#truth sequence code

[ghost-bot-and-friends]

[jenniferlonnberg]

You are THE GIFT

[vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1591048349401{padding-bottom: 25px !important;}”][vc_column][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1579109932214{padding-bottom: 20px !important;}”][vc_column][vc_column_text] YOU Are the Gift Recently, I had the privilege of being a guest on the podcast 2Scoops of Woo—and what a conversation it was! We dove into some incredible topics: spiritual gifts, galactic…

[bemusedlybespectacled]

proposing what I'm going to call Gaylor's Razor, which is: never explain normal shit as being part of a secret message that can only be decoded by over-analysis.

"These Taylor Swift lyrics are actually coded messages saying that she's a lesbian and is forced to stay in the closet! Any lyrics that are clearly about being attracted to a man are just to throw us off the scent!" Sometimes people, like Taylor Swift, are straight and write about being straight, because they are straight.

"The fourth series of Sherlock was deliberately bad because it was actually a coded message to us fans that there is a secret fourth episode that will make Johnlock canon and will actually be good!" Sometimes writers (even experienced writers who are normally good at their jobs) will write something that's not good, because no one is perfect. They're not going to waste everyone's time and money and energy creating something terrible on purpose as part of a grand master plan.

"Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, the Canadian Olympic ice dancers, are secretly married (with kids)! Their public relationships with people who are not each other and them repeatedly saying 'we dated as kids and now we're just friends' are just to hide the truth! Which they need to hide for some reason! Their relationship is obvious just from their physical chemistry when competing! JUST LOOK AT THIS TWO SECOND CLIP OF HIM BLINKING AT HER!" It seems counterproductive to put all that thought into hiding a relationship that doesn't need to be hidden but then also telegraph that same relationship in front of millions of people through planned choreography.

"But BB, what about times that people really are speaking in code or hiding something due to outside influences?"

If it requires huge leaps in logic, like adding all the letters in a sentence together and dividing by seventeen and that number matches the binary sequence for the color yellow so YELLOW MUST BE SIGNIFICANT, it's not a secret code.

If it requires focusing on teeny tiny details but discards huge ones, like analyzing someone's micro-expressions but handwaving away what the person is actually saying out loud with their mouth, or focusing on one specific line instead of the entire scene or song or whatever, it's not a secret code.

If both supporting and contradictory evidence are used to come to the same conclusion (ex: when Taylor says something that I interpret as gay, that means she's gay, and when she says something that I interpret as straight, that still means she's gay and just hiding it), it's not a secret code.

Trying to apply fandom meta analysis techniques to real life is a really good way of fall into conspiratorial thinking that can be easily exploited. You can totally try to predict what's going to happen in a story or choose to interpret a scene in a specific way; you can't do that in real life with real people. That way lies the kind of nonsense that leads to shit like "this image of pizza on a children's toy is actually subliminal messaging by The Cabal™ that proves that Pizzagate is real."

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Part Six ～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: Eh, a brief fight scene, nothing crazy

Tags: Fluff, slice-of-life, Meemaw with a gun

Word Count: 2,115

Synopsis: Mark swears he’s living in an old southern romance and what’s better – you and he are the stars. The only problem: he’s still hiding his hero identity. Things come to a head however when a gaggle of alien villains decide to take their fight to YOUR street.

a/n: I. LOVE. THEM. like, feral about it!!! grrrr

read part five ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

Mark wasn’t sure when exactly his life turned into a dream sequence, but he wasn’t asking questions.

Maybe it was the way you always looped your arm through his when you walked together—like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you’d been holding onto him your whole life and just picked up where you left off. Maybe it was the way you leaned into his side when you laughed, or how you still packed him little Tupperwares of cornbread like he might forget to eat if you didn’t.

Whatever it was, Mark was blissfully, absurdly, unapologetically in love.

He knew it the first time he saw you crouched in the chicken coop behind your Meemaw’s house, apron tied around your waist and boots sunk ankle-deep in straw, cooing at a hen like it was a baby while expertly plucking eggs into a basket. He definitely knew it when he watched you haul a bale of hay over your shoulder without breaking a sweat, your hair tied up in a red bandana and your smile radiant under the morning sun like some kind of farm goddess.

And he absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, knew it when you offered him a peach scone one Saturday morning and said, “Mornin’, sugar,” like you didn’t just casually own his entire heart.

Mark found himself spending more and more time out at your house. Sometimes you studied together on the porch swing, your notes color-coded and neat as a pin. Sometimes you roped him into helping with chores—well, “helping” was a generous term, given that you moved like you’d been born doing this and he nearly broke a toe tripping over a goat.

He loved every second of it.

What he didn’t love was lying to you.

It wasn’t even really lying—just… strategic omission. You didn’t know the full truth. That the bruise on his jaw wasn’t from gym class or a bad fall. That the occasional limp, the mysterious cuts, the fact that he sometimes disappeared for a few hours with no explanation—all of that was part of a much bigger picture.

A picture with a mask. And a secret name. And a whole lot of responsibility he couldn’t exactly hand off.

He hadn’t told you. Not because he didn’t trust you—God, he trusted you more than anyone—but because the idea of looking you in the eye and saying, “Hey, by the way, I sometimes sneak out and fight crime in a spandex suit” sounded like the fastest way to lose the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Which is why, when you reached up one lazy Sunday afternoon and brushed your thumb gently over the bruise just below his collarbone, he panicked.

“Oh, sugar…” Your brows furrowed. “What happened here?”

Mark froze.

Shit.

“Oh, uh—nothing,” he said, way too fast. “Just… gym. Took a bad hit in dodgeball. You know how it is.”

You tilted your head, not buying it. “Since when do y’all play full-contact dodgeball?”

He laughed—awkward. “It’s a new thing. Experimental. Real cutting edge.”

“Uh huh.”

You didn’t press, but your touch lingered just a second longer than usual. Soft. Concerned. And it made something twist hard in Mark’s chest.

Because you were smart. You were always watching. And eventually, he knew… he’d have to tell you everything.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today, he leaned down and kissed your forehead instead, whispering something about being more careful next time, and you smiled like that was good enough.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

But he’d sure as hell try—for as long as you’d let him.

—

The sun was low in the sky, casting golden streaks across the dirt road as you wandered with your parasol tilted just so, the lace edges catching the light like halos. The crickets were chirpin’, and the breeze carried the smell of cut grass and peach blossoms.

You were mid-hum—some old Patsy Cline tune, real soft—when a BOOM cracked through the air like thunder straight from the pits of hell.

You barely had time to scream before something—a man? a thing?—came crashing down the street, tearing a rut through the dirt and flipping a pickup truck like it was a toy. You froze. Heart jackhammering. The only danger you were used to back home was an ornery possum or the occasional fistfight at Uncle Bobby’s bar on Saturday night.

This? This was not that.

You ducked instinctively behind a mailbox post as more figures landed in the road, all snarling and glowing eyes and God-fearing chaos. You were halfway to panic when a blur of blue and yellow zipped in front of you like a comet, knocking one of the villains clean into a tree.

“Stay down!” the hero barked—voice strained, deep, familiar.

The blue and yellow clad savior hit the first villain like a freight train, knocking him sky-high and flipping the second one with a bone-rattling crunch. You peeked out from behind the small post, jaw slack, parasol hanging limp at your side.

Another hit. Another flash. And just like that, they were all down.

The wind settled. Dust floated in the golden light.

He turned, breathing hard, blood at the corner of his mouth.

“You okay, miss?”

His voice.

That voice you’d heard whispering to you in the kitchen just this morning. The voice that called you darlin’ when he thought no one could hear.

Your breath caught. Your spine straightened. And you started walking.

The hero froze.

Just—froze.

You stepped right up to him, boots crunching softly in the dirt, and stopped a foot away. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.

You reached up—real gentle—and tugged the mask up past his eyes and into his hairline.

And there he was.

Messy hair. Busted lip. Brown eyes wide and terrified like you’d just caught him sneaking in past curfew.

“...I knew it,” you whispered. “You dummy.”

Mark opened his mouth.

You stared at him. Blinked again. And then just let out a stunned little laugh.

“I thought you were in, like… some underground fight club or somethin’.”

“…What?”

You hit his arm—not hard. “I dunno! You kept showin’ up with bruises, and I figured maybe you were just real bad at MMA and too proud to tap out.” You shook your head, eyes flicking down to his suit then back to his bloodied face. “You’re some kinda crime fightin’ Superman?! And you didn’t tell me?”

Mark blinked once. Twice.

And then—despite the split lip, despite the scuff on his cheek, despite the sheer chaos around him—he smirked.

A slow, crooked little thing that made your stomach flip and your glare deepen.

“You think I’m Superman?” he said, all faux-innocent, voice dropping an octave like he hadn’t just body-slammed someone into a tree stump. “That’s… kinda hot.”

Your mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

He gave a weak shrug, clearly pleased with himself. “I mean, I’m not that good…”

You stepped closer, brows raised, voice deadpan. “Markus.”

“Yeah?”

“I just watched you destroy a stop sign with a man’s body.”

“Okay, in my defense—he was being very rude.”

You let out a long breath through your nose. “I swear to God, I should’ve known. Nobody that pretty gets bruises that often without bein’ into somethin’ stupid.”

Mark grinned—teeth bloody, smile blinding. “So you do think I’m pretty.”

You just stared at him, then muttered, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” and turned on your heel, parasol bouncing at your side as you marched back home.

Mark stumbled after you, still grinning. “So that’s a yes on Superman?”

“You keep talkin’ and I’m tellin’ Meemaw.”

“...Right. Shutting up.”

You crossed your arms, parasol still dangling from your wrist like the world wasn’t upside down. “You do realize you knocked over Mr. Fenley’s pecan tree, right?”

Mark groaned. “Aw, man. He loves that tree…”

—

You were halfway up the porch steps, dragging Mark behind you like a misbehaving child at Sunday school, when the screen door slammed open with a bang that nearly knocked your parasol out of your hand.

And there she was.

Meemaw.

Hair up in curlers, apron dusted in flour, house slippers on like battle armor—and a .22 rifle resting casually in the crook of her arm like it was just another casserole dish.

Her eyes swept over the wrecked road, the unconscious villains scattered across the front lawn like poorly placed yard decorations, then landed squarely on Mark.

She squinted.

Then, in a voice loud enough to rattle your molars: “What in the HELL happened out here?”

Mark froze behind you, spine stiffening like he was back in math class and forgot his homework.

You cleared your throat, dusting gravel off your skirt like this was just any ol’ day. “Well, Meemaw… turns out Mark’s been gettin’ those bruises not from football or gym class like he claimed—” you shot him a look, “—but from throwin’ hands with actual monsters.”

Mark shifted behind you, muttering, “Technically it was aliens this time…”

You held up a hand without looking at him. “Hush. I’m talkin’.”

Then back to Meemaw, deadpan: “Apparently my boyfriend’s some kinda superhero. Like the real kind. Tights, punches, midair backflips—the whole shebang.”

Meemaw paused for just a beat before she spoke. “Of course he is. And here I thought y’all were sneakin’ off to kiss behind the barn.”

Mark lifted one hand. “Hi, ma’am.”

She didn’t blink. “Boy, you just threw a grown man into my begonias.”

“…Sorry.”

Meemaw exhaled slowly through her nose. “You’d best be explainin’ everything before my pecan pie cools. And you—” she pointed at you without looking, “—bring the peroxide.”

He whispered, “Is she gonna shoot me?”

You sighed, linking your arm with his as you tugged him inside.

“Only if you lie again, sugar.”

Later that night…

“You sure this is safe?” Mark asked, eyeing the mason jar in your hand like it might sprout legs and bite him.

You knelt in front of him on a little woven mat, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled up, utterly unfazed.

“It’s somethin’ my great-auntie used to swear by,” you said, unscrewing the lid. “Vinegar, turpentine, cayenne pepper, honey, and a dash of prayer.”

Mark’s eyes went wide. “...That sounds like it belongs on barbecue.”

“Don’t sass the remedy, sugar.” You dipped a rag in the mix, wrung it out, and without warning, pressed it gently to the cut on his ribs.

“HOLY—” he hissed, nearly levitating off the tub.

“Don’t move,” you warned, steady as a surgeon. “It’s supposed to burn. That means it’s workin’.”

“It means I’m dying,” he wheezed. “Why does it smell like a fire hazard?”

You just smiled sweet as pie. “Old southern secret. Been usin’ it since before electricity.”

He groaned, head falling back. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“If I was tryin’ to kill you, baby, you’d already be dead.” You paused, then leaned forward and kissed the spot you just treated—soft and slow. “There. Better?”

He blinked. Breath caught. “...Yeah. Much better.”

You rested your hand against his jaw, thumb brushing over the bruise near his cheekbone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low buzz of cicadas outside and the faint clink of glass as you set the jar aside.

“I was scared,” he said finally, voice low and raw. “To tell you. I thought... if you knew what… I do… you'd leave.”

Your gaze softened, but you didn’t pull away. “Mark.”

He looked down.

You took his face in both hands, lifting it gently until he met your eyes. “If you think I’m lettin’ go of a man who can lift a tractor and still gets shy when I kiss his cheek, well then honey, I’ve got an ocean front property in Kentucky to sell you.”

Mark let out a breath, lips parting like he might laugh—might cry—but before he could say anything, you gave him a look. One brow lifted, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

Then you tapped a finger gently against your mouth. Once. An expression on your face that said, I’m waiting.

He didn’t hesitate. Leaning in to kiss you—slow, reverent—like you were the only real thing left in the world.

When you pulled back, he was breathless.

“...I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, soft and sure, and cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Oh, honey,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him again—gentle, sweet, and just a little smug. “You just figurin’ that out?”

read part seven ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

[ultimate-marysue]

I made some sort of alignment classification based on whether they're impulsive or if they plan ahead for the Batfam. Feel free to correct me (politely please, I'll cry) or to add your opinion. I'm not trying to be super canon, just based on their characters' vibes.

Bruce Wayne: 100% planner. This man could be a Bene Gesserit, plans within plans, and they always work even if they shouldn't (because DC can't have him be wrong). It's like a choose your own adventure, you follow the plan and each time something new happens that is sure to chase things up he pulls a subsection specifically for it. Senior Justice League Members just don't question him anymore no matter what. "You had a contingency for getting invaded by mind controlling ballerina spiders? Yeah, sure, tell us all about it".

Barbara Gordon: she plans around her impulses. She is self aware enough at this point to know she's a bit of a hot head. It is what it is, she's called Batman an Emo Boy's idea of Therapy enough times to his face to know she just can't help herself with some stuff. So instead of working against it she plans around it. In the end, it was her plan all along. Canary thinks she could just hold her tongue, but considering the vigilantes Oracle manages, her experience in planning for these situations is invaluable.

Dick Grayson: Impulsive, not because he can't make plans or because he isn't smart. Quite the opposite. He just has that ADHD dog in him. He would be guiding the Titans through a mission and they'd be thinking "Woah, everything is going according to his plan", meanwhile inside his head is Bear Grylls saying "Improvise, Adapt, Overcome". It's not so much that he comes up with plans on the spot but he ends up changing it along the way because he thought of something better for that specific situation. He may use B's protocols for a general structure but then trusts his instinct to come up with something better on the spot.

Cassandra Cain: Neither. She's not one to be coming up with elaborate schemes but, as much as she relies on her instinct, she's able to stop before jumping. She doesn't need to plan, she knows what works. She observes and then takes the best course of action. When Bruce goes on and on about the importance of planning she just answers "Skill issue" and leaves.

Jason Todd: impulsive planner. This is a man that makes plans, okay? He's theatre kid coded, he needs to know his little monologues by heart. The thing is, he's also very emotional and has the impulse control of a toddler in front of the cookie jar. He can't help himself, he has to punch the asshole and make the witty comeback or he will explode. The outlaws have been grilled to death on the importance of following the plan but then watch him like ten minutes later throw it out the window. They find it both endearing and annoying.

Stephanie Brown: Queen of Chaos. She can plan. She's good at it too btw, she just doesn't want to if she can avoid it. She works best when she's improvising and it drives Bruce and Tim up the walls. They just hate to see women winning. She's the best one out of all of them at turning a mistake to her advantage in a matter of seconds. It's quite impressive.

Tim Drake: Chaotic planner. Everyone is so sure Tim is a mini Bruce and to a certain extent, if you squint your eyes, then yes. But Young Just Us know the truth: his plans are extremely effective but only in the most chaotic way possible. There's the Batman plan, and there's the Red Robin plan, which is like the first one but faster and with more fire. He also has to be periodically reminded to take into account his own wellbeing when making his little schemes.

Duke Thomas: plans on the go. I don't know how else to explain it but it's like those sequences in the Sherlock movies (the ones with RDJ) where he's watching his surroundings and opponents almost in slow-mo till he puts together a plan. It's similar to Dick from the outside, but if you pay attention you can see the wheels turning in his head as he goes along. He actually stops and thinks (metaphorically, most of the time his thinking is done while he distracts enemies).

Damian Al Gul Wayne: he's a strategist, not a planner. This is an important distinction because whenever Batman or Red Robin are explaining one of their convoluted plans he feels like he's actively losing braincells. He's closer to Cassandra in the way he prefers a more direct solution. He also gets palpitations anytime Jason or Stephanie just start doing things without thinking. If he knew what Dick's thought process was he would have probably developed an anxiety disorder in his time as Dick's robin. He doesn't understand the need for such high detail planning and hates the idea of making it along the way. No, he just needs to come up with the most efficient strategy and that's all.

[supremefloof]

episode 6 thoughts: DANG

Shang Chao is one of the characters of all time. spoilers below! this post is also very long.

THESE DANG ENERGY DRINKS ARE IMPORTANT! This shot is symbolic of something!

these could be "Electro Energy" brand drinks (the brand mentioned later to show how Yang Cheng E-soul is costing money for Mighty Glory).

Is that a "no. 8" or a "no. 0"? 8 would make sense but there's problems with that, those being -> 1. is E-soul still rank number eight here? and 2.:

the trailer shows that this drink belongs to X, with the character presumably meaning 1,0, or some really sadistic way of writing X. (secret, even more sadistic evil third thing is that that's like, a three or something and the timeline is fucked). the drink NEXT to it belongs to E-soul (maybe those are electro energy). So, maybe this drink means that E-soul is X in Year 36. ofc, we have no idea what time this trailer takes place.

it looks like this stupid extremely hard to read borderline secret code font (/hj) is going to be a frequent occurrence! hopefully somebody with more dedication than me can decode it fully at some point.

background ads continue to be very intriguing. where exactly does this take place? we got "langley & co booksellers", "malibu surf shop", alongside chinese signs. probably a lot are just easter eggs but very fun!

In the interrogation room, I really interpreted YC's animated flashback sequence as a panic attack.

he's stuck on two ends from "nothing" to "way too much". He doesn't feel he belongs on either, and yet he's self-internalized a bunch of stuff at the same time. he's like lin ling on trauma steroids.

I like Xia Qing (i think thats her name?) better than I thought I would. girl knows what she wants and drops hints! she's also the most normal well adjusted person I've seen in this entire show.

i really, genuinely for the love of god hope those criminals weren't telling the truth about YC hiring them. If time travel theory is real I'm flipping a table. I dislike time travel theory but I can't put my finger on why.

SHANG CHAO IS SO SUSPICIOUS. even including what happens to him he shows up at exactly the right time with exactly the right stuff. He's weirdly super invested. I don't think he's evil but I think we are going to see his motivations/backstory in the next episode (and yes. singular next e-soul episode). we still don't know why Pomelo/you zi was kidnapped!!

Some guesses are that he really wants to differentiate himself from his dad, which is why he jumps at the chance to market Yang Cheng.

or yk. he's gay. who knows

OG E-Soul. first of all, YEESH he just trains shirtless covered in scars and doesn't wear anything under the suit 😭interestingly, he wears a mask all the time but doesn't care about his agent/manager/General Business Blonde Guy seeing him train shirtless and armless.

blonde dude got some nerve talking to this guy like that when he's one-arming like 200 pounds in front of him 💀

he seems unconcerned with whether people trust New E-soul, because nobody could mistake the two. this really lines up with the idea that he's old as Dirt and did some insane feat.

However, Mighty Glory doesn't see it that way because it's about money. TBHX absolutely is providing commentary on capitalism and the commercialization of heroes. (ie. an old symbol of institution brought down by the new age and adapted into something else that matches the ideas of the time) The contrast of a living legend like E-soul and his relationship with Mighty Glory + the media made me feel like Mighty Glory built itself around him with dubious implications for his opinions on the matter.

E-Soul hasn't fought people in a while! so my theory that he's retired is right so far.

ENLIGHTER!!!!! this felt like a crossover cameo but logically the episodes are only a few years apart. Enlighter seems like a big deal here though! Did he used to be higher ranked a few years ago and fell off in Lin Ling's era? ...why did he snap. that's not going to be important is it. brainrot brainrot

TBHX is also for sure highlighting how the transition into the digital age is effecting the Trust System, saying how E-soul had to do so much more work than YC. I wonder how the nuances of the Trust system were different before the spread of the internet. TBHX is a modern show, set in modern times and made to be extremely relevant to current world issues!

our running ideas about Trust seem spot-on so far. YC is getting a fraction of E-souls power. meaning E-Soul is really, really powerful! even though he's not doing anything right now.

SURVIVORS GUILT, PT 2. the similarities between the traumatic events of Yang Cheng's childhood to now are insane. holy shit poor guy

is someone gonna get dramatically shot every episode????? why??? at least Moon is not unique in this regard. hide your side characters nobody is safe 😭

twenty tumblr notes on this shot being wayyy too significant for my emotional health

I DON'T TRUST THE TIMELINE. I DON'T TRUST THE TIMELINE. E-SOUL PV IS SO INSANELY STRANGE.

[descendant-of-truth]

Actually I think we need to be talking about Darkside more. Why have we as a fandom (as well as myself specifically) been neglecting Darkside when it's the most consistently recurring boss in the whole franchise

Literally the first boss we fight and it's this thing that rises up out of Sora's shadow in his dreams, and that still looks like Sora for a few seconds before it transforms into the version we fight:

This is Sora's dark side, quite literally. And what just so happens to be there at the destruction of Destiny Islands?

Man, with a thing that big and powerful, it's probably responsible for most of the damage to the islands all by itself.

Hey, what was that thing Zexion said to Riku, again? "It was you who destroyed your home"? Boy I sure am glad that the truth is what we hear and not what we see with our eyes--

Oh. Hm. That's a rather pointed dream sequence for you to be having, Xion.

Guys, I don't know why it took me so long to put these specific pieces together, but I'm pretty sure Sora's darkness was what actually destroyed the Destiny Islands. Whoever opened the door to darkness is still responsible for letting it out - it seemed otherwise occupied in Sora's dreams - and that's an interesting puzzle, too, because we're told that Riku did that even though Kairi was the one closest to the door, but that's not a mystery this post is here to solve.

My question is, what the HECK was going on with Sora for him to have a darkness so potent that it manifested outside of him before he had even been on any adventures? The guy's got insecurities for sure, but at this point in the series, they're kinda... normal ones. Feeling overshadowed and jealous of his best friend who's always better at everything than him, always stronger and cooler, it's not nothing but it doesn't make sense for it to be that. If Sora was going to have a darkness that strong, I'd expect it to come from a later point in the series, maybe around KH3 when the number of Terrible Things that have happened to or around him has reached truly insane levels.

But... the Darkside comes from the Realm of Darkness, right? Where time doesn't exist, and if you walk through it, you can be hit with people's emotions from the future?

So, I dunno, maybe it's a conglomeration of Sora's darkness from various points in time, though it still doesn't explain why his in particular gets to become something so giant. But it's definitely a Sora thing, because in Coded, the record of Sora's Heartless develops into a Darkside, as well.

But how can it be Sora-exclusive when there's so many of them down there??

Well, it might not be... but I'm not ruling out the possibility of time loop shenanigans, either. If Sora can live through the Keyblade Graveyard stuff at least four times (five if you consider the theory of KH3 in its entirety being a second loop from the get-go), then who's to say that doesn't double up on the number of Darksides in the Realm of Darkness?

Sora's already got a narrative history of reliving his past, after all. CoM has him going through his memories of his first adventure (albeit altered), Coded has another version of Sora going through his first adventure (altered again), even DDD has him revisiting Traverse Town and re-meeting his friends (in different ways than he originally did but it still counts).

I'm just saying, the heart remembers what the mind doesn't, and that can surface in a lot of ways. A Sora that's been time-looping a bunch but doesn't remember it probably would be having weird prophetic nightmares and thoughts about whether any of this is "for real" or not.

But honestly, even with the time loop theory I ended up going with in this post, the main thing I wanted to get at is that the Darkside is weird and unexplained but suspiciously tied to Sora in the narrative. These are just the connections I've put together on my own, but there could be a lot that I'm missing! I want to know what this thing's deal is, and I welcome anyone who wants to share their take on the matter.

[mondo-tastic]

Don't get me wrong I love tragic villains and I love seeing people's different interpretations of characters but in my heart turbo is just a self absorbed angry little cunt and that's all there is to him and I love him for it

all he cares about is winning and attention because he believes that he deserves it because he is the greatest racer ever. no one should have the attention on them because he believes he is the best. and if he has to get people's games unplugged, killing them in the process, or destroy other's lives then oh well he doesn't care.

in fact I think he REVELS in it. he loves the whole idea of masquerading as king candy and manipulating people. like he did ralph. that manipulation came from a place of pure evil and the way he twists the truth like that ..oughhh...solely because he thinks he is the best and he should own sugar rush

the way a slight smirk tugs at his lips as he's saying "you're not going turbo, are you?"

the way his code box is so huge and disorganised. its his ego. but it's also the fact he's not some master programmer. canonly he hid away in GCS and taught himself how to code.

also can we discuss how terrifying the idea is of a video game character learning to code is??? like to other game characters they can just manipulate the fabric of reality??? that's actually scary??? that's like someone coming up to you being like oh yeah I know uhhh quantum physics. I can just. change your genome sequencing if I want to. and give myself any physical attributes I want. while circling through 30 different hair styles.

I love all the interpretations of him but I love to think there's not really any hidden self hatred or inferiority behind his ego, he's just a self absorbed evil piece of shit and I love it

[wordy-little-witch]

Okay but One Piece being in the pirate era and the lack of a frankly inordinate amount of sea shanties hurts me. Like you know DAMN well Roger was a partier, Buggy and Shanks undoubtedly know an incredible amount of shanties, from their first crews, from the new crews, from exploring and seeing and experiencing the world so thoroughly from such a young age.

Shanks would be the type to belt them, top of his lungs, but always adhere to the Codes, though he does think on it for a moment. People think he'd be a pirate head to toe, through and through, and he is! Truly, he is. He just doesn't really live by the Code and die by the Code the way some of the older generation does.

Buggy, despite popular belief, is the one to cling to those Codes with all he has. It's subtle, in the way he hums certain songs to himself but never sings the full lyrics without Meaning. He will sing and dance and party with his crew, they will make merry but they will do so properly. He's avant garde and nouveau expressionism but he's also old fashioned.

When he finds out Shanks taught this scrawny rubber twink everything the kid knows about piracy through sporadic meetings over a year, nearing a decade ago, he is absolutely livid. The swordsman is stupid but has a decent head on his shoulders for behavior. The redhead, from what he sees, knows more than most. He decides to put class in session.

He's surprised to be beaten so thoroughly and then furthermore to be removed succinctly. He's not gonna let it slide, obviously, but he'll play along. Sure. Could be fun. He was getting bored anyway.

Shit just so happens to hit the fan with this decision and all that follow. Shanks, knowing the truth of things, is simply VERY amused and Buggy is debating fratricide.

He's been playing this role for so long, it feels unnatural to drop it. It feels wrong. It makes him panic, makes him Itch.

It only comes to a head years later as he's humming to himself late in the evening on a certain day in September, having spent a good chunk of the day on his own, away from company and to the surprise of very few. Crocodile and Mihawk are among those who do not know why, but they alone are the ones to look for him.

Finding Buggy, singing softly to an animal as he gently brushes out their fur, surrounded by calm animals who seem to nearly build a wall with their bodies between himself and the world, was not anticipated to either men. Nor was hearing Buggy's voice, usually so shrill and rasped, flow gently over a melody with a grief filled expression. Ritchie, among the ones closest, gently head butted the clown with soulful eyes. Mihawk and Crocodile simply watch, seeing Buggy groom and pamper the creatures within the stables this far from town as he sings a specific sequence of songs.

Mihawk realizes first just what they're witnessing, and he grips the logia user's arm, guiding them both back. Crocodile, startled, goes to ask, and Hawkeyes simply shakes his head sharply. It is only once they are far enough that Mihawk breaths a stunned, "He's performing Rites."

"What?"

"Rites," the swordsman reiterates, sending the other a suspicious look. "The Rites of the Code."

The mafioso takes a drag from his cigar, gesturing for the other to go on.

Mihawk sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forget," he remarks dryly, "how uneducated in ours ways you are."

"Excuse me-?!"

"Rites," the other interrupts, "are a form of mourning. Frequency varies, and the honoring actions can be altered as well. The constant component are the shanties sung in remembrance and the flags flown. For some, a single instance can be sufficient..." Golden eyes drift to the side, unfocused, as he continues. "For others, there is a need to continue doing so. Often, it is a crew mourning a commanding officer. Unlike Marines, Pirates all share an unspoken connection. Though paths may vary and goals may differ, we all care Her in our veins."

Violet eyes love to the expanse of blue, the horizon bleeding across the world. He knew. He may lack some of the nuance of the Code from his priorities laying further inland, but he knew this. How could he not when his own blood sang salted sprays? He knew this much at the very least.

"So the clown is in mourning."

"Yes."

".... why?"

"...... ....... it is September."

"And?"

"The 28th."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You were there, too, 25 years ago. Loguetown."

Silence falls.

The wind rustles branches overhead. It carries the faintest wisps of a voice. The two men pointedly ignore it and the choked quality it had.

".... I see."

"..... yes. That is my theory, at any rate."

"............. Hawkeye."

"What?"

"He was on the King's crew."

"Yes, this has been established."

"Why?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why him? Why the clown? He's not even 40 yet, so that day... he'd have been, what, 15, at the most? He'd have been on the crew for years by that point. He was there before the man was crowned, after all."

"Shanks was, as well. I believe the earliest mention was when he mentioned an incident from their childhood. He'd said they were... oh, what was it? Seven? Thereabouts. To be on a crew so young..."

"To be there so long, Hawkeye. The brat would have been with them since childhood. That crew was infamous for the things they did - the clown does not fit the pattern."

"He does not boast anything nearing the decorum expected of a fledgling of a King..."

"He knows the Codes, something never mentioned to us nor taught explicitly to his crew that we know of. He served under the King and kept it hidden from the world government for decades. He escaped the Grandline and settled as an East Blue nuisance for years. He was imprisoned in Impel Down with no sea stone."

Golden eyes widen. "You believe he has been hiding more than simply his heritage."

"What makes more sense? This, or what we have thought so far."

"How would we confirm it?"

"Just ask me, maybe?"

Neither man will admit to being startled when a new voice chimes in, soft and hoarse, drowsy. Buggy leans into Ritchie's side as the lion purrs loudly, the clown rubbing his eye.

He continues. "Tomorrow, though. It's late, I'm not feeling well, and Ritch and I have a date with my blanket nest."

"The lion?" / "Blanket nest?"

Buggy giggles softly. "Weighted blankets are expensive. Weighted Ritchies only cost snacks and chin scritches," he remarks softly. "As for the blankets, nests are the way to go. Good night."

Two dark haired men are left by a drowsy clown and lion in the woods on the edge of town with much to thing on and a list to compile for the next day.

The first question? How Mihawk had not sensed him whatsoever on approach.

[xhellnhighheelsx]

11/River prompts, hmm? How about… “You still manage to surprise me.”

River Song has been called a great many things in her life- reckless, impulsive, imprudent, uninhibited. But the truth is, River Song is nothing if not an avid planner.

Meticulous and fiercely prepared, she leaves nothing to chance. Why bother? With all of history at her fingertips, why shouldn’t she treat every undertaking like an open book test? She made a habit of research, of peeking back or taking a cheeky look ahead. She routinely strolls through a bustling street at breakfast only to dig up its ancient remains by dinner.

Similarly, if she wants to organize a date with her husband, she diligently plans when and where to leave her love notes and invitations. If she fancies a romp with Pretty Boy, she need only look as far as impersonating the nearest ancient queen or galactic empress. That face really did have a habit of endearing himself with the aristocracy of any era. When she misses her floppy haired Sweetie, a museum is always her best bet. With a nostalgic streak a mile wide, there's no keeping that man from waltzing through glass covered exhibits, reminiscing about all the ways he’s molded history.

And on days like today, when she goes looking for trouble just for the hell of it, when the secrets locked in an impenetrable bank vault have tickled her fancy, River always, always does her research on the people who built it.

Tapping in the twenty-seven digit numerical sequence, River bypasses any and all security codes with a three thousand year old fail safe password that was programmed by the client who commissioned the place. Juliana Primean, lovely woman, great at golf, had a terrible habit of using her grandchildren’s birthdays as passwords.

A green light grants her entry, the door hissing as it pressurizes, preparing to open. An easy smile twitches River’s lips, because its almost too easy.

The door yields, swinging wide to reveal nothing but bare walls and stale air. 

Well, she did say almost too easy.

It isn’t often someone beats her to the punch. Being fashionably late typically suits her just fine. The static in the air tells her she is most definitely late, even if only by a few seconds. Singed neutrinos reek of time travel, and River allows the buzz of it to draw her deeper into the empty vault.

Her heels click across ancient metal, echoing for naught but dust as she comes to a stop at the center of the room. There’s a note, intentionally placed and thoughtfully written, that reads, “Dinner?”

Space-time coordinates in script that could only belong to her husband make for a tempting summons. No sooner has a smirk curled the corners of her red lips than quick fingers are tapping at her vortex manipulator.

Matter shatters and rebuilds around her, smoke and vapor and the sudden smell of something divine.

“If I knew you delivered irreplaceable artifacts, I wouldn’t have bothered breaking in,” River coos in that honey velvet voice she saves just for him.

She hasn’t turned around to greet him yet, but she hears the grin in his voice clear as day as he says, “Yes, you would have.”

When she turns to face that cheeky husband of hers, a small gasp falls from her lips, breath momentarily stolen. There's a table set for two beside a giant wall of glass. Around her is intentionally dim lights and sound-proof walls, and her mind races with all the ways she could put it to good use.

Shame its primary function is a viewing platform. She doesn't have to wonder what for. Beyond the glass is a blazing Protostar, all oranges and purples and electric greens as matter and chemicals condense and swirl. It's the earliest stage of stellar evolution, only lasting about 500 millennia, a blink of an eye in the turn of the universe.

And maybe it's the way his tweed contrasts with stardust or the giddy way he rocks back on his heels, awaiting her approval, but River finds herself pulled toward him, the irrevocable fusion of hydrogen and helium and sharp edges and soft curves.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” she purrs, all joy and baited breath even as her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What's the catch?”

"Nothing!" he sputters and flails in protest, nearly upending a bottle of champagne. "I’m allowed to spoil my wife.”

River hums, studying him. Spoil her he does, often and with enthusiasm. He swings by in a top hat and tails and whisks her away to dance on ice rings and to see nights filled with stars and to watch planets be born. But he’s never taken a page from her playbook, never left her a carefully crafted and impeccably timed invitation before.

River chances a glance over her shoulder, making certain there isn't a carnivorous swarm or hostile planetary takeover on the horizon. Finding only starlight, she turns skeptical eyes back on her husband. “How’d you know I’d rob that vault?”

“Hah,” he barks out a laugh, his left arm leaning against the back of a chair, all self-assured swagger as he pins her in place with a crooked smile. “Two things are always bound to end up in uncrackable vaults. The rarest and most beautiful and impossible thing in the universe-“ he pulls out a chair for her in invitation, buzzing with secrets as he adds- “and the Primean family fortune.”

He’s on fine form today, and doesn't he just know it. The curl in his cheek is insufferably smug and devilishly handsome, and she’d be a damn fool if she didn’t allow herself to be pulled into the gravity of him.

Swaying into his personal space, River catalogs the way his gaze drops to her mouth the way a compass finds true north. Her skin hums from the undivided attention, the delight in her voice a betrayal of her contrary words. “Many ambitious thieves have had a go at breaking into that vault."

“But only you could pull it off,” he whispers, all seduction and sly smirks.

It's her turn to be captivated by his mouth, by the lips of the man who beat her to the punch, who emptied the impenetrable room of all but a handwritten note. “Look whose talking.”

Her husband merely shrugs, knowing full well she’s a sucker for mischief as he explains, “I cheated.”

“Dirty talk already, my love?” Green eyes dancing in that way she knows drives him to distraction, River slips past him, taking her seat before temptation demands she go straight for dessert.

"Behave," he half-heartedly scolds her. The answering hum she gives is warm and low, the rumble of something wicked on her tongue when he blurts, "I want to show you something."

Pity, she much prefers it when he makes her eyes flutter shut. River bites her bottom lip to keep from telling him so.  Her gaze shifts to the view beyond the glass, to a black vacuum that swirls with glittering matter and shrapnel from the nearest nebula. She inhales deep, the rich aroma of fine cuisine from some far off time and place delighting her senses.

Bless him, he's gone through such trouble.

"It's gorgeous, Sweetie."

"Hm?" the Doctor looks up from where he'd been digging through his top pocket, eyes glancing to her and then the Protostar. "Oh, yes, I thought you'd like it." Half his arm still buried in his coat, he steps around to face her, nearly tripping over his own feet as he wrestles a small jewelry box from its hiding place. "But this is what I wanted to show you."

Pale fingers crack open the box, holding it out to her. River's breath catches in her throat. "Is this.." she exhales, all wonder and reverence as her eyes drink in one of the lesser known but highly coveted treasures rumored to be stashed within the Primean fortune.

"The Eye of Infinity," he tells her, giddy and full of the very magic that makes the universe turn. "It’s a micro galaxy encased in a Neuron Pearl inside a necklace made of pure Lonsdaleite diamonds." It's complicated and rare and physics defying, and it has nothing on the grin splitting her husband's cheeks as he says, "May I?"

"By all means," she breathes, but the Doctor is already brushing her hair aside, draping it around her neck before the air has left her lungs. Long fingers set to work, diligent in their task. It still thrills her, the way his fingertips brush against the back of her neck, the way his breath ghosts over the shell of her ear.

She wonders how long he’s been planning this. Unlike her, the Doctor is typically a creature of whimsy. No sneak previews, just barreling in and hoping for the best, his standard method of operation. But, with this, River can feel the precision, the planning, the perfection that went into this night.

As his hands fall away from their task, his knuckles trail across her shoulders and down her biceps before gently turning her toward the glass. In the reflection, she sees herself, fresh from a heist and still dressed for the occasion. Behind her, the most impossible man in the universe is grinning like the cat who ate the canary. A flush creeps over her skin at the sight of it, at the feel of the Doctor's breath on the side of her neck as he leans in to get a closer look.

Across her chest rests the most beautiful necklace she’s ever seen, and River’s voice drops an octave, ripe for misbehavior as she sighs out, “Oh, I am so keeping this.”

“I was hoping you might.”

She catches his smirk in the reflection, her interest peaked. “Not like you to encourage grand larceny. Quick, take me to bed before my husband comes back.”

He chuckles at her wicked tongue. “It’s not stealing. It’s a gift, from its owner.”

River’s incredulous brow arches as she turn to look at him properly. “Since when were you the sole heir to the Primean fortune?”

“Since I won it in a game of golf," he offers flippantly, tapping the tip of her nose. He dances away from her then, a flourish to his gangly arms as he removes the lid that's been keeping their dinner warm. "And not the whole fortune. Just the bits I thought you’d like.”

“When you said you cheated…”

“At the golf, definitely.” his coat swishes, hair falling into his eyes as he mimes swinging a golf club.

"I didn’t know you played," River offers, eyes locked on him, because she really isn't hungry anymore. Well, not for what's on the menu, anyway.

"I’m full of surprises," he grins.

Their eyes meet, the gold in his refracting the distant starlight. It's far more entrancing than nebula clouds or priceless heirlooms could ever dream to be.

Her own eyes must be filled to the brim with love and delight and desire. It must be written on her face, her appetite for something besides dinner, because that husband of her flushes crimson, entirely too pleased with himself as River confesses, "Yes, you are."

[jenniferlonnberg]

This really p!ss3s me off!

[vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1591048349401{padding-bottom: 25px !important;}”][vc_column][vc_video link=”https://youtu.be/QoBJP2-Hejg” align=”center”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1579109932214{padding-bottom: 20px !important;}”][vc_column][vc_column_text]You are worthy! I’ll never forget the day that I fell to the bathroom floor in tears because I realized every time I said or…

[max1461]

I didn't know rationalism of the online rationalists was not the same as the one that has the Wikipedia article. When I first saw the term on Tumblr I went to that article and skimmed it and decided I don't really get what those bloggers' perspectives are. After your post I now have even less knowledge than I did before.

The following is an oversimplification, so for those who have quibbles with the history here, well, forgive me.

Online rationalism was founded by two guys named Eliezer Yudkowsky and Robin Hanson on the blog LessWrong. Of these two figures Yudkowsky has been much more influential. The ideology that Yudkowsky promoted is roughly as follows:

humans are, relatively soon, likely to develop a superintelligent AI which has the capacity to self-improve by rewriting its own code. This will cause the AI's intelligence to rapidly explode beyond anything we can imagine, a process which rationalists onomatopoetically call "FOOM".

This superintelligent AI, if it could be harnessed and controlled, could cure death, and possibly revive all already-dead humans in a simulated world, leading to a technological utopia in which humans have merged with machines; this is called "the singularity" (the idea of the singularity predates the rationalists, and is a broader transhumanist trope).

However, it is almost certain that a superintelligent AI could not be harnessed and controlled; in fact, if such an AI was created, there is a very high probability that it would end the world (in rationalist jargon this is called an "x-risk"), perhaps usurping all of the accessible matter and energy on earth, then in the solar system, then in the galaxy and beyond in pursuit of its inscrutable goals. Thus, humans have a responsibility to make sure we never create such a superintelligent AI (in a recent op-ed in Time, Yudkowsky went so far as to say that the US should use drone strikes to destroy any datacenter found to be training a large AI model).

The reason that people do not recognize the truths above is because people are too irrational to see them. Therefore, people need to be taught to be more rational, by Yudkowsky via the blog LessWrong. The tenets of being more rational are laid out largely in a series of blog posts known as "The Sequences", later published as a book. The main take-aways are: (1) use Bayes' Theorem all the time to estimate the probability of things, and (2) to eliminate one's various cognitive biases, as outlined in The Sequences.

LessWrong attracted a lot of people who did not agree with Yudkowsky about AI, but who liked the Bayes' Theorem stuff and the commentary on cognitive biases. There is a joke that "anyone who has ever disagreed with Yudkowsky is a rationalist". The people who settled on LessWrong were largely drawn from the milieu of Bay Area tech workers, economics blog enthusiasts, and sci-fi fans. They would come to be known as LessWrongers, rationalists, or aspiring rationals. From this group, two major subgroups worth mentioning were spawned:

First is the Effective Altruists. Effective Altruism, to my knowledge, isn't a strictly LessWronger phenomenon, and has also been influenced majorly by philosophers like Peter Singer. However, they have been so intertwined with LessWrongers throughout their history that I think they are worth mentioning as essentially an offshoot of rationalism.

Effective Altruists believe that, in order to do the most good in the world, one should use one's money in a way that does the maximum amount of good per dollar. Rather than e.g. donating to charities willy-nilly based on what feels important, one should use quantitative methods to estimate how much impact each dollar is making, and donate in a way which maximizes that. The Effective Altruists are split along one main ideological line: neartermism vs. longtermism. The neartermists are basically focused on what we would traditionally think of as charitable activities: fighting disease, giving people clean water, that kind of stuff. I think neartermist Effective Altruism is pretty sensible, and I think they've done a lot of good work evaluating charities and so on. GiveWill is an essentially neartermist Effective Altruist organization, and I think their activities are very worth supporting.

The longtermists, on the other hand, are focused on "the long-term interests of humanity". They are, well, in my opinion, basically a bunch of people trying to turn their sci-fi fantasies into a reality. They are often very worried about AI x-risk, like Yudkowsky, and they're often pro-singularity, and sometimes pro-eugenics, and a bunch of other stuff. Remember Sam Bankman-Fried, the guy who committed the largest act of financial fraud in human history? Well, he was an Effective Altruist with some longertermist sympathies. Some of the money that he stole he actually gave to worthwhile charities, but some of it he used on stupid longtermist sci-fi fantasy shit. His girlfriend Caroline Ellison, who helped him do a bunch of that fraud, was a member of rationalist tumblr. Some of my mutuals were mutuals with her.

The other major group spawned out of LessWrong were the Neoreactionaries, or NRx. These guys, too, weren't a purely LessWronger phenomenon; they were also majorly influenced by people such as the philosopher Nick Land (former student of Baudrillard, who took a far-right turn in the 2000s and started advocating for "hyper-racism") and blogger Curtis Yarvin a.k.a. "Mencius Moldbug". These guys are a rag-tag group of authoritarians, eugenicists, and racists, who are interested in rationality insofar as they view it as a path that leads to their desired sci-fi-inflected far-right future.

Oh, right, last but not least I should define the term "rat-adj". It means "rationalist-adjacent". Uh. So, I was never a LessWronger, and as I think my description makes clear, I find like 90% of this rationalist stuff either goofy or actively harmful. But I have, somehow, ended up basically acquainted with a bunch of people formerly or presently part of the LessWrong milieu, and in light of this I am what one calls "rationalist-adjacent". I talk to various rationalist bloggers somewhat often. And most of them are much more normal than all this would suggest, part of the rationalist discursive sphere but not really believers in the imminent AI apocalypse. Uh. So, there you go.

[kandadze]

FoF rewatch ep 4: or, I wanna hold your haaaaand! (gifs and loose thoughts)

Well, this one took me much longer... We all know how insanely gifable this show is, right? Somehow it really stood out to me in this ep, and of course I know that it's only going to get worse better lol

Ep 4 is the first to really pick up the pace after the core team was built in the previous eps; we have even higher stakes, betrayals, epic flashbacks* and fights**, and in general more shenanigans than you can shake a stick at. At the same time, I think it's the ep to really establish the fact that alongside the earth-shattering events, this show will also pay extra attention to simple intimacy, acts of care, and tender moments that make the fabric of life.

ZYZ and LL swearing an oath at the creation stone (vow stone, altar stone, whatever, you know what I mean) was definitely an epic moment, but along the insane visuals opening the ep we also get this:

We get ZYZ oh so gently removing the Truth Eye from WX's vision:

We get ZYC, instinctively if not quite consciously, stepping into a role of big brother and protector to Bai Jiu (I will forever refuse to abbreviate the kid's name, for reasons):

We get team bonding between PSJ, ZYC and Bai Jiu:

We get this tiny moment where PSJ actually reaches out to WX first:

We get ZYZ oh so gently (if not taking no for an answer...) healing ZYC's hand:

And ZYC holding onto the demon's hand in the end:

We get WX and ZYZ staying close to injured ZYC (in his inner robe!) while roasting each other at the same time (and making the boy laugh):

And of course let's not forget ZYZ's (not so gentle) hands-on method of teaching ZYC the Bingyi Clan water-freezing technique:

Speaking of this scene, I love how they showed us that ZYC could probably be quite a menace as a pupil. He learns fast, and the first thing he does after? Prank the teacher XD

Which as far as we can see, ZYZ quite deserves, as he remains a slippery bugger throughout this arc, keeping his secrets, following his own agenda and in general making it seem like he can't be trusted. (All this, of course, while looking like a renaissance portrait:)

Speaking of the demon though, let me just circle back to the very beginning, because ZYZ's demonic form makes me damn feral. Just look at him!

While we're at it, let's look at LL, too:

The opening sequence, presented to us with no explanation whatsoever, does suggest quite a lot just with positioning and color coding. On the first viewing, we can assume that these two were - are - equally powerful, and that they did this enormous thing that we don't quite understand yet, together. The flashback ends - and now they're on opposing sides.

And I don't know about you folks but I could listen to them growl at each other all day... (while completely agreeing with someone's comment that most of the male cast needs throat lozenges...). LL's whole demeanor screams "jilted ex". His look when ZYZ mentions his blood contract with WX. His look when ZYZ removes the Truth Eye from WX's vision:

Even without the flashback and on the first watch, just these two looks establish very firmly that LL and ZYZ have history; and on the second watch we know that "it's complicated" is an understatement of a few millennia.

All the funny scenes remain funny on the rewatch, and I laughed just as hard as the first time when WX basically Li Lianhua'd their way out of the honey trap.

Their little trot just kills me:

Not to forget PSJ's own flavor of badassery that was happening around the same time:

Other random thoughts... ZYC asking "Who's Li Lun?" while bandaged up and recuperating sure hits differently on the rewatch. As does Bai Jiu's promise that as long as he's alive, ZYC won't die!!! ;__;

Also, it just occurred to me that PSH is shown with these strikingly blue eyes as he's "reintroduced" to us in PSJ's nightmare... knowing what we later find out about him I think that that hint was so blatant we just completely missed it... as in, who else in this show has blue eyes? And what happens to him?

(I wish I looked so aesthetically pleasing while in a nightmare:)

Traumaaaaa, here we come!

One last thing, ep 4 is where we hear this song for the first time:

For maybe 20 seconds, but it was enough. That voice, that melody. That cello climb at circa 1 min mark, which did unspeakable things to my brain on the first listen of the whole song and continues to do so every time I play it again (you can hear it even better in the "karaoke" version, which I also listen to on a regular. Because I'm normal like that).

Here are some gifs of the aforementioned flashbacks and fights:

* https://www.tumblr.com/alipeeps/767702535144357888/the-divine-tree-of-jianmu-and-the-white-emperor?source=share

** https://www.tumblr.com/kandadze/768909203908722688/still-on-ep-4-so-have-some-gifs-to-celebrate-our?source=share

[cipheramnesia]

Genuine question from a newbie just dipping her toes into horror film: If Candyman isn't actually a slasher (which is all I've seen it called), what is it? And how come it keeps being misidentified as a slasher flick?

Candyman is probably misidentified as a slasher both because of its original marketing, landing in the tail end of the 80s video cassette slasher boom, and having two mediocre sequels.

Generally a slasher has a limited region and a victim pool mainly consisting of teens. For example the big three - Jason, Freddy, Michael - are all somewhat geographically fixed and almost exclusively kill kids. Usually the slasher is specifically intertwined with fears pertaining to the transition between childhood and adulthood such as increasing independence and of course burgeoning sexuality. The victims typically are killed for transgressions of the child-adult boundaries such as rebelliousness, drinking, sex and so on. By and large the slashers have a character which is malevolent in a way that's divergent from mere human emotions because they are often larger than life figures of mortality and social moral codes.

On the cinematic side, most slasher movies have a very consistent plot formula and even similar shots. Usually there is an early on warning, the harbinger. This is followed by stage setting the particular vices of the victims, and some minor fake out scares, before the actual killing starts in earnest. There's inevitably some kind of POV / voyeur shot, several similar victim chase safe / fake out death sequences. A slasher subgenre is not necessary predictable but by nature it is a little bit formulaic - it's a type of character and a plot structure.

Candyman is a different kind of movie. I'm not sure it falls into a specific subgenre. It could be called horror noire, urban legend horror, and in some ways it's almost a ghost story. However there are some crucial differences.

Victim type is obvious. Candyman is not teen exclusive - nearly all of the victims in the film are full adults. Not only that, but his purpose for existing is different. He is not a governor of the transition to adulthood or a symbol of sex and mortality. Candyman exists as an urban legend and is more symbolic of the hidden secrets of ourselves and our cultural history which we try to cover over and forget.

As a personality, Candyman is not malicious, but rather tragic and romantic. His history is as a wronged man, a brilliant man horrifically killed in an act of racist violence. People who call him are summoning this combination of a deeply intellectual and passionate artist, and the history of racial oppression in the USA. And his acts of murder are not brutal enforcement of social norms, but rather keeping his story and the horrific truth of our own past alive - being remembered.

There is nothing either metaphorically or structurally in Candyman that conforms to the slasher subgenre. The slasher killers irrevocably tie sex and death together because of how they are fundamentally linked in our lives. Candyman ties the past to the present, carrying a promise that even his victims are immortalized in legend. The slasher killers are tied to teenagers and related transitional spaces where morality and control are in flux. Candyman is tied to his own legend and the reflection of ugly truths.

Both Candyman and the slasher subgenre have deep and fascinating ideas under the surface, but they are not the same ideas, and structurally Candyman is only as passingly similar to a slasher as to any other movie. Incidentally the recent Candyman also gets this, and I highly recommend both movies. They tell horror stories that are very different from most others, and I think both are vital films to see.

[ven0moir]

*Already writing the results down as proof for my Bychance evidence master slides*

[deconstructthesoup]

Truly, I’m disappointed in myself that it took me this long to do this (or maybe I’ve already done it and forgotten!) but here are the Fear Entities that I think each of the Princesses would be avatars of, knowingly or unknowingly:

Chapter 2 Girls

Beast: The Hunt. Obviously. No explanation needed.

Witch: Initially, I had her down as a Corruption avatar---she's all about nature, she's the product of a relationship that started out fine but went rotten, if you make her a more traditional witch (like me) you know she's all about mushrooms---but after thinking about it, she'd also be an amazing avatar of The Web. She's a scheming, manipulative little trickster, after all, and you know she's the type to think that spiders are adorable.

Prisoner: The Lonely is a contender, but there's really no better option for my best girl than The Buried. Chains are not dirt, that much is true, but there is something so distinctly Buried about becoming increasingly trapped in a prison so specifically designed for you... and, well, being a Buried avatar would definitely be one way of reclaiming her agency.

Damsel: The Stranger. I... don't exactly think I need to explain this one. We've all seen the Deconstructed sequence. (I do think it would be interesting if she didn't realize she was a Stranger avatar and freaks out when she discovers the truth, because feeding off of people's fear is the opposite of making them happy, though.)

Adversary: After careful consideration, I decided on The Desolation for her---but specifically, the part that deals with pain, not strictly fire. Is this because she gives me Jude vibes? Maybe, but it still works.

Tower: She was the hardest chapter 2 princess to figure out, but after much debate, I finally settled on the Entity who feels the most like her---namely, The Eye. Being able to sense the Narrator is very Eye-coded, and in terms of personality... hate to say it, but she could give Elias a run for his money.

Nightmare: Now, I could be boring and say "creepy doll=Stranger," but if I'm being honest, I don't want to repeat Entities until we get to our chapter 3s, and she feels way more Dark-coded in her whole "fear of the unknown" thing. Very monster-in-your-closet. (It could also be argued that she could literally be an avatar of anything due to her just... inspiring fear as her thing, but we gotta be specific here.)

Spectre: There is no vessel more Lonely-coded than our sweet ghost girl. And because of that, I want to give her a hug.

Razor: Slaughter. You could argue "Spiral" because Distortion=knife hands, but you cannot make a woman who is literally made of weapons anything but an avatar of The Slaughter.

Stranger: Ironically enough... The Spiral! Name aside, there's really nothing more Spiral than being everything and yet nothing at once and not knowing who or what you are, and I think this is only Entity that could feasibly suit them.

Chapter 3 Girls

Den: Also Hunt. Again, big kitty.

Thorn: Now, she was pretty difficult to figure out, but I think she also works as a Lonely avatar---or, hell, even an avatar of The Corruption because of all of her nature and decay stuff, but Lonely really fits her whole melancholy vibes and just wanting someone to be close to. Maybe she doesn't have the aesthetics, but she has the mood.

Cage: She could also be a Buried avatar, but in my opinion, The Web makes way more sense---everything from the fact that she believes she has no autonomy to the fact that her body can literally control chains that practically puppeteer TLQ feels incredibly Web-coded to me.

Happily Ever After: She is The Corruption at its most abstract---a relationship that at first seems nothing but loving and devoted, and yet when you look closer, you see that there is something deeply rotten at its core. The "toxic relationship" interpretation of The Corruption is something that's only alluded to in TMA canon, but I think HEA really does encapsulate it.

Eye of the Needle: This one is The Slaughter. It's not even about the pain anymore, it's just about wanting to fight.

Apotheosis: She is, without a doubt, an avatar of The Vast in every sense of the word. She's something that's truly too large to fully be encapsulated, too large to truly be fought or beaten. Also, big woman.

Moment of Clarity: I know, I know, ironic that there's all of these ghost princesses and I pick this weird puppet one as an avatar of The End, but her inevitability means that... well, she's really the only one who could be an End avatar. Except, of course, the Shifting Mound herself, though I'd argue that she's a more benevolent version of The Extinction. Also, gods are not avatars.

Princess & The Dragon: Spiral. Just... Spiral. I cannot stress enough how much this vessel is an avatar of The Spiral. Her chapter is too mindfucky for her to be anything but.

The Wild (Networked & Wounded): Oh god, is this one hard to categorize... I'd say Corruption for both versions, since as much as I love The Wild, there's no denying that she is a corrupted version of what Once Was.

The Grey (Burned & Drowned): Desolation for Burned, obviously, and for Drowned... well, ironically enough, I believe that drowning is actually part of The Buried. So, uh, yeah, Buried for her.

The Fury: Flesh, she's Flesh, moving on.

The Wraith: Yeah, she's The Web. You could argue that she's also The End, but... Web.