#the line you had to kill me but it killed you just the same

[mylittlevsoldier]

Mike's "Will Voice". - An Essay by me.

If you’re a byler you know about the “Will Voice '' . But if you somehow don’t or you’re new, the “Will Voice" is the voice that Mike uses when he is talking to Will and ONLY Will. Normally Mike is a little abrasive and defensive to most people when he is talking to them. But when talking to Will, his voice is soft and quiet, just above a whisper, gentle. 

Before we get into it, I think you should just know that the “Will voice” isn’t just something Byler’s made up! The directors tell Finn (the actor that plays Mike) to use a “special voice” when talking to Noah (The actor that plays Will) when filming.

DISCLAIMER - i actually didnt think this was going to be this long so sorry in advance but here are my thought i hope you enjoy! i love you!

“It was a seven, the Demogorgon. It got me.” - Season 1

One of the VERY FIRST SCENES in the show is Mike using his “Mike voice” Even if he really doesn't have to say anything at all. After Karen tells everybody to leave and all of the boys are hopping on their bikes to go home, Will is the only one left behind with Mike. Will admits to Mike that in the campaign they're playing, the Demogorgon got to him and killed him. 

Something about this scene is just so…. The look of understanding, the nod. Mike is just more gentle with will than anyone else. 

Right before this he was just arguing will Dustin about weather his sister is cool or not but with Will it’s different. 

Unfortunately, since Will really isn’t in the whole rest of the season, because yknow he’s in a whole other dimension there aren't a lot of other scenes where Mike is using his “Will voice” However, Mike was the person who wanted to find will the most behind maybe Joyce. Saying that he “was the only one who cared about Will”, so that is something. 

“Crazy together.” - Season 2 

In my opinion, season 2 is like beak soft byler. The first season 2 byler moment was..

The Arcade Scene

As soon as Mike snaps Will out of his trance, his vision, whatever you want to call it, he goes right back to Will's comforting voice and tries to make it feel better and distracts him with a dig dug. 

In the next episode, it Halloween. And we ALL know what happened on Halloween night of 1987.

Will’s episode on halloween 

When Will has a bad vision, who is the first name he calls? Mike. Not Lucas, Not Dustin, not even Max. Mike. Not anyone else but Mike. And who was the first one to find Will and the first one to comfort him? Micheal Fucking Wheeler. And he was using the same soft voice he always does when talking to Will, barley over a whisper. Not to mention that Mike wouldn't let anyone touch Will but himself after Will snapped out of his episode. 

Talk in Mike’s Basement Scene

After Will had this awful episode, Mike takes Will and only Will back to his house. Will rambles and rants about how he feels stuck and Mike? He is attentive, sweet, listening, letting him get all of his words out. I’ve noticed with other people Mike can come off like he’s abrasive and harsh but with Will he is nothing close to that. 

In this conversation also consists of Mike helping Will express his feeling by finishes his sentences for him when he just can’t get his words out. In the few times Mike does speak, he does not break out of the gentle voice and literally never breaks his gaze from Will, not once. 

EVEN WHEN MIKE TALKS ABOUT EL HE TALKS IN HIS WILL VOICE. AND THE ONLY REASON MIKE BROUGHT UP EL WAS FOR WILL’S BENEFIT. 

And then the most iconic Byler line in Stranger Things history, “If we’re both going crazy, we’ll go crazy together, right?” “Yeah, crazy together.” So gentle, so sweet, so wholesome.

The hallway scene 

Mike immediately notices something off with Will and has to make sure everything is okay. 

Side note: even when Will isn't with Mike and the party, Mike will literally do anything he can to help Will. That’s his only priority at the moment. 

Will’s bedroom scene

Even when Will is talking about “Him” Mike still reminds him that Will is a good person, calling him a “super spy” Mike is doing absolutely anything he can to comfort Will and make him feel any better. (P.s. this moment is so wholesome I love it.)

And then the “yeah, yeah I really do” The PRIME example of “Will Voice” The gentleness, the voice, the look, the nod, the reassurance, AND THEN THE REACH FOR THE HAND. 

Hospital Scene (Will wakes up)

Will wakes up and Mike is obviously right there (‘cause he slept in the chair next to the bed, WHICH IS LIKE MY FAVORITE BYLER MOMENT OF ALL TIME) and asks if Will is “hurting again”, Mike keeps his eyes steady on Will. His only focus is Will right now. He keeps his voice soft and he asks will things to make sure he understands and that he is hearing what Will is going through right now. 

Mike recalling how they met 

Even though the poor boys voice is shaky because he is literally trying (and failing) to hold back tears, it’s still soft and reassuring. 

“It’s not my fault you don't like girls!” -Season 3 

The movie theater scene

This scene is one of my favs from Season 3. Mike is the first and only person to realize something is off with Will and say something to make sure he’s okay. The "you okay?” and “you sure?” are so gentle and soft. It reminds me a lot of someone jumping at a scary part in a movie and their partner wrapping their arm around them and asking if they’re okay. 

NOT TO MENTION THE NOT SO SUBTLE LIP GLANCES. 

(Also the little gay panic Will has after Mike ask if he’s okay and the blush on Mike’s cheeks before) 

The scene right before the fight scene

Mike immediately notices Will is upset after Mike makes his “joke” and he goes back to his voice that always gets Will and tries to convince him that they (him and Lucas) do really want to finish the campaign. 

The fight scene

Mike IMMEADLEY goes back to his will voice after he drops the bomb shell because he know he fucked up and he did it BIG TIME. The big difference between Mike’s “Will Voice” in Season 2 and Season 3 is that in Season 2 he was really using that voice with Will because he knew that it was comforting to him but now in season 3 he uses it because he knows Will will fall for it. 

(Also you know how Max says to El that Mike will come crawling back to El in no time? The only person he came crawling back to apologizing was Will.) 

“Get away from the door” Scene 

@myname1sca1 brought up a great point! The scene where Max is trying talk to Billy through the door, Will has a feeling that “He’s here” and Mike turns and say to Max to get away from the door a=in a gentle, quiet, soft voice and when she doesn't listen, he turns away from will at screaming at her do get away from the door. He was only using that voice because he was looking at Will and dropped that voice as soon as he looked away. 

The “Not possible” Scene

Toward the end of season 3, Mike realizes that he was being (in his own words) an asshole the whole season and starts caring about Will again. And when Will comes out and puts his box of D&D on the donate box, the thing he has loved since forever, Mike makes sure that he knows he is giving it away. 

Will knows he’ll just use Mike’s when he visits the won’t join another party. That’s not possible.  

(Plus the look on Mikes face after Will says “not possible” is adorable.)

"I didn't say it." "You didn't have to."

Will's bedrooms scene

OMFG THIS SCENE

Immediately Mike is relaxed. His voice low and calm and he lightheaded. The "You didn't have to" AND THE SMILE. This is a COMPLETE contrast to has he is around El in this part of the season. When with her, he is all tease and feel like he can never say the right thing.

Also, the absolute adoration for Will in his voice. When he says "It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you."

You can also really tell that Mike is really confiding in Will and letting his guard down which he never really does with anyone. Including El. Especially with the whole line "I don't know what's going to happen next." And if you know Mike Wheeler he never tells ANYONE that he is wrong or that he doesn't know what's going on. So, the fact that he feels comfortable enough with Will is something.

"But you make her feel better for being different." Season 4, Vol 2

"We have to Kill him." "And we will." Scene

The MOMENT Mike finds out that Will can feel that 001 is there, he jumps back into being his reassuring, gentle self for Will. This scene reminds me a lot of the "Yeah, Yeah i really do scene for season 2.

OMG WE ARE DONE, if you made it through all of that, I love you so much. If you want to see more things like this PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know because i love writing essays about Byler analysis!

also let me know if there's anything I missed because if i miss enough things i will gather it and but it in an update!

RESOUCES

Stanger Things I The First 8 Minutes - Series Opener [HD] (Still Watching Netflix on YouTube)

Stranger Thing 02x02 - Mike and Will 'Crazy Together' Scene (Raghaua Daroui on Youtube)

Byler compilation (Season 2-3) (GoraculGerard on Youtube)

every byler scene 1080p I Stranger Things Season 4 Vol 1 (longbttms on Youtube)

byler 1080p scene pack I Stranger Things Vol 2 (longbttms on YouTube)

@myname1sca1 's post!

people who wanted to be tagged!

@lebylershipper

@ash-the-wise

@tender-emotional-music

@wallywise

@willbyerswatch

@hearteyes-wheeler

@paloma-ascends-into-hellfire

@hollarious2

[onesidedradiostatic]

VOX'S TURTLENECK IS RED AND KNIT - a fully comprehensive post

STOP BEING IN DENIAL YOU FOOLS. the poll may be over, and red may have won, but some of you still don't understand so here's a consolidation of all my points, if you haven't noticed this discourse is VERY serious and important

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COLOUR

as I've brought up in that godforsaken poll, vox's turtleneck is red because it matches the colour of val's wings

as you can see, these are both taken from the section of the photo that's under the same shadow

if you want to argue that part of the turtleneck is not the same lighting as val's sleeve

you can see that comparing vox's turtleneck sleeve which is RIGHT ABOVE val's sleeve and therefore DEFINITELY the same lighting, it's still a similar colour. therefore, vox's turtleneck is definitely a similar colour to val's wings and since we know val's wings are red, vox's turtleneck must also be red.

okay but what if val was ALSO wearing orange?

possible! but also I'd put that as less likely since the wings are PART of his body and more likely didn't change colour

not to mention it matches up with vox's eyes which we also know are red, yes it's possible that vox ALSO had orange eyes because he is a screen but what are the odds that both vox and val for some reason originally had orange eyes and orange wings respectively then changed to red? it's more likely that they were always red and the photo is just washed out to make it look orange.

however, I do accept people who see all the red stuff as orange because at least you admit the colours match, also admire the dedication to doubling down on orange

THE LIGHTING ON VOX'S TURTLENECK! IT'S CLEARLY YELLOW!

yellow is easily debunked because there are actual yellow things present in the photo we can compare to! gonna be reiterating from a previous post

see the heart on val's belt? we KNOW that's yellow

now let's go back to our favourite picture

that's the boy! let's start comparing it

val's inner left sleeve matches up with the yellow heart! therefore it is also yellow, and unless val is wearing mismatched inner sleeves, this indicates his right inner sleeve is ALSO yellow

so all of these! they are yellow!

and we can see, said yellow does not match vox's turtleneck at all, not even when I pick out the lighting on it, it doesn't match the turtleneck in any of the lighting, therefore vox's turtleneck is most DEFINITELY not yellow.

it being red also matches up with vox's current colour palette being blues and reds and it makes sense that he had the same palette back then too.

if you believe vox's eyes and val's wings are both also orange, it could be orange. I can live with that. but it is most likely red.

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okay but what about the stripes?

THERE ARE NO FUCKING STRIPES Y'ALL DRIVE ME INSANE. MORE INSANE THAN YELLOW TRUTHERS.

THOSE VERTICAL LINES YOU SEE. those are BLACK LINES, which are the OUTLINE, REPRESENTING THE KNITTING PATTERN.

I SWEAR SOME OF YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW SWEATERS WORK.

but when I colour-pick it it's not black!

my fucking god PLEASE tell me you know how low quality black lines work. time to reiterate more points from my previous posts!

you understand that the outline around val should be black right?

but would you take a look at that, colour picking it makes it look like just a darker colour of the inner colour. why? BECAUSE IT'S A SMALL PICTURE THAT'S OVERALL IN LOW QUALITY, so the black gets thinned down to hell that you can't even see the black anymore. BUT IT'S STILL A BLACK OUTLINE. THE SAME LOGIC APPLIES TO VOX'S SWEATER

let's use a normal line as an example

here is a black line

here is that same black line resized down to a lower quality.

NOTICE HOW IT'S GREY NOW? are we going to insist it was never black now because it's sized down?? NO. IT'S JUST A LOWER QUALITY BLACK LINE THAT LOSES OPACITY AS IT'S SIZED DOWN. THIS IS THE LOGIC I GO BY.

okay but what if they were black vertical stripe--

YOU ARE KILLING ME NO IT IS NOT. IT'S A SWEATER IT MAKES MORE SENSE FOR IT TO BE A KNITTING PATTERN THAN VERTICAL STRIPES. but okay. at least you still see the same thing as me you just... interpret... it differently.

but I swear on god, the black lines represent the KNITTING PATTERN, it makes MUCH more sense for it to be that because it's a sweater.

arguments about orange or yellow going together better with vox's jacket are extremely irrelevant to this argument when 90% of red things in hazbin hotel would probably look better if they weren't red. I'm not arguing that it even looks better! I'm just arguing that it is what it is and you should ACKNOWLEDGE THE TRUTH.

AND THEREFORE. THE STUPID FUCKING TURTLENECK IS RED AND KNIT. I REST MY CASE.

[muffinrecord]

I've been pretty positive about Yuu so far, but watching her magical girl story... hmm.

Basically I like everything about Yuu, but man that serial killer bit is the only thing that really sticks out as an overt bad choice. Having Nagisa stand around and watch Yuu kill people is such a weird choice, it feels more like fanfic than actual canon. Like this doesn't feel like something that could happen in Magia Record-- or hell, even in Madoka Magica either.

For example, Sayaka has a scene on a train where some dudes are being sexist assholes and it's left up to the viewer to decide if she kills them or not. It doesn't go: Sayaka killed them and also they were calling out for help the entire time while Madoka watched you know?

That said, this is something I can see in a bunch of the spinoffs (Kazumi, Oriko, Suzune), but I think everyone agrees that the spinoffs are of dubious quality. I love me the spinoffs but they're a hot mess.

I dunno. It's one thing to know that Yuu is a serial killer, it's another thing to have a character watch her go around and kill people and not intervene in any way. Especially in a story that goes out of its way to not do that. Walpy hitting Kamihama is noted to have no causalities at all (which goes a little too far in the other direction imo but it is what it is), Suzune isn't able to kill anyone in Kamihama and is dealt with by kicking her out (and not killing her), the deaths in arc 2 are mostly accidental and have massive consequences, everyone is forgiven in the end-- this isn't a story that really has "watch someone kill people and do nothing" in it's cards, you know?

I actually liked Nagisa's Wish for a lot of things. For example, I like that Nagisa didn't think she could be a magical girl until she saw Yuu, because she assumed that magical girls had to be good people-- aka, Nagisa did not think she was good. But that's not because Nagisa is a bad person. Nagisa is just unloved, and since she's a young kid, she's internalized that to mean that something is wrong with her, not that something is wrong with her mom. It's heartbreaking to see her go from "I can't be a magical girl," to seeing Yuu the murderer, to then going "oh okay if she can be a magical girl then so can I." Like sweet pea, your mother not loving you is not the same as being a killer. You've done nothing wrong. You are not a bad person for having Feelings and Emotions about the neglect you are experiencing.

However the serial killer/organ seller bit just goes too far for me and it kind of overshadows a lot of the better ideas present in Nagisa's Wish. Like how can you focus on the interesting ideas about justice or self worth when there is a serial killer/organ stealer walking around.

I think that the best qualities of Yuu are her design and how creepy she is-- having her actually go all the way and be a serial killer/organ seller actually makes her less creepy in my opinion. Yada yada, less is more, leave it up to the viewer's imagination. If she was just off, if we just knew that something was wrong with her and that people are disappearing but it's not outright stated what she's doing... I dunno. That would make her a lot more scary to me. A lot of fear can be found in apprehension and outright telling all the details will fill in too many gaps.

Like, the things that we all like about Yuu would be her voice direction, her memory issues, the way her Live2D is designed to be slightly off kilter from everyone else, the gap between her attitude and the darkness she engages in, the weird weaponry she uses and how it changes the way she walks/moves-- all of this is effective because it is offputting and different, not because the narrative is telling us "hey she kills people and sells their organs."

Basically I really love Yuu, but I do have some criticisms for her character and I understand why some folks don't like her.

That said, it did lead to this fantastic line from Kyubey so like,

You take some, you lose some.

[thesublemon]

best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2  or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie. 

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say. 

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like. 

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.) 

[dulcewrites]

I think the thing that shocks me the most about the discourse, if you can even call it that, around book Alicent vs show Alicent, is the idea that people think book Alicent had full autonomy over all her choices and she wasn’t a “victim” like show Alicent.

Now first, I put victim in quotations bc the way people who do not like her have almost bastardized that word. Alicent is a victim, and those things (rape, abuse, neglect) were done to her. That says everything about the men who did that do her and nothing about her. But people are hellbent on throwing Alicent, a woman in a violently patriarchal environment, being victimized back at people as if it is moral flaw of hers. Which is just terribly ironic bc the same folks who say Alicent “did it to herself” or “deserves what she is getting” also seem to think the crux of the story isn’t about generational trauma catching up with itself, how far people will go for power, or even how all girls and women are harmed - albeit to different degrees. But more the fact that Rhaenyra is the only woman to be harmed - and the only harm done is not getting the throne easily. Those same people wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that Rhaenyra is also a victim in the way they shit on Alicent for being. From the father who sets her up fail, to the baby daddy that’s been eyeing her since she was barely 18, to the uncle that grooms her. It takes away from the fantasy projected onto Rhaenyra if she too is surrounded by men that use her and she never escapes that.

Second, it’s funny how F&B gets heralded by some as this exploration of how history is skewed depending on who is telling it. But people can’t read between the lines (you honestly don’t even have to do that much work) with book Alicent. Showing 14 year old Alicent being preyed on, 16 year old Alicent being pregnant with her second child, and 18 year old Alicent being raped is somehow the show needlessly making Alicent a victim. But reading about a 13 year old bathing, dressing, and taking care of a king who mistakes her for the daughter he abused and neglected, and then that same girl, at 18, marrying another king that killed his previous child bride is just girl bossism on book Alicent’s part?

People hate conceptualizing the idea that (even book) Alicent is caught in patriarchal trappings bc to some that takes away from Rhaenyra’s plight…. Bc they can’t wrap their heads around several women *gasp* all going through hardships, and that ultimately people will respond to trauma differently depending on tools/knowledge they have at their disposal. Alicent neither being gleefully evil nor picking herself up by her bootstraps to somehow end years of patriarchal violence is not the neat box they want for her.

[levmada]

sequel to this post

[@dressycobra7 :3]

➥ c/w: gn!reader, some angst, oral (m!receiving), praise, subby Levi canonverse, established relationship, handjob, finger sucking?, turned into smut somehow

➥ wc: 1.8k

The boy appeared to you and Levi later to apologize profusely like that was the reason he'd been born. You didn't have the heart to turn him away, and filed inside the small recovery room behind him, with its half-exposed brick walls. The curtains were shut, but enough light penetrated. Levi looked too tired to stop him, and it took an arduous amount of time to get through, but his answer was short, to the effect of, If you're not court-marshaled, don't do it again. A slightly upper angle and I would've bled out. Then where would we be?

You're still thinking about that as you stock the closet with some of his clothes. Mandatory bedrest for at least a week, and after that, take it slow. Levi practically shriveled up when someone said 'wheelchair', and he preferred if hospital germs didn't get into his quarters.

You'll have his squad up there every day doing routine cleaning, "trouble" which Levi didn't need to exert his mind over. He's busy being stubborn.

You turn around when you hear porcelain clink. He's leaned over the dresser next to the bed, trying to take the tea.

"Levi," you scold.

"We don't need Hange to tell me my arms are in fine working condition," he grumbles, leaning back as you come over.

He's right, though. No one would even notice any arm wound because the bandages and plaster wrapping around his lower leg are bordering-on gaudy. It's propped up on a fat pillow, also white, the same as his soft-looking boxers and collared shirt (of which many buttons hang loose). In the glowing late afternoon, he looks ethereal, not quite of-this-world. A dove which is angry and stubborn and trapped.

"Still," you say quietly.

"I'm fine... I don't need anything."

Mikasa and Sasha had picked flowers, which you set in a watered glass jar atop the dresser. White again.

You watch him sip, and go over when he's done, laid propped up against pillows. A wooden bench at the side; you sat for hours while he slept through the day (the whole incident happened this morning). You sit on it now.

"I know... But why not want?" you repeat, quietly looking down at your hands.

"Who are we to want anything?"

You sharply look. "Why are you talking like this?"

He just watches you, shrewdly, but with a weakness not indicative of him. It might be exhaustion talking...

"We could always die. Titans could get in—"

"I'd kill them."

"Not like this..."

You said the wrong thing—the wrongest thing. His lips press into a thin line, barely-concealed contempt and clean daggers for eyes. The way he looks, like he believes if he tensed up enough, then he'd turn invisible and leave this argument in the dust.

You gesture slightly. "Because I would protect you. Even if I wasn't one of your comrades, or a soldier."

His lip twists in a unique disgust, which is the most you can see, his head turned towards the wall. Over his stomach, his hand tightens into a fist. "If you weren't, you'd die. Then I'd be dead anyway."

You swallow. You want to yell, and cry.

"I don't want that, either way. You didn't deserve to... see me like that. That seems to be why I'm talking like this."

The anger has left him. Delicately, you stand and seat yourself on the edge of the bed by his waist. "I've seen you be lots of things. 'Weak' is okay too. And I'm okay with seeing you like that as many time as I must, which is once so far."

He scoffs softly through his nose.

You lean forward more, and walk your fingers through his hair. Blacker than night, soft. There's a little piece you tuck behind his ear. His eyes flutter, letting out a deep breath. You can almost see the goosebumps.

"I know we'll die, and I know we belong to something much bigger, but can't I love you anyway?"

His breathing hitches a little, and his eyes open. It's a wonder what he's thinking, if he's even thinking about it, his adam's apple bobbing.

"Do whatever you want. I'm fine, if it's possible I can be with you."

It's your heart's turn to flutter, and just as soon, lean over awkwardly, your head resting on his chest and your arms around him (at least as much as they can be). You hear his heartbeat. The slowing, smooth rhythm of his choppy breathing carrying your upper half. His arm slips around your waist, content to rest his lips in your hair. As the time passes, he's more and more comfortable to hold you to tame the fear his anger betrayed. By that time, your arm's fallen asleep; you rub his side.

As tempting as it is to go down to the mess crowded for dinner, and contend with questions, you stay, just appreciating existing next to him.

"Your back," he mutters. You've been bent over a while.

"Mm." He's officially being ignored.

His hand slips over yours on his side, stopping you. His face doesn't give anything away, maybe purposefully so, and so you smile.

Leaning up, a fond kiss to his cheek. "You're cute when you make that face. Is your leg feeling okay?"

He clicks his tongue mildly with his head turned out, just showing you his cheek and one blue-grey eye. "'m fine," he says quietly.

Curious eyes search. Maybe he's downplaying something, but not lying. With nothing you'd rather do, you kiss down his jaw now, to the tender, pale column of his neck. His chest lifts suddenly against yours.

His question sounds like an afterthought. "What're you doing?"

"'m loving you," you lift your lips to say. (A little embarrassing to say out loud.)

"Yeah." His lips are still in your hair, but are stirring.

You remember he has your hand when he starts bringing them down. All across your upper half, you feel him breathing, and it's a little deeper.

You switch sides, putting you at an awkward angle to kiss him. He starts to move over towards the wall, but you stop him with a firm hum fast enough, and sit up. No walking, Moblit had told him firmly. What you kind of wish he'd said now is no moving his legs. For now you ignore it pushing snugly against the front of his boxers, but there's a wisp of a giggle in your chest.

You shift the pillow carefully, and he follows, until there's enough room for you there beside him. The mattress is only half-decent, but it's warm from his body.

He looks annoyed that you're smirking, if only he could come off the slightest bit intimidating blushing so hard like this. Pink warmth creeps down his neck and disappears beneath his open, rumpled collar.

"Tch." He just captures the nape of your neck and pulls your lips against his—a little slowly that comes with tiredness, but that much more passionately.

While you play with his lips, giving him away to you, your palm roams between his thighs. You pause there. Right as he shivers with his lip trapped between your teeth, you pull away and leer over him. "Don't move, baby. Move and I'll stop."

His eyes narrow in a bratty display.

"I mean it." You smile. "Even a touch" You stroke through his clothes slow and firm, immediately bringing a dreaming-like quality to his eyes. He almost can't look at you, especially as he huffs and it throbs under you.

"Baby?" You lick your thumb.

"I won't move." He huffs again, harsher this time. "Ugh, I won't fucking move, but you can't just—"

Your free hand, your thumb, falls against his jaw and stops his soft lips from flapping, so now a whole new quality of lust emerges in his expression. You're freeing his cock from his shorts as he instantly takes you in, so soft and sweet and giving. The heat that immediately consumes your thumb is melting, almost too intense to handle.

"Good boy, letting me."

His eyes flutter as you find where wetness has drooled from the tip of his stiff cock, spreading it around in your palm. It's easy to hold him, how he was made for you, and even easier to touch him to attract his hips, and the beginning of whispered whines he always always tries to suppress.

He hasn't forgotten, though. At the moment you send him a warning look, he relaxes, and his eyes are closed. You didn't notice him take hold of your wrist, holding just to hold, and gripping the front of his shirt with the other hand, since you're not close enough.

"Good boy," you murmur again. A moan vibrates round your thumb, his cock straining in your fist. "That's my good boy..."

It seems all the squirming he doesn't do has to go towards suckling and nipping your thumb instead. You watch his brows furrowed in deep focus as you build up your firm strokes. It's getting just as wet. He can't last.

You smile to yourself as your pumps rise to his tip, firm but quick flicks of your wrist. His back bows against the bed, the moan in his throat breaking apart into a whine. That aside, he stays perfectly still, so you let it slide.

"Does it feel that good when I touch you? Going to come, sweetheart?"

"Mm," his voice comes firm and tightly-wound. His eyes open into slight slits, see you watching shamelessly, and shut again. "Mm!"

Just as he throbs and tenses up. You bend over gripping down low, abruptly tearing your hand away from his mouth to sink his cock inside yours; pinning his hips, rubbing his heavy balls in your grasp.

"F-Fuck, fuckfuck!" He takes sudden, almost too-tight hold of your hair, gasping, and tearing the sheet, and shuddering. He moans all through it, broken whispers of your name, almost hummed at the top of his throat at the quietest, and always eagerly throbbing in the hot suction of your mouth. You take everything in deep swallows.

When finally, his hips are threatening to squirm to shy away and his cock softening, you pull off. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as he melts into the sheets. He has half of his bright red face hiding under his arm, catching his breath.

"Fuck, I don't know how you expected me to stay still. Come here." He lowers his arm.

"For the mess." You smile sweetly.

"Come here."

"You're not doing anything." But you do, and let him give you a kiss. He looks extremely unhappy about that, but for once, it looks like he'll listen when you say.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

[demeterdefence]

LMAOOO this had me peeved im truly sorry for the essay but this got me heated

there is this whole thing in media now where a victim of abuse - domestic, romantic, any kind - will inevitably get some kind of power over their abuser, and use it as their moment to "forgive" the abuser. it's meant to show how little power the abuser has now, and how healed the victim is

i am not against forgiveness in media and i'm not necessarily against this particular trope - i'll use avatar the last airbender as an example, and point out how zuko (who starts off as the antagonist in the story) works to redeem himself following his actions, and is forgiven once he's made actual amends. he then goes on to forgive his sister for her abuse, and not because she's doing better or she feels sorry for it - zuko realizes his sister is also a product of abuse, that she's been warped by the abuse, and she didn't have the support that zuko did. she's not going to get better; she will always be twisted and cruel. zuko forgives her because he sees her as a fellow victim, and he has no hate for her, only grief and pity.

arguably that's the same narrative rachel is trying to set up here with kronos, considering how the last few chapters have hammered on about how cruel and mean oranous was and how abusive he was, and how of COURSE kronos ended up so bad because his dad was so mean!

EXCEPT. THIS DOESN'T WORK BECAUSE WE HAVE NEVER SEEN ORANOUS AS A VILLAIN.

he's mentioned at best maybe three times, and certainly he's given shades of evil, but nothing that exclusively focuses on kronos. all we get is the generic bad guy vibes, but he's out of the story faster than we have time to process. if rachel wanted us to feel bad for kronos, having his so-called abuser just kind of wander in for a panel or two does not achieve that pity.

so this is really just hades (looking like a jesus figure seriously rachel how on the nose do you have to be) forgiving a being that, for the entire story, has been nothing but abusive and cruel. he swallowed two sons, he killed his wife, he abused hera, he took chomps out of his kids, and he put the world in danger. he tried to kill hades' wife. he kidnapped hades' future daughter. he has shown no remorse, no regret, nothing but cartoon villainy.

forgiving a character like this just ... hand waves all the harm done. like "sorry your dad was mean to you, here's a cookie." none of his other victims get the choice to forgive, and i'm willing to bet a fair few do not want to! you can argue this is hades' choice, but ultimately, it demonstrates rachel's utter inability to follow a narrative line to the end. she wanted to set up hades' as a powerful redeemer able to move past his abuse, but all she did was ditch kronos at the last second, unable to complete any storyline because she never thought it through.

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 11

“I am not one for politics. They make my scales itch.” Bemoaned Zeet as he walked ahead of Qik and Casper. His mobile platform moved and wandered without input from him as he stood upon it, grimacing at the two larger creatures. They had just left the boardroom where Casper had potentially just signed his body away if this went wrong. 

“I would have thought we would have got more usable data from you by informing you and letting you just *work* with us.” The blue geckin continued, musing out aloud. Casper couldn’t help but grin widely, pleased by the geckin’s seemingly honest distaste for the situation. 

Zeet was an engineer. A nerd. A geek, through and through. He cared about the machines he designed and made. The plots and schemes of others mattered little to him as long as they didn’t cross his wants and desires to improve on his designs. The geckin made an odd croaking throat noise. Casper spoke up.

“Let them work themselves into an early shed then, me and you are going to make a mech that’ll go down in history.” The young man offered, hoping to caress the geckin’s ego.

Qik grinned as well as he did when he blatantly hit his mark perfectly. 

“You think?! Oh! Oh ho ho ho! Just think! First ‘no drift’ pilot in one of *my* machines making headlines. But we need you to succeed. Fame goes both ways, ah?” Zeet pointed out, before adopting a focused look, crossing his arms and touching a finger to his mouth. The two far larger creatures shared a glance as both of them felt themselves disappear to the geckin’s perspective. 

“You’ll need survivability…” Zeet mumbled to him. “Heavy is always best for survivability, but it means taking the hits. Your agility shouldn’t be slept on. Light is just as good, if you don’t get hit.” The geckin snapped his head around to Casper.

“You stopped getting hit all the time?” The tiny creature demanded.

“What do you mean ‘all the time’? She got me *once*!” Casper shot back, thrusting a thumb sideways at Qik who remained silent, although her strut became more pronounced as they discussed her ‘perfect’ kill shot.

Zeet merely grinned at Casper and he was reminded that a grin from a geckin was *not* the same as a human grinning. Zeet was admonishing the human, not sharing in a joke.

“Once was enough. If we capitalise on your speed, you will be light, but weak; you will not survive errant hits! Anything above superficial damage could disable your points or even your whole rig if it’s a bad hit!” The geckin hissed. 

“I was showboating.” Admitted Casper. “I let my guard down. My fault. I won’t jeopardise your work again.” The human spoke seriously and with respect at the older engineer who squinted at him as the walking platform approached a door that slid aside without hesitation. The geckin waved a hand, dismissing the thought, seemingly satisfied with Casper’s devoted tone.

The group entered a room that was quite obviously Zeet’s workshop. Ignoring that it looked down on a hanger bay with a skeleton of a rig hanging in the centre, as Casper looked around the room, he learnt of Zeet’s personality. Messy, but devoted.

Mech and rig designs covered an entire wall which was dominated as a workboard. Pens, stylises and measuring tools were scattered everywhere. A large 3D printer squatted in one corner and was covered in tiny, intricate models of various shapes and sizes. Some were of arms and legs of disembodied mechs, and others were tiny replicas of the whole thing.

“Huh… I think you’d get along with some of us humans.” Casper mentioned, crouching to observe the intricate details of one particular model. It was beautifully designed all the way down to sleek lines showing where the various bolts would connect armour plates together.

“After yourself, I would very much like to meet more humans. I suspect if I could get my claws into one that had a history in mech design, fictional or not, we might share ideas…” Zeet offered before clapping his hands and holding them out in front of him, pointing his claws at Casper, drawing attention to himself.

“*But!* We need to design you a machine that will put us both in the history books and… *Not* leave you at the hands of the XixTech corpo-nation.” Declared Zeet, Casper nodding along until his brain caught up to the sentence.

“Wait… ‘Corpo-Nation’?” He asked, standing up again.

“Mm, they represent the eastern continental landmass on Bok. Our homeworld. They are their government representatives.” Explained Zeet matter-of-factly. Casper merely blinked, once again reminded this was not kansas. 

“Jesus… Yeah, let's not get dropped into that mess.” The young man agreed, already feeling his head spin. Qik settled herself, leaning against a wall, arms crossed as was her usual stance. Casper sat against the window frame with his back to the hanger below.

“So!” Zeet began. “Torso, Head, Arms, Legs and a Spinal mount. These are your rig’s modifiable options.” Zeet explained, turning to open a large cabinet where he produced three glasses. One tiny, the other two perfectly sized for Casper and Qik. The human glanced at the bottle of dark liquid, then to Qik who touched a long finger against her lips. She didn’t want him to ruin this. 

Zeet poured three healthy portions before taking a sip and giving a satisfied sigh, then continuing. 

“I already know what I’m doing for your chest, you don’t get a vote there.” He explained, swiping his hand through the air. Qik cleared her throat as she leaned in to pick up a spare glass.

“What’s your idea?” She asked calmly, seemingly trusting his good sense. 

“Maximum output. Heavier as an option, more so than an ultralight, but I think the way he modifies his output, it’ll be worth it.” Zeet explained, swirling the glass.

“I modify my output? What do you mean?” Casper asked, frowning somewhat. This apparently was an odd question. 

“Wha- My boy… You… It’s not a conscious decision? To pulse your power generation?” Zeet asked, seemingly very confused. Casper pulled a face and shrugged before reaching over and picking up the third and final glass. Taking a sip, it was like paint stripper with a smokey burn afterwards.

“Your power generation is not efficient, or it shouldn’t be! Your reactors ‘pulse’ instead of giving out a steady or constant amount. We thought it was a fault at first until the second and third time it happened. Every rig you hop in, it pulses.” Zeet explained shrugging his arms in defeated confusion, nearly, but not quite spilling his drink.

“Is it dangerous?” Qik asked, narrowing her eyes, but sipping at her own glass, it looked comically small in her hands. Zeet shook his head, sipping at his drink, a tiny red tongue dabbing at the murky liquid. 

“I don’t think so, although it was far, far faster when you took that hit.” The geckin conceded, pointing a finger over the rim of his glass. 

“Was it like a heartbeat?” Asked Casper, following a hunch. Zeet shook his head again, the corners of his mouth pulling up as if Casper had asked the same question as him.

“No. We thought so too, but it was too slow.” The geckin dismissed, looking into his glass with a contemplative frown. Unconvinced, Casper waited a second, considering what it could have been before getting an idea. Without speaking, Casper knocked his knuckles against the wall he was leaning on. Thump thump. Pause. Thump thump. Pause. The reaction was immediate, the engineer's feet jumping up in unison and briefly leaving the walking platform he stood upon as he pointed and did briefly spill his drink this time. . 

“Yes! That! That’s it! Two pulses and a pause. We racked our brains trying to figure that out!”

Casper merely smiled knowingly, closing his eyes and opening them again before speaking, pleased to have an answer for the older geckin.

“That’s *my* heartbeat Zeet.” Tapping his chest with his glass. ”Bigger heart, slower rhythm.” The young man explained. The tiny geckin stood there, motionless for a time. Before closing his eyes and placing his own drink down on the table.

“Your heartbeat. *Your*! Heartbeat. Argh! Rocks in my brain! Terminal rocks!” Zeet exclaimed, causing both Casper and Qik to grin as an apparent mystery was solved for him. The poor geek looked genuinely annoyed as he glared at the ceiling.

“So it’s not an issue?” Asked Qik.

“Huh! Hardly. It means he doesn’t run hot, but has access to power when he needs it. Works well with the rest of my plans.”

“Go on, you’ve ideas, I’m listening.” Casper said, grimacing as he slugged another mouthful of the drink down. It seemed to burn less with the third gulp. 

“Chest we go for power. Your spine mount, I suggest an advanced booster. It does mean you’re more vulnerable. One hit to your back and you’ve lost your main defence; not being where they fired at.” The geckin suggested, shrugging with the admission. 

“I mean if we’re engaging at range, I can move out of the way of the rounds, right?” Casper offered, looking to Qik for confirmation. She pulled a face and shook her head, her ears flopping with the movement. 

“Two problems with that; unreliable reactions and no one uses slug rounds anymore.” She explained. Casper frowned, specifically remembering a fairly solid round tearing through his chest not less than 24 hours ago. 

“What do you mean? The geckins do?” He pointed out, rudely pointing at Zeet who could care less as he tilted his head back, finishing off his own glass. He spoke next, pulling Casper’s attention. 

“We’re an exception, not a rule. The ursidains also use solid projectiles, but only when they’re firing a heavy hitter. Energy weapons are the name of the game these days. Most see solid projectiles as ‘old’, in the sense of ‘museum piece’ old.” Zeet offered honestly. 

Casper thought that was strange, solid projectiles were reliable, but this wasn’t his world. This was a galaxy in a vastly different period of their history than Earth was. He shook his head to clear his mind. 

“Okay fine, keep mobile. What about arms and legs? What about weapons?” He pressed, almost looking forward to hearing what toys Zeet was offering. 

“Legs wise, again, I’d go for speed. Extra vents for additional jet exhausts. Rather than running, you’ll end up ‘skating’ around the enemy. Good luck keeping up with you. You’ll need it too.” Zeet offered.

“Are the enemies quick?” Casper asked. 

“Fairly. Spider-Technicals.” Qik responded. 

“What are they?”

“Heavy armour, focused laser beam for their main cannon. Prolonged targeting will thermal shock the armour that gets hit, burrowing through whatever it's shooting at. The tanks are mobile, capable of keeping line of sight on their target and climbing up and around buildings to do so. The intention is to have a small army of them and they just overwhelm any target that approaches.” The lopel explained, polishing off her own glass and gesturing with her hands, as if she were spreading a model army out in front of her.

“So keep circling them?” Casper suggested.

“And they’ll have to track you. We keep you light and mobile, they focus on you…” Qik went on, trailing off to allow Casper to finish the thought. 

“...And you take them out while their back is turned.” The young man concluded, nodding at the idea. He could be bait, he didn’t even have to fight. Just wave his arms in the air and keep their attention. 

“He’s a fast learner.” Zeet pointed out, nodding to Casper but looking to Qik. She merely grinned and returned to her ‘arms crossed’ posture, smugness radiating off her.

“Thanks to his teacher.” 

Zeet was less than sure. 

“Mm. Sure.” He blinked slowly and turned his head back to the huma before opening them again. “Arms wise, we have options.“

“I did consider a plasma thrower, but it's heavy and drains a lot of power during charge up. Good against another mech, less so for tanks. We have similar options like sniper beams, but same thing. Line of sight and you’d need to be still.”

“So what would you suggest?”

“If we are going with this plan, we should actually keep you lightly armed. How do you feel about a solid sword?”

“Solid? But what about my lightsaber!”

“No, too draining. If we’re keeping you as fast as we intend, we need you using 100% of your reactor’s output. A solid sword, atomised edge, you’ll still be dangerous. Lightweight metal, no drain on your resources, there's no downsides besides no range. But that's not an issue this time.”

“Atomised edge?” Casper asked, just checking for clarification. Zeet nodded and hastened to explain before moving on. 

“An edge a few atoms thick. Blunts faster, but realistically, this is a blitz, you’re not going to be out there long enough to need to worry about that.”

“What could I cut through?”

“Anything with enough force behind your swing. Do *not* touch the edge with any part of yourself.” The geckin demanded with a serious tone and an accusing finger. Casper held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Yes sir.”

Zeet merely nodded. Qik remained quietly thinking as she scratched her own chin.

“So, speed, speed, speed?” Casper summarised.

“Quite so. Qik, I trust you will just select your weapons as normal?” Zeet asked, turning to the lopel as he sat himself in a chair. The merc merely nodded and lay her palm up as if presenting her idea.

“I’m going for a swarm missile rig. If it’s just technicals, I don’t need anything else.” She explained with a carless shrug. 

“Swarm missile?” Casper prodded. 

“Line of sight lock on, you fire the swarm and they fire up into the air before raining down on the tanks. Doesn’t matter if they’re crawling on or around buildings. They’ll punch through their armour. The downside is I need to see them to lock on, which sucks when LOS works both ways.” Qik went on, but then leaned forward to emphasize her words. . 

“Buuut…” She drawled. 

“But if they’re looking at me, that doesn’t matter.” Casper replied, grinning back at the lopel. She held his gaze a moment longer than needed before straightening and giving him her approval. 

“Attaboy.”

Casper considered his options, and turned back to Zeet. 

“So a sword? Nothing else?” He asked. 

Zeet, his hands on his head, turned the chair to face the larger human. 

“Did you have something else in mind?”

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[askanaroace]

The Locked Tomb: Gideon and Harrow - Aro Perspective

Any Locked Tomb fans here?

Just wanted to chat about Griddlehark. It's kind of amazing to be in a fandom where the same ship is end game for like 100% of the community, myself included.

But - and maybe this is just perspective bias - that ship has never been romantic to me. I've never really read anything romantic into Harrow and Gideon's relationship. To me, it's a very strong non-romantic bond that we, in this non-TLT universe, have no appropriate word for. Absolutely a Jaeger pilot (Pacific Rim) sort of bond. The new sff bond: cavalier and necromancer; sword and adept.

(I could go either way on it being sexual or not.)

"You are my only friend. I am undone without you."

--Harrow to Gideon, pg 356 GtN

"[...] the entire point of me is you. You get that, right? That's what cavaliers sign up for. There is no me without you. One flesh, one end."

--Gideon to Harrow, pg 432 GtN

"You think anything I did has been to make her love me? [...]" "Like I said before. She's just not into you. She's into bones. She gave her heart to a corpse when she was ten years old," I said. "She's in love with the refrigerated museum piece in the Locked Tomb. You should've seen the look she had on when she told me about this ice-lolly bimbo. I knew the moment I saw it. I never made her look like that... She can't love me, even if I'd wanted her to. She can't love you. She can't even try." [...] "If you think anything I did, I did to make her love me, then you don't know anything about her and me. I'm her cavalier, dipshit! I'd kill for her! I'd die for her. I did die for her. I'd do anything she needed, anything at all, before she even knew she needed it. I'm her sword, you pasty-faced Coronabeth-looking knock-off." Always your sword, my umbral sovereign; in life, in death, in anything beyond life or death that they want to throw at thee and me. I died knowing you'd hate me for dying; but Nonagesimus, you hating me always meant more than anyone else in this hot and stupid universe loving me. At least I'd had your full attention.

--Gideon to Ianthe, pgs. 435-436 HtN

So Alecto, wearied of talking, kneeled up on the rock and offered up the sword to [Harrow], and placed the child's hand upon the blade, so that it received also the red blood of the child. This made the child exceedingly faint, but it did not swoon of weariness. Which strength pleased Alecto, who said: Notwithstanding, I offer you my service. To which a voice on the opposite side of the shore was raised, exceeding wroth, and Alecto heard it shout in a very great shout: Get in line, thou big slut.

--Alecto's perspective, pg 477 NtN

Like Gideon knows very clearly that Harrow does not romantically love her. But they are the only two children of the Ninth left. They are committed to each other in "one flesh, one end" by now. They are meaningful to each other, and that is enough.

I don't know. I'm just having a lot of feelings about it.

[peachesofteal]

RAAAAAAAAH CHAPTER 13 BRO!!!!!

as always, i read it like a rabid animal, and then reread the prev 4 chapters and then reread this again HAHA

your work ages like fine wine, and i read and treasure every word of it, especially on rereads when i can make myself slow down to really take it all in <3

"He takes it all away. Every time." made me WEEP!!!!! its what she DESERVES!!!! the dependability and the escape into him and simon (simon takes charge obvs, but johnny is just as much an outlet. sweet sweet boy)

i think he also realizes that she's seeing it as escapism and starts to fall away a bit, bc of how he stops her and asks to check in. it makes me curious abt his and simon's early relationship, if he's recognizing the same pattern of behavior and comparing them.

going on with that, when she was showing them her scars, AUUUUUUGH. that hit so hard man. the “No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.”

SIMOOOOOOOON he sees so much of himself in her. its gotta be heartbreaking, knowing she's where he used to be. he gets it fr. i cant imagine two people more suited for her, someone who's been where she is and got out, and the person who's helped get that someone out of that pit. fuck dude. you're so good at this HAHAHA

im not gonna say nothin abt the good girl stuff…. but heehee!

also also "I'm not a little human nurse" made me laugh so hard LMAO pure arizona from grey's. ive been watching it lately (started right before you started posting simple math actually) reading the hospital bits of SM, you do a really good job of capturing the same energy and stakes and work dynamics that you get watching grey's. im honestly still waiting for the other shoe to drop on the stupid attending marshall, there's always something that a shitty attending can mess up down the road lmao

the ending on this chap killed me though. they knew she was flighty, and that she's smart and capable, but its gotta be so hard to get the relief of her coming back after the day out without answering the phone, only to find the papers the next morning. in bunny's defense though, she mentioned in chapters before moving in (i think before graves hurt her?) with them that she had to start looking at outs, and these papers aren't a 2-day turnaround; she probably bought them weeks ago and only now picked them up. i could be wrong though! i think its unfortunate timing, but she also probably just wants the relief knowing that she's got the backup plan accessible. as much as she loves the boys and penny, she's still not used to having the dependability. the safety scares her, or at least gives her the idea of a false sense of security, since she's been on edge for so so long.

i give her big smooch. poor bun. poor boys, and poor penny. manifesting the worst for graves, truly, rot in hell you idiot american

i hope you're feeling better, its lovely to read your works but even better when you're doing well yourself ❤️❤️❤️

I loved reading this! I adore you.

I love how you noticed that Johnny does stop to check in. He has a very firm grip on her mental and emotional state, (it’s not his first rodeo) and he knows just how to bring her back.

The two of them + Bunny is really a dream come true even if she doesn’t realize it yet (they do) and it will take a lot of time and work on everyone’s part.

I think your notes in your last paragraph are pretty spot on, too. Bunny will talk about it more in the next two chapters but- getting a new identity is not a two day turnaround.

Also yeah, I was channeling Arizona with that line 💀 I was hoping someone would catch it!

10/10 I love your breakdowns, no notes, perfection, they always make me smile.

[ectonurites]

SUPER DARK TIMES (2017) DIR KEVIN PHILLIPS

[domoz]

Founders have me writing like crazy it seems. Another fic, cw for child abuse in this one. It gets nasty.

It's a beautiful spring evening when Hashirama decides that he needs to kill his father.

When his legs give out for the fifth time, Hashirama isn't able to force himself up again.

To say chichiue had been unhappy with what had happened at the Naka River would be an understatement. Hashirama had kept his head bowed through a long, long lecture, insisted over and over that he hadn't known because ignorance might be the only thing that could save him.

Punishment has been brutal, regardless. He's been taking his smaller than usual meals alone in his room, and even those have been more sparse than usual, because every waking has been consumed with ceaseless training.

"When you see that boy on the battlefield, you'll kill him."

Hashirama shudders and turns his face into the dirt. He won't, and that will probably end up worse for him than this, but that still isn't enough to make him willing to do it.

(Madara was like him. Madara wanted peace. Peace could mean that no one would be forced to do something like this ever again).

For the moment, though, Hashirama can't get his legs to cooperate. Today he'd been training his mokuton ('until you have enough wood to rebuild the whole compound twice over'), and he'd tried, he always tries, but he's never, not in his life, been this low on chakra before. The lack of it makes him feel dizzy and nauseous and cold, seems to amplify all the aches and pains of the last few days. He'd pulled a splinter out of his hand earlier and the spot has been aching and stinging for hours when normally he would have forgotten about it minutes after it happened.

He's exhausted and miserable, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears because letting them fall will mean he probably doesn’t even get to eat tonight. He's already going to be in trouble enough for falling again--

"Boy, you better not be taking a break." Butsuma's voice calls, far away as first but getting louder, "You're not even halfway done."

Hashirama's voice catches in his parched throat -- he's got no idea whether it'll be safer for him to admit the truth or make an excuse. Before he can decide, his brother's voice chimes in, and oh he hadn't even known Tobirama was here.

"Chichiue, he's low on chakra." It's said so matter-of-fact that Hashirama can't tell if he's being judged for it or not. But he's really not the happiest with Tobirama right now and in a poor mood anyways so all he feels at the comment Is a spike of anger harsh enough to send the tears he's been hold back spilling down his cheeks.

Why did you have to tell him that? Why do you keep ruining things?

Butsuma clicks his tongue.

"Shameful. But low chakra is not a reason for him to be on his back. Or crying."

Hashirama can only see the purpling sky, but he can hear the sneer in his father's voice.

"I just don't know what to do with you, boy. Maybe a real punishment is in order. To start with, no meals until you're done with this."

Hashirama stifles a sob. Fuck, but he's hungry. There's a heavy sigh from his father, but it's Tobirama's voice he hears next.

"Chichiue, is that… Wise?"

There is a heavy pause; Hashirama musters the strength to lift his head and is treated to a sight he wishes wasn't familiar. Tobirama's thin back is between him and Butsuma. His arms are crossed this time, but Hashirama knows his intent. His little brother trying to protect him, again.

This is your fault in the first place! A wounded part of his heart screams, but already he feels guilty for the thought.

(How was Tobirama to know who he'd been meeting? How was he to do anything but worry when his brother kept disappearing so soon after their last one had died? How was he to say no to an order?)

"It's just --" Tobirama's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant, "Harsh training is well and good, but if he's not able to recover his strength then he won't be able to act should an emergency happen. Right now, he'd be useless in a battle."

There is a weighty silence, one that stretches on long enough that it makes Hashirama's heart flutter with hope -- maybe Tobirama's words have managed to convince him, again.

"I have no intention of letting him go to battle until I'm sure he's learned his lesson." Another pause, and then "…You're more troublesome than you let on, boy."

Those words aren't meant for Hashirama. Tobirama stiffens just enough to be perceptible, and if Hashirama can see it in the state that he's in, there's no way that Butsuma missed it.

"That's what I thought. Tobirama, on your knees. I think you both need to understand something."

Tobirama hesitates for the barest moment before sinking down. He knows better than to protest in this situation. Hashirama struggles to roll over enough to see what is happening. To see how Butsuma has knelt down across from Tobirama to grab his chin in a bruising grip, how Tobirama's hands are fisted tight in the fabric of his pants.

"When I teach you that shinobi aren't to show emotions, what I mean is that they can't let their feelings affect their decisions." He forces Tobirama's face to turn, to meet Hashirama's wide eyes with his own, "But if you had taken that lesson to heart you would have seen how much better off your brother would be if he understood. You may hide what you feel, but I can see now how much you let those feelings rule you. You'd rather spare your brother pain than have him grow stronger and survive."

Butsuma reaches for a pouch and, and with his other hand he draws out a kunai. Tobirama doesn't struggle as it's pushed to his cheek, but instead goes very, very still. Hashirama's stomach swoops -- he wouldn't, he wouldn't--

"And you, Hashirama… I don't know what to do about that bleeding heart of yours. But you need to understand, if you're going to open yourself up to whatever poor kid with a sob story you meet in the woods you need to be strong enough to make certain that it can't hurt you."

He squeezes Tobirama's face, applies pressure. The kunai bites deep into his brother's cheek. Tobirama jerks in his hold and lets out an awful, warbled whine before cutting himself off.

"Stop." Begs Hashirama, voice breaking, He tries to push himself up only for his arms to give out from under him, "Stop it. Stop it!"

"If you want it to stop --" Says Butsuma, forcing Tobirama's face to turn the other direction and digging the kunai in to the other side, perfectly matching the first cut. "-- Then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me."

But Hashirama can't stand up. There's no sudden burst of strength -- he used that up ages ago. All he can manage is to drag himself a few inches forward through the dirt, fingers just able to reach where a spot of blood (his brother's blood!) has been flung to the ground.

"Please." His voice is hoarse, "Please, I understand. Please stop."

The look Butsuma levels at him is cold, a frown that says he doesn't believe him.

He tilts up Tobirama's head, cuts a final slash into his chin, before letting go. Standing up, stepping back, uncaring of the way his son has dropped to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.

"Guard your heart or grow strong enough to keep it safe, Hashirama. Those are your options."

He turns, leaves them alone on the training field under a rapidly darkening sky. It's only when he's out of sight that Hashirama feels sensation return to his limbs, feels just how hard his heart is pounding. Hears the near silent drip of blood onto the ground from Tobirama --

His breath hitches but he can't lose his head yet, his brother, his last baby brother, still hasn't moved.

"Tobi." He calls roughly, but there's still no reaction, "Tobi. Tobirama!"

When he finally pulls himself close enough, he reaches for his brother's hand, ignores the way it's trembling and sticky with blood (so much blood but it's fine, Tobirama has to be fine, head wounds just bleed more than most--). Only when he touches Tobirama does his brother react. Jerks away from him -- finally looks at him, but it's with eyes that are completely empty.

"We can't." Tobirama's voice is quiet. It cracks, but his little brother does not cry, even now, "He's waiting to see what we'll do."

Waiting to see if they'll turn to each other, he means.

"Tobi…" He calls, as Tobirama mechanically pushes himself to his feet, pulls his hand away. He wants to do something, needs to do something, to make this even a little okay, but he knows Tobirama is right, that if they try to help each other now the lesson will only repeat itself.

Tobirama shakes his head, walks towards the main house with his head ducked low, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

And Hashirama still can't force himself onto his feet to follow.

He falls back onto the dirt, throat tight. A few more tears spill out, but not many. He doesn't have anything left in him to cry.

He feels -- empty. He thinks he should be feeling more but all that's left behind his breastbone is hollow. And if he feels like this, than Tobirama must be…

He broke something, Hashirama thinks hysterically, He broke something in me and I think he might have broken Tobirama, too.

There's a bile building in the back of his throat as the realizations hit him. He can't let that happen again, won't survive if it does.

If you want to stop me, then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me.

That had been the lesson. Maybe Hashirama can finally learn this one.

The determination to build peace and a village had made him feel warm. The determination to do this settles like lead in his guts.

If any of his dreams are going to happen, he needs to get strong enough to stop his father.

[sydmarch]

anyway this is what i was actually trying to find. fucking thinking about this.

[midigated]

I'm probably in the minority with this but I wish the first 3 arcs of Sailor Moon Crystal were a two-part movie series (like they did with Eternal and Cosmos.).

This will probably make the Crystal fans seethe at the mouth bc God forbid anyone has an opinion different from them. But we probably would've avoided a lot of the embarrassing poor animation choices had they turned the material into two-part movies for each arc. They'd have more time to focus on the good bits that moved the story along. They'd have more time to also focus on the animation quality of the movies.

Maybe, as a result, they could've spent more time honing their character designs versus getting better after three FULL seasons of SMC.

Sorry not sorry, the designs in Eternal and Cosmos are way better than the poor attempts to copy Naoko's style that plagued the first 3 seasons of SMC.

[mishkakagehishka]

Idc anymore i think i'm a good enough writer that i can say that when i noticed the pattern in what exactly makes a book "good" on booktok (and, bc of that, what makes it popular and top bestseller lists), it feels almost demeaning and denigrating to the entire craft. Idk if i should blame the way tiktok-esque social media has utterly rotted everyone's ability to concentrate and read more than three sentences, but literally none of those books are objectively good.

(Yes, yes, art is subjective. HOWEVER. Art is subjective when you look at style, at themes, at motifs, at plots and characters. Art is still a craft, it still requires skill. I've seen beyond the tiktok quotes of these books. Not even their editors are good given the amount of typos/spelling mistakes. That is not something that you should find in a traditionally published book.)

You look at these books, and you know the only reason for their existence is to make money. I cannot and will not accept that as art.

(I'm on Tumblr, of course I have to explain every point. Artists who make money off their art =/= people who only create art meant to be profitable. There is a difference between an artist who hopes to monetise doing what they love, who creates what they wish to see more of and who happens to then create something that other people wish to see more of, and a person who looks at what's trending and decides that making an unholy frankenstein's monster of a book that mashes all those trending tropes and motifs together would get them rich quick. The fact that a lot of these booktok books become popular because of nepotism is just the cherry on top. It's soulless.)

And to finally say what I wanted to say, it's because none of these books have any deeper message or even artistic value to them. You will find a few out of context quotes or paragraphs, ones written specifically so they'd look deep and beautiful when taken out of context, so that people would post them, so that people would buy the books. Entire books written just so those few lines could become viral and make cash. It cannot even be compared to a hook line writers would post to get people interested in their works, because in booktok's case, those are the only lines of quality and in the context itself, they are often out of place and forced.

I just hate booktok, i hate what modern social media has done to art. It's all created to be quickly consumed, for the few ☆aesthetic☆ glances, and then discarded. Just to make more money for those who are already nepo babies. As if artists needed more obstacles to jump over.

[infizero]

why isgrian shipping the warden and the wither