#despite the fact that there were and have been worse eras of my life. every one a different torment nexus domt get me wrong

[iamthescalesofjustice]

i get why people have shifted away from the term 'peggy sue' but honestly its less cumbersome than 'time travel fix-it' or, as i occasionally see spread across multiple tags " 'time travel' 'not a fix-it tho' 'not a break it worse either' " like cmon it wasnt even actually related to the 'x sue' stuff that people (rightfully) dropped it was a covergent evolution.

[the-somwthing]

Welcome to my little meta analysis essay called

Why do we misremember Flower Husbands as being “nicer” than it was?

Disclaimer: I’m not here to talk about whether or not FH is “toxic” or anything like that. It’s just a fact that many old fans rewatching FH POV and new fans who are watching it for the first time after seeing fan content tend to be surprised at how they actually behaved in the series compared to how everyone remembered them being back in the day. This will NOT go over whether or not I think FH is unhealthy or whatever and instead just discuss why I believe this phenomenon has happened.

So, if I try to make this a fancy well written essay, I’ll be here all day, so I’ll just get to the point. 3rd Life came out during the DSMP era of mcyt. MCRP has been around for ages, but the DSMP style of RP (which I’ll be calling “smp rp”) was pretty much popularized by DSMP, mostly towards the end of 2020. For reference, 3rd Life started early 2021, so there’s about a half a year between these two events, and DSMP kept going for years so 3rd Life was absolutely happening during the golden era of DSMP.

But what does DSMP have to do with this? Well, it sort of created this idea of “lore” and only specific things being “canon”. You can make fun of me for the way I worded that, but you know what I mean, DSMP was weird about that stuff. I don’t really blame them as it was kind of a new style of RP they accidentally spawned, but still, it was a confusing time for SMPs.

3rd Life was actually less like DSMP and more like the modern SMP RPs, where there’s no (known, lol) scripted events and the fandom itself deciphers what is or isn’t “canon” rather than it being told to them, with mostly everything being considered canon. HOWEVER, I do believe that DSMP’s style did still affect the fandom, specifically with the topic of this essay, Flower Husbands.

But why would it only really affect Flower Husbands? Now we get into a rough topic: shipping discourse. Back in those days, shipping in the mcyt fandom was heavily frowned upon. Moreso than it is today (I know it’s still around, but it was a lot worse the earlier we go lol). I’ve even seen old relics of ppl saying flower husbands should only be portrayed as platonic cuz it’s wrong to ship them, despite their team name literally being husbands. But more importantly, for A LOT of people, flower husbands was the One Ship people felt “allowed” to ship, BECAUSE it was canon. So they would allow FH and shun every other ship.

My point isn’t actually that, with it being the only “acceptable” ship everyone tried to make it more wholesome, though I suppose that could be a contributor. But my ACTUAL point is where all the things I laid out finally close in on each other:

Ships were a Dangerous territory in mcyt fandom, and ships being “canon” was something a lot of people weren’t prepared to deal with. People don’t want to get too close to RPF territory, but back in the day their ideas of c! vs cc! wasn’t as great, so they default to the DSMP Rule of “if it’s stated to be roleplay, then it’s canon to the characters, if not, it’s noncanon and just the CCs hanging out”.

You see where I’m going with this? When trying to follow this rule for a character relationship where they don’t explicitly state what is or isn’t RP, they hear “we’re married” and instantly mark that as canon to the characters since it clearly isn’t true to the CCs, and tend to block out anything else, otherwise you’re risking it not actually being true to the characters. Especially when it’s things like Scott saying something mean about Jimmy; that directly contradicts the “these characters are in love” thing, so it must not be canon, right?

But wouldn’t people still remember that these things happened, or did they actually straight up not process any of it? My answer to that is: of course everyone was paying attention, but with the context that it’s the CCs playing a video game, all of the teasing and other behavior seems WAY less serious. It just looks like average friends playing a hunger games smp together. And as I explained earlier, the fandom was ONLY processing this as a CC thing, so Scott’s treatment of Jimmy never stood out because that’s just how it is playing games.

Back to DSMP, I’m not active in that fandom anymore but I’ll see snippets sometimes, and I’ve seen the claim that beeduo was actually boring in canon and the fandom was the one that made it interesting. I feel like this is exactly what happened with FH. Nobody was actually expecting anyone to go hard into romantic roleplay, so the fans just take whichever pair says they’re getting married and fill in the blanks themselves. And that was normal back then, it wasn’t fans making stuff up for no reason, it was kind of expected of us.

So yeah, I personally believe that this whole confusion about FH is a result of its time. Whether you want to finally look at the actual substance of the relationship rather than following weird rules about what is or isn’t “canon”, or you believe that since FH was from a time where romantic RP was confusing and weird it would make the most sense to take into account the time period it came from and ignore the less appealing bits in favor of the fanon, I don’t really care honestly. But man isn’t this an interesting situation.

[frau-wilhelm-klink]

Pls spill your ideas on Klink revealing he knew all about what Hogan was doing and just kept quiet. I need the details

Hi! Sure, I'd be happy to. As a Klink fangirl, I'm obligated to defend my man😂 For this answer, I was gonna type it all out...but then I remembered I have a fic that literally has eight different instances of it. (And this isn't a plug, it's just a lucky coincidence on my part because I'm tired.) So I took advantage of my good fortune by taking screenshots of the parts in question. All of these times are canon, and in every one, Klink has either looked the other way and/or not asked questions when he definitely should have been asking them!

To expand on this answer a little more, you have to remember that Klink is a veteran of the first World War. This is a canon fact. And as you may or may not know, there were quite a few veterans of that era who were...shall we say, less than thrilled about the regime. Klink is one of them; he's subtly expressed his distaste for Hitler in canon at least once in "The Most Escape-Proof Camp I've Ever Escaped From". (The scene in question is after he tells Hogan "We all make mistakes. Nobody's perfect." After Hogan looks rather pointedly at the picture of Hitler in the Kommandantur, Klink growls, "Except him, of course.") So we have at least two reasons why he'd support Hogan.

Another interesting fact is how every time Klink grows a backbone, it's always for the same reason - somebody is threatening to take his prisoners out of his camp, and therefore strip them of his protective custody. Now you might say, "Well, he's just doing his job." Which is true, but Klink's also shown to be terrified of the Gestapo/SS. He bows to their whim on everything else. If he was truly that scared of them, he would never speak up. But he does. Even Hochstetter, a man who regularly pushes Klink around despite being outranked twice over, can't threaten the POWs without our illustrious kommandant putting his jackboot down. If said prisoner is Hogan, Klink becomes even more adamant with his refusal. Why? Because he knows what's going on and knows Hogan is needed to lead the operation.

Speaking of Hogan, have you ever noticed how Klink has trusted him countless times with his very life? Hogan claims he's just "an ordinary POW - which is obviously a lie - but yet Klink still does it. He's asked Hogan for his advice more than once. Klink's also relied on Hogan countless times to get him out of one jam or another, already knowing the colonel would find a way to do so, even if it wasn't one that was planned by the Heroes. It makes zero sense for Klink to take that risk unless he knows for a fact Hogan can get him out of Germany if worse comes to worse. You don't get to be a full bird colonel (or Oberst, if we're using the proper German term) by being stupid. Heck, even if you blame nepotism, that would only get Klink so far. And that's not even counting the amount of times Hogan has mentioned things he shouldn't know about to Klink without it being questioned how he knew them.

There's no question in my mind that he knows. Klink might wear a monocle, but he can clearly see how clever Hogan is. He's well aware the colonel is both crafty and sneaky. If he didn't, the visit from Beidenbender ("Hogan Gives a Birthday Party") stating how he, Beidenbender, was personally assigned to get inside Hogan's head would tell Klink all he needed to know. Combine the first three traits with Beidenbender stating Hogan has a tendency to overplan everything and it wouldn't be hard to connect the dots. Especially since pretty much all of the sabotage work the Heroes do is near Stalag 13...which is yet another thing that's been pointed out in canon several times.

As to why Klink doesn't say anything...well, he just wants his Germany back. He doesn't want Hitler in charge any more than Schultz does. Klink turns a blind eye to everything as much as he can, although he still has to make a half-hearted attempt to question things so Hogan doesn't get suspicious. All part and parcel of being the one in command. Does he have other reasons for doing what he does? Possibly. I wouldn't be surprised at all if Klink (who would wait until the night before the Allies arrived to drop that bombshell) is hoping Hogan will protect him.

The thing is, Klink really can't outright say anything to Hogan. Not without running the risk of everything going to hell in a hand basket, anyway. He can't be certain how the colonel would take the news that his jailer is helping him. Klink can't openly join the resistance either; he'd be shot if he did. Instead, our kommandant fights back against the regime in the best way he knows how: quietly aiding Hogan however he can without drawing unwanted attention to himself, his camp or his prisoners.

Whew! Sorry this got so long-winded, but I'm sure you probably guessed it would be when you asked me that😂 Hope this satisfies your curiosity.

Edit: Since I've had more than one person ask me where they can read this fic, it can be found here. The title of it and link are also in the notes. I'm very flattered some of you are intrigued enough by the screenshots to take that much of an interest in my work🥰

[bu1410]

Good morning TUMBLR. From today February 29, 2024, I have decided to publish a sort of memoir of my life in installments on TUMBLR. These are memories of travel and work experiences around the world, over a period of approximately 40 years.

The title is': ''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

I hope to interest at least three or four readers.

Introduction Why this curious title, you will ask yourselves, my dear 3 or 4 readers. Well I have to think back to an evening way back in 1971, where I was one of the 20,000-odd spectators at a Led Zeppelin concert, the greatest rock group of all time. The concert, which had just begun for goodness sake, was interrupted by police charges, and we were forced to flee from the Vigorelli velodrome in Milan following the throwing of tear gas. Much has been said and written about that unfortunate evening. The fact is that despite Robert Plant's appeals for calm (Smile! Smile! Smile! he shouted into the microphone) which also sounded a little ironic, given the frequent firing of tear gas, at a certain point under the pressure of the human tide who was pushing us against the stage (we were among the lucky ones in the front rows) me and the 3 friends with whom I had come to attend the concert were forced to flee towards the velodrome track, and then to climb over the fence. In the excitement of the moment I lost one of my tennis shoes, but by then I was on the other side of the fence, and about 2 or 3 thousand people wanted to do the same thing, that is, climb over the fence! So I had to abandon the unhealthy idea of going back to the other side to retrieve the shoe. We somehow managed to escape from the velodrome, and took refuge on the floor of the FIAT 850 parked around there, in which we had come to the concert. Meanwhile the battle raged all around us. Every now and then we took a look out the windows, but the smoke from the tear gas and the burning cars didn't allow us to see much of what was happening. There were only big bangs and explosions of weapons and sirens that wouldn't stop screaming. I remember clearly seeing and hearing a lady from one of the balconies of the condominiums around the velodrami shouting at the policemen: ''Kill all those bastards…….don't leave even one alive….!! It all ended after hours, and all we had to do was sadly return home, happy to have saved our skin. The car - owned by the friend Eridano's mother - was full of dents, but the windows were intact. Later, when I finally got home, I threw the remaining shoe in the garbage.

INCIPIT But who is Bruno Sironi? It's easy to say: a child of '68 and the so-called ''Economic Boom'' - one of the many (all…) who had been made to believe that ''life will always be better'' and that ''the future will belongs''(and the best is yet to come) One who saw Italians go from the Vespa to the ''500'' and from the 500 to the 600 and then gradually the 850 and then the FIAT UNO and the Ritmo…and the butchers' boys ride in Alfa GT Junior (1,260,000 Lire in 1970) . To then understand that this was not the case and suddenly, just as it had begun, the era of continuous ''progress'' could (and did) end (and end badly). One who had to hear Comrade ''in cashmere'' Bertinotti that ''For the first time since the end of the last war there is the prospect that children will have a worse life than their fathers''. And the lawyer Agnelli declared in the famous television interview with Mixer in 1984 - to a question from the journalist Minoli on what Italy's prospects could be - he first adjusted his sypholine leg, and then replied: ''But you see Minoli… I believe that if all goes well… within a couple of decades Italy will be able to aspire to a standard of living equal to the best of the so-called Socialist countries, namely Hungary''. And that son of so-called progress, who has now grown old, has now realized that there is never an end to the worst. Because trying to make things worse - beyond Murphy's Laws - is in the nature of man (especially homo Italicus) much more than improving them. And that perhaps human beings start out with the best intentions, but then along the way, when faced with difficulties, they choose compromise, circumventing the obstacle, and almost never overcoming it. And finally, at all latitudes, in every historical period, and under any type of regime, what characterizes human beings is the instinct of dominance. And man's obsession with dominance derives from the very origin of animal DNA, and binds the destiny of every one of us. With these premises, and with a lot of suffering, I began my working adventure abroad by leaving for Arabia (Not Felix…) on 5 May 1980. Yes, the day of the anniversary of Napoleon's death, which I remembered (and I remember still …) by heart the poem dedicated to him by Alessandro Manzoni: He was….since immobile given the mortal sigh….He stood the remains oblivious to such a breath. But before that first trip, there are things and events that are worth telling, because as always, nothing is as it seems. As often happens, a friend, a certain Figini Mauro, approached me one day at the bar and said: ''You know, I have an uncle who works for a large construction company in Milan, with activities abroad'' – Really? ? I answer immediately interested - and what's his name, give me all the details, put me in contact with him, I want to try to have an interview (in short I felt inside that it could be more than one possibility) No sooner said than done, the day arrives when I am summoned to the offices of the ''Great Society''. The headquarters was located at the end of a street in the south of Milan, the continuation of Via Savona, after Viale Tibaldi. I get there first by trolleybus 90 (the Circunvallasiun) and then by walking for a few hundred meters on a dirt road. Admitted inside, I am introduced to a manager by the famous ''Uncle'' - who sings my praises: ''a good boy, good family, I guarantee'' (never seen or heard from the ''Uncle'' before that moment…) It is agreed that, before leaving for Saudi Arabia (Saudi Arabia???), I should spend a few days in an architecture studio in Milan (in Via Pantano). Architect Sala will take care of me, and possibly judge whether I am suitable to be sent to Saudi to draw up the so-called As Built (an English expression meaning ''As built'') drawings, i.e. how any project has been completed, with the changes made during construction highlighted. I thus learn (from Arch Sala) that the Big Society is building a military hospital in Dahran in the Eastern province (a military hospital which later, during the Gulf wars, proved to be very useful).

I then spent a week in the famous architecture studio, which I reached every morning with the public transport of the time: tram from Nova M. to via Farini, then the 8, which took me to via Orefici on the corner of Duomo. And then on foot along Via Mazzini, Via Larga – Via Pantano. Declared ''Suitable'' for the purpose (after having designed a hospital stretcher beater) I was then hired by Big Society and sent to Saudi with the Milan Linate – Rome – Riyadh – Dahran flights: I have a vivid memory of the seat on the left on the plane that I occupied, and of the vision of the Pre-Alps when we turned towards the South: the mountains of my youth disappeared on the horizon… No, it doesn't seem to me that ''as if it were now'', perhaps the opposite: I have the clear perception how much time has passed, 40 or more years… even the century has changed…….

[xjulixred45x]

Tahomaru x Sibiling Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: mentions of depression (Nui), Daigo and Nui being neglectful parents, Fluff and Angst, Sick Reader, Tahomaru being the Best older brother, slight changes to the main story (for my heart's sake).

Fem and male Reader

It's My firts publication, so, sorry if it's a bit ooc.

____

+ Tahomaru didn't expect his father to want another child, as much as it wasn't necessary and because of his mother's already distant behavior, so when you were born it was a surprise, but a welcome surprise.

+or so he wanted to believe, the birth was very complicated, his mother was giving birth for more than a day and a half, but when they finally announced that you were born, he felt as if a burden that he didn't know he had had been lifted, he was relieved.

+ but his father rather seemed disappointed in more ways than one, not only had you had a difficult delivery, but you were an extremely weak baby, if you are a girl, it is even worse, it is the Sengoku era, no matter how powerful Daigo had, It wasn't in his plans to keep a daughter, if you're a boy, it's the same, he didn't need a weak boy when he already had Tahomaru, a healthy and strong boy.

+now...his rejection also has to do with the fact that you remind him of Hyakkymaru...but that's another topic

+ Anyway, despite being weak, Daigo decides that you will stay in the "family", both for Tahomaru and because he doesn't know what to do with you and he can't give you to the demons because you have nothing to offer, according to him.

+during your first days of life you are visited by doctors and maids every day in your room next to your mother's to be able to feed you, but they do not let him in immediately to ensure that you do not die upon contact with him, since he is a child at that time he does not understand it, but he really wants to meet you, you are his little sibiling, after all.

+ he is very anxious and happy when they finally tell him that they will let him see you, he practically jumps to your room and when he enters there you are, half sitting on a large futon in the middle of the floor, you look a lot like his mother, dark hair and eyes, you are super small, even as a baby, you would already be completing the first weeks of life and you still look pale and skinny. Being the first baby he sees, you are too adorable for him.

+I have a feeling that your name as well as that of your brothers would end with Maru, maybe Sakimaru being a girl and Tomaru being a boy, but it's just something self-indulgent.

+ your intentions with Tahomaru as children are quite limited by your fragile state, they don't take many years, maybe 4 or 3 years maximum. But that doesn't stop Tahomaru from wanting to spend his rare free-for-alls with you, be it playing games, drawing, or just trying to get you to say your first words.

"Come on! Ta-Ho-Maru! Try it!" -

"Ba-Bho"-.

"Close enough! Well done!"-

-Tahomaru ends up being your main source of inspiration and compliments, especially when you grow up and your limitations due to illness become more complicated, Daigo hardly speaks to you and Nui seems even distant with you than with Tahomaru, at least she recognized from time to time its existence, but you....it's like seeing a ghost.

- and it's heartbreaking for Tahomaru as you get older to see how you try to have even a minimum of attention from her, he had given up a long time ago, and it hurts him a lot to see when you finally decide to do the same, you don't even want to look at her anymore , at least he had a modicum of attention from his father, but you...were completely ignored by both of them.

+now, going to the most recurring things, Tahomaru continues to spend much of his free time with you, if he can't be in town for some reason, he will ask Mustu and Hyogo to keep you company, you get along with them By the way , just as they took on the task of protecting Tahomaru, they implicitly agreed to protect you as well.

- if you're a girl, maybe Tahomaru buys you from time to time hairpins or kimonos of the time, he thought for a while about giving you his mother's, but even those were too big for you, so all your kimonos are bought and / or are loaned by Mustu (I think she might have a very nice kimono or two that she would lend you from time to time).

+also makes sure that Daigo doesn't even think about putting you in an arranged marriage under any circumstances, not only because the vast majority of "suitors" would be much older than you, but because even if they were your age he wouldn't want to use you as "medium" for alliances, you are your own person and deserve to be treated as such, not as an object.

+ On the other hand, if you're a boy, he'd tell you a lot about the fights he has or his training, if you're good of healt enough, he'd teach you how to hold the sword! A wooden one, sure, your arms are too skinny to hold a real sword, but I'd be happy to teach you without Daigo knowing.

+ he would still be very careful with the girls who approach you, he wouldn't be rude but he would definitely be skeptical about it, although if you introduce him to some candidate that you especially like, he would try to make a good impression and see if she is sincere or not.

+if you have any ESPECIALLY bad disease outbreaks he would want to be constantly updated and would look for ways to spend more time with you, that and pamper you once you recover.

+ although it sounds strange, he admires you for how much you resist despite your constant sick state, you go through horrible outbreaks and still remain a ray of sunshine, you have a lot of internal strength that compensates for the little external strength.

+so he decided that YOU would be his inner strength and HE would be your outer strength, he would keep you safe and happy, you would not have to feel rejected and alone, not while he had something to say about it.

+ is your BIG BROTHER after all.

_____

I really write a Lot jajaja

Thanks for reading!

[crystalelemental]

"moonenvoy: i have a soft spot for xy. it kinda marked the turning point in my life of becoming an adult but still being able to enjoy my interests, i guess? i was 20 when it came out and it was right after i got my first job, so it was the first game i ever preordered. i have high, but cautious hopes for ZA. was xy great? no, probably not. but ya know what? who gives a fuck. as long as you enjoy it, it's worth it."

I think that's fair. I would have been...hold on a minute, when did this game come out again? In my mid-20s somewhere, still around the time of grad school. So like. Definitely older. But I do remember it as the last game where I was engaged with some kind of community, and yet everyone felt excited. Every single generation after felt worse and worse with fans around, and only Paldea managed to go into things with a positive vibe, because like the only person I talked to about it was my wife. And I feel like it came out in that era where video game critic pessimism peaked. You know the kind. So popular reception was "game bad," and a lot of that rubs off on you when your entire friend group seems to believe the same. But I dunno, replaying it was a lot of fun, I had a genuinely great time. I still prefer my gens 2-4, but it...might have cleared everything else.

I'm personally really excited for ZA. Moreso now. I think Kalos has a lot of potential and it'll be great to see what they do, but also the Legends system is just wholesale superior to the main series so I feel like this is going to be hard to mess up.

"i just hope the character customization in ZA is more along the lines of XY and less. almost any of the others. sumo and l:a were pretty mid and fuck all the school/challenege uniform shit lmao GIVE ME MORE CUTE CLOTHES LIKE XY HAD-"

Okay fun fact. I never really change outfits. XY had the best options, but gave the least money for it, and hilariously had the best default outfits. The rest I just never bothered with. Actually wait, I think I did change outfits in Galar one time. Some of the dresses looked cute. But yeah, ScarVi not really having outfits was disappointing. I think it would overall be an insignificant thing to me, if it wasn't for how young your characters have to look despite the academy having people in their sixties among the student body. If you can customize outfit, at least let me customize old trainer. Or like. Older teen/college age trainer, which seems closer to the other three than your apparent ten-year-old self.

[bisher2020]

Has Pixar Lost Its Creative Touch?

Toy Story. Monsters Inc. The Incredibles. Finding Nemo. Those are only a few names of many critically acclaimed timeless classics that have remained popular with kids and adults throughout the many years, coming from the legendary studio that revolutionized the medium of animation as we know it - Pixar Animation Studios. I adored this studio and have been a fan of its works since my childhood, and their movies have only gotten better for me the older I got, to the point where these movies, in my eyes, have become more than movies that I could look back at as an adult to relive that feeling of childhood nostalgia - they are works of art that mean a lot to me on a personal level and have defined a big part of my character.

But despite my relentless love and reverence for this studio and despite how much I wish that’s how the rest of the world would see it, a lot of fans have lost hope in Pixar nowadays. Modern Pixar movies such as Onward, Luca and Elemental may have some few fans here and there, but in general, these movies aren't talked about as much as some of the older Pixar classics. And what makes it even worse in this case is that this apparent decline in people's faith in Pixar as a studio isn't only reinforced critically, but financially as well. As he was talking about Elemental, Pixar’s latest movie, New York Times reporter Brooks Barnes said: “The original animated film took in $29.5 million at the box office, by far the worst opening in Pixar’s three-decade history.” The same can be said about Pixar movies that came before it such as Lightyear and Turning Red. But why is this the case? Why have people lost faith in Pixar critically and financially? Is this a new low for Pixar? What is to be the future of this studio? Well, in order to answer all of these questions, we must take a look at three different segments in the timeline of this studio’s works, from 1995 all the way up till 2023.

First Segment: Post Cars 2 Era (1995 - 2010)

As a lot of Pixar fans are aware off, the glory days of Pixar Animation Studios date all the way back to when they first entered the animation game with Toy Story in 1995. Being the first ever CGI animated film, it took the world by shock with a brand new animation style that perfectly complemented a thought-provoking story, introducing characters that would become popular with children, teens and adults of all ages, mainly the iconic dynamic duo of Woody and Buzz Lightyear.

Since the release of Toy Story, the hits just kept on coming. Worldwide hit after worldwide hit. In fact, if you take away A Bug’s Life and Cars out of the equation, every other Pixar movie in the Post Cars 2 era has been praised by critics and worldwide audiences. I understand the hype between movies such as Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Wall-E, Ratatouille and Up. With the exception of A Bug’s Life which I truly dislike (but that’s a topic for another day), I can make the following assumption: these classics were popular (well, popular except for Cars) for their ability to tell thought-provoking stories with emotional beats and compelling messages that touch the hearts and minds of kids and adults of all ages, thus challenging the “animation is stupid and only for kids” mentality that a lot of people seem to have. In fact, movies such as The Incredibles and Up manage to take a much more mature approach to making an animated film than usual. Everything was going fine for Pixar.



[tailsrevane]

[movie review] the return of godzilla (1984)

“godzilla is the son of the atomic bomb. he is a nightmare created out of the darkness of the human soul. he is the sacred beast of the apocalypse.” -tomoyuki tanaka

(cw: atomic bombings, various imperialist atrocities)

i kind of made it through most of the day we ended up watching this without noticing it was 9/11. it’s just not really something i notice anymore?

my heart genuinely goes out to anyone who was directly affected, but my heart also goes out to all the much, much greater number of people who have been affected by the u.s.’s wars of imperialist aggression for which 9/11 has served as a flimsy excuse despite not standing up to the slightest scrutiny.

it goes out to the people that this government is still allowing to be killed or maimed through criminal negligence by the ongoing pandemic that is ravaging the working class.

and i sit here incredibly angry that a historical footnote is treated like some kind of special tragedy when what followed has been so much worse, when what came before was so much worse.

you know what should be treated like 9/11? the days that the u.s. bombed hiroshima and nagasaki.

germany remembers auschwitz, remembers kristallnacht. americans should not remember the day this empire was given a black eye and some of us were caught in the crossfire. we should remember the acts of genocide that were committed against indigenous people. we should remember the enslavement of africans. we should remember the lynchings. we should remember the concentration camps fdr threw japanese americans into, the concentration camps every recent president has thrown latinx migrants into. we should remember the rates of mass incarceration that are absolutely unparalleled in the world today.

and we should remember the atomic bombings. we should remember that we are living in what is still the only country that has ever engaged in acts of nuclear war.

we should remember, and we should rise up and declare with one voice, NEVER AGAIN.

believe it or not, this is not some polemic occasioned merely by the day on which i happened to watch this film. return of godzilla is the first of the heisei era of godzilla films, and it resets the continuity such that only the 1954 original precedes it. for the purposes of this film, godzilla has been dead for 30 years, and life has sort of gotten back to normal.

that period of absence adds something so raw and real to his re-emergence. it makes him so like the atomic bomb he is so often associated with. there must be a strange sort of tension when that kind of threat is hanging over you. when it’s actually happened once, and all you can do is just pray it never happens again.

having godzilla once again positioned as an avatar of destruction, while not my preference, obviously opens things up quite a bit in terms of what you can say thematically. and i just love that the power fantasy this movie puts forward is the japanese prime minister standing up and saying “absolutely not” to using nuclear weapons on japanese soil, even to defeat godzilla. there are some qualifiers which i’ll get into momentarily, but i don’t want to breeze past the fact that i just love this as an aspiration.

the most clear-cut issue here is that this narrative doesn’t even come close to fitting the facts. in actuality, japan’s government was a more than willing partner in the u.s.’s belligerent foreign policy against the soviet union. still, for a narrative like this to be put forward in what was sure to be a massively popular movie in japan isn’t nothing! and i don’t want to lose sight of that.

a more insidious issue we get into here is the movie’s false equivalence between the u.s.s.r. who had a no-first strike policy and the u.s. who has very publicly refused to have one to this day, and who has engaged in dangerous nuclear sabre rattling basically constantly since--and i must belabor this--literally dropping atomic bombs on two japanese cities. (quick aside: russia dropped their no-first strike policy after the dissolution of the soviet union. yay capitalism and freedom, huh?)

where this gets thorny is that i don’t really think i’m in a position to lecture people who lived through actual nuclear attacks and their descendants on the difference between the u.s.’s nuclear bullying and the u.s.s.r.’s responses to the same, but they are very different. and the actions of the fictional soviet diplomat depicted here just do not ring true to me at all.

but, yeah. the resemblances between this and the first film are actually kind of uncanny. the majority of the runtime is just very straightforwardly about people being terrified of a giant kaiju destroying their city. he basically picks up right where he left off, but with much improved special effects which is no small thing in this kind of movie.

the 1954 film still blows this out of the water for so many reasons, but i don’t want to understate how cool it is seeing a much more modern-looking kaiju movie. this looks like it easily could’ve been made sometime in the last few years. and that rules!

big picture wise, i much prefer a heroic godzilla. i just like the kinds of stories you can tell with him, and just… ok, i’ll be superficial here. he’s really hot, you guys. i’m such a simp for him. i don’t want him to have to get his ass kicked all the time!!!

but, yeah. this recaptures a lot of what made the original movie so good, and it’s a really good jumping off point to continue the series.

a-rank

[after-witch]

Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

 A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on. 

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on  your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side.  You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you.  He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding. 

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness. 

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight,  you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

**

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

[snippychicke]

For the Sake of a Smile --Short Four

Title: For the Sake of a Smile-- Short 4: Elsewhere in Walter Park

Fandom: Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!

Summary: Hell on earth was your motto for your job. Granted, you were pretty sure earth really was hell, considering the shit you had seen. And the fact your coworker was a child. Suzuki Iruma, in fact. A kid who’s life was decidedly worse than yours, but smiled despite everything.

And you’d do a lot for his smile. Including summoning a demon and signing your life away.

But as it turns out, hell (The Netherworld, actually) was a lot better than living on earth. Demons were more humane than a lot of humans you knew.

And Iruma’s smile wasn’t the only one that would change your life.

Chapter Four | AO3

Opera was surprised when Lord Sullivan landed beside them, watching as Azazel fought the panther leopard. "Lord Sullivan? What are you doing here?" 

"I saw the newscast and was worried about my precious grandson!" The demon lord answered, pouting slightly. "How could I stay away when my precious Iruma-kins was in danger?" 

That made sense, but only very superficially. "Iruma is with Balam's group." And Sullivan should have been able to pinpoint exactly where the human was, considering both the magic of the Gluttonous Ring and the cologne masking the human scent of Iruma was easy enough to follow.

"Oh, I know," Lord Sullivan confirmed with a smile  and went as far as winking at his security demon "But I have every faith the white gargoyle of Babyls can protect not only Iruma, but maybe impress my dear daughter some more while doing so." 

Opera smiled faintly, their hands clasping together as their tail twitched with glee. "Oh? So Operation: Matchmaker is a go?" 

"Absolutely! Oh you should have seen the way she was smiling at his messages today!" Sullivan pulled out his own phone, showing the feline demon snapshot of you smiling at your phone, simple happiness evident on your face. "Those two are going to be so cute together!" 

"Indeed they will be, sir," they readily agreed. They were happy that perhaps finally, they had found someone appropriately suited to be their kohai's mate. Someone who wasn't perturbed by his skinship habits, or intense love of learning about anything that breathed. 

And you accepted Balam's quirks readily, and even appreciated them. Dare they hope, loved him even for the supposed flaws

Hopefully, you wouldn't be scared off by his physical quirks either. It was easy to tell you found the professor attractive, but you hadn't seen his scar yet either. Or the rest of his demon nature.

"Speaking of which," Lord Sullivan interrupted Opera's silent musings. "Have you figured out which of these lovely demonesses have a thing for our little Iruma?"

"I'm pretty sure all of them, sir. Though Master Iruma continues to be oblivious." 

“I’m glad they can all appreciate how wonderful my grandson is! Though, I have a feeling Asmodeus will be giving them a run for their money.” Lord Sullivan smiled as he watched Ameri land the final blow. “To have the honor of seeing the next era of the Netherworld develop right before our eyes, Opera, is going to be more fun than I thought it would be.” 

Chapter Five

[norahastuff]

penny for your thoughts on salmondean codependency ?

Sure. Fair warning it’s long (was longer but I stopped myself.)

I think it’s complicated in a show that’s had so many different showrunners because they’ve all handled Sam and Dean’s relationship very differently. In Kripke’s era (s1-5) there was a romanticization of the bond. Sure there was a lot of in-depth exploration of how they wound up at the place they were at, spoiler alert: it was all because of John and his obsessive crusade to find the demon that killed his wife. That’s all he cared about and as a result, Sam and Dean had to be everything to each other. But Kripke had no intention of dismantling that at any point because he was (and always had been) writing a tragedy. Gamble continued that too. There was no room for anyone else in their lives and it would always just be the two of them against the world. So Cas had to go. Bobby had to go.

(Actually, it's funny because Gamble didn't intend this at the time, her plan was to kill Cas off, but by Edlund creating the masterpiece that is The Man Who Would Be King, he not only saved Cas from being seen as a villain, but he also deepened Dean and Cas' relationship in such a profound way and inextricably linked the two of them emotionally. And since Cas was eventually brought back, that laid the foundation for a lot of what their relationship would become.)

Up until this point, there hadn’t really been any significant dismantling of perhaps the more unhealthy parts of Sam and Dean’s relationship. Enter Carver. He stripped things down and started to explore what drove these characters. What they wanted and why they couldn’t have it. It starts with Dean being mad at Sam for not looking for him in purgatory, which sets up the whole speech in the s8 finale of Sam’s guilt about letting Dean down, but the thing is, Dean was never honest with Sam about his year away either. He never told Sam he could have gotten out much sooner if he hadn’t stayed to find Cas. I mean Dean had assumed Sam was up there alone doing God knows what to try to bring him back, and yet still he stayed in Purgatory because things were clear there. He needed Cas. Anyway, I just find that interesting, but Cas isn’t a victim of Sam and Dean’s relationship in s8.

Who gets the honour of being cast aside? That would be Benny and Amelia, two characters they introduced in s8 specifically to highlight that Sam and Dean’s relationship doesn’t allow for anyone else to be a significant part of their life. I mean that’s nothing new, we’ve watched that happen many times before. Lisa even said as much to Dean. The thing is this time? It’s framed as a truly sad thing. That moment at the end of 8x10 when Dean has just ended things with Benny and Sam leaves Amelia, and they’re sitting alone drinking beer and watching tv is such a hollow empty moment. This is not what they want. But it’s the way things have to be.

I’m actually fascinated by Sam and Dean’s conversation in the church in the s8 finale. Not so much Dean’s assertion that there is no one else he would put before Sam, but more so what provokes it, which is Sam saying “who are you going to turn to instead of me. Another angel? Another vampire?” See the thing is Dean saying he would always put Sam first is not news. We know this and it’s not really an unhealthy statement in itself either. A lot of people would put their sibling above anything else, not less a sibling who you raised and is the most important person to you. But in this context? After what Sam said? It just highlights how unhealthy they are if Sam believes that Dean having other people in his life means he doesn’t love him enough. That he’s a disappointment to him. That’s so profoundly fucked up.

(Note, Dean tells Sam that he killed Benny for him but he doesn’t say anything about Cas. I think like I said before, this is because Cas and Dean’s relationship has largely existed out of the Sam and Dean stuff up to this point - Sam and Cas don’t even really have much of a relationship yet besides both of their connections to Dean.)

And then from here, things start getting steadily worse. But we also keep being shown how bad they are. Dean lying to Sam, taking away his free will by letting Gadreel possess him. Dean sending Cas away, Kevin dying. It’s all awful. The whole “there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you line” from 9x01 isn’t really said by Dean, it’s Gadreel, but that is how Dean feels. He does think that’s all he’s good for. And over the season we’re shown how much of himself and what he truly wants he’s had to give up because of his ingrained “Save Sammy” and “Sammy comes first” mentality. It’s always been this way for him. In 9x07 we see that he had found a happy home, a good father figure, and his first love, a first love might I add that he had to leave behind with no real explanation because Sam needed him, and Sam comes first.

I mean just one episode earlier we had him rushing out the door elated about seeing Cas and spending time with him, only for their time together to come to sad and melancholic end when Dean once again leaves Cas behind without any real explanation, because despite what he wants Sammy comes first. What he wants doesn’t matter.

See I think after the Gadreel stuff comes out is where the narrative starts to get a little wonky for me. You can clearly see that this was intended to be a shorter story that they ended up stretching out to a much longer one because of renewals. There’s also the fact that this is a formula show so they can’t necessarily be separated for longer than an episode or two. S10 is a rough one to get through at times, I think the themes still mostly hold up but it’s a rough one to get through.

S10 highlights all the connections that Dean has, Cas, Charlie, Crowley even, but Sam doesn’t really have those bonds in the same way.  For Sam it’s just Dean, so he goes down a reckless destructive “do anything to save Dean!” path and so many innocents pay the price, and ultimately with the release of The Darkness, the whole world.

They skirted right up to the edge of exploring just how toxic and dangerous their relationship had become in the season 10 finale.

DEAN: I let Rudy die. How was that not evil? I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you drove that man to sell his soul... Or when you bullied Charlie into getting herself killed? And to what end? A..a good end? A just end? To remove the Mark no matter what the consequences? Sam, how is that not evil? I have this thing on my arm, and you're willing to let the Darkness into the world.

I can’t say evil is the right word, they were never evil, but they were wilfully blind to everything and everyone else when it came to saving each other. S10 tested my love for the show because after watching it, because there was certainly a feeling that the two of them had become the villains of this story. And don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have a problem with that, it’s just after 2 seasons of this I can’t say I had a lot of faith that this was going to be properly addressed or if we were going to keep going in circles around it. Keep being shown, it’s bad and then nothing much being done to fix it. Your mileage may vary on how it was handled, but I think s11 did a relatively ok job considering it wasn’t the end of the story, and the show needed to keep going.

See from Dean’s side a lot of the codependency rests on 1. His father’s orders to always save Sammy 2. His low self-esteem where he sees himself as nothing but a blunt instrument. 3. His guilt at not being able to perfectly fulfil every familial role in Sam’s life 4. His belief that no one could choose to love him but family has to love you. 5. The unhealthy example of what it should look like to love someone that he got from John. You give up everything but them.

For Sam (and honestly it’s not as clear for me as Dean’s side is so feel free to correct me/disagree on this) 1. Everytime he’s tried to leave and create his own life it’s never ended well. 2. His guilt over wanting freedom and a normal life when he was younger (I’m referring specifically to Stanford era here) 3. His guilt over everything Dean has given up for him. 4. John. 5. Jess.

Ultimately it all comes down to isolation. They both had to be everything to each other, and the deeper they got into this fight, the more people that they lost, the tighter they clung to this notion of family and brothers. I think s11 (and 11x23 in particular) was an important turning point, both for Sam and Dean’s relationship, as well as for them as individuals. Because they weren’t alone there anymore. Cas was there. Sam let Dean walk to his death. Of course, it would devastate him, but he knew it was what had to be done. And he didn’t walk out of that bar and go back to the bunker alone. He had Cas, he had someone who cared about him and wanted to help him and talk to him. Sure Dean asked Cas to take care of Sam for him (you know after Cas offered to walk to his death with him) but Sam let him. He let him be there for him. We didn’t get to see much before the BMOL showed up and blasted Cas away, but still, we saw enough.

I think that’s a significant difference to note why their relationship was different in the Dabb era. It wasn’t just them anymore. Cas was an important member of their family and given a level of importance he’d never been given before and couldn’t have been when the story they were telling was of the dangers of their codependency. Mary was back. Eventually, Jack would become a part of their unit too. Just the two of them wasn’t enough for them anymore. This is made abundantly clear with all of Dean’s desperate attempts to get Cas to stay in s12, followed by his inability to keep going when they lose Cas and Mary in s13. Similarly, Sam really struggles when they lose Jack and fail to get Mary back later in the season.

Another big moment is Dean letting Sam go alone to lead the hunters against the BMOL in 12x22 while he stays back to try and reach Mary. Like he tells Mary, he’s had to be a brother, a father and a mother to Sam and he never stopped seeing him as his kid, but in that moment he makes a choice. He lets Sam take charge and he shows that he trusts him and believes in him. He knows he can handle it.

Sometimes it’s not even a character growth thing. Sometimes having other people there stops you from making destructive choices even though that’s still your first instinct. I’m thinking specifically of 13x21 after Sam was killed. Dean would have run headlong into that nest of vampires and got himself torn apart, but Cas was there to stop him. He was able to make him see reason.

Basically, I think that for a long time, they thought the only relationship they could have was each other, which then became a self-fulfilling prophecy because their desperate attempts to keep each other around led to them losing the people around them. They eventually started to learn that that wasn’t true, they could have more, they were allowed to want more, and that it wasn’t an either-or situation. Dean didn’t have to choose between Sam and Cas. They didn’t have to choose between each other or Jack. The same goes for Mary. Different relationships can coexist without threatening each other, and not say that their relationship in s12-15 was all smooth sailing, but it was certainly so very different from everything that came before.

(There’s maybe a point to be made about how they didn’t have anyone or anything in the finale and how that relates to the story we got, but honestly I have no idea what the intention was with any of the choices made in that episode so I’ll leave it at that for now.)

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[mr-poire]

This is fascinating, thank you! Speaking of the Doctor’s old enemies, like the Daleks, what are the statuses of the Time Lady’s oldest nemeses, such as Davros, The Cybermen, and The Master in this Penultimate era? Given how far in the Doctor’s future this takes place, I can’t help but wonder if they could have changed significantly along with her. On that note, what kind of new villains and/or obstacles does this TARDIS crew end up facing?

Thank YOU for all your questions and your interest toward my silly idea, I'm not used to this kind of interest, aha !

I don't have a definite plan for every classic Monsters yet. They're a bit intimidating as they've been done countless times by far more interesting writers than I am. I had a few general ideas though.

Daleks : after the definite death of Davros, I would imagine them mutating despite their best efforts to remain "pure", their organic part slowly outgrowing their tank and partially encompassing it to make them a mix of fleshy and metallic parts. Gross, self-hating, savage and destructive things, driven even more insane by their own selves. Perhaps hiding from the world in the Time Vortex out of shame as lone drifters but still as dangerous as ever, especially if they were to be expelled by accident at any place and time or, worse, if two were to meet on accident, immediately tearing each other apart and leaving their battlefield barren.

Cybermen : I was partial to the idea of going for a more morally grey version of them here, which I would've renamed "Cyberkind". A bit more androgynous and chirurgical looking. They would have managed to overcome their desire to convert everyone once, according to some fairytale-sounding story, at the height of their dominion over the universe, then covered in metal, a single blade of grass would have still grown on one of their worlds, somehow quick starting a chain reaction in their programmed world view to finally accept that organic life does, in fact, prevails in spite of them. Of course the reality behind their change of heart might have more to do with a certain Doctor... Going to one of their worlds would be in theory harmless enough now, as long as you wouldn't plan on getting hurt/sick on accident, with the risk of getting Cyber-converted as a gesture of "good will".

The Master : I wanted to go for a new version of Missy but as a Time Tot this time (love his Time War Incarnation from the comic books), looking like a cute and innocent blonde girl in pigtails, which would be perfect to trap her victims into a false sense of security and could create an interesting dynamic with the youngest of the Doctor's companion. But she might lack her character development from the show and I would like to make a more nuanced version of Missy so I'm not sure.

As for new menaces, I had a few in mind such as a form of sentient fongi that would possess robotic life-forms (like theses spores that take control of ants) instead of organic ones, an egg from an alien that fills the space it is put in when it's born that a companion could bring back as a souvenir inside the TARDIS by mistake, making it grow infinitely inside its corridors, or an alien species built around the concept of multiple personalities depending on the social situation...

But I think the main "villains" from these stories would be two Watchers (as in the being that manifested before Four regenerated into Five), but more fleshed out, each offering a possible future for the Doctor : one where she continues her adventures as always, becoming more and more renown and powerful, Time Lord Victorious-style, and one where she accepts her own mortality to become the Curator. Her main antagonist in the end would be, as it's always been (to me at least) her own time and life running out of her control. Her companions would only perceive these figures as mysterious enemies, seemingly pursuing them everywhere they go until the Doctor sees them and runs away, but I figured she would probably know what they are from the beginning.

Hope I didn't ramble too much and hope it wasn't too vague of an answer ! I barely know what I'm doing with this "story".

[beepbeepbobop]

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so!  It goes here.  As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future.  Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious.  Maybe one day.)

So!  The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!.  No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are.  Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has.  Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change:  His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death.  This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way?  Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him.  Chane is the opposite:  While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to.   Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world.  Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones.  Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain.  Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body!  There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's.  Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories.  If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function.  Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain.  Which brings me to my next point:  If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept.  One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories.  Imagine the strain that would cause.  And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem!  The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously.  This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time.  Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other.  And yet, they are!  The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?).  The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way.  Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day.  But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD!  ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter).  Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past?  Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death.  (Gretto being his brother.)  Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries.  Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with.  This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically.  I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades.  Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him.  But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child.  Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir.  But...mn.  It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old.  Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect.  There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis.  (He is shy.  Very shy.  Did nothing wrong ever.)  Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes!  The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this.  It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn.  One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet.  There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere.  More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet.  It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse.  And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger?  But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations.  There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance.  I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point.  The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically.  (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.)   So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind.  (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.)  This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that.  The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions.  In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to!  Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course.  It only makes sense.  And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change.  It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things).  So of course he snaps as hard as he does.  It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR:  Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma.  Sorry for that.

[onesunofagun]

Undeath in the Era of the Hero of Time : 1

aka Seeing the Hero’s Shade in this TP replay shook up all my feelings of agony again and now I’m working backwards from there because I like to hurt myself.

Part One: An Overview of How Fucked Things Are ™

aka The Blood Soaked Hyrule of OoT’s time 

Take it as you will, in the Zeldaverse, the colour green has an overwhelming association with undeath. 

Sure, sure, life too, I hear you. Farore came down and produced all the living beings that would uphold the law, apparently (specifically not claiming monsters and demons, but that’s another thing). On the surface, that make sense. Forests, lush green fields, prosperity, all of those good things. Green the colour of the most common rupee, green the colour of the Hero’s tunic. Green the colour of magic, and potions that revitalise the body and spirit.

The thing is, revitalising the body and spirit is a flexible idea. To imbue something with new life and vitality can have a lot of implications, especially when you stop talking about the strictly living. 

I feel vitality is certainly the best word, not only because of it’s association with life and potency ala the Goddess origin stories, but in the ways that the game uses green itself, such as a measure of both magic and stamina. Green is the colour chosen to represent the unlocked potential within young Heroes. 

Vitality specifically refers to a state of being strong and active, and it also refers to the continuance of something to exist. That’s a great thing for plants, or economies, or a potion taken by a young Link who’s swung their sword around or fired off a spell one too many times and feels a little low.

But the dead, though?

As it happens, Hyrule is absolutely littered with human remains, in no small part due to the very recently ended civil wars. 

The Civil War, if you need the reminder, is described as a time when the many races of Hyrule were divided and each focused on establishing dominion over the Sacred Realm (because Triforce). I touched on this in my last meta post, but basically, its no holds barred to stop that from happening because if the wrong person gets into the Sacred Realm and makes a wish, it immediately malfunctions. 

The criteria for getting into the Sacred Realm and touching the Triforce without royally fucking everything, is basically impossible for anybody not chosen by Hylia. 

If you are neither of Hylia’s Bloodline (The Hyrulean Royal Family) or one of her Chosen Avatars (The current incarnation of the Hero), you are not supposed to touch the Triforce. Ever. You WILL be found wanting, it WILL shatter, the Sacred Realm WILL be corrupted by your selfish desires, it WILL unleash and onslaught of mystical influence (reflecting your heart) onto the country.

Now, if it’s Zelda or Link who touches it, that’s fine. Good vibes will pour out. An age of prosperity will ensue. The Sacred Realm is in its default state, a blank and neutral wellspring of magical force.

The game has been rigged from the get go because Hylia still had a job to do. She had to get creative because Demise almost captured the flag, so to speak, leading to the snafu of the Cycle and all that because she cheated at the game, but ultimately Hylia’s task was to guard the Triforce. And that still remains true, for the most part. The Hyrulian Royal Family (and the Shiekah by extension) had to stop at absolutely nothing to win the wars and unify the country, and retain the stasis of the Realm and Triforce, because that’s what their divine orders are.

That’s what they’re supposed to do, ‘the very reason that they’re born’, to lend a quote from King Daphnes. With Hylia on their side by default, they’re willing to do a lot of fucked up things to make sure that happens, ‘for the greater good’.

These dark times are a result of our deeds... -- TP Zelda

In OoT The Sheikah are known as the Shadow Folk. They are heavily associated with death, whether that is caring for the dead’s rest in the graveyard, or working as spies and assassins on behalf of the Royals, or dabbling in various forms of necromancy. Red eyes are an established trait of their people. I will note that, at least from a Japanese point of view, red is often used with the intention of intimidating evil spirits. But it is also a color identified with power and vitality.

So, one could suppose, the Sheikah red eye also symbolises power/control over evil and darkness (spiritually).

That’s a little something that plays nicely with things like the OoT Manga’s explanation of the tear on the eye (and the previous betrayal of the Royal family) and the high probability of a Shiekah faction defaulting during the wars and being banished with other traitors to become the Twili. I know the manga isn’t canon and also SS Impa has a tear, but if you squint, that might be because of her own feelings of personal failure to the Goddess after Hylia’s shedding of her Divinity. You could headcanon that. The existence of the Yiga later in BoTW as a similar happening of division and betrayal lend some more weight to things.

Also, Sheikah who defaulted during the civil war might have even been the ones who actually utilised the Shadow Temple. 

Headline: Necromancer ninjas in the process of torturing enough info out of the enemies of the Royal family, who were reportedly seeking the Sacred Realm, decide ‘hey fuck it, let’s take it ourselves’. 

That certainly fits into the description of, ‘interloper skilled with dark magic started to appear, seeking dominion of the Sacred Realm’, for me.

Anyway, to the point.

In ostensibly one of the most haunted areas of the game, Kakariko village, we’re treated to the Graveyard and the Royal Family’s Tomb, the Shadow Temple, and the Bottom of the Well. All of these showcase the obvious death and torture that went on, as well as the creepy byproducts of places so saturated with blood, pain, regret, and hatred.

There are skulls in little alcoves on the walls of the catacombs, literally built of bones, who deliver messages to Link. The ones that whisper these messages are all marked by the glowing green eye sockets. Here, the green is used to make the presence of a ghostly sentience inhabiting the skull. 

Unsettling. Musty. 4/10 heebie-jeebies.

The Deadhand, giver of childhood trauma that it is, really does its job to hammer home the fact that there has been so many deaths, so much anguish and horror, that those remains can seemingly form into entirely new monstrosities. An amalgamate of undead flesh and nightmare fuel, made up of the body parts of torture victims and the grudges of lingering spirits, seeking to consume the living vitality of whatever comes near-- Link wearing green around the thing might as well be red to a bull.

When defeated in game, it typically drops a small green pot that refuels Link’s magic.

This is a common theme with undead enemies, specifically the ones that are of the zombie flavour. Redeads, Gibdos, Deadhands. All of them generally give up, effectively, distilled magic as a drop item.

Terrifying. Probably smells even worse. 11/10 heebie-jeebies.

Literal torture device. So many people died here, the room has a green tinge to it. It is soaked in the spiritual imprint of the pain and anguish that took place here. Blood sits here looking freshly spilled, despite the civil war ending many years prior and the Shiekah having ‘died out’, save Impa.

Elsewhere in the temple and under the well, blood splatters are darker red and at least have the decency to pretend to be old. This means one of two things:

Impa still has to make sacrifices to the Seal that contains Bongo Bongo, or feeds people to the undead creatures who lurk down in the dark so they don’t wander up. (Cue the gasp of ‘so that’s why she let the Hylians into Kakariko! Every so often one of them goes missing!’)

Which is a fun dark headcanon to play with, but probably not the case.

Or more likely, the residual spiritual energy that the green haze suggests manifests fresh blood in a manner typical of extreme hauntings. For the victims, their hatred and pain persists so strongly, that their blood seeps up from the cracks no matter how long it has been.

Poltergeist shit. Slip hazard. 8/10 heebie-jeebies.

Then there is this. Some people say its just another torture thing, it could have been intended to convey some sort of acid dip. If not torture, maybe bodily disposal. And sure, that’s a reasonable guess. 

But it is at the very bottom most cavern of the Well of Three Features, and if it were acid-- for how long the bodies have just been marinating in it-- you can assume nothing would be left of them to stick out. And the fact that all the bodies are neatly spaced, with the arms oddly preserved. They’re presumably like that from lowering bodies in from the wooden beams, the victims may have been tied up with their arms straight upwards. 

But, given the Redeads wandering around nearby, I’m pretty sure that’s what this thing does. Make Redeads.

The liquid itself hurts Link, but Link is also alive, and this pool seems to be lacking much of a glow. It’s green, sure, but it’s not exactly teeming with energy. And I think that might be part of its designated purpose-- extracting that green vital energy from living prisoners, draining them until they’re dead. I’m talking juicing people and scooping out the good stuff like the pulp from a really disturbing OJ. 

But still steeped in the juice as a corpse, you’re basically pickled in magic brine, so then those gross husks crawl out as Redeads. (Hey, you know what’s handy in wartime? Scaring the shit out of enemy forces by sending some zombies at them. And if they kill them, you’ve lost nothing. If the Sheikah could actually control them? Undead soldiers. Excellent stuff.)

But all the pulpy good stuff is gone, and has been for a while, so most of the bodies in there haven’t pickled in enough magic to reanimate, I suppose.

Human juicer that churns out zombies. Out of juice currently. 6/10 heebie-jeebies.

Now, THIS is active zombie juice, if I’ve ever seen it.

This is the Royal Family’s Tomb, by the way. Note the skeletons, picked clean, missing a lot of bones. And that’s a choice they made, because there are also full skeletons around to find. 

There are plenty of Redeads down there, for good measure, so I’m going to assume the skeletons are potential graverobbers who were eaten. If Sheikah can presumably command the dead, then the Redeads down there might actually be a counter measure against thieves. If a thief freaks out in the dark when he realises there’s undead down there trying to eat their face, there is also a good likelihood they’ll trip and splash into this green death. A few seconds of exposure is probably enough to kill the average person, and then if their corpse stews for a bit, you have another Redead. 

Their living energy revitalises the goop. Their body becomes bolstered security measures. It’s a self sustaining system.

Horrific but effective. 5/10 heebie-jeebies.

Also, there’s a chance that a couple of the skeletons or one or two Redeads down there are the remains of the Composer Brothers. But they will get their own special part in this series, covering Poes in particular.

But for the moment, let it be noted: their eyes are also that ghostly green.

Poes are spirits that are unable to move on and who have the unfortunate fate, if left unattended, of turning into phantom monsters who forget their human selves and prey on the living. They tend to pop up the most in two places. One, the Kakariko Graveyard, is obvious and somewhat expected. Dead people, lots of lingering spirits, most of them probably Sheikah and Knights of renown who died in the line of duty. Understandable.

So when you apply the same thought to the fact that Hyrule field is the second most common place to find them, you may as well be concluding that it’s an enormous mass grave of war casualties.

We have established that mass quantities of concentrated death, especially earth that is saturated by the spilled blood of strong soldiers and highly skilled warriors (full of life and magic, as it were), can result in creepy shit made from human remains reanimating over time. 

Poes share their haunting of the field with these bumpkins:

These hauntings are not the result of Ganondorf, or the corruption of the Sacred realm. They are not a particular curse placed by anybody.

The Poes and Stalfolk are present in the game from the very beginning, and quite normal fare for Hyrulean life. Lon Lon ranch and castle town are walled off for good reason, and the drawbridge raises at night specifically in response to the literal skeleton monsters who roam around at night. 

Stalchildren, specifically, seem akin to the Deadhand in that they are not a direct reanimation of any one particular set of remains. Rather, they seem to be mutated amalgamations of various parts. In the case of the Stalchildren, they rise up under the dark of night, a not-quite-human formation of bone and magic. They seem to possess an aimless drive to attack, perhaps possessed still by the orders of the soldiers who died there. 

Interestingly, in a somewhat similar fashion to BotW’s blood moon reanimating the fallen monsters (due to the potency of Malice in the land peaking at those times), Stalchildren only seem to be active under the moonlight. They disintegrate when the sunlight touches them, which promotes the idea that they are the bones of the fallen possessed by the ghostly memory of the war.

They also appear to wear raggy leather kilts, which is a feature they share with the related monster, the Stalfos, who are often acting out the part of a soldier as well. Even better, those bastards are actually WEARING GREEN, to boot, which given the history of Hyrulean Knights prior and their uniforms (SS and Minish cap) is pretty self evident. 

Stalfos, however, are also confirmed as humans who have died under certain unique circumstance (such as the magical influences of the Lost Woods) and reanimated as a consequence of what I assume is basically magic poisoning.

It could be a bit like an overdose, succumbing under the intense mystical forces at play within proximity to the Deku Tree (which the strong of spirit can resist). It could be a draining effect, maybe even just a gaseous version of what’s happening when people come into contact with the green goo, except extracted by the forest spirits and plants (also possible that the strong of spirit might resist). That could go either way.

The forest absolutely does eat people’s spiritual energy, though. RIP to Grog and Link’s mother. They’re Stalfos now.

"Anybody who comes into the forest will be lost. Everybody will become a Stalfos. Everybody, Stalfos."

Upon killing both kind of Stal, however, the bones rapidly deteriorate into flames.

You guessed it: green.

I’ve already pointed out a BoTW reference already, but to add more context back into this thing about the tie between green and things in Hyrule that refuse to die properly:

That last one is cheap of me I’m sorry but we’ll get to him too

So we have established that green has an overwhelming association with not only life, but states of undeath.

The overview is, things were already pretty fucked in OoT Era before Ganondorf got the Triforce.

On to part 2!

[stagandsteer]

Complete transcript of the Wonderland interview, by Catherine Santino, below the cut :)

In 1993, the year in which Freeform’s new thriller series Cruel Summer opens, actor Froy Gutierrez was yet to be born. Chat rooms and beepers, just two of the symbols of 90’s culture featured in the show, were absent in Gutierrez's own childhood. Instead, the 22 year old grew up among the endless, glowing feeds of social media — and the inevitable pressures that they create.

“There’s a kind of self-awareness that comes from growing up with the internet, which everyone in our cast did,” Gutierrez, who stars in the upcoming series, tells me over Zoom — his boyish charm tangible across the screen. “We’re all technically Gen Z or like, older Gen Z. And so you have to unburden yourself from curating a persona online.”

Due to the dizzying evolution of technology in the past two decades, Gutierrez and I had drastically different experiences with the internet growing up — even though he’s only seven years my junior. I fondly remember a time without the prevalence of social media, while Gutierrez was born into an era where internet presence was not only common, but expected.

Like most of Gutierrez’s peers, the actor was active on social media from a young age, but his presence has quietened over the years — even with 1.7 million instagram followers. “If there’s a general consensus on the internet of a certain readership or viewership, you know about it, because people tweet about it directly to you,'' he says. “There’s a kind of lumping in of the character you’re playing with who you are, that people do. I don’t know if it’s intentional. It’s probably just a human thing, but that happens. And it can be hard not to internalize what you read about yourself, you know? Words have power.”

In 2017, Gutierrez appeared on supernatural MTV drama Teen Wolf, a show with a massive internet fandom. Suddenly, fan theories and commentaries about his character, Nolan Holloway, came in droves, something that the young actor wasn’t necessarily prepared for. “I was still a teenager,” he says. “Around that time, you're an adult, but you’re still figuring things out. So I learned where to set my boundaries because I didn’t know where they were beforehand.”

When Cruel Summer came around, Gutierrez assumed he would be portraying the “desirable young male” he was used to auditioning for. “The first time I read the character, it definitely felt like an archetype. When I auditioned for it, I walked in and was very much myself, and Michelle Purple and Jessica Biel responded very well to it.” However, after he got the role and production ramped up, he was pleasantly surprised. “It didn’t really hit me that they were wanting to take him in such a unique direction until I showed up for wardrobe one day to do my first fitting for the pilot,” Gutierrez recalls. “I looked at the mood board for Jamie and it was like, young Heath Ledger, Keanu Reeves and Kurt Cobain. And I was like ‘Oh shit, I need to step my game up,’” he laughs. “I couldn’t get by doing the same thing that I’ve always done when it comes to characters like that.”

Cruel Summer takes place over the course of three years — ‘93, ‘94, and ‘95 — showing splices of each year in every episode. Produced by Jessica Biel, Tia Napolitano, and Michelle Purple, it centres around the kidnapping of a teenage girl and the fallout of the crime in her community in Skylin, Texas. Gutierrez plays Jamie Henson, the boyfriend of the missing girl, Kate. In her absence, a quiet nerd named Jeanette suddenly rises the social ranks and assumes Kate’s place — including dating Jamie. When Kate returns, Jeanette is suspected to be involved in her disappearance, throwing Jamie into some seriously challenging circumstances. His character could easily be a one-dimensional archetype — and truthfully, I expected him to be — but Cruel Summer took the opportunity to explore toxic masculinity and its widespread impact.

We see Jamie caught in the middle of conflict, unsure how to respond to a traumatic event that certainly no teenager expects to be faced with. He’s not a hero, but he’s not a villain either. It’s unclear whether we’re supposed to root for Jamie or not, which makes him that much more interesting to watch. “He talks a lot about his desire to protect the people around him, regardless of whether or not they asked him to protect them,” Gutierrez says of his character. “He kind of superimposes his own idea of what the people around him need. In order to maintain the peace of the people around him, he kind of robs the people around him of their agency. It’s just a really fascinating character to play in that way.”

Gutierrez has also been able to explore the ethics of true crime in a time when the genre is exploding in popularity. Though Cruel Summer is fictional, it questions the effect that public opinion can have on criminal cases — and perhaps more importantly — the well-being of the people involved. “When it comes to the investigation of a crime, you have to weigh the good it can bring into the world versus the bad it can bring. Or making one person seem suspect, or airing the dirty laundry of a private citizen for the viewership of loads of people.”

Despite his eloquent reflections on Jamie throughout our conversation, it’s clear that Gutierrez doesn’t take himself too seriously. He speaks into the camera like we’re old friends on FaceTime, and when my dog unexpectedly jumps into my frame, he gushes excitedly and asks what her name is. He’s able to laugh at himself one minute and share poignant truths the next. It’s refreshing, much like Cruel Summer.

Another likely contributor to the show’s authenticity? The fact that the cast was kept in the dark when it came to overarching plot points. Instead of knowing the show’s trajectory ahead of time, the actors would receive scripts for the next episode while they were filming — and they were subject to change. “We didn’t know where it was going,” Gutierrez says. “And we were told, “‘This might happen here, or this might happen there.’ And it would shift around.”

Without foresight into their character’s arc, the actors have no choice but to focus only on where they were in that moment — a difficult task when a single episode spans three very different years. Gutierrez faced an even greater challenge, as, unlike the two female leads, his character didn’t undergo any drastic physical transformations over the three years.

“I didn’t really compartmentalise the character,” he explains. “I kind of thought of the different years as different phases in my own life. The first year, ‘93, was a complete absence of any regret. You’re still very young, I was just thinking of like, a complete golden retriever,” he laughs. “A 16-year old boy who just wants the best and isn’t aware. ‘94 is me right before I made the decision to go to therapy, where I was making all these bad decisions and I didn’t know why. And then ‘95 was a whole desire to wrestle with those things and really look at yourself in the mirror and take accountability.”

Gutierrez didn’t only infuse personal experience into his behind-the-scenes work — some aspects made it onto the screen. The actor, whose father is Mexican, grew up spending time between Mexico and Texas and is a native Spanish speaker. Because Cruel Summer is set in Texas, Gutierrez suggested creating a similar background for Jamie.

“I was talking with Tia Napolitano, the show-runner, and I was like, ‘Hey, you know what would be really cool? What if the character is half-Mexican, too?’” Gutierrez says. “And she's like, ‘Oh, yeah, let’s write it in the script.’ And I got to write a couple lines in Spanish, which is really cool. [Jamie] could have been this mould of a cool, likeable jock. And then he ended up being this very nuanced human being, which is awesome.”

Though he is learning to appreciate all parts of his heritage, Gutierrez hasn’t always embraced his identity. “I remember feeling like I might have been not American enough for America, and not Mexican enough for Mexico,” he says. “And I remember having a bit of time in which I had an accent in both languages. Even my name — in Mexico I always went by ‘Froylan’, which is my full name. And then in the U.S., I went by Froy, because I thought it would be easier for other people to say.”

He continues: “I identify as Latino, but I”m also very wary of auditioning for Latino roles because I’m aware I don’t look like a typical Latino person. I don’t want to be someone that you can just sub in for that role, when I’m really white and blonde. And so whenever I do get a role like this, one where he’s not written to be any particular direction and we’re able to collaborate, I’m able to inject some of myself in there. So it’s been really cool to embrace all sides of my history.”

But of course, as is true for Gutierrez, Jamie’s cultural background is only a small part of who he is. Cruel Summer is committed to portraying him as a nuanced character that breaks the moulds of masculinity while tackling complex inner conflict. “Living in his shoes and walking in them, a big question that came up for me was, ‘What is the difference between guilt and shame? [Jamie]’s coping mechanism was terrible and unhealthy, and caused more pain for the people around him. But at the same time, the shame that he internalized made it worse for him. One thing I really learned, is that shame is about yourself and beating yourself up. And guilt is about taking accountability and apologising, moving forward without expecting the relationship to come back. It's just about trying to heal what happened and then moving on, on the terms that the other person sets. It’s not about you, and I think that’s what the character learns throughout the show.”