#crimes against narrative are going to happen

[poisonousquinzel]

"a dude in Texas legally changed his name to "Literally Anyone Else" and he's attempting to run for President against Biden & Trump" [source]

okay, but putting aside the comedic aspect of this, it is concerning the amount of people who are prompted to vote for candidates just because it's funny. I'm not the biggest fan of how his policy about the boarder sounds [Site], but I do implore anyone who is able to vote in the 2024 US election to please research other candidates.

The media is only going to continue pushing the idea it's inevitably going to be Trump vs Biden 2.0 and we have no other options, that we have to vote for Biden again because of Project 2025. Is that whole thing terrifying?

Yeah, fucking absolutely.

But voting for Biden will not solidify our safety from that. Biden is exactly like the rest of them. He always has been. You can't make the lesser of two evils argument when they're both just plain evil.

You cannot say that Biden is even mildly a better choice than Trump when he is currently directly involved in a genocide. That is not some little fucking thing. That in and of itself disqualifies him as a lesser evil. Biden is just as bad as him and he will not save us because he doesn't fucking care.

Cornel West [Site] is an Independent candidate running for President in the 2024 Election. [Policies]

Claudia De la Cruz and Karina Garcia [Site] are running for President and Vice-President as the candidates of the Party for Socialism and Liberation in the 2024 Election. [Policies]

There are options.

There are people trying to change the corrupt foundation our system is built on, but we have to help amplify them because the mainstream media will not.

[borrowmyshovel]

So. A transmasc child is dead. Assaulted by their classmates, left to die by school staff, misgendered and deadnamed by the press. And it's about fucking time we have a serious talk about the way we discuss transmasc victimisation - or rather, the way we don't.

The dynamic is especially evident in the way we talk about terfs, and exemplified by the dichotomy: "terfs recruit trans men, but they want trans women dead". This does three separate things:

It minimises the harm terfs do to the transmascs they recruit. Terfs don't just want transmascs to join them; they want transmascs to live as women. Coerced detransition kills. Suicide rates are extremely high among transmascs, and lack of support raises them further. To want trans men to detransition is to want them dead.

It positions trans men as a threat to trans women. As, essentially, terfs waiting to reveal themselves. What should be seen as a common enemy instead becomes a new vector for division. This fear is such that a common retort against transmascs who are seen as misbehaving is "you're gonna become a terf". Trans men are scrutinised for signs of this inevitable transformation, inundated with prophecies of their induction into the cult that wants to drag them back into the worst period of their lives.

It boosts the narrative terfs want to spread about themselves. Terfs love to say they are a safe space for transmascs. It helps them sound less hateful, and it helps them recruit. In reality, terfs are extremely hateful against transmascs they see as too far gone to be targets for recruitment. They see rape and hate crimes as just desserts, they wish death on transmascs who disagree with them, they talk about trans men on hrt as roided up monsters. And yet all of that has seemingly gone under the radar, because we're just not willing to acknowledge it happens.

More broadly, transmasc victimisation is seen as a joke. There was a hilarious post going around a while back about transmascs in abusive relationships with cis men who won't let them transition - the joke being on the transmasc in that situation. Multiple posts about specifically nonbinary transmascs, characterising their fears of transphobic violence as the oppression fantasies of privileged women, their experiences of dysphoria as laughably immaterial. No negative experience is serious enough once it's stacked up against murder, and trasnmascs who have been murdered aren't exactly in position to use that fact as a gotcha, are they?

There is a broad resistance to understanding transmascs as the victims of any situation. Part of it is a sort of trans-inclusive sexism: we don't think of cis men as victims, so we can't think of trans men as victims either. But they are.

Another is plain transphobia: dismissing trans people's experiences as not that bad, irrelevant to their trans status, or entirely fabricated is old hat at this point.

A third is a kind of... weaponised transfem advocacy? Any discussion of transmasc experience can be derailed by claiming transfems are somehow being harmed by it, and any harm that befalls a transmasc person can be dismissed by conjuring a hypothetical transfem who would have had it worse. And it sure seems like great allyship at the moment, despite the fact that it doesn't actually help transfems at all.

We often urge transmascs to be the protectors of transfems. Trans solidarity is crucial. But unless we are able to also conceptualise transmascs as needing protection, our solidarity will remain incomplete. And transmascs will continue to die, and be buried twice, both outside the trans community and inside it.

[sunshine-jesse]

Control: The Strange Dynamics of Andy and Leyley or

The Incest End Is Not The Fucking Bad End, Stop Coping

EDIT:

Hey guys! This post is blowing the fuck up, but this was my first essay on this game, and I think I've had many more insightful things to say since then. Here's a link to a masterpost with all of my essays, which I'd definitely suggest reading after this one:

Anyways, without further adieu...

I heard a lot about this game going in. I knew the general story beats and the funny haha incest memes. I knew it was about a toxic codependent relationship where Ashley, the sister, acted like your standard overly-controlling person who used various abuse techniques to keep someone in line. I expected Ashley to be a yandere-type character where she was borderline psychotic, irrational, and had a skewed perception of reality. I expected her to be a crazy bitch, and I love me some crazy bitches.

But then I actually played through the game. ...That is not what I got.

The game advertises Andrew as a doormat extraordinaire who is strung along by his Very Not Good sister and has no agency of his own' that he's just a henpecked abuse victim. But in practice, that doesn't seem to be the case. One of their first exchanges that in the story is when the occultist played his music and Ashley wanted them to check it out. He says 'no', sure, but then he smirks and says 'but I'll come along if you do.'

That is not the dialogue of someone who has no will of their own, that's the dialogue of someone who willingly gives up their own agency.

This is not, on its own, a sign of anything out of the ordinary. What caught my attention with it, though, is how it flew in the face of the common narrative surrounding their relationship dynamic. But that's not the first time I noticed it, it's just the first time, in retrospect, that their actual dynamic begins to show. The first time I personally noticed it is in the choking scene.

There are a lot of ways to view this situation. But my own reading? This was not a crime of passion. This was not him trying to break free. This is him doing something he's thought about for a while. This is premeditated. In this scene, Andrew is done playing along with Ashley's shit. In this scene, I firmly believe Ashley is the victim.

Ashley is the more openly abusive of the two who seeks to do whatever she can to trap Andrew so he'll never leave her. That much is clear. But Andrew-

-clearly has these same tendencies. He says this shortly after Ashley mentions putting her name up on a call girl's wall for money. There's protective brotherly instincts, and then there's this. This is not something you'd threaten a sister with, this is something that a man would threaten his wife with, which is directly brought attention to in the story.

(hey look he accepts the framing of it being WIFE beating at face value, and says Ashley is the only one who makes him like that! HMMMMMMMMMM WONDER WHAT THAT IMPLIES???)

It also implies that this is not the first time physical force has been threatened! I mean, that much is obvious, because of the choking scene that happened before, but I more mean that this implies that Andrew either threatening or utilizing physical force is an established pattern of behavior. However, the Decay route implies that she never thought Andy would kill her (but Andrew would) which can either be for or against depending on one's perspective, so I don't hold to the idea that it's an established pattern too strongly.

Okay, so. Andrew has some controlling and possessive tendencies too. So what? Their relationship is codependent. It's advertised as such. What of it?

Well first of all, it pretty much blows the lid off of the idea that Ashley is the sole perpetrator of abuse in their relationship. I've seen a lot of people view Andrew's behavior as justified retaliation against abuse, but frankly, I don't believe that him threatening to strangle Ashley for violating boundaries by trying to hold him accountable for his actions (given the strangulation part happens after she brought up Nina's death and how Andrew was ultimately responsible) is justified. And I ESPECIALLY don't believe that him threatening to backhand Ashley for her transactional attitude towards sex is justified in ANY circumstance.

EDIT: This part was edited in from the original post for the sake of readability so they don't have to see the reblogs to see the updated version! This post gained more traction than I was expecting!

…But perhaps even more telling is what she DOESN'T do.

Pushing someone's boundaries until they lash out is a pretty common tactic in abusive relationships. It's easy to see why, too: It justifies prior behavior and paints them in a negative light to others. This can be an important aspect of using DARVO (deny, attack, and reverse victim and offender) against someone, although the two ideas aren't necessarily linked.

It's pretty easy to argue that this is what Ashley does, but if you look at the one time her boundary pushing DID go too far, when Andrew lashes out with physical violence… she doesn't do that. She doesn't blame him. She doesn't paint herself as the victim. She doesn't even try to give a reason as to why she shouldn't be killed outside of the comfort she gives him. Why is this notable?

Because the mom does, in fact, engage in what could be considered DARVO against Ashley:

(i will elaborate more on this screenshot in particular below)

Ashley is directly compared to Mrs. Graves by Andrew, and yet she crucially displays none of the habits that Mrs. Graves does. Mrs. Graves lays the blame on Ashley, but Ashley doesn't lay the blame on Andrew. Mrs. Graves tends to paint herself as the victim of Ashley, but Ashley does no such thing to Andrew. The mom denies her culpability at every turn; Ashley doesn't. Ashley tries to hold Andrew accountable for his role in Nina's death, which could be considered a kind of DARVO. But she never denies that she had a role to play in it. She just mentions that he was the one who pulled the trigger. And he was.

(and the point was more that she DIDN'T engage in it when threatened with physical violence; the perfect chance to)

In Mrs. Graves' mind, she is the victim of either Ashley, or society as a whole. In Ashley's mind, she knows what she is, what she does, and what she's about. The only thing she's oblivious to- or doesn't acknowledge, at least- is the threat Andrew poses to her. In her mind, she's the bad guy. In Andrew's mind, Ashley is the bad guy. In official art, she is the bad guy:

And yet, in the game itself, Andrew is the one holding the cleaver. Not her. Hm.

Ashley is the world's most convenient scapegoat. She allows people to mask their own worst habits and pretend they're better people than they are. She accepts this role. She embraces it. She doesn't try to deny it. But when that mask slips, people lash out at her. Both Mrs. Graves and Andy (NOT Andrew, crucially) predicate much of their self-perception on being what she's not.

But they're the ones who enabled her to become like this, every step of the way.

And that's what blew my fucking mind, and made me question just who the victim really is. She was never given a chance to be normal, because other people relied on her NOT being normal.

By the end of my second playthrough, I felt worse for Ashley than I did for Andrew, and I still do.

So. What am I getting at? What does this show me about the relationship between Ashley and Andrew?

(I also wanted to point out that Andrew does engage in DARVO too but I didn't want to distract from the behavior of the mother. Unlike what Andrew does, it doesn't require someone to reassess the narrative they have towards the game in order to realize the implications of it, whereas it's pretty easy to justify Andrew's words as not qualifying as DARVO if you buy into the narrative that he's the sole victim and/or that Ashley is the main perpetrator of abuse. A friend of mine pointed out that it's a pretty key part of the push/pull dynamic they have, and I completely agree.

However, the direct comparisons to the behavior of the mother can't be ignored no matter your narrative, so I felt as if I needed to highlight that more.)

EDIT OVER

It shows me that their relationship is all about control.

Specifically, the push and pull of who controls who in any given situation.

Andrew weaponizes his incompetence. He always looks to lay the blame on Ashley. This is drawn attention to several times, and said explicitly in the Decay route.

He is always surrendering control to her, and yet he never HAS to. He could always just say no. He could always refuse. What are the consequences? Her being upset? Well, unfortunately, it's not that easy. That's not how abuse dynamics work. He probably feels like he has to, or rather, feels like there's no other option. That he's in too deep, and stuck with her no matter what. But personally, I think it's pretty clear from his willingness to surrender control to Ashley that he still feels like he has it at points, because the moment he feels like he's about to lose it, he either considers violence, even as a child-

(the actual scene of slicing her finger is pretty sus too with this reading in mind)

-or resorts to it, outright, in both the choking scene and the vision in the Decay ending... when Ashley doesn't have enough bullets to defend herself (this will be important later!).

SO WHAT POINT AM I TRYING TO MAKE??? AM I JUST MAKING ABUSE APOLOGIA (the answer may surprise you)?

No. I don't think so.

Ashley is obviously very bad. She's controlling and uses pretty textbook abuse and entrapment tactics on Andrew whereas everything he does to her is inference, with Ashley too daft to realize just how much danger she's in until the vision in the Decay ending spells it out for her- and I don't know if a true abuse dynamic allows for one to be completely unaware of the consequences of breaking free. She could just let go of her desire for control and Andrew would be a much happier person.

And that's the point, because so would she.

I bring up control because that push and pull- that desire for control over each other- is exactly what's tearing their relationship apart, and this effect most obviously manifests in the two endings of episode 2. In the Decay ending, Ashley either tries to exert control over Andrew due to a lack of trust, or Andrew allows his feelings of entrapment to truly take root in his mind and guide his actions. In the Decay ending, Andrew becomes a true doormat with no will of his own, allowing his feelings of bitterness and resentment to fester and grow, eventually resulting in their deaths.

In the Burial ending, Andrew does the exact opposite. He takes control of the situation and does exactly what Ashley would do without much of a fuss. This eventually culminates in THAT scene (assuming you take the Questionable route), where his facial expression alone speaks volumes:

Look at how fucking confident this man is. This is not the face of someone who's unsure of himself; this is the face of someone who knows exactly what he wants and takes it. He is absolutely in control of this situation, and everyone is happier for it.

And what does Ashley have to do to get this ending?

Let's go back to Decay for a moment. If Ashley has bullets in her gun, she has control over the situation. She, at any point, could put an end to Andrew and survive. And yet, at the very end of it all, she could choose not to. She could choose to surrender control to Andrew, allowing herself to die. And that ending, I believe so much of his life and willpower will have decayed that there's nothing left for him to take control of, leaving him no choice- or rather, no use for the control he now has- but to die with her.

And in the Burial ending, she has to let him out of his cage before it's too late. She has to surrender control to him, and when she does-

-He will become everything she ever needed him to be.

It's all about her surrendering control, and it's all about him taking control. Because, no matter what, as long as that happens... the two of them will be together forever.

In life...

...or in death.

How romantic.

So no, the incest end is not the fucking bad end. They're going to be together forever in the end either way, so they might as well live through it.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR EIGHT

in which graves are dug up, walls are built, and nobody knows what happened in the bathroom that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4.6k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

8:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: hey, do you guys remember the first night they met? 

BIRDIE: you mean when we took her to the bar to meet everyone and they very clearly fell in love at first sight? no, doesn’t ring a bell. 

DINGUS: stop being such a fucking smart ass

NANCE: @DINGUS What about it? 

DINGUS: she just called me asking me about it. said eddie was nice until you guys went to the bathroom. apparently he acted differently when you guys came back, but i can’t remember anything about what was said?? did eddie actually start acting differently??? 

BIRDIE: i remember that! thought it was weird or eddie just started overthinking? i dunno. i was in the bathroom obviously.

ARGYLE  😎: oh i remember that night very clearly brochacho

ARGYLE  😎: kind of surprised you don’t, dude

JOHNNY: Oh God yeah @DINGUS you’re living up to your namesake dude

NANCE: You really don’t remember, do you? 

DINGUS: @NANCE and how the fuck do YOU remember? you weren’t even there, nance. you were in the bathroom as robs put it.

NANCE: Best friend privileges. You really might want to remember, Dingus. 

BIRDIE: @NANCE message me real quick? 

DINGUS: hey! no fucking whispering! that’s not fucking helpful! @JOHNNY @ARGYLE  😎 what did i say? 

NANCE: @BIRDIE I will. Let me call Eddie first.

—

HOUR EIGHT - 11:00 PM

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop - you were trying to sleep. If anyone asked you, you could have honestly defended yourself. The couch was uncomfortable, your back aching as you repeatedly twisted back and forth to just try and find a minute of rest. Your mind was reeling, still replaying all of your moments with Eddie leading up to this night. Suddenly, you were overthinking it all. You couldn’t differentiate between things that really happened, or things that you’d simply blown out of proportion due to your innate need to spin the narrative of Eddie being the villain. 

“Yeah, I… I think she’s sleeping.” 

You hadn’t even heard Eddie opening his door finally, your back facing the hallway as you stayed curled up tightly. His footsteps are heavy as he gets closer to you.

“She’s… uh, she’s on the couch.”

Immediately, you can hear a shrill voice shouting over the line. It’s hard to miss. You can imagine the way he’s wincing, holding the phone out from his ear in an attempt to not let her scolding damage his ear drums. 

“I didn’t think she went to bed!” he hisses, trying to stay quiet, under the impression you’re still asleep, “I- Jesus H. Christ, Nance! Calm down, calm do-” he’s cut off as the anger over the line still leaks into the calm air of the room, “No. No, I wasn’t- I was going to let- Nance. Please, can I get a fucking word in?” 

You hold your breath during his pause, and the clear scolding, Nancy’s scolding, finally ceases. 

“I wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch,” he says slowly. You almost turn over, almost face him and show him you’re very much awake and not sleeping. “I didn’t think she’d go to bed while I was in there. I thought… I thought- Jesus, I thought at worst, she’d snoop through my shit. Maybe go for a walk or something. I didn’t- I just… Fuck, I needed space. It’s just been a long night.”

Nancy’s voice is no longer audible, but it’s clear he’s listening to what she has to say. You’re nearly overcome with guilt; you’ve done plenty of things wrong, but to eavesdrop on a private conversation? It might be your worst crime against Eddie yet. 

Suddenly, he says, “It’s just been a lot.” 

Something in his tone has changed. It’s gone soft, whispering from his lips in sudden muted blue. It’s a type of sadness you can’t quite place – it’s the kind of mourning you’d seen in his eyes in the photo. 

Nancy must say something, because he hums in response. It’s obviously not good enough of an answer for Nancy over the phone, because her voice grows back to audible levels, less shrill, more stern. 

Eddie answers with words this time. “I… I think I do.” 

He thinks he does what? 

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

He’s more sure in his answer the second time around to the unknown question. The guilt grows. Inflating, turbulating, ready to crack your ribs. The vines are no longer there to hold you together.

You’re put out of your misery when Eddie murmurs out a bye, Nance and you can hear his phone snap shut. If it were just a mere few hours ago, one hour ago, you would have made a comment about it - you would have joked again about what year it was, how maybe the two of you should get to sleep so first thing in the morning, you could drag him down to the Apple store to get a normal phone like the rest of you. But you’re not a time traveler, and Eddie is still an ocean away from you. 

And you’re not a strong swimmer. The water’s were rocky, were vicious, and if you dared to try and backstroke to his side of the water, you’d surely drown. He had to come to you. 

You’re praying he comes to you. Eyes tightly screwed shut, still resembling a ball on his old couch. 

Please reach out for me, your mind screams, please wake me up. Please tell me to come back to bed with you. Please tell me we can forget all the words said in the kitchen. Please, please, please. 

You don’t know where the pleading comes from. But whatever gods and goddesses may exist, whatever higher power in the Universe that would normally ignore you, hears out your silent pleas. 

His hand is warm when he first grabs your shoulder. 

It’s not rough, surprisingly gentle as fingertips press into your clothed skin and the first shake comes. It’s hardly enough to rouse a truly sleeping person. And Eddie realizes this as the second shake is a bit more firm, moving you a little more with a soft whisper of, “Hey, wake up.” 

The command isn’t as harsh as you’re used to from him. It’s crushed velvet, smoothing over your skin like the blanket you’d previously pondered for, making the guilt begin to deflate. A slow release of air and the accompanying feelings of dishonesty and disloyalty leaves your chest weathered when his next whisper comes not only louder, but closer.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get up,” he insists, but all you care about is his cologne. He never changed it from that first night. Always something warm, always something spiced. And you hate it, because it’s still the feeling of coming home from a long week, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll carry you if I have to.” 

That makes your sleeping facade crack. Your lips betray you - one twitch, and Eddie knows you’re awake, pressing you to roll onto your back. 

“I know you’re awake now. Let’s go,” you can hear the dimples in his tone. You can picture the lazy smile, the shining eyes. With your eyes closed, you can pretend you never had to meet mean Eddie. When you’re not looking at him, it’s almost as if the man you initially met still exists, to have and to hold, to make inside jokes with as you let the scenery around the two of you fade to black. 

You crack your eyes back open to find him looking down at you just as you’d expected, but not nearly with as much mischief or mirth as you had craved. 

The Eddie you first met is gone. He’s not coming back, and you can’t live with your eyes closed. Hell, maybe he had drowned in that ocean between you two as well. 

Maybe if you took the leap, just attempted to take on the waves, you’d meet him somewhere at the bottom of it all. 

“I thought you said you’d carry me?” you tease. 

His hand. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his palm is still searing you. You couldn’t pull away from its burn if you tried. 

“I’d carry you if I had to,” he corrects, “You’re awake, therefore, I don’t have to.” 

“I don’t know. I think my legs may be broken.” 

Eddie says your name firmly. It takes you off guard, momentarily distracts you from the way he squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you out here.” 

You decide against putting up any further fight. You’re just happy he’s talking to you again. How odd and peculiar that feeling is. 

You rise from the couch and take him in. He’s no longer in his jeans, having traded out his earlier day clothes for something more comfortable. A pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, one or two sizes too big with the drawn string pulled to its limit and tied into a knot. He’s wearing a faded band shirt, loved in every way possible: it’s been cut along the bottom to shorten it in length, several holes torn along the torso and in the neck hole, the once black fabric now a stormy shade of grey far darker than the sweatpants. There’s a logo across the chest, peeling away at the edges. 

“Deftones?” you ask, squinting to make out the words written amongst the logo, “What is that? A band?” 

He chuckles, almost in disbelief, before he realizes you’re serious, “Wait, you’ve really never heard of them?” 

You shake your head, “No, are they any good?” 

You’re still making no move to stand, Eddie towering over you as you tilt back to meet his gaze. The disbelief is morphing, ever changing, pulling in and out of his features like the sea against sand. Like the waves of his self-imposed ocean that taunts you. You only dig your toes into the sand, you only stand at a far enough distance to not get your feet wet yet. You’re not ready to dive in. You’re not brave enough yet. 

His chuckle this time isn’t in disbelief. 

“Yeah, yeah. They’re great. I can show you them later, if you just come to bed.” 

The game of teasing and begging is over, and you refuse to push your luck. He’s talking to you. Normally. You finally stand and shrug off that hand on your shoulder, finally trying to get your wits and not glance down at the waistband of his boxers. 

“Okay, lead the way,” you gesture before spinning your upper body around with your feet planted in place, a soft crack coming from your back. 

There’s no words exchanged in that brief walk to the bedroom; there’s nothing else to really say. The fight happened, Eddie locked you out, you’re both having to start from square one. The ocean still calls to you, and there’s nothing you can change about it. 

His room is the same as it was hours ago, when you’d locked yourself into it. A little messy, a little boyish, but comforting all the same. 

“A couple ground rules,” he finally breaks the silence. Oh, this oughta be good. “One, no more looking through my shit for…. Uh, magazines.”

“Trust me,” you hold up a hand in defeat, “Learned my lesson the first time. You can keep your gross Playboys.” 

His brows wrinkle in minute irritation, “Gross? They’re not gro- You know what? Whatever. Yeah. Stay away from my gross playboys. Second rule, I have enough pillows we can make a… wall, I guess?” 

You have to bite back your amusement, you have to remind yourself of the roar of an ocean. Maybe if you taste the salt on your lips again, you’ll remember that this is all temporary. 

“Sounds good to me,” you agree. 

“Obviously that means staying on your side of the bed. And it’s not a big bed, obviously, so-”

“What side of the bed do you prefer?” 

“Excuse me?” 

He’s dumbfounded despite the question not being a hard one. “The bed – which side do you prefer?” 

“I, uh, I-” he brings a hand up to the back of his neck, a nervous habit as he rubs his curls that are matted at the nape, “The left, I guess? Or I mean, if we’re looking down at it, it’d be the right, but…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the side he’s referring to, the one closest to the wall, “You know.” 

A nervous Eddie is a sight to behold. The fidgeting, the flush of his neck and cheeks, the stuttering sentences. He’s nervous about sharing a bed with you. 

“Perfect,” you offer a smile, although you don’t think it does much for him considering he’s looking down at the ground in bashfulness, “I prefer the right side. I just refer to them by left or right when you’re laying down, by the way.” 

You don’t have to add that tidbit – you don’t need to reassure him that your mind works in the same way as his in the slightest. But you do, and the red of his cheeks lightens. 

“Cool,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” you echo. 

The awkwardness can be afforded as the two of you straighten out the comforter, not needing to focus on shaking hands or fluttering chests as Eddie climbs in first and begins to rearrange his spare pillows as a barrier. His sweatpants slip down a bit lower as he does this, and you catch sight of the band of his boxers.

The band of his boxers pressing into the jut of his hips. The streak of alabaster, soft and unmarked unlike his arms, and the coarse patch of hair that interrupts the center of it all. 

“Have you ever considered getting hip tattoos?” you blurt out, and immediately, you both freeze. 

You really need to learn to think before you speak. 

“Uh… what?” Eddie chuckles nervously, presenting an opportunity to redeem yourself. 

He didn’t even have to catch you staring. You’d outed yourself.

And yet, you choose to double down, to take the embarrassment in stride as if it doesn’t phase you, “Hip tattoos. Have you ever thought about getting some? I think they’d be pretty sick.” 

Your self-destruction pays off when Eddie smiles up genuinely at you. Sugar coated sweetness, a bit of authentic amusement. 

“You’re right. They would be pretty sick.” 

He should have mocked you for staring at his hips. He should have taken the opportunity to embarrass you and run, but the tides are shifting between you two, and you keep taking two steps closer to his ocean. The sand only grows colder and colder the closer you get to the edge, and it has your mind reaming with the possibility of what it would feel like to recklessly dive in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to say that again, this time into the microphone,” you make a fist, an invisible microphone in your grasp as you thrust it out towards Eddie. 

He laughs. He laughs, and its reverb travels through the caverns of your chest. Suddenly, you’re sipping a watered down Amaretto Sour and his breath smells of Jack & Coke, and the lowlights of the room have become treacherous bar lighting as you lean into his shoulder, sitting side by side on bar stools. 

The echoes still carry as he swats away your hand, eyes squinted with the mirth you’d be seeking out since he ‘woke’ you up, “Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.” 

“Yeah, a funny idiot.” 

“Oh, now you’re just pushing it too far.” 

“Too far? I don’t think I’ve gone far enough.” 

Why don’t we ever hang out? Why don’t we ever banter like this when out with the others? 

It’s so easy, easy to continue to giggle as you turn out the bedroom light before crawling into bed with him, feeling his warmth radiating even through the pillows between the two of you. Pillows, oceans – they all have started to feel the same. 

Once the two of you have settled, you on your side and Eddie on his back, a nicer sort of silence blankets you. It’s almost as soft as his voice when he woke you, almost the same type of crushed velvet if you don’t reach out to it. But if you were to touch it, brush your fingertips over the material with intention and inhibition, you’d find the roughness. Roughness that mimics sand amongst an ocean’s waves, a roughness that says there’s more to be spoken about. 

“The bed’s nicer than the couch,” you speak out loud rhetorically, not necessarily to him, but to the coarseness. To the sand and to the fake velvet, “More comfortable.”

“I know,” he answers to fill the space. I know, meaning he’s slept on his couch. 

It makes sense. It’s his couch. But your mind runs rampant with the scenarios. Did he discover this through afternoon naps after hard shifts? Or maybe after one too many night outs that ended in collapsing face first into the cushions because he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom? 

You jump when he sits up suddenly, “Fuck.” 

“What’s your problem?” you twist from your position of your back facing him, squinting into the darkness.

“The photo.”

“What photo?”

“Photo evidence, you idiot! We have to send a photo to those fuckers.” 

You had nearly forgotten that this is what this is; your friends and a bet are the pushing force behind this all. It’s not fate, it’s not the moon bringing two tides  together. You didn’t happen upon his beach because you two decided to give this, whatever this was, a fighting chance. 

You sit up next to him, crinkling your nose, “My phone’s in the living room, I think.” 

“I can go get it.”

An offer of chivalry you didn’t even have to ask for. 

Same as him sharing the bed. Same as him paying for your meal when you forget your wallet, or catching you when you trip up steps outside a bar. You really wish the list would stop growing. 

He’s shuffling out of the bed, down the line of pillows and off the end of it, before you can even protest. You didn’t even tell him where the godforsaken phone might be besides that it’s in the living room. That doesn’t stop him. 

It feels like an eternity, but is probably no more than a full minute, before he’s returning back to the room. He’s looking down at the phone, your screen lit up and basking his face in the only light in the room. 

“What is it?” you can only assume the chat is messaging for a photo, by the scrunch of his brows and the small part of his lips. 

“Nothing.”

That was the first thing that made your stomach drop.

The second comes when he returns to the bed, fighting his way up into his original position, handing the phone over to you as you glance at the notifications. 

A notification from Steve. A private message, not sent in the groupchat. 

STEVE-O: i’m sorry, i really don’t know what happened that night. the others won’t tell me either so they’re kind of useless. whatever it was, i don’t think it was you, though, honey.

Honey. Mother fucking Steve Harrington, and his need to use nicknames. 

“All good?” Eddie asks, as if he didn’t just have access to this message, as if he doesn’t know what Steve’s said. You don’t know why the thought of Eddie seeing Steve’s careless nickname throws you over the edge. You just assume he’ll take it out of context, that he’ll spin it as a weapon against you. 

“Fine,” you curtly reply, opening your phone and ignoring the message, going straight to the group chat and opening your camera. Your heart is still racing in terrible inconvenience as you glance over your shoulder at him, “How do we wanna take it this time?” 

“I don’t know about you, but I personally just love to take it laying down-” 

“Are you trying to make a sexual innuendo right now? Because if so, stop. It’s terrible.” 

More giggles, more chuckles, more taunting waves of a daunting ocean that is scaring you less and less. Maybe the jump is worth it. Maybe the initial chill will break and show you warmth. Maybe it would never be cold to begin with. 

At least he’s teasing you, which is a good sign. You lay down in the same position as earlier, this time Eddie propping himself up to peek over the wall of pillows so his face is in the picture. 

It’s too dark to really see your faces very clearly. You can still make them out, to be fair, but it’s hard. You have to strain your eyes quite a bit to make out the mess of your hair and the indents of Eddie’s dimples.

Eddie’s dimples. His dimples. Oh God, he’s smiling.

“Turn on the flash,” he reaches over, invades your space with boy and spice and nostalgia to tap on the screen himself and do as he had just requested. 

“What was the point of telling me to do it, if you were just going to do it yourself,” you grumble, trying to yank the phone out of his reach. He only leans further, pressing into the boundary of pillows, his collarbone knocking against the back of your shoulder. 

Warmth. So, so much warmth. It occurs to you that it’s not just the smell of his cologne that feels like a long week’s homecoming; his touch and presence can manage to do the same, when he’s not being a pest of course. 

“Shut up and take the photo,” he bickers before giving up and settling back into his pose. He even adds to it, throwing up a peace sign with the hand not holding him up.

You can’t help but tease him for it, mimicking the motion with your own hand and failing at holding back your tittering. When you tap the button to take the photo, the screen flashes white and you both immediately groan before rubbing your eyes. 

“Fuck.”

“Wow, bright idea.” 

“Was that a pun?” Eddie stops mid eye rub, side-eyeing you, “Fuck off. That was a terrible pun.” 

“I never said my puns were good!” you try to defend yourself, blinking to bring relief to your scorned irises and focus on the photo of the two of you, “I said my jokes were good.”

“Puns are jokes.” 

You completely ignore him, and instead sigh deeply when you see the photo, “We need to retake it. No flash, this time. They can adjust brightness on their own time.” 

The photo is terrible, truly. The photo captures the moment somewhere between your enjoyment of copying Eddie and the pain the two of you had brought upon yourselves. Squinty eyes, coiled lips. Two peace signs of two drastically differently sized hands. 

Don’t you dare, you scorn your mind at that trail of thought, don’t even start that comparison.

“Why?” Eddie protests, once again beginning to lean over and take a closer look at your phone, chest brushing your shoulder again, “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine – just send it so we can sleep before they bother us again.” 

You just shake your head, already reopening the camera app and being sure to adjust the settings. No blinding this photo. 

“Say cheese, pretty boy.” 

It’s not until you’ve tapped to take the photo that you both realize what you’ve said. 

Pretty boy.

Eddie is leaning in still, just as he is in the photo you’ve taken, and both of you look far too happy to be sharing a bed. The words – the nickname, the compliment – are still formed on your lips in it. If the flash was on again, you’d see the blush of his reaction. 

Neither comment on it. You won’t lean into your embarrassment for a second time tonight, and Eddie isn’t in the business of teasing you cruelly anymore, it seems. 

You can hear him swallow hard before he asks, “Is that one good?” 

“Fine,” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Um, yeah, it’s good. I sent it.” 

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

The awkwardness is stifling. Heavy and drowning and goddamn stifling. 

You toss your phone far too quickly onto his nightstand, wishing the bed would swallow you whole. 

If you two were friends, it would have been mindless teasing. The same as when Steve calls you honey, or Robin rambles about how hot you look on a night out. But you two aren’t friends.

You two aren’t friends because of some mysterious change that occurred in Eddie while you went to the bathroom. You haven’t forgotten the burning question, and the longer you two lay there, the more you let it consume you rather than regret. 

“Hey, Eddie? Can I ask you a question?”

He’s laying flat on his back as he answers you, hands nervously wringing on his stomach, “You just did, but sure.” 

It should be a good thing. He’s still teasing you, it’s still a good thing. But all your questions die in your throat. 

What happened when I went into the bathroom that first night?

Why did you turn so cold towards me?

 Was it my fault?

Why aren’t we friends? 

The last one doesn’t go down without a fight. It reverberates and battles you, it tries to pull you into the ocean head first. 

Why aren’t we friends? 

“Do you still drive a motorcycle?” 

That sure was a funny way of asking what you needed to. 

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly puzzled by your random question, but nevertheless he says, “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” 

You’re picturing him stalking away from you again, without so much as a goodbye, straddling the bike and tucking his head away into the motorcycle. The last glimpse you’d ever had of everything he could have been to you. It’s enough to make your eyes water, your bones shake, your toes curl into coarse sand until they bleed. 

The next time you hear his voice, he’s whispering your name. You don’t respond, and so he tries it again, saying it a bit louder this time. 

“I know you’re not asleep. No one can fall asleep that quickly.”

“I can,” you snap, still choking on his waves and personal mourning, a yearning you need to find the grave of once more to bury – for good this time. 

“Clearly, you can’t,” he shuffles, but you don’t check to see if he’s sitting up. (He’s not, he feels like his back is glued to the bed). His voice is back to crushed velvet and kindness, vulnerability and softness, a sort of home you can never return to, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

That piques your interest. You turn, laying on your back and looking at the same ceiling as him in that moment, “For what? Earlier in the kitchen? Or at the bar?” you feel his flinch, and are quick to add, “Because consider it water under the bridge, okay? You’re forgive-”

“I mean for everything. I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. Ten letters, four syllables. It means a whole lot more than it should be capable of. 

“Everything?” your voice is hardly audible as you turn to look at him. He’s half hidden by the wall put between the two of you. But if you squint, if you adjusted the brightness, you wonder if you’d see his eyes shining with the same remorse yours burn with. You wonder if you’d see the dirt caked under his nails from also digging up graves he shouldn’t have tonight. 

“Everything.”

Ten letters, four syllables, one leap of faith. The ocean isn’t as cold as you’d thought it would be. 

—

BIRDIE is typing…

DINGUS: i swear to god rob. if you’re not about to tell me what the fuck i did that night, you better lock your phone and just go to bed. 

BIRDIE stops typing.

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[spacerockfloater]

Me watching Feyre convince herself that Tamlin is a disgusting monster who only used her to get his power back and then stopped caring for her the moment she became his because he was some selfish lunatic who wanted to keep her as his useless plaything the more time she spends with Rhysand and his Inner Court:

Tamlin. The guy who helped her family even if he only needed Feyre. The guy who had to watch the love of his life die screaming in pain as Amarantha broke every bone in her body. The guy who crawled in front of Amarantha and begged her to spare her while his own blood drowned him. The guy who slept at Feyre’s feet each night out of paranoia that something would happen to her, not him. The guy who let Feyre roam his court and help whomever she wants until she found out that these people had their own healing to do and the help they actually needed, looking up to someone, was not something she wanted to offer. The guy who had to watch her reject him publicly by hesitating at the altar and never even mentioned it because he didn’t want to embarrass or upset her. The guy who had to watch her get abducted every month by his nemesis, a known masochist. The guy who waited and gave her space. The guy who was searching for a way to break the bond all of these months even though she furiously blamed him that he was not doing enough to cancel her bargain with Rhys, a bargain she willingly made and was responsible for. The guy who was willing to let her go even if it meant condemning an entire world. The guy who launched himself at Hybern to save her sisters.

And he’s crazy because he wanted to keep her safe in their fucking palace for one evening?

Reading Feyre’s narrative after she started hanging out with the people of the Night Court made my skin crawl. I kept gripping the book furiously and mentally telling her “Wait, that’s not what fucking happened” every time she spoke about Tamlin. It was horrifying because this is exactly what I always imagined people who abandon you do: leave you and then tell people their own, made up version of events.

Watching her stop speaking about him with love and slowly paint him as her tormentor was like watching a train wreck you couldn’t prevent:

- I love Tamlin and he loves me and we have sacrificed so much for one another.

- I love Tamlin and both of us are dealing with a lot right now, but we’re trying and we’ll make it.

- Tamlin loved me and he made some wrong decisions but I still feel like I’m cheating on him.

- Tamlin’s actions were wrong and I hope we’ll sort things out once we all calm down.

- Tamlin gave me everything but he still made some wrong decisions.

- Tamlin really cared for me but I don’t need what he has to offer me anymore.

- Tamlin was right about my safety after all but I have decided I don’t care and don’t forgive him.

- Tamlin only wanted me because I was useful and then stopped caring for me.

- Tamlin is a selfish prick who used me and then tossed me aside and wanted me to be his stupid ignorant pet and he didn’t give a fuck about me and I hate him and want him to die.

Feyre. Feyre. FEYRE. Wake up. None of this is true. You’re spiralling and you’re blaming him for every little thing he ever did that slightly inconvenienced you while you forgive and justify each and every one of Rhysand’s horrendous crimes against you, all of his countless lies, all of his manipulation.

I think she just never loved Tamlin and that’s why it was easier to hate him.

[twobeesornottwobees]

I have many thoughts on Challengers (2024) and I need to get them out so here we go

First, the tennis.

This movie understands tennis better than any film, tv, book, etc. I have ever seen. You know exactly how the relationship between the three main characters is going to play out just based on how they play. The cardinal rule of tennis is you want to get to the net as quickly as possible. Playing from the baseline (the line that you serve at) is all well and good and it's a vital part of the game but playing at the net is where the action is. The quicker you get to the net, the more likely you are to win.

From the first moment we see Art and Patrick, Art is at the net and Patrick is at the baseline. Then we see Patrick serve. In the language of tennis, Patrick's serve is a crime against beauty. It might work well enough for him but it is ugly. Those two facts put together mean that when Tashi tells Patrick he isn't a tennis player, she knows what she's talking about. Art is not as talented as Patrick and neither of them are as talented as Tashi but Art gets to the fucking net. He understands what Tashi means when she says that tennis is a relationship.

Second, the framing of the narrative as a tennis match.

Patrick wins a set, Art wins a set, we're left looking at the tie breaker. Brilliant. Camera shots from far away steadily get closer and closer, just like if you were in a rally and you were moving toward the net. Tashi, in particular, always moves closer to the person she's talking to and she always wins the point. She goes towards the net.

Third, Tashi as a character.

I love her, your honor. She is in love with the game of tennis. She doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything else. When she says she would stab a child to have the recovery that Art did, she means it. Moreover, we know that the child in question could be her own daughter and she would still mean it. From the first night in the boys' hotel room, she doesn't care which of them gets her number, she just wants to see good tennis. She is unlikable and yet Art is right. Who wouldn't love her?

Fourth, Art and Patrick.

One thing about tennis: your teammates are also your competitors. They are the yardstick by which you measure yourself, the only people capable of making you better, the people that you most need to beat. The relationship between the two of them, even from the beginning, perfectly reflects this.

I would actually argue that not a single one of the three of them is a good person. But the narrative is completely uninterested in whether or not their moral people. All it cares about is if they're good tennis players.

Fifth, the background details.

Art is sponsored by Wilson, his rackets have their logo repainted on (normally, you get rackets restrung and don't get the logos painted back on, only the players that are sponsored get that done.) Tashi was sponsored by Wilson (and Adidas but only for her clothes). Art only switches over from Dunlop to Wilson after they get married. Patrick's racket is restrung, but no logo, he's not sponsored. But, his poverty is at least a little bit performative because you don't smash up a $300 racket unless you have money to spare.

The ad in the background of the parking lot. It still has both Tashi and Art on it while Tashi and Patrick are having sex but by the time the final match starts, Art's half of the picture has torn away.

Patrick's changed serving style. Only when communication is happening directly between him and Art, that Tashi has no way of understanding, do they start functioning well on a court together. Ironically, when Tashi is removed from the relationship she finally gets to see some good tennis.

Anyways, I love this movie.

[nightlilly0110]

I have not paid attention to My Hero Academia in ages. It got boring for me, I especially didn’t really like the “yes and” sort of fights they were doing where it was like “oh no he’s dead, oh wait no he’s not, and he also has gotten stronger and has somehow developed more powers” (I’m staring so hard at Dabi vs Shouto and Dabi spontaneously developing an ice quirk after having his ass beat multiple times already).

Anyway. Regardless on me having issues with that, because I know that when your main villain’s power is All Of Them, you gotta shove a whole lot of shit into your grand act, your finale.

The story of My Hero Academia did a really good job at pointing out all the flaws in hero society. Everyone wants the prestige with becoming a hero so they gotta limit it to people who have a strong enough power to get into hero schools, specifically the hero track. Not all heroes are good people and it’s dangerous to blindly give out this status as a top member of society. Not all villains are inherently evil - as the manga states, all it takes is one bad day. Racism, abuse, and mental health issues are overlooked because it happens to the people on the bottom rung. It’s realistic. It’s great. It gets the point across that this world isn’t as fantastic as it first seemed.

And then all of that immediately gets undercut by the reveal that Everything in the manga is AFO’s fault. He gave Shigaraki Decay and groomed him, he’s the one who caused the surge in crime and the anti-mutant rhetoric. They establish him as born evil, as the devil incarnate, that he has always been this way and will never change. I expected that he would never have redemption and is beyond saving, but to say he was Born Evil contradicts the “one bad day” narrative that is literally on the first page of Volume 24.

Gonna Devil’s Advocate myself for a second. I think the idea that AFO being irredeemable and going against the “one bad day” narrative would have been a great contrast to Shigaraki and the rest of the LOV.

Here’s the but.

They also go on to imply that Everything Will Be Okay As Long As We Kill AFO. Since he’s the Root Of All Evil, if they kill him, everything will be 100% perfect and nothing will be Evil or Wrong or Bad ever again.

Please hear my sarcasm. That’s unfortunately not how systemic racism, classism, abuse, or any other social issues work. They unfortunately do not vanish because you get rid of one guy. It’ll definitely help consider AFO won’t be around to fuck shit up, but it’s not a be all end all situation.

Additionally, having all of this realistic worldbuilding and establishing all the problems in this hero society, having testimonies from the villains and from Deku himself that if you are different you will suffer, and then turning it around and going “actually it wasn’t the system, the system it’s fine, it’s just this one dickhead lol” fucking sucks. Okay yeah, it’s cool to see all the ways AFO was pulling the strings behind everything and manipulating society how he wanted it, but it seemed very shoehorned in???? We see some glimpses of his control of resources with the Nomu labs and the implications of using doctors to scope out good quirks to use, but we spent too little time on that other than focusing on Kurogiri.

Moving on to the spoilers I saw today for the most recent chapter. Deku’s motivations have always been “I want to be able to save as many people as I can, just like All Might.” He’s stated many times throughout the last few fights that he wants to be able to reach Tenko - not Tomura, but Tenko - and this is the end he gets?????

Liberties with the translations as it’s not official but like. Come on.

“I’m a crying brat just like you said.” We established a long time ago that Shigaraki fights because he wants to build a better world for him and his friends. While he might have been a “crying brat” in his first few appearances, he hasn’t been that way in literal years. Deku calling him this (which I can’t find a good image of, sorry) goes against his entire character. He’s not a brat. He has reasons to do what he does.

“I wanted to stop you because you wanted to be stopped.” Stopped, not saved.

“So your sadness wouldn’t be passed on.” What Deku is saying here is that he is acknowledging that Shigaraki was wronged, but he isn’t going to do anything for him other than stop him (kill him) because he was hurting other people. Again, reminder, this was the kid that wanted to save as many people as he can, and Shigaraki wasn’t past saving. What was the point of emphasizing that Tenko was still a part of him that existed if you were going to kill them both?

We also don’t know what happened to the other villains as of right now. None of their statuses have been confirmed, but they’re presumed to be dead. None of them got their happy ending. None of them even got a good ending. None of them have the closure that their injustices were wronged. None of them have the closure that they left this world in good hands for other people like them. They just died.

So who exactly are we saving? What’s the point?

[mintacle]

My hot take is that the same people who call Jason copaganda, pr-gunviolence or etc are from the same vein as people who blame schoolshootings on videogame violence, who blamed crime on Metal and satanism.

Instead of taking a critical look at a system within which a symptom of a problem is making itself known, you look if there is an outside influence, a kind of "virus" that you can blame for making it "sick".

DC comics are a little fucked up. That's the agreement you entered when reading them. All characters are inconsistent and sometimes in the wrong. Jason is a Bat, so at least it feels like he's maybe substantial enough to blame for the whole batclans issues, in a way that Helena Bertinelli (for example) can't be, because she is less closely tied and has less appearances. Congratulations, you have an identified patient! Jason is the problem that is rippling out and causing all these nasty and unsatisfied feelings the readers have about how crime is handled in these comics.

We see crime being fought in imperfect ways and our current cultural consciousness goes off with warning bells to identify the problem. But what you were taught was to identify what outside influence happens to be present and connecting the issue, and how to justify that all evil stems from this malignant influence. So surely if we could just remove this bad thing, we could go back to the wonderful world we knew where everything was ok.

That world never existed. The thing we are nostalgic for, is the world before we became aware of it's flaws. The problem has always been there, has always been an integrated part of this whole you used to love and admire.

But because the kind of people blaming Jason for "copaganda" do genuinely and truly come from a good place of wanting social justice (I'm saying you are good people. I disagree and think you are making a logical error, but we do care about and want the same thing. Good People) because you come here with the right intentions, you use the buzzwords of copaganda. Or gunviolence. You know from what you have heard that the issue is systematic, but you are struggling to find what that system equivalent is in DC comics. You are falling victim to the fallacy of assuming a main narrative perspective. Just as irl cops are hard to identify as the problem bc you might have to first struggle through the cognitive dissonance that your old worldview of good cops was wrong (so so wrong), you experience cognitive dissonance if trying to read comics with someone like Batman being wrong and flawed.

Looking beyond any superficial similarities to cops Jason is called out for (uses a gun, kills, enforcing his vision of justice) he really doesn't have much more similarities. He isn't a figure of authority, he lacks the nigh god-given justification to do whatever he wants whatever the outcome and is questioned at every turn. Just the sheer instances of Batman or another Bat showing up to beat Jason up and lecture him on what he does.

Extending this, he does not have the pervasive and persuasive power to shape a narrative. Jason's narrative is so far out of his hands. Which has been a core truth about him since for ever. From his maleable origin story, to his death, the years of him being gone and having No Voice Whatsoever, his resurrection in utrh showing him trying, struggling to have a voice against Bruce's story and being drowned out and denied his perspective, the inconsistency of his character after, each writer trying to shape him into something. Now cops fucking have a narrative. Their narrative is the main one we are fed. Their violence is structured and oppressive. Jason is neither a structural systemic power, nor is he oppressive of anyone. If you disagree with his violence for the sake of the moral highground of condemning killing.... Then, just, there are other media, you know.

Cop violence is systemic violence. It is violence that is "justified" to the extent it requires no justification. It is above being questioned. I am genuinely willing to hear an argument how Jason is cop-coded. But to me he is the punk resistance based "violence" that is only organized in the anarchical but organical sense of caring to protect the community that surrounds you. He doesn't approach Gotham as a paternalistic force of protection shielding it from above, but as one of them from within, showing up for the people who are suffering the way he has suffered too.

[pikahlua]

I'm sorry but what exactly did you mean in your chapter 423 tags? "People read all sorts of feelings and such into these characters"? What characters are you referring to in what feelings? Thank you

All of them. A lot of people have instilled these characters with meaning and extrapolated their predictions for said characters based on those expectations. Which is fine, we all do that. I do that. The question is, are such people open to the idea that their readings may have been wrong? And will they still retain interest at that point?

This happened a lot with Izuku and Katsuki where so many people projected a victim-bully relationship on them in a manner that wasn't there. It COULD have been there if Horikoshi decided to go that way, but ultimately it didn't pan out.

It happened with Spinner and the heteromorph plotline where people wanted an X-men-like story.

A lot of people projected a certain societal punishment they wanted for Endeavor that to them would have been justice, but that assumes what Horikoshi is trying to do is portray social justice. It also ignores how in many ways Endeavor's story runs parallel to many of the villains'. I've had some similarly weird conversations with some villain stans who just couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the idea that, even justified, their beloved favorites committed unjust transgressions against others, even if those others were nameless and faceless and just as bad and incidental to the story. There's always a reason people do things, even bad things. Does that absolve them of the crimes they've done? And even unabsolved, does that mean they will ultimately face consequences for their actions?

It's about the narrative. Horikoshi is trying to tell a story. Sure, he can put his opinions and philosophies in here and there, but is that the primary goal of making this story? I doubt it. He has a story in his heart and he wants to tell it. Is Horikoshi trying to comment on what he thinks the fate of abuse victims should be with Tomura's alleged end? I have a hard time making that leap if only because sooooo many characters are abuse victims and they all had different treatments and different fates. A lot about Tomura's story changed with the twists that have come up in the story, and AFO's reveal about his involvement in Tomura's life since before his birth does have an effect on what sort of character he is. Tomura's goal was always destruction, particularly of anything that stemmed from "that house," and AFO's trump card reveals that Tomura was also a product of that house. That raises the question: did Tomura ever think of himself as part of that house? I think it's very possible, which means in some regard he wanted to destroy himself. That makes some part of his fate self-determined. I always had a hard time predicting what would happen with Tomura because he seemed like a character whose desires were only to destroy, not to live in the aftermath. He wanted to destroy so that OTHERS could live in the aftermath, but he didn't seem to have any vision for his own future. At least in the very end his own perception of himself changed for the better. He started to see himself as more human.

[jjunhui]

how you can look past the 2,000-odd children who have been murdered for existing the past 3 weeks, the children who have lost their parents, the 7 year old who now has to act as her siblings’ de facto mother, the little girl with her head blown off by israeli airstrikes, the father who died with his baby in his arms, the dead pregnant woman who had her baby cut out of her to save him, the doctors who are coming face to face with their dead family members as patients, the little boy with his head blown open, the hundreds trapped under rubble and presumed dead, the little girl who texted her sister that she was afraid before she died, the child with his limbs blown off by an israeli attack, the children brushing their hair before they sleep so they can look presentable when they die, the children on life support, the mothers writing their babies’ names on them so they can be identified when they die.

the families whose bloodlines have completely ended, who have ceased to exist because they have all been murdered, the children being pulled from the rubble embracing one another, the unidentified people being put in mass graves, the people being buried on top of others because they are running out of space to bury the dead, the ice cream trucks being used to preserve dead bodies, the amount of funeral prayers conducted for children daily, the father carrying pieces of his children in plastic bags, the amount of people who went to sleep with their families and woke up as the only one left… the fact that anyone could see these people as anything but that, innocent people. the fact that anyone could condemn them to a painful and torturous death, struck by weaponry, trapped under a building with no way to escape.

the fact that anyone can still say ‘israel has a right to defend itself’, and believe with everything in them that that is what is happening here, a defense of themselves against terrorism. the fact that you can see these numbers, you can see these children lying dead for themselves everywhere you look, and you can chalk it all up to ‘collateral damage’ and to ‘well, if hamas hadn’t started it…’ is insane and completely inhuman.

it’s ‘children and civilians are always off limits’ until they’re palestinian. then, somehow, when israel strikes a family home and kills everyone inside, they were just going after the bad guys. a full hospital. they were just going after the bad guys. a mosque. they were just going after the bad guys. a church. they were just going after the bad guys. they’ve spoon fed you a poorly constructed narrative that can be picked apart so easily and you’ve willingly accepted it. you can condemn all of these innocents to death because you thought they were sub human anyway.

collective punishment is fine. it’s self defense. who cares that doctors are amputating limbs without anesthetic because there is none left? who cares about the hundreds of babies who will die in about ~30 hours when the fuel reserves are gone? who cares that post traumatic stress isn’t post traumatic in gaza, it is ever present? who cares about the 50 day old twins who almost died under the rubble? who cares about the family who tried to have children for 16 years, only to succeed but for his quadruplets and wife to be killed before his babies could even take their first steps? it’s just self defense. they have that right.

evacuate every hospital is self defense. destroy ambulances is self defense. no fuel into gaza, leave babies to die is self defense. bombing malls, markets and family homes is self defense. 5,000 dead is self defense. they can admit that they care more about mass destruction than precision and you will still stand by them. it’s not an invasion, it’s not a war crime, it’s not genocide. the bad guys started it.

it’s not genocide. it’s self defense. self defense against the most harmless and the most innocent. it’s not genocide. it’s collateral damage. it’s not genocide. it’s everything but genocide, even though no other word in the dictionary can explain why these people are being meticulously and mercilessly slaughtered.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Well for a part two I was thinking it could happen a few years later or something like that. Daemon and reader are married, she is pregnant but she doesn't know that yet. I was thinking it would be sweet for Daemon to figure that out. Maybe Caraxes gets extremely overprotective of reader. They could have a small argument wholr caring for Caraxes and it would turn in the dragon growling at Daemon when he would rise his voice at the reader. It all becomes real when she faints one morning after getting out of bed so Daemon calls the maesters and they confirm that she's pregnant. and maybe the moment of the birth, Daemon holding his first child and getting to place a dragon egg inside the crib. Just general sweetness. I would be very pleased if you'd like to write this ! If not it's perfectly fine ! Thank you !

I love your brain! It’s filled with fascinating ideas. Also I love protective Caraxes. It’s just perfect.

Newsflash: I’m shit at writing birth scenes cuz I’ve never done it by I tried my best despite some possible inaccuracies.

Reader is female per request. Just letting ppl know beforehand before I forget.

Here’s part 1 for those who haven’t read it.

Your love for your Daemon has often left you blindsided to his darker impulses that you had soon became repulsed by your sudden faux ignorance to his crimes you’ve long kept silent about. Yet you found yourself still in love with him as the day you understood the word and shown said love in a multitude of ways that you probably shouldn’t have; so when news of Rhea Royce -Daemon’s bronze bitch of a Lady wife before you- having passed away on a hunting trip, the cause having that been of her horse being frightened by some means, crushing and as an result paralysing the poor woman. Those minor details didn’t catch your eye but what was added onto it oh most definitely did; apparently it was said that her head had been caved in and along with the apt timing of Daemon’s visitation at the Vale almost corresponded perfectly to the time of Rhea Royce’s death also too perfectly to be ignored by the public.

It fell together so seamlessly that it was no longer thought to be an outlandish accusation to assume that Daemon Targaryen, your husband, had killed Rhea Royce out of cold blood. You found yourself at a loss for words, torn between creating a false narrative to save face and protect Daemon’s ‘innocence’ and going mad within your denial of the truth presented before you as clear as day. It was obvious that to live someone was one thing but to defend their unjust cruelty towards others was another. Maegor was called ‘the cruel’ for good reason, given the how history written him to be; as it seemed history held an eternal grudge against house Targaryen and was willing to bury those who bore the name as repercussions for the wars they’ve waged and the homes, families and kingdoms that now laid to ruins because of them. It was only a matter of time before Daemon received similar treatment long after his passing, have his history written through venomous words and accounts from those who only ever spoke ill of him in life and death. It was also a matter of time before history treated you just as equally horrid as it would Daemon, Rhaenyra and Viserys.

Unfortunately you knew that many of the cousin members and even the king would already be privy to whom the most likely culprit was, given how eagerly Daemon was of disgracing Rhea’s name and insulting her beauty by claiming that the sheep of the Vale were prettier then her in front of an audience. You also knew that you’d sooner be caught in the crossfire unwillingly as a means of tarnishing your name along with his for keeping dark secrets concerning the kings brother for as long as you have in hopes of toppling you both and be done with it once and for all. No matter how much you wished to fight by Daemon’s side you have found yourself unable in your current state as of late; you know naught of how or when it came about but it is believed that it had started the first morning after you and Daemon consummated the marriage. Only then did it seem to linger longer then you had hoped days prior and have yet to speak a word of it to Daemon never less the Maesters but that could wait as there were more pressing matters to confront your beloved on firstly.

“Is it true?” Daemon’s ear picked up at your voice as he lowered himself from Caraxes back, “my spouse, you look as radiant as ev-“ “silence your silver tongue husband and answer me, is it true?” You cut him off venomously, not particularly in the mood for his honeyed words. “Why don’t you cease speaking in riddles and tell me what ales you so much to bare the vipers venom on your words.” Daemon began to hate the fact that slowly and surely enough your eyes were beginning to open and see him for whom the seven kingdoms truly saw him as. No longer were you carefree kids anymore and sooner or later uncomfortable realisations would have inevitably been made. Yet Daemon didn’t think that they’d poisoned your mind so quickly as they have and for which he would have their tongues for so they would never speak a word within your presence to doubt his character ever again; because to Daemon you were merely voicing the accusations that the kingdom have made against him, that it was the Seven kingdoms and his own brother that were forcing you into thinking him, your beloved, a villain in means of causing a rift between you too.

Daemon has fought tooth and nail to have you and he wasn’t planning on letting you slip over to their side so easily. Yet when the words flew from your lips and into his skin, Daemon could feel the prickling feeling of ice flooding his once fiery veins. “That you killed Rhea Royce as a means of selfishly securing yourself of the royalties of Runestone.” The air between you felt as though at a boiling pit and a subzero zone simultaneously as it only became increasingly difficult to breath in either conditions. Caraxes seemed to physically stiffen at your words as his eyes shifted from you to the back of Daemon’s head who’s silence didn’t help his case nor hinder; feeling as though you were in danger the Blood Wrym moved to shield you until he practically eclipsed the entrance to the cavern like stable of his. No matter how good natured his actions may have been they didn’t simmer the unease within your chest when Daemon looked at you like a stranger.

“Your believing them too now?“ he says eerily, lingering in the air to further build upon the unsettling feeling within your stomach as everything within you screamed, urged you to run from the one person who sworn to keep you safe since a young age. So when you didn’t and his hand laid upon your cheek felt as cold as ice as your breath hitched at the contact and instinctively pulled yourself away from his grasp and in the the broad front of Caraxes who towered over you silently in thought. “They’re poisoning your mind my beloved, they’ll say anything to cause conflict between use because they are jealous that what we have is real in comparison to them. We made our own choice whilst they did not in they wanted to spend their putrid lives with; they want to see us fight, the want to see us collapse so they may move in and claim whatever they want as their own. What evidence do they even hold over me to stake their claim?” Daemon’s eyes searched your tearful ones only to find that deep down you were at war with your heart. “Your visitation to the Vale is enough evidence, you snide comments is enough evidence, your eagerness to bed another whilst still in relations with her is enough evidence to be made against you Daemon. They have everything you have ever said against Rhea Royce and had it engraved in their memory for moments like this. Your carelessness has brought about your own end my beloved and in due time everyone will know. If they don’t already.”

You felt yourself fighting hard to remain able to withhold your ground during your squabble as your consciousness wavered in and out of focus as Daemon’s words only sounded muffled in your ears as though you’ve been held underwater; yet it didn’t take a fool to not notice the enraged look upon his face as he closed the distance between you two, gripping your wrist a tad too tightly for your liking and along with the anger in his eyes made you all the more fearful that in your moment of weakness, Daemon would take the life of his second victim, his sweet childhood friend, out of fear that you’d betray him like everyone else did. It scared you to think that the one person you’ve loved more then anything held the ability to kill you right then and there without any witness nearby to oversee the curfuffle nor come to your defence. Instead you closed your eyes and awaited the worst when Caraxes leaned his long next over you to shove Daemon away, causing his hand to loose grip of your wrist as he fell on his backside harshly. “Caraxes! What is your issue! You’ve been like this for awhile now!” Daemon yelled up at his dragon who merely roared in his face, silencing the Targaryen quickly.

Neither you nor Daemon were quite certain what had caused Caraxes sudden change in personality because in recent memory the dragon had always been seen more so by your side then Daemon which raised some rumours that have long since been forgotten by mostly everyone. In reality however Caraxes was merely protecting you and the unborn babe within your womb and in turn had be growing protective of you ever since he could sense the additional life next to yours. So when Daemon exuded a threatening presence towards you and in extension his kin, was Caraxes final straw. Daemon had ruined everything in his life thus far and the dragon didn’t want the only consistent in his life since he was a babe himself to face because of his human’s impulsiveness; To Caraxes you were just as much apart of him as Daemon was and to be apart from you was akin to loosing a limb, all though it maybe gone, you can still feel it’s presence episodically.

Whenever moments like the one between you and Daemon were to ever arise, Caraxes felt the need to protect you, his mother, and going against his Targaryen counter part to ensure your safety even if it means harming another to achieve it. “Caraxes.” You whispered faintly before allowing the dragon to encouragingly nudge you out of the stables, allowing you to rest your full weight against him as he escorted you back to the castle, where he’d await to see you from the windows of your chambers before clambering back to the stables to whack Daemon upside the head with his tail for good measure before forcefully shoving him out also. Still angry at him for threatening yours and your child’s safety.

The next morning became a struggle for you in particular. The mere act of getting out of bed had become a difficult task as you heaved with all your strength to push yourself in to a sitting position before trying your luck once more to push yourself to you feet when all suddenly became black and your body slumped to the floor; causing a great thud that alerted Daemon, who had long since calmed down from your argument, to quickly take to his sword and rush up to your chambers in perpetration to fight off whoever sneaked into your room whilst you were in your most vulnerable state. Only to find your body pressed uncomfortably against the cold chamber floor, unmoving, fearing the worst; Daemon threw away his sword to one side as he rushed to your aid, cradling you in his arms, his face a mere contrition of all the emotions he was feeling in that moment. Guilt over never apologising to you for his heinous actions against you, anger over his own need to protect his pride when he swore to protect and defend you just as much, sadness for how your dream life seemed to have taken for the worse then he promised you and an overwhelming feeling of being lost without you guiding him like the light he knew you were.

Daemon wasn’t the only one who heard your fall as several servants rushed not too long after the prince to check upon you but not out of your safety but only out of fear of what Daemon would do to them if they had left you in such a state. However as much as they prayed to be spared of any punishment, it seemed to have gone unheard as when they opened the door to witness Daemon hold you in his arms so crushingly tight; they were met with fierce violet eyes that pierced through them and into their souls in hopes of sparking a fire that would kill them from the inside out. “What are you idiots standing there gawking like seagulls?! Fetch the Maesters!” Daemon roared in anger, watching as they scrambled, shoved, pulled one another behind the other as they raced to get out of the room to evade Daemon’s wrath. The prince scoffed in disgust but his features quickly soften as he looked down at you with all the regret one man could ever bare upon his face; the day of your argument haunts him so but nothing haunted him more then the look of fright within your eyes at his sudden outburst, almost as though you were anticipating a repeat of his actions at the Vale.

He didn’t care what anybody thought about him, he couldn’t care less if in their eyes they see a monster but he couldn’t stand to be viewed the same in yours. As children he swore to protect you from all those who’d dare chase you harm but he didn’t know that there would come a day where he’d be the one bringing harm to your front doorstep. Now he wasn’t certain he was going to be given the time to repent for his actions as he held you close against his chest, refusing to let go even as the maesters came through the doors, tried their might to pry you from his arms only for him to tighten his hold before giving in to their pleas to check you over under the circumstances that he were to stay by your side. “My prince,” the Maester began after checking you over thoroughly before coming to a resolution, “it seems that your spouse is with child and has fainted but luckily has not sustained any injury that would cause her highness nor your child any prolonging issues.” Daemon’s eyes never left you face as the news struck him. All this time you’ve been with child and he has the nerve to place you in a stressful situation where your emotions would be tested to their limitations; He grasped your hand tightly in his, “thank you, you may leave us.” He dismissed the Maesters who bowed and left your chambers so the prince could shed his tears in peace. “We’re going to have a child.” Daemon muttered to himself, resting his head gently against your stomach, “we’re going to have a child. Oh gods bless this day and the many more to come until their arrival. I promise to better myself not only for you my love but for myself, Caraxes and our unborn child.” He promised.

The day of your child birth came swift and soon though not without excruciating pain. Though it was all the more rewarding when you got to hold your child within your arms with Daemon by your side. “Healthy as a horse your highness.” The midwife claimed before handing you the child that clutched to your fingers, cooing. You looked to Daemon who only stared down at the child with love, reaching a finger out to stroke his cheek and smiling when the child’s smaller fingers grasped onto his longer nimble one like a life line. “Have any thoughts on what we should name them my love.” You asked softly as to not disrupt the baby form their slumber. “I believe it is in your right to name the child as only one of us had bled to give them life my beloved.” Daemon said, kissing your slightly sweaty forehead gingerly, never breaking his gaze from the babe bundled in the blooded cloth. “Rhaenar.” You concluded post haste, smiling when the child cooed at the chosen name, giving their incoherent approval. “Rhaenar it shall be.” Daemon replied, holding you tightly against him as you both looked at your child, taking in the features they inherited from the both of you from Daemon’s facial features to your eyes and so forth. The silence lingered for as long as you allowed until Daemon removed himself from your side to elsewhere in the room, leaving you albeit confused until you saw him return with a pitch black dragon egg within his hands. You were aware of the Targaryen customs for when a new child under their house is born, they are gifted an dragon egg that will hatch into their bonded dragon; So to bare witness to it for your own child left a warmth within your chest knowing that for good or for bad, you were a Targaryen as much as your child was.

“I handpicked this myself,” Daemon explained as he placed the dragon egg into the crib with care, “may I?” He asked, gesturing to the child. “Of course they are your child as well Daemon.” You chuckled as you handed Rhaenar over to him, watching with love and adoration in your eyes as he cradled the child to his chest, smiling brightly when the child reached for his face to which he leaned down for the child to poke and pull lightly at his platinum locks. “I shall protect you and your mother from all harm but that also means that when you get older you must uphold that same promise also.” Dameon spoke softly to the child before angling them so they were facing you on the bed, “your mother is the most beautiful in all the seven kingdoms, even if she does bite my head off from time to time.” You scoffed playfully, “I do no such thing Rhaenar, don’t listen to your fool of a father. He tripped over his one feet when I said yes to being his.” Daemon covered the child’s ears as he glared at you playfully, “don’t want you ruining my reputation in front of our child now or else he’ll think I’m soft.” “You are soft though Daemon, hate to break it to you.” He chuckled in response as he placed the baby down in the crib though not before pressing a kiss to their forehead and a quick ‘I love you’ to join you in bed. “Such a tragic fate to befall a man to unconditionally love his child and lady.” He joked, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Yes how unfortunate indeed.” You joined in, snuggling against his side as you both watched over your child protectively.

Bonus:

Caraxes strained his long neck to the window of your chambers to get a look at the child, cooing softly as he watched the two newly made parents snuggle up in bed whilst watching over their child. The babe would grow into someone extraordinary under you and Daemon’s parentage the dragon concluded. Though he’d soon smack Daemon once more for claiming that he chose the dragon egg when in actual fact it was Caraxes who had chosen the egg. Daemon was going to gift an ugly mishmash of a brownish-red egg before his dragon pointed him to a more suitable egg. If one squinted however not only would you be able to see that while it was an entirely pitch black egg there was hints of fiery red here and there. Caraxes was happy to see his family grow slightly larger, though more so he was happy that his Targaryen decided to grow up for the sake of you and the family. He couldn’t be more prouder…now how was he going to explain that he practically demolished some architectural structures just to bare witness to the childbirth…

[closed-third-eye]

you have to understand why they make lucerys out to be a bully rather than aemond who is chasing after a child and aegon who is bullying his brother and led him to his sexual assault.

Biggest fight aemond has been in his life, is been against a child, because that is all he will ever win. so how do you make person like that look cool? You cannot point to his training which took place in a controlled environment by a man who in concerned for his safety. Only thing left to do is make lucerys, aemond's victim, out to be the perpetrator of his trauma

Aemond is a nasty bully on his own, he knocks down jace's practise sword unprovoked. Bullying someone smaller and weaker than him.

He calls rhaena a pig, a girl he met that day of her mothers funeral, and provokes her into a fight. He is again a bully to someone smaller and weaker than him

He has all the kids beaten and he has the rock in his hand, if he wants to he can walk away, but he doesn't. so lucerys takes the only stand he can.

And what happens next is his mother fault, she put the idea of taking the eye as a payment in his head, and while she regrets her out burst, he remembers

Next lucerys's laughing, which while it is a complete dick move he is put down for it, called bastard, he is even beaten, he learned his lesson

Then we go to storms end where brave little lucerys goes inside Storm's end even when he knows vhagar is there so it's obvious who else is, he still walks in does his duty and tries to leave.

But he is again insulted by aemond, instead of lashing out like a child as aemond would, lucerys listens to him and defiantly says no, he doesn't hide or walk away, he could have if he wanted to and maybe results would be same, but lucerys always acted in a manner befitting his station and position.

Aemond on the other hand acts like a child, screams and runs after him, after saying"fight would be little challenge"

And then chases after him like a crazed dog and on his crazed dog.

And this is their biggest enemy by the way. This is who scares them and they think abuser of aemond all his life and the next one is who they say is the abused

now how else do you defend a murderer? Than make his victim out to be a perpetrator

I would also like to add how utterly psychotic some of these people and their arguments are, I genuinely worry how they treat people in real life at the anger they spill over fiction.

And also how much does the narrative and even his own face have to show to say he didn't think death is the right prize and that he actually was simply being a bully, his true nature.

I frankly fear these blind followers of these characters and how they speak of them, if you look at that post it's derived from false emotions, as a way to justify their nonsense.

Aemond has issues, from his mother's neglect of him which allowed his brother's abuse to go on and the added damage to his face, and he focused on the biggest one rather than them all

And to understand aemond as a person you have to take the bad with the worse, but I'm not sure any of his fans are intelligent enough to do that, I make this assumption based on things they say.

Not sure what they wanted lucerys to do in storms end, had they gone book route it would have shown aemond didn't jump him but provoked him, lucerys again is more jumpscared. And they believe he wouldn't fight because he supposedly can't win? Who has to win fighting itself is a crime for for an envoy which they both know, I'm assuming the historian aemokd knows. But also aemond generally says one thing and does the other, he's shown to be less intelligent more reactive and stupid. And when you see the type of admiration he gets, like attracts like.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

[dweemeister]

Instant reactions to the 96th Academy Awards

A rough night for me. But there have been rougher ones before. I imagine most of my comments put me in a very lonely minority, as has been apparent the last few months.

But here goes:

For all intents and purposes, yours truly was on the Killers of the Flower Moon train. An extraordinary crime epic from Scorsese, with astounding craftsmanship and fantastic performance from Lily Gladstone. More than what I previously believed possible, a major studio production went out of its way to make sure that its Indigenous American representation on-screen was as genuine as it could possibly be (still imperfect, as the film acknowledges, but what an effort). And yet, KOTFM goes 0/10. I've never had a favored Best Picture nominee be shut out in such a way before. And I'm not surprised at all by it. It was clear that non-American and non-Canadian audiences didn't get the context to the film (a criticism I understand, given the screenplay) and, in other quarters, folks thought it was too long (I admittedly have a higher tolerance for longer movies) and others have said something akin to the fact that they are getting tired over "racial guilt" movies from America. I'm not in the mood to respond to the last one. I think it deserved better tonight. I particularly think Lily Gladstone deserved better tonight.

Stat upheld: two non-white actresses have never won on the same night in Oscar history. History, in and of itself, was always against Gladstone.

Oppenheimer winning? Fine, I guess. It was my #4 choice of the ten Best Picture nominees. I guess Christopher Nolan was overdue, but I have always been a Nolan skeptic. The film certainly is his most humanistic, and I appreciate that. As for the narrative organization and editing trickery? It mostly serves to take me out of the movie. And I don't think Nolan truly understands what thematic film music can accomplish for his movies. I think RDJ should have had much more competition all season long, but he did not. Most people are gonna say this is the return of the Academy's favorite subgenre... the Great Man Biopic. But in composition and structure, Oppenheimer (and even Maestro) resembles very little of the past Great Man Biopics. It'll be interesting to see how history treats this movie.

I disliked Poor Things. I didn't care for its sense of humor, didn't agree with many folks' opinions that it was a magnum opus of female empowerment. I thought it was incredibly male gaze-y and troublingly sanitized its scenes of sex work. Jerskin Fendrix's score was unlistenable outside the context of the film and distracting within it. But it has four Academy Awards and people love this movie, so my opinion can go to heck?

Well done Da'Vine Joy Randolph for her win as Supporting Actress for The Holdovers. I truly hope this opens up a lot more new opportunities for her going for! Wonderful speech.

And speaking of wonderful speeches, both documentary winners got me very emotional. The Last Repair Shop is on YouTube for American and Canadian viewers, and it's simply wonderful. Perhaps the happiest I was all night long! And then came Mstyslav Chernov's speech after winning for 20 Days in Mariupol. Chernov had, arguably, the speech of the night. And I agree with him. I, too, wish he never had to make his film and that he never won this Oscar. But he did his job to document what happened in Mariupol. And for that he (and the Ukrainians suffering and dying in their war versus Russia) deserves our plaudits and support.

Once more, Hayao Miyazaki cannot be bothered to show up to an awards ceremony. It's hilarious! I would have voted Robot Dreams, but The Boy and the Heron is not a winner to sniff at. Spider-Verse will have one more shot.... whenever the third movie comes out?

Good lord, they selected the worst possible winner in Animated Short with War Is Over!. There's an unwritten rule that the Academy, among the fifteen nominated shorts, must select one which will piss me the hell off. And for the second straight year in Animated Short, they have done exactly that, choosing something akin to a soft drink commercial.

Billie Eilish and Finneas are now the youngest and second-youngest ever to win two Oscars, after Luise Rainer (Best Actress for 1936's The Great Ziegfeld and 1937's The Good Earth). That feels very, very weird. In both cases of this record.

The "I'm Just Ken" performance? Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Like Ken)??? Busby Berkeley choreography? What do the kids say? Inject that straight into my veins? It was wonderful.

And speaking of nods to cinema history, I'm so glad they led off the stunt performers tribute with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd. :,)

And congratulations to Godzilla Minus One and its Best Visual Effects win! After seventy years, Godzilla is now an Oscar-winning franchise, and its win percentage is 100%! Simply wonderful!

I think the moral of the story is that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) has been gradually internationalizing over the last decade. And the results of that were very clear tonight. Does that mean I'm too provincial in my tastes? I don't know. But wins such as Emma Stone's, Anatomy of a Fall, The Boy and the Heron, and Godzilla are demonstrative of that.

I'm glad this season is over. I certainly hope that Killers of the Flower Moon will be looked upon more kindly by history and time, without the bells and whistles of awards campaigning and a fuller understanding of why it was made the way it was.

This month has been fun! But now it's time to see movies again without the lens of awards for a long, long while.

[scoobydoodean]

There are a lot of posts about how to “fix” Sam and Dean's relationship that entirely focus on how Dean needs to change how he relates to Sam. Dean needs to stop conflating parenthood and being a brother in his relationship with Sam and just be his brother, and then boom. The relationship is fixed. This framing misses an incredibly crucial detail:

Dean is not the only one who perpetuates Dean's parentification.

Sam and even the larger narrative also participates in conflating Dean's roles and parentifying him, and Dean can rebel against his own parentification all he wants, but as long as others continue to demand he fill these roles, he will be guilted back into the cycle.

I think there is a tendency to see Dean as constantly seeing himself in the parenting role. I think Dean normally just sees himself as Sam's brother actually. He shoves himself into the parenting role when Sam is facing potential harm. It triggers that instinct to care for and protect his brother in a way that feels more parental than brotherly, and might also be overbearing, partly because those instincts and moving into that state of mind was a state informed by and originating from childhood necessity and abuse and the guilt and blame that would be applied to Dean (like John's co-parent) if Sam was harmed. Simultaneously, and crucially however, Dean can also be seen rebelling against the notion that he should have to parent Sam at key points.

There are multiple points where Dean is implicitly or even explicitly guilted and/or shamed into taking on the parenting role in Sam's life (or someone else's life), or is shamed for setting boundaries. In fact, fandom also loves to criticize Dean for not embracing a parenting role then turn around and criticize him for being in one, but they get the idea from the actual show. Take for example 4.22, where Bobby's response to Dean saying he doesn't want to see Sam anymore and is done with him, is to tell Dean to be a better parent to Sam (his 26 year old brother) than John was. "The End" is another example of an episode very crucially tied to the idea that Dean is not allowed to set boundaries, that he has to be there for Sam, being his guardian and supporting him, or else the world will quite literally burn.

That's the narrative and other characters, then there's Sam:

When things are going well in Sam's life, Dean is Sam's brother. When Sam's decisions have backfired, or Sam feels bad about himself, he often shifts Dean into the role of a parent so that he has a figure he can project responsibility for his actions onto or who he can accuse of thought crimes (Sam is going to fail, Sam can't be trusted, Sam is a freak) that come off like a child terrified that they're a disappointment to their parents. As an example of Sam shifting Dean into the parenting role to project responsibility for his own actions, take "Fallen Idols", where Sam shifts some of the blame for him going off with Ruby and drinking demon blood onto Dean (a person who was dead when Sam began doing those things) being bossy. If you go back and actually watch what happens in season 4 honestly (I might point you especially to "Criss Angel Is A Douchebag", but there are multiple things here) Sam was motivated by a desperation to secure his future and Dean's, by the belief that only he could save them and the world and get revenge on Lilith, that he needed to toughen up and be the strong one doing what's necessary, and that he had to do it all on his own in secrecy because Dean was weak. However, Sam begins experiencing consequences from the demon blood arc in 5.01, in the form of Dean saying that he is hurt, and asking for space and time that Sam isn't actually willing to afford him, as shown by the jump from

"I will earn your trust back" in 5.01 ->

Shoving Dean into a wall in 5.02 for not trusting him, which is explicitly stated to be a projection of Sam's own inability to trust himself at the end of the episode and is very clear regardless from Sam's temptation to drink blood (that isn't even actually demon blood!) inside the convenience store ->

"Actually you're part of the reason this happened in the first place" in 5.05

Dean can rebel against the parentification dynamic or he can embrace it, and either way, he'll be the bad guy in the narrative who is either 1) not feeding Sam enough fatherly love and pride thus signaling his destruction and causing him pain, or 2) stifling Sam, leading him to rebel like a child according to Sam's rewritten ordering of events and motivations.

In other words, no—you absolutely cannot "fix" the part of Sam and Dean's relationship that was broken by parentification by getting Dean to stop parentifying himself. Other characters actually have to stop doing it too—especially Sam.

[txttletale]

What's worm? I can't exactly google it bcs of the name but I'm intrigued

worm (2011-2013) is a web novel about superheroes by a canadian author who goes by wildbow. it was published serially over the course of two years and in that time managed to get well over a million words long. i think it's very good for a couple reasons:

it takes an approach to 'deconstructing the superhero genre' that i don't think i've ever actually seen--instead of something like the boys or watchmen it doesn't extrapolate forwards from 'what would superheroes be like if they were real', but instead extrapolates backwards from 'what real-life conditions would have to exist to lead to superheroes acting like they do in comics'. the world of worm is believable, well-drawn, and interesting to inhabit

it has incredible character writing. this might not be one of the first things most people associate with it but wildbow has an amazing capacity for giving characters, even side characters that appear for half a chapter, extremely intriguing personal and internal conflicts. sometimes wildbow will write a chapter from the perspective of a side character you never see again and it will leave you wishing they had their own novel series. also despite a lot of problems wildbow has with Some Demographics, most of these well-developed characters are the female ones, who get to dominate the emotional landscape and the plot in a way that's refreshing to see tbh

the protagonist is great. a lot of attention is paid by some fans to the fact that she's a smart problem-solver, and that is true--her power is 'controlling bugs' in a world where other people can fly and shoot lasers, so she has to get smart with it. but i like her mostly because she's an extremely traumatised freak making horrible decisions and justifying them to herself post-hoc constantly. it's fun and interesting to be in her head

worm gets away from a lot of the more reactionary undertones that the superhero genre often fails to escape by making powers an in-universe result of (and, on a narrative level, a pretty clear metaphor) trauma. they are essentially coping mechanisms exaggerated to the point of superpower--because of this it neatly avoids two genre pitfalls because 1. there is no 'some people are better and stronger from birth' angle and 2. it mostly takes a social view of crime--supervillains in worm aren't cartoonish forces of evil (mostly), they are people who are marginalized and desperate.

the powers are cool. this is lower down on my personal list of reasons i like worm than many people's but it's undeniable true. each character has a strictly defined powerset with certain inbuilt limitations that both work to say volumes about their personality but also make fight scenes fun and interesting to read because wildbow puts a lot of thought into how they interact

this is not intentional and worm is at times downright homophobic but i would be lying if i said this didn't play a part in how i and most people i know think about worm: a queer reading of the main character is very easy to make, and the intense and at times tempestuous relationship she has to the girls around her is damn compelling. don't go into it expecting 'representation' or anything, wildbow has insisted at length that the main character is straight. but fr shes gay af

now all this said: there's a lot of nasty stuff that happens in worm. there is a lot of body horror and a lot of insect horror. there are so many instances of bugs being forced into human orifices in this book i could have filled out this list with that instead. so if that turns you off give this one a miss. child abuse and violence against children in general is also something that comes up semi-regularly.

and to expand on something i said in the post that i assumed prompted this question--when these topics come up, worm does a very very poor job of handling race and a better but still not great job with gender and sexuality. the world outside north america is sketched with a looseness and a lack of research that borders on caricature (i can think of like five organizations/characters that were very clearly named through google translate). the pacing takes a huge hit after a certain event in the back half of the story, and it can be a little exhausting to read because it is both thematically and literally about constant crisis and escalation.

still, if none of that is a dealbreaker for you, i'd recommend it 100%. i'm definitely glad i've read it. it's a powerful story about trauma and authority and control that does reward the outrageous time commitment it demands. there's also a fanmade audiobook if that sweetens the deal for you. i haven't listened to it but i've heard that it's pretty decent for a volunteer effort.