#this shit is not fucking viable for me anymore!

[trainerdawn]

tumblr gets less enjoyable with each update i really hate the turn that this app has taken

[47-protons]

talking about “ranting on stream” as if I didn’t go on about pesticide applicator licenses for nearly half an hour this past winter

[alwaysmicado]

Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

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The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass. 

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 

What a little sunshine you are. 

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t. 

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you. 

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

→ previous part || series masterlist || main masterlist

tagging: @koshkaj-blog @paleidiot @pattwtf @tuquoquebrute @witchofthedeepwoods let me know if you want to be added!

[velsims]

Swimming Lessons 🐟

Inspired by me NOT KNOWING HOW TO SWIM at my big old age 😭

uhh warnings: mentions of drowning, foul language and the likes, kind of modern ellie??, kind of adhd!reader sorry its hard for me to write normal people

reader is in italics, ellie is in bold/italics!

summer is finally here, its hot out, like fucking scorching, and cold showers with your lover and standing in front of the AC isnt cutting it anymore

you suggest “how about the pool?” and ellie’s all like “babe theres gonna be little kids and old people lets go to the river or something”

and you freeze up. and shes like ‘did i say something wrong is she okay’

and then the cats out of the bag. “ellie, i sorta, kinda, maybe dont know how to swim”

so shes all like “i can teach you, yknow, how to swim.” and ur like “babe thats so embarassing 😭” and shes like “its not embarassing if its me teaching you!!”

so she somehow convinces you to pack up for a river trip.

“are you sure about this...” you say cautiously, eyeing ellie, whos already in the water. It had been an hour trip to the river, and the whole time you were worried you’d make a fucking fool out of yourself in front of her. or drown, drowning is also a viable possibility. “babe, the current isnt that strong today, and neither is the wind. and i’ll have a hold on you the whole time. we’ll be fine.” she says as she reaches an arm out for you to take. 

you take her arm, and both slowly walk into the river. you arent even waist deep yet before, “OHMYGODDUDE” you grab on to ellie for dear life as a little current washes by you two. “first of all, who the hell are you calling ‘dude’. second of all, i got you, seriously baby” she reassures you. you make it in to about chest level deep before she stops you both. “okay, promise to do what i say, because as much as i dont want you to worry, drowning is serious. and if i dragged you all the way out here to die, i might as well die too.” she says to you, holding on to your waist. “aww like romeo and juliet! kind of...” “please shut up and listen” “yes ma’am!”

so she teaches you how to tread water and all kinds of shit and by the end of the day youre a fucking champ

kind of. you know the basics but you both decide thats enough for today.

the sun is setting and you two start to pack up

you two are heading back to her truck and youre like “ellie...maybe you forgot to put sunscreen on...”

and shes soooo burnt “fuck babe, you didnt remind me!” “that is NOT my job.” “well then whos job is it” and youre like “literally what would you do without me”

tldr u both are dorks who swim lol

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

Glad someone acknowledges that what Mabel did is morally reprehensible, and what bothers me is people defend it by saying "she's 12". I mean idk about ya'll but when I was 12 I wasn't risking my family's lives to a nightmare demon for a dude, I was doing my fuckin homework lmfao.

I love Gravity Falls to death but the way they turned Mabel from a silly kid to an actual horrible person speaks to how badly the writers can't write female characters to save their pissholes, and fans defending that shit annoy me to no end. They do the exact same thing when the fucked up shit Princess Bubblegum did is brought up

I’m gonna co-opt this ask because this lets me talk about two things regarding criticism that I find really interesting in the internet world-that being “perception of wrongness” and “heart moments”.

Perception of Wrongness:

I can actually understand why people had a hard time calling Mabel poorly written by the end of series, because this is a trend that happens a lot when talking about media criticism as a whole, and it is the subconscious concern that one is going to be perceived as morally wrong for taking umbrage with a character or product that concerns a well poisoned topic.

Mabel is a girl. And because Mabel is a girl, there was no shortage of bad faith arguments regarding Mabel from episode 1 on as being anything from obnoxious to a Mary Sue to an actively bad person (before doing anything that one could call actually wrong).

So, when a fandom space is poisoned by arguments that boil down to “Mabel is a girl and I hate women”, people have a tendency to overcorrect in the other direction and decide that the character is without flaw.

You actually see this a lot with the infamous movie “Fight Club”, which garnered a fanbase of pathetic Andrew Tate wannabes slobbering on Tyler Durden’s knob. So now if someone (especially a guy) says they like the movie most peoples reaction is immediate disgust even though the movie itself is a blatant critique on toxic masculinity based on a book written by a gay man inspired by a hate crime he was a victim of. Well poisoned arguments made the thing poison, so anyone who touches it must be a poisoner. You don’t want to be perceived as condoning the the former-perceived as morally wrong.

I myself had issues with this actually, leading up to Nathan and I watching through the MCU I had an instinctive reaction to be disdainful of his opinion that Captain Marvel was a bad film even though I know Nathan is one of the most “girl movie” positive people on the planet. When we talked about the movie as we watched it it became clear that the problem was that Carol didn’t get to be a cool superhero because they spent so much of the movie proving she “deserved” a spot in the MCU when none of the other heroes needing such proof. Which I agreed with!

It’s hard to untrained yourself from internet discourse brain, but you’ll be better for the trouble if you do so.

On the other side of the creator/consumer spectrum!

Heart Moments:

Creators love the things they make. That is an obvious and redundant statement. But the love of that creation goes through a lot of changes. We’ve talked before about how creators will often insert characters from early drafts of projects into the final product even if the product doesn’t fit with them anymore (see Hunter from TOH), but we don’t talk as much about a similar phenomenon wherein a creator has a burst of inspiration and they can see so perfectly a moment in time for their art that rests heavy on their heart.

This moment could be a cool shot, an impressive piece of cinematography or animation, an actor giving a specific delivery, or a line you want more than anything. But as you write that moment is no longer viable. It doesn’t fit with the greater piece or writes a character out of character.

This is what happened with Mabel in Sock Opera. Alex saw the ability to have Bill say a line about siblings and sacrifice, which would allow one of the twins to say a big line that when the Stan twist was revealed everyone would go “OHHHHH SHIT SO WHEN HE ASKED WHY SOMEONE WOULD SACRIFICE EVERYTHING FOR A SIBLING AND SHE SAID DIPPER WOULD IT WAS ACTUALLY A PARALLEL AND-“. Mabel and the ramifications of the scene to make that heart moment realized were disregarded in its addition.

I actually noticed this for the first time in a Rooster Teeth show I’m fond of called “Camp Camp”. In the 4th season, fan darling David has a solo adventure in “The Forest” where he’s lost in the woods and struggles to survive leading to a nervous breakdown wherein he near kills a wolf, decides against it, and learns a lesson about the importance of kindness in the face of misery.

Problem being that if you know the show at all, David is literally the worst person to do this episode with. David is not only a skilled and experienced outdoorsman who made it his life goal to become a camp counselor as a child and loves the woods, but he’s also the only character who’s primary trait in unrepentant kindness to anyone no matter the cost. To the point that it’s actually his largest vice as it gets him and his loved ones in dangerous situations.

But nobody cared because David has a breakdown was something that looked good in gif sets. It was an episode built around a “Heart Moment”-this one being everyone’s favorite blorbo screaming and crying while emotionally collapsing. And that was a Rooster Teeth cartoon that’s messy as hell-Gravity Falls is groundbreaking shit! But both still suffered at the same root issue.

It’s hard to let go of the scenes on your heart. When the thing you’re creating means so much to you, and that part of it rests on your heart so heavy, it’s hard to bring yourself to remove the latter. But you have to ask if the character you worked so hard to bring to life is worth potentially sacrificing to get that one moment off your heart.

[whumpster-fire]

Leading Thieves Say Millennials and Zoomers "Ruining the Crime Industry"

A variety of criminals have spoken out over the past few weeks, saying that crime just doesn't pay like it used to because Millennials and Gen-Z-ers are so broke, they have nothing of value to steal.

Stephen "Fingers" Gilligan, Pickpocket: Pickpocketing has been on the decline in America for a while, but it's getting ridiculous now. Nobody carries cash anymore, and even cards aren't paying out. The other day I stole a wallet with five debit cards, and all but one of them declined. The last one had just enough to buy a Sierra Mist from a vending machine. That was my second best score all week. The best was a $40 Olive Garden gift card and a crumpled, discolored $5 bill that I had to use archeological techniques to retrieve without it disintegrating in my hand.

Burt Crustman, Mugger: Man, nobody walks through dark alleys at night since the pandemic hit, and when they do? Jackshit. The only valuable anyone under 40's got on them these days is their phone. Admittedly lotsa people have $3000 phones, but you know what the market for fencing iPhones is like? It's shit! Everybody's buying new phones because their phone's the only nice thing they can afford!

Monty Derailleur, Bike Thief: Well the bike theft business would be going good, if people ever used the bikes they bought. The sales are high, but the fact of the matter is, the bike lanes around here are shitty or nonexistent, there's no room to take them on the bus, and there's no bike racks so everybody knows it's gonna get stolen.

Jerry Rigby, Car Thief: I don't know what you're talking about, Grand Theft Auto is booming. There's $75,000 pickups, $60,000 SUVs, $100,000 Teslas, and most people can't even afford to buy a used car legally so fencing's never been easier. The reason it's hard for those of us in the business is twofold. First, too many people living out of their cars. Second, the competition. You see a nice car parked somewhere, you gotta be on it like that, or the fucking illegal towing rackets will beat you to it. It's nearly impossible to make a living as an independent car thief.

Dwayne Pipe, Burglar: The only reason to be breaking and entering in the post-Pandemic years if to use somebody's shower. I swear to god, half the time when I break into a place, the only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a mid-sized computer monitor as a TV, and those are only good for scrap because with planned obsolescence the way it is, they have a life expectancy of about 6 weeks after theft. To be honest with you, I'm running a loss on most jobs. The only reason I haven't gone straight is because all the legal jobs pay jackshit too. That, and I really like replacing people's family photos with pictures of Nicholas Cage.

Brittlyghn McKannyck, Shoplifter: Shoplifting these days is a hobby, not a career. Half the time the stores are too understaffed to even stock the shelves, and if they're not, everything's locked up. I had to get a guy to unlock a magnetic tag on a box of Crispix the other day. If I didn't live with my parents, there's absolutely no way shoplifting full time would be viable.

Norman Gore, Master Hacker and Identity Thief: Scamming people out of their financial info or cracking passwords has never been easier, but the scores just aren't worth it. I keep getting into bank accounts that pending overdraft fees. It's pathetic. I have to leave the lights off so my hacker den's only lit by the monitors, and type on three or four keyboards at once to hack enough people to make ends meet.

Jack Gazebo, Digital Pirate: Oh my fucking God, people, stop paying for streaming! Learn to torrent! I'm telling you, man, this generation just doesn't have the technological literacy to pirate media.

Captain Tom Stillcutt, Analog Pirate: Let me tell ye something, matey, it be a sad day for piracy. No more galleons laden low with gold doubloons, rum, and exotic spices, nay, it be all scurvy container ships full o' mass produced plastic now. Me last prize was a forty foot container loaded full of over a hundred thousand Funko Pops, en route from the East Indies. The worst part of it was as the cap'n I gets a double share o' the booty, whether I want it or not. I've been makin' one walk the plank every day, and my cabin's still full of the blasted things. Shiver my timbers, I hate these damned Zoomers! At least the ones in me crew are happy.

Geraldo Cardamom IV, Gentleman Thief: The economy's just horrible for heists these days. Art heists? Jewelry theft? All the rich idiots are blowing their money on crypto, NFTs, and custom furniture from hipster woodworking YouTubers. Nobody just has a gallery in their house with priceless antiques in glass cases below a conveniently placed skylight, or millions of dollars in cash and gold bullion in vaults behind secret doors with seven different elaborate locking mechanisms anymore. Nobody secures their valuables with networks of criss crossing laser motion sensors. The only guys with that kind of money are assholes like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, and they don't have the sense of style for that. They just hire a bunch of assholes with guns.

Carmen San Diego, Legend: You must be joking, right? The reason I retired is because the infrastructure in this country is so dilapidated it's impossible to move it without it disintegrating. My last heist was "stealing" the World's Largest Pothole in Lansing, Michigan. I lifted the entire six lane wide, fifteen foot deep pothole out of the ground, disassembled it, and shipped it across the country to a warehouse in Las Vegas, then filled in the hole with pristine asphalt so it looked like it was never there. Nobody investigated. Nobody came after me. The city threw a parade in my honor. It didn't even take a month before my record holding pothole was dethroned by one in Cleveland, leaving me with nothing but a bunch of dirt, crumbling asphalt, and broken dreams. That's when I realized it was time to call it quits. Well, maybe the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, but it already looks stupid enough in the middle of Tennessee that the only way stealing it would be funny is if I put it in the original Memphis.

[moongothic]

Yeah no I can't stop thinking about this. I need to get this extremely cursed theory out of my system. Let's just go.

Could Rayleigh and Shakky be Crocodile's parents?

So the thing is, I was gonna post about this like ages ago, but then I canned my original post. Because I realized that based on the timeline we have, for this theory to be true Shakky would've had to become pregnant at age 17 and given birth at 18 while Rayleigh was like 31. And needless to say, that's gross as hell. So yeah, I cancelled that original theory post because of that.

But then I realized that between Oda repeatedly treating 17 year olds as """not children""" in OP (see: Dragon literally saying Luffy isn't a child anymore at age 17), and other shit like how 16 year old Pudding was almost married to 21 year old Sanji

Like shit's creepy as hell. But alas, because Oda is Oda, it would actually fit in-universe. Like the theory is still fucking viable. Because fucking Oda, man.

And god fucking damnit the thought just keeps on haunting me. Because I am unironically curious whether or not this could be a genuine, viable theory. So yeah. I just need to get this theory out of my system. Let's just get it done with, alright

So what kind of started off this theory in my mind was remembering Buggy's off-hand comment/joke about Rayleigh being Luffy's uncle

Because that got me also thinking about some other, vaguely related theories, and like... Like we all know these theories, right;

that Luffy's mom is a Kuja (people speculate that's why Kuma sent him to Amazon Lily, that Luffy had a connection to the island)

that Crocodile has Kuja heritage (the Missing Empress is pretty much debunked but it is a popular, related and vaguely relevant theory too)

that Crocodile is Luffy's other dad

And I could not help but to wonder if these theories could somehow be combined together into one Giga Theory

And the funny thing is, we know that Rayleigh did marry a Kuja Empress, Shakky. Which actually does mean that the four theories could be mashed together. Like sure the other three theories could already be combo'd together but Buggy's theory would somehow really complement the other theories and bring them all together???

Of course, if Crocodad is real and Rayleigh turned out to be Crocodile's dad, then Buggy's comment wouldn't be fully accurate, since Rayleigh would be Luffy's other grandfather, not uncle. But it'd still be funny as hell in its own right, since the two would turn out to be blood-relatives. Like how the fuck was Buggy onto something there. Not to mention, as of now, two of Buggy's predictions in the Summit War Saga have already turned true (him becoming a Shichibukai and then a Yonkou, the only one that hasn't come true yet is him becoming Pirate King)

But indeed, if Shakky and Rayleigh were Crocodile's parents, then that would mean Crocodile would have Kuja heritage, it would mean Luffy's birthing parent was (technically) a Kuja, Buggy's joke would be kind of true and, yeah, Crocodad Real. That would be insane. We got a full fucken bingo over here

But then we have all these details to considder;

We know Shakky quit being the Kuja Empress and a pirate 42 years ago, when she moved to Sabaody and opened her bar. We don't know why she did this move, especially because at this point Rayleigh should've still been adventuring with Roger's crew

At that point, Crocodile would've been 4 years old

Based on Baby Croc's art, he isn't wearing Kuja clothes. If he had been raised in Amazon Lily then surely he would've been wearing their clothes*, but if he moved to Sabaody with Shakky and was raised there, then his get-up would fit in just fine

The trivia books claim Crocodile is a Grand Line native; regardless of if he was raised in Amazon Lily or Sabaody, both would add up

*(To be fair, if Oda had drawn Baby Croc in Kuja Clothes, that would've been a MASSIVE SPOILER to drop in an SBS. And Film Z did go out of its way to NOT include Baby Croc in the credits when all the other Baby Shichibukai were, so like, Baby Croc's art isn't Absolute Lore or anything, it is subject to change)

Indeed, if Shakky had decided to move out of Amazon Lily and went to Sabaody specifically knowing that if Roger's crew ever passed by then that would make sense, since it would mean she'd have an increased chance at seeing her husband again (if only briefly). It would also make sense if she moved out with her child and/or because she had a child, since it'd make it easier for her to ensure her child and the father could maybe get to meet and spend time together, as staying on Amazon Lily would've meant Rayleigh wouldn't have been able to enter the town even if he DID swam all the way there. (Also her options would've been to either leave her child behind or bring the child with her, and if she didn't want the kid to grow up in Amazon Lily for whatever reason then this would've been the perfect opportunity to remove that child from the island)

If Crocodile grew up in Sabaody then it could explain things like Baby Croc's serious expression and how he has a gun; there are dangerous people in Sabaody, the kid would've had to learn to defend himself from a young age (and I'm sure Shakky would've been happy to teach her child how to fight, since the Kuja are fierce warriors and being powerful is beautiful etc). It would also explain Crocodile's racism towards Jinbei, since anti-Fishman racism is a common issue in Sabaody. He would also have grown up in a place where slavery and other shit is a commonly known and seen thing, as well as the crimes of the Tenryuubito. This would explain a lot about his general attitude towards the World Government

Also, if both of Crocodile's parents were pirates, and his dad also happened to literally be on the ship of the Pirate King... Yeah it would explain his career choises. And why he had gone to Roger's execution too, since that would've been not just the Greatest Pirate In The World, but also his father's captain

And if these two were Croc's parents, it could explain his title; he could be "Sir" Crocodile because he is the son of an empress, or it could be a fucked up abbreviation from Silvers (note: it doesn't work like that in Japanese, since "sir" is like "saa" while "silvers" is "shirubaasu", but that's why I said "fucked up abbreviation")

Either way, his fullname would then be Sir Silvers Crocodile

A fitting name for a silver medalist, is it not

I just. I hate how much sense this would make

Also I'll throw this out there; don't want to put too much money on the whole "they look similar" thing due to Oda's same face syndrome, but there is an argument to be made about Oda's fem!Croc looking quite similar to Shakky, while if you squint your eyes, a younger Rayleigh could kinda look a bit like regular Croc (they even have the same haircut, awe), though it's hard to judge since we have so little art of young Rayleigh and old Rayleigh is, well, visibly much older than Crocodile

Really the only things I can think of that COULD debunk the idea are that Crocodile is MUCH TALLER than either Rayleigh or Shakky, and his bloodtype doesn't match (the two are A/AB while Croc is O). And my normal instinct would be like "if they were related then surely these details would add up because Oda is insane", but also. They are minor details. IDK man

Also, Crocodile aside. Shakky and Rayleigh have known each other for a long ass time, and Rayleigh's tendency to sleep around, it is entirely possible the two could have had a child at some point. And that really would explain why Shakky quit being an Empress. Like it doesn't even have to be Crocodile, it would just make sense if they had a kid and if that kid became the reason to Shakky quitting. The question is, who could that child then be?? And what happened to them??

[morballs]

looking back on my posts I realize I talk alot about Kenny, and I won't lie anymore it's almost been a year and i swear on my Kenny that this fucking cunt haunts me day in and day out.

I wake up conjuring images of this bitch, I brew my coffee pondering what kind of coffee he himself would drink, I sit down and watch a show and think "wow haha what if Kenny was there" and I stay awake until ungodly hours of the night just PONDERING my morb about this racist sack of shit

Is euthanasia a viable option? I can't take it anymore.

[auckie]

I’ve only ever bought a comm twice and the first time I hated the result but it was only ten bucks so who cares but the second time they just didn’t. Do it and didn’t refund me. Or dm me back. And that one was like 30, so again. Not that bad. But so many comm artists I know are always like ‘dude I’m so behind I’m so nervous my clients keep dming me’ and on one hand I get it bc I take forever to do anything but on the other hand maybe that means you took too many or gave them an unrealistic timeline. Sorry but it’s true. And that’s why unless an artist is huge and reputable I’m hesitant to get one, or unless I know the person well and either trust they’ll get it done at some point. Any point. Refund me. Or I like them enough to be like well you probably need that 60-90 more than me so we’ll let bygones be bygones huh? But then. But then you see them draw someone a free gift. And yknow. It’s like when someone’s ignoring you and you see them active elsewhere. Hey I get it we’ve all been there. It happens and I can roll with it. But just as when like a week passed and you still get peanuts. How can you not take that personally? (*saying this as someone who does this and doesn’t mean offense but recognizes how rude it is and will just be like shit I guess I can’t keep up with 300 acquaintances or old friends who live six hours away). So when it’s like, 5 personal pieces, two freebies for friends, and 0 comms. It’s a little insulting. I think you get to an age where you realize running around like a chicken with its head cut off isn’t cute anymore and as you try to get your shit together and stop the cycle of ‘guys! I’m okay!’ And everything is clean and organized and you’ve answered all your dms, paid all your bills, gone grocery shopping and done laundry and meal prepped for work. Then one thing goes wrong and it all goes to shit and you spend three weeks slowly trying to rebuild the house of cards. Then you’re back to ‘guys! I’m okay!’ Rinse and repeat. So seeing others still in it. It’s…relatable, but when money or time is on the line it’s a little annoying. I guess at least it’s not some sort of formal, corporate contract ofc. You try to be empathetic. Maybe they’re busy, or deal with chronic pain. Maybe something stressful just happened like an illness or death in the family, a breakup, job loss. Tons of shit could be happening. But if it’s a recurrent trend? Maybe. Don’t sell commissions. Or just limit yourself to three, I see a lot of artists do that. It’s smart and manageable. You can get in line to be emailed when they open comms again. Charge like, nothing. So it won’t matter as much if you have to refund. Don’t spend the money you get before hand till it’s done too. Take tips from the freaks who pump out tens of comms a month. What sortve scary tricks do they use? Is it viable? Are there shortcuts you can take, like those stupid ps yt tutorials? I dunno man I couldn’t imagine doing writing commissions. So I don’t. As much as I enjoy writing fuck that noise! Too busy and messy with my own life let alone tasks that don’t have set deadlines and scary employers standing over my shoulder. Bc I know my weaknesses and they are many, and I don’t like screwing people over lol— even if it’s only ten bucks.

[judas-is-carrion]

this feels like a damn confessional

i have no one to talk to about this because my partner is like "just forgive yourself" and i can't

Why the fuck does "hate myself" feel like a viable option, like it's doing something? It's not. At alllllll. But I can't stop thinking that in regards to a fucked-up way I acted last month.

It sucks because I am so prideful I couldn't talk to anyone about it, except for my one online pal in the UK who was going through his own shit I guess and didn't respond to my confession of acting like an asshole (not his fault, like I said, going through their own shit).

I was supposed to have a nice time and enjoy a cool show in a gay bar but instead I convinced myself that everyone there was so much cooler and more beautiful and talented and less awkward than me and didn't want me there. I left the house feeling good and got there feeling like I looked RIDICULOUS and should not be there. I wanted a drink but I couldn't bring myself to navigate the crowded bar and get the attention of stranger who I already thought didn't want me there.

It was really crowded and I didn't know where to sit, was terrified of anyone talking to me because then they'd see that I shouldn't be there, which is completely insane i know. I just wanted to leave. I was so miserable, in a place where I was about to see my two favorite drag kings perform. And someone said to me that night "I love your hair!" WHICH MADE ME FEEL WORSE because it was like reality was trying to break though and check on me like a rescue line thrown to me that I just had to reach up and grab but couldn't. I was so overwhelmed not knowing anybody there but the person I came with.

And I did the meet-and-greet tickets but was so scared I couldn't even look at the artists directly. I was so worried about acting weird or making the artists feel awkward or uncomfortable in any way that I completely wasted this experience that is never going to come around again for me. It could have been cool, but I suck. That's the bottom line. I can't forgive myself for that. I don't have the kind of income that supports going and doing things anymore so I really fucked that up. I just hope I can forget eventually. I had to unfollow the artists on social media because I couldn't stand seeing them and remembering how much I fucked up what should have been an awesome night.

[fuck-customers]

I may or may not have done an oopsie at work by talking back to my boss. Long rant, sorry.

Follow up, I was the anon who sent in a message about how me and another coworker drew pictures for Christmas on our personal work whiteboard and my boss got butthurt over it cause he’s a douche, so I drew a picture of the grinch directed at him.

He sent out a message initially saying the “graffiti” was unacceptable etc and I didn’t respond because either I’d have to A) kiss his ass and lie like a suck up or B) tell him to get fucked . Both of which options didn’t seem viable, so I opted to ignore it.

Cut to today, a few weeks later. I wake up after doing an overnight shift to a message from him. He’s detailing how my close was unacceptable and going off about my coworker drawing on the board, again (said coworker already handed in his letter of resignation last week and so we both decided to just leave it up as somethin of a fuck you cause ya can’t get fired if you quit).

The message was detailing things I’d made sure were done, and prep that wasn’t completed that should’ve been done by the day shift people.

I was half asleep, in a bad mood and sick of months of this crap so I went off. Debated all his points, told him the prep wasn’t my sole responsibility and several things he listed had in fact been done by us. That the day people need to start pulling their weight and this issue of me coming in to nothing done has been ongoing for weeks. I tried to keep civil but made it very apparent he wasn’t going to speak to me like that without getting shit back. I reminded him that majority of my closes are great and I work myself to the fucking bone to make sure the opening people come in to a clean environment (not because I care abt the job, but because I want the opener to have an easy job), but mistakes happen and I don’t want to be constantly under threat of disciplinary action because I’m a fucking tired human being.

He responded with something like “I’ll speak to the day people to let them know this is an issue” to which I said that shouldn’t be the only take away he gets from this, and I don’t want to be constantly worried that if I leave so much as a crumb on the floor I’ll be hunted down over it. Said that behaviour like this is reason my coworker quit and may be the reason I quit as well as they’re already not paying me enough to warrant wanting to keep this job as it stands and I’m over this unhealthy work environment.

He hasn’t responded to that last part yet. Coworker and I are joking that either he’s too stunned that a ‘mere employee’ bit back, or he’s planning to murder me. I know I should be concerned, and the safest course of action would’ve been to bend over backwards going “yes sir, of course sir” but I’m tired of this place and looking to quit anyway and boss is a piece of shit who’s called us employees ‘just numbers’ numerous times, so fuck him anyway. I’ve been so overworked, stressed and burnt out for months now that I’m just unable to feel it anymore.

TLDR; boss tried to berate me through text so I bit back and basically told him to fuck off cause I don’t need this job as much as they need me 🤗

[eat-the-richard]

Utterly Obsessed With The Schlatt My Way Cover Because AI Is Fucking Losing

I think I've listened to this cover every day since its come out. A little bit strange since I'm not even the biggest fan of Sinatra, or Schlatt anymore for that matter. Nothing personal to the both of them, just not really my thing. But the implication of this cover is genuinely awe-inspiring in a way I still don't really have the words for.

AI disrupted a lot of industries this year. But none I feel took at as personally as the arts. Seemingly every day from all walks of the artistic palette, we say a regurgitation of infinite works from infinite possible sources. Every individual thought could become a strange, off putting yet still generally accurate piece of art. Entire animations were mushed through filter after filter to resemble styles of artists long dead and studios long dissolved. And, of course, internet micro celebrities with nary a song to their name have covered every song in existence.

Truly a tool for our perverted content age, AI has already been used, abused, run through its paces and spat back out. Quality be damned, these pieces of art could now *just* exist without talent or performance. Impressive, in a way, but terrifying in many more.

Not even to mention the numerous individuals dedicating their lives to their craft, becoming experts in their chosen field and deserving to make a well and honest living through their creations, suddenly finding themselves competing with a bastardization of their life's work annihilating them at a pace they can't match. But these AI advancements have potential to *stunt* potential. Why train your voice to simulate a musical instrument when you can upload thousands of voice samples to a tool and use that to sing any song imaginable? Why study a style of a given artist when their work can be morphed into an idea you just thought of two minutes ago?

Dangers such as these scare the shit out of me. Because art is all we have left, in a way. Nobody *should* be able to take this away from you, although god damn they have tried. Training the self to create expression in whatever way you please, even if it isn't financially viable, even if you can't do it as quickly or in the style that everyone wants, even if you kind of hate what comes out on the other side, it's still *you*.

AI can express. But there is no self. Its tools built on the works of countless others and rapidly expanding ways to sort them. Inherently plagiarist, AI works treat the heart crucial to the success of all art as disposable. Impressive AI works cannot be attributed to the idea, or the person responsible for clicking the button. Merely to the tool developed over years of work seemingly incongruent with art, for uses that should have nothing to do with art, plastered over the creation of art anyway by those who do not care.

This is all to say that jschlatt, who has had to sit there and watch his face, his voice, his very likeness flattened, used to create art he had no say in or control over, was able to take that control back. Undoubtedly, Schlatt has had some vocal lessons or *something* to get this sounding so polished, but the actual quality isn't why this is so impressive. It's impressive because *it's him*.

The reaction to this cover has been universally positive. Folks who were shocked Schlatt was able to pull this off. Those wanting more music from him in the future. But the single most apparent sentiment in the reaction was joy, glee even, in that this was *not* AI. This was his voice, flaws be damned, experience be damned, performance style be damned. This is him, and he put his *heart* into it. And you can feel that emotion pulsing through this cover, an attention to detail to respect the original work by trying to match its intricacies. Clearly exhibiting strain to hit the iconic high notes and long vibrato this legendary song is known for. No AI, no bullshit, this is *him.*

And the people love it. There is no replacement for the genuine article. AI is fucking losing.

[heliianth]

hey zelda nerd tell me about the inconsistencies in aoc i don't know much abt botw and i wanna hear

holy fuck. u have unlocked a pandoras box

ok to preface: i do not hate aoc. i clocked over 100 hours in the original hyrule warriors and i think aoc is better, and the only reason i dont have as much playtime is due to the fact that i am not 11 with infinite free time forever anymore. for a dynasty warrior type game where spamming ur light combo chain is typically a viable option no matter what it is actually decently difficult (at least to me) and the skill trees are engaging. there are no characters that feel like an absolute slog and the campaign is fun, if short. it is a fun game. and there ARE some character interactions that are gold—notably, the ones between sidon and mipha are genuinely heartbreaking, the DLC scene with revali and tulin is the best shit to happen to his character ever, and this version of link and zelda are adorable, despite what im going to talk abt for the next like. hour

the inconsistences that ive noticed are ones that like. u guessed it. have to do with link and zelda. in botw, they're the ones with the most screentime, and therefore have more material to botch compared to the champions who are pretty simple to understand and don't have more than a few establishing scenes outside of the divine beasts. they serve to support the theme as simple anchors for the player to relate each area in the game with the story. in comparison, link and zelda carry the themes of botw on their backs

botw is About a lot of things, but the main About is healing from failure by finding connection and beauty in yourself and the people around you. the story is fundamentally set up on a tragedy—the apocalypse happens, a countless amount of innocent people die, and in hindsight it seems entirely preventable, but it happens anyway. the entire game purposefully and starkly contrasts this backstory with serene, peaceful, grassy landscapes and an anxiety-free method of story delivery. there's melancholic optimism in the fact that even the most world-ending disaster is moved past by trees and wildlife and people. this video is an excellent deconstruction if you want something to listen to for like, an hour. it phrases things better than i ever could (it also dives into what im going to say abt zelda as a character but hang on with me for a little bit). to paraphrase it, botw says "life is tenacious". but it's also kind of hard to grasp this, for an audience, when it's on such a magnitude---most people cannot relate to the calamity ravaging hyrule and forcing it into a state where it takes 100 years to heal as a failure. to actually convey the theme, it needs more personalized representations for the audience to connect with

zelda and link, as characters, show different failures and ways to react to them. before i start i want to say that when i say "failure" referring to them, im talking about what is considered by the people around them as a failure. zelda physically not being able to unlock her magic or link being like, an actual person, is not a failure. social construction and all that. the importance is them believing, perceiving, it to be a failure among themselves. capiche?

im going to talk about link first, because link is the foundation that zelda builds on. ive made posts about it before, but the way links backstory is constructed as a collection of clues that must be strung together by people who are dedicated to it is representative of him as a person, or at least who he used to be. link is a child soldier who draws the master sword at 12-13 years old and finds the weight of being one of two people with the responsibility of killing the prehistoric incarnation of hatred and death unceremoniously dropped on his shoulders. to cope with that, his response is absolute conformity. he shuts down so completely that he doesn't speak, or even emote, to anyone, for fear of not being what hyrule needs from the mythical hero of legend. he decides dehumanizing himself is easier than not living up to that expectation.

zelda is similar but different in some very key ways. she has a direct lineage tracing back to the goddess hylia, all of whose female descendents possess some form of holy sealing magic that vanquishes ganon. she loses her mother at age six and the king thinks it is a brilliant idea to give her one year to mourn before forcing her into trying to unlock her sealing magic via rigorous prayer and devotion. despite her best efforts, she finds she cannot conform, that she genuinely cannot do what people are asking her to. instead, she tries to put herself to use somewhere else, finding passion and connection in the sheikah and their ancient technology, and holds onto a spirit of individuality for 10 years straight.

the way zelda builds on link is in the fact that she has a character arc. eventually, after a while of hating and projecting insecurity onto link, who refuses to communicate back to her, she develops the courage to reach out an olive branch. with that, she finds connection and worth and, yeah, love. link opens up to her a little bit, but cannot bring himself to lower his facade completely. this uhhh fucking kills him. he dies (or, i guess, "falls" but the place they put him in was called the shrine of resurrection. he was dead). and zelda lives because this newfound connection and understanding was the key to unlocking her sealing magic, which saves both her and fort hateno. with link and zelda, pre-calamity, botw says "finding worth, connection, and love (im really trying to dodge amatonormativity please see my attempts . please) within yourself and others is the key to overcoming failure. by denying your own humanity and isolating, you're dooming yourself." zelda uses her connection and love to ward off the calamity for 100 years. basic magic of friendship stuff

link has more development in the fact that hes the personification of the literal land of hyrule itself and the themes come full circle by his death healing him in the same way the land healed after 100 years and only when he regains his connection to zelda, uninhibited by the restrictions he placed on himself pre-calamity, can he go help her blah blah blah thats largely unimportant because that's post-calamity stuff, which is irrelevant to aoc.

and god we JUST arrived at aoc im so sorry but i needed to explain all that to succinctly explain why i'm bothered by the way it writes these two. ok. you see all that i just splurged out? with help from all my brainworms and 500 hours of playtime? aoc does none of this.

aoc was kind of doomed from the beginning. botw being post-post-apocalypse is so important to its themes and narrative that everyone and their mom expected aoc to be the darkest zelda game ever released. it was marketed as a botw prequel--- the fleshed out story of the calamity, which, as i mentioned, ends with everyone including link fucking dying, and that was what people wanted out of it. i personally had suspicions back in, what, 2021? that it wasnt going to end on a note like that but everyone was largely hopeful that it was going to remain faithful and let us experience the story that was largely told through flashbacks in botw. this is not the case and it was so obviously not the case that i feel silly for believing otherwise, because its hyrule warriors, and more importantly, its a video game. they're not going to end a video game, especially not one in a genre which has a gameplay loop that relies on post-campaign content and grinding, on an unwinnable final boss. would it have been metal as fuck? yes. but from an actual game content standpoint, where they want to reward the player for more playtime? not gonna happen.

so already were off to a bad start. but an everyone lives no one dies au isn't the worst case scenario, i suppose. but. um.

aoc not only straight up does not include the important parts of link's backstory that i mentioned (that is, the fact that he is deathly anxious and traumatized and that this is the reason why he's quiet), but it also doesn't really... have a pronounced "zelda finds connection" arc. at least, it's not notable enough for me to remember it. sure, she grows closer to link, and her love of him is still what unlocks her magic, but she never despises him like she started out doing in botw. there's little to no projection in a way that emphasizes her independence and self-respect that's in conflict with her self-loathing. there's no interpersonal conflict to link's conformity that makes them thematic foils. this all makes her revelation in fort hateno where link originally dies much less potent, discounting the fact that originally the result of her revelation gives her the strength to hold back hatred incarnate for 100 years. but that doesn't happen either because as we've established this is an everyone lives nobody dies au and link's character arc goes unfulfilled as well because, well, everybody lives.

for all the time travel stuff is weird and the egg is a retcon and king rhoam's death is set up as a sacrifice and then later rug pulled for the sake of another playable character (and also sympathy-baiting) its what ive mentioned above that grinds my gears the most because my favorite thing about botw is its themes and the way it handles them in relation to link, zelda, and the open world gameplay. and age of calamity doesnt tick any of those boxes. so while there are more gaping plot holes or nitpicks i could make, i don't really think theyre worthwhile in comparison to the issues ive described. thats why i cant love it the way i love botw and am loving totk right now, even though its technically part of the trilogy. its fun to think about in isolation, and it doesnt ruin everything the way a movie like httyd3 does, but it's also one massive "they would not fucking say that" which bothers me occasionally

woo. there u go. hopefully u had fun hearing

[janiedean]

@starrology101 Sansa’s going to end up with two grown men who assaulted and harassed her because they’re ugly?

I'm just

not counting this was in reply to a post I wrote in 2021 and like... it's been two years whatever but not counting that if you read it you missed like the entire point and I'm not gonna get into it again but like

nor tyrion nor sandor have ever assaulted or harassed her, like sandor lit saved her from a mob and didn't beat her when joffrey ordered it, tyrion actually tried to stop that and after he was also forced to marry her by his father (when he absolutely did not want to either but hey that wedding was apparently coercitive just on one side??) he made a point of not having sex with her when technically it was within his rights so like........ dunno where you got that notion but that shit didn't happen in either books nor show so idk what to tell you

blackwater being assault is like..................... if you see it like that you can but he absolutely didn't do anything to her, he was drunk, he left and she thinks he kissed her when that never happened so like again everyone is free to be as uncomfortable with blackwater as they wish and I absolutely will not be the person saying you have to find it romantic or suck it up or whatever but it was meant for it to be what makes sandor want to get better and she romanticized the shit out of it after make out of that what you will

'two grown men' tyrion in the books is 24 and sandor is like 27 and no way sansa gets with either of them before wow which means she'll be at least 16 which makes it an entirely reasonable age gap within westeros customs and norms like lit no one thinks sansa should have been with either of them in the actual canon so you do you

'because they're ugly' my pal idk how to explain it anymore when it's obvious in the text but grrm has a thing for beauty and beast narratives, the entire point of that trope is that one of the two isn't stereotypically good looking and certainly that ain't sansa out of whoever else it is and sansa in the beginning thinks marrying a pretty guy is the bee's knees and then the narrative goes like 'yeah all the pretty guys you thought were great are also horrid people inside' and in this kind of narrative the point is realizing that what you thought was a+ in the beginning isn't what you actually want/need so yeah two **ugly** guys that everyone treats like shit because they're not standard attractive and have trauma and so on will be more likely endgame options for sansa's bc her entire shtick is falling in love with someone who's **ugly** outside and not so much inside which neither sandor or tyrion are so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

idk if you read the books but all of sansa's asos chapters + affc ones are her basically thirsting after sandor and convincing herself he kissed her first so she can like tell herself a narrative where *she* picked the guy who was her first kiss and so on when everyone else is basically exploiting her and fucking littelfinger took that like............ that's basic romance novel 101 idk what to tell you take it up with grrm not me

tldr: sandor or tyrion (not both) are the only two characters that are viable for sansa as love interests looking objectively at the narrative, you don't like that go take it up with grrm but I can 100% assure you that either of them is way more likely than the guy she thinks is her brother and is the only one of her siblings she wasn't close to while she was the only one of his siblings she wasn't close to ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[muntiller2]

I wish they'd just apologize, you know?

Okay, I'm going to be honest here. The way the story is heading is shit and I haven't seen anyone praise it in ages.

It's funny right? It all comes down to the exact same spot in the story where everything goes to absolute shit: EE part 3.

I'm not gonna say EE entirely because acts 1 and 2 were rlly good imo, the murder mystery was fun and engaging and there was no narrative of people being flawless and perfect, it was just a bunch of isolated assholes trapped with a killer inside a house and trying to figure out who it is. I really liked that part!

Everyone knows how the story went from there so I'm not gonna describe it. We all know what went wrong by now, we all know who ruined everything and we all know how it ends.

Ever since then not only has the story suffered severely, but so has the gameplay. As said by a friend on discord: the scummy gacha stuff was forgivable because the "meta" wasn't necessary to enjoy the game, we had the story to hold that up and old valks could very well hold up in newer weather. Today? That shit doesn't fly anymore.

You guys remember when a Herrscher patch was something to be excited for? I do. You guys remember when we didn't have Herrscher after Herrscher after Herrscher being released back to back? I do.

This all means that today not only is the gacha even more demanding in a game that is already really fucking unforgiving, but the meta has also shifted in a way that's not sustainable for people who have older characters. Sure, they're giving one of the new Herrschers for free, but that doesn't change the fact we have a boss and weather that needs 3 different elements on the same team to work, fucking up every single comp I've seen so far that isn't HoO, HoFi and HoTr.

Mihoyo is not only burning through the community's goodwill in regards to the story (and they're burning it fast, I haven't seen anyone excited for new chapters as of late), but they're also burning through the goodwill of these same players when it comes to meta.

If the story is no longer keeping people entertained, they'll move to meta and if meta isn't viable, they'll stop playing.

Hell, I haven't played the newest chapter yet, not a single stage and I don't want to, the story completely burned me out. Do you know what I think when I remember a double Herrscher patch is coming next patch too? I just sigh because I'm tired.

You know what I wish mihoyo did? Apologize.

If they were fucking honest about the fact they fucked up and burned all of the goodwill their community had with them, a lot of people would be less salty about it. If they stopped pretending everything is fine and that everyone is loving where the game is going, people would be less willing to hunt them down with pitchforks.

I just wish they would admit that their story has gone to shit and that they ruined the characters they meticulously built for years, instead of trying to mend things with bandaids and a shiny new coat of paint over the cracks.

But of course, that's not going to happen because it won't. No other reason aside from the fact that it just won't.

I just really fucking wish they would make an actual announcement apologizing, reboot the story back to pre EE and try again with some actual soul into it. I don't think the community would be even mad to have a soft reboot given the vast majority has been doing their own rewrites and completely disregarding canon. With the amount of fucking amazing ideas I've seen coming from all of us, they could even take some of them and make an actual good story.

But once again, that won't happen because they have their heads so far up their asses that they can taste their own hair. It won't happen because they're sure that if they hammer into our heads that this is the new canon enough times, we'll all eventually accept it and shut up.

[kradogsrats]

ghhhhh okay I'm feeling feisty today so: I'm not going to do this as a reblog of the actual post because I don't want to bust into someone's blog like the Kool-Aid man going NO U because this is not personal at all. But... I want to address the question of "would it not be dark magic (as in 'bad') anymore if you only use ethically-sourced ingredients?" because it's a thing.

And because even leaving aside all the other shit that's going on with dark magic, the answer is a) oh, you sweet, sweet summer child who thinks that's possible, let alone viable, and b) that's not the point.

It's like asking "is an authoritarian dictatorship bad if there's a good person in charge?" YES! It is! It is such a continuous failure point in the human mind that we think "well, it wouldn't have gone that badly if I did it" that there are literally thousands of years of stories about how that's objectively not true! There's an entire fucking Greek word for it!

Like... you literally only have to look at the real world for about a minute to start seeing problems with this. There has never been a single fucking resource that people can maintain ethics about. You want elf hair? How long until elves in vulnerable situations are being coerced into selling pieces of their bodily autonomy? How long until someone has a mini factory-farm camp of enslaved elves? And then you want to talk about animal products? DON'T MAKE ME FUCKING LAUGH. Just look at the current ethical mess that is large-scale egg or milk production—once demand is high enough, someone winds up unable to control themselves. We've driven entire species of birds to the edge of extinction because their feathers were pretty in hats. There are literally laws preventing people from selling feathers they have picked up off the ground to prevent it from happening again, because that's how it fucking started. Let that sink in for a sec and then tell me again that mages would only ever use phoenix feathers naturally shed during molting.

/SCREECHES okay i'm okay

The other thing is that TDP is a very thematic story, and dark magic is an integral theme component. This is a story literally 90% about bad choices people make because they think they're right, that it's all for a good cause, and that the ends justify the means. That's the central conflict around dark magic, going back to the expulsion of humans from Xadia: do the ends justify the means? "Oh, it was necessary! Humans were oppressed! It was the only thing they could do to escape slavery and genocide!" No it fucking wasn't. I'm not going to dig up my posts about this because I'm pretty sure they're linked in the other ones above, but that explanation is a lie that canon is doing a slow-burn reveal on. Does that mean Xadia is right and all humans are awful forever, the end? No, don't be stupid. Are there definitely other lies being told? Absolutely.

But it's a disservice to everything the setting and story is trying to say to be like "what if we could use the ends-justify-the-means juice, but in a way where the means were such that the ends really did justify them?" Like... no, stop. You're trying to take a very complex ethical question and simplify it into a good/evil dichotomy. That's not how literally any part of this story works. I do think they did it just a bit of a disservice in that area by calling it "dark" magic, just because we are so trained by generations of weird bullshit to associate dark = evil, which makes the ethical themes going on under the hood trip people up.

Could you make a character who was a dark mage only using ingredients that they source ethically? Sure. But they'd be a very interesting study in hypocrisy, not a pioneer of a new form of magic.