

As I sat there at my desk looking at my four friends talk amongst themselves I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. It seemed like my friends didn’t care nor pay mind to what I was saying. I do talk a lot and usually it’s babbling like a baboon when I’m nervous but this near death experience was something I wanted to share. To have a listener or someone try to relate?

Little did I know, amidst the dying words in my throat, a silent listener lurked.

“And then what?”

The class bully, known for his cruel tricks and unkind demeanor, had surreptitiously become an unintended audience for my tale. An unexpected twist, indeed. The realization hit me like a gust of wind, a mix of surprise and nervousness.

“You were listening?”

“Hm. You’re too chatty to ignore, continue.”

While I had always yearned for a captivated audience that hung on my every word, having the class bully as my solitary listener posed a peculiar challenge. But there was something intriguing about this unexpected observer. Maybe beneath his intimidating facade lay a flicker of humanity that craved connection, longing for a story to whisk him away from his own reality. Or perhaps it was simply his primal instinct, reveling in the enjoyment derived from others' discomfort.

Regardless of his motivations, the atmosphere in the classroom suddenly shifted. With every passing moment, the realization that Katsuki Bakugou was listening painted my narrative with a newfound weight. I couldn't ignore his presence as he nonchalantly twiddled with his pen, avoiding eye contact with me. It fueled a surge of adrenaline within me, pushing me to deliver a tale that transcended mere words.

As my story continued, I found myself entwined in a delicate dance of words. Each sentence was carefully crafted, every detail woven with precision to capture their attention. The desperate need to keep my sole listener engaged unlocked a previously untapped reserve of creativity within me. It was as if my words formed a bridge, attempting to connect with a person who usually seemed so disconnected from the world around them.

Time ceased to exist in those moments. As the story unfolded, Katsuki’s stonewall expression softened ever so slightly. A twinkle of curiosity glittered in their eyes, silently urging me to forge ahead. The power dynamics within the classroom momentarily shattered, subverted by the wonder of storytelling.

And in that tiny window of respite, as I held Katsuki’s attention captive, an unspoken connection was established. It was a shared moment, a testament to the transcendental power of narratives. The balance of power may have tilted, if only for a short while, and in that fleeting instance, I could almost see Katsuki’s vulnerability lurking beneath their hardened exterior.

As I concluded my tale, a surprisingly genuine smile crept across his face. In that singular moment, the silent bond formed through storytelling revealed that even the most unexpected listeners, with their hidden depths and guarded hearts, could be swayed by the magic crafted within the words we choose to share.

“And after all that, can you believe it that I made it to class on time!”

“I believe it, mousy. Tell me more.”

“More what? That’s the whole story.” I start taking out my notebook just to doodle to make time pass until next class.

“Tell me another story.” He leaned back in his chair.

“You’ll listen?” I teased.

“I’m always listening.”