#want with no thought behind it either. because we live in a context. the themes of the show and the characters exist in a context

[bulletdyke]

the problem with politically charged media is that the average fandom person thinks we fell out of a coconut tree

[jinjojess]

About the まったり編 - I liked how the episodes of trivial bullshit actually seem to relate to the route's themes (the cage one is especially obvious) and would love to hear your opinion about them

Oh, you picked up on the fact that I had a lot more to say, did you?

I didn't think that we could get more obvious about the themes than the first episode with the milk sippy boxes, but then the cage thing happened lol.

As always, spoiler talk ahead.

Personally I think the conflicts in まったり編 (Living to the Fullest route) echo the larger thematic questions of the game as a whole, and let's chat a bit about why.

Trivial Bullshit Episode 1: How Much Milk Would You Sip From a Carton if a Woodchuck Could Chuck Wood?

Given how the opening scene for this replays during the route and it's directly referenced to the ending where you bluepill and keep watching the shadows on the cave wall while irl bleeding out on the school tennis court, I think this one is especially obvious in how it relates to the ultimate dilemma.

Specifically, that tiny bit of milk in the bottom of the carton represents one's awareness of reality vs the dream state, and the poll question is less about milk and more about how inclined one might be to put forth the effort to get everything they possibly can out of something. The entire route poses the question of what exactly まったり means to the individual: can you say that you're fully living if you retreat into the Lotus-Eater Escapist fantasy? Or could you say that you're living fully if your every waking moment is besieged by anxiety and fear regarding your very survival?

Fully drinking or not drinking the milk could be argued to represent either stance: going to the last drop takes effort and "sacrifice" (low stakes, to be sure, but in this context "looking stupid" can be read as sacrifice all the same), but it also posits that you should squeeze meaning from every moment, important or not; leaving a tiny bit of milk behind requires that the drinker makes peace with letting things go if they feel they aren't worth it, and whether reality or the dream "isn't worth it" is a matter of perspective.

What this means ultimately is that the question, while seemingly very telling about someone's outlook on life, doesn't actually give much concrete information at all about their character, since there are other equally valid lines of reasoning they could employ. This is most obvious with Ginzaki subverting Sumino's expectations by empathizing with the leftover milk and seeing drinking it as an act of violence rather than assigning value, but I think it's also relevant to Aotsuki's case. His answer is clearly engineered to help Sumino (presumably for personal gain by invoking gift-giving/favor culture, but we have no confirmation either way), and we have no clue if he's lying through his teeth or not. If I'm remembering correctly, I think he even brings up that someone might not even be consistent in how they drink milk, which throws another possibility into the mix and torpedos the poll premise entirely.

So we've established that the milk drinking could easily represent both choices at the end, regardless of which actual camp one falls into, but what does this say about the entire game?

For me, the rejection of binary choice in favor of a richer, more varied range of possibilities is pretty significant for a very large and labor-intensive Choose Your Own Adventure narrative. I haven't watched the interview from the team yet about their thoughts on how they approached the game's structure and central premise, but clearly Hundred Line was intended to push beyond the usual boundaries of a multi-route, multi-ending game. It feels like they wanted to go beyond just Good End vs. Bad End ideas and roll around in the weeds a bit.

So did they drink every last drop and get everything they possibly could out of this premise? Or did they have to leave a bit behind in the bottom of the carton because of budget or time restraints?

Food Milk for thought.

Trivial Bullshit Episode 2: The Case of the Freaky, Potentially Bisexual Sock Thief

This one is slightly more subtle, though hardly inscrutable. The central premise here is that there's someone stealing socks, there are no leads on who it could be, and Aotsuki tells Sumino that what he sees isn't necessarily what is real.

Of course, the "what you're seeing isn't necessarily what exists" part is overtly addressing the dream state, and you could extrapolate out from there about how the more forceful brainwashing is only a single step beyond the constant, low-level indoctrination going on in the background of the entire Tokyo Danchi culture, rather than a huge leap.

I feel like Aotsuki's intention here with this part is to urge Sumino and the player to look more closely at what is being presented to them, and critically question it. There's a war going on; why are you putzing around, worried about missing socks?

Naturally, the sock thief could only have been Eva, because the supplementary theme of this part (and just as important to the themes of the game overall), is that she is only guilty of trying to adapt to and adopt humanity's culture.

Here it's silly and funny--some people's socks get ruined, and she violates a boundary she wasn't aware existed, but ultimately it was in service of trying to "shit let's be santa" and make everyone happy. Annoying maybe, but ends in a laugh. Representative of the classic culture clash whoopsie that happens often in our world but would be less common in this universe as everyone was raised in a monoculture without any other influences.

However. In the larger narrative, Eva and her fellow Captains aren't doing low stakes stuff like this, they're meeting humanity's violence with similar tactics. Several Captains (Eva included) have expressed frustration over why the humans have started the war, and I still firmly believe that the player's side is the imperial, colonist force in this conflict.

This section of the route isn't just about a silly misunderstanding and confusing regular socks for Christmas stockings, it's about the fact that Veshnis, with all of her selfishly driven, blasphemous actions, could very easily and justifiably point to us and go "I learned it from watching youuuuuuu!"

Trivial Bullshit Episode 3: Cards Can Be Used to Play Many Different Games, Actually

Yakushiji's Rocky-esque poker clash with Omokage is probably the least obvious in how it relates to the themes of まったり編 and Hundora overall, but they're still solidly there.

The core lesson here is that Yakushiji perseveres not by totally changing himself, but by finding unique ways to alter the situation to his benefit. Because Omokage says that they'll settle their bet with cards, and not poker specifically, Yakushiji is able to change the game to Old Maid, where he has a better chance of success.

This is the idea behind guerrilla warfare--when you are outmatched in a head-on battle, you utilize anything you can to your advantage, be it terrain, weather, biological warfare, etc. It still requires some level of skill, which is represented by Yakushiji developing a better pokerface, if not a good one. It also requires some measure of luck, which cannot be downplayed.

We're not going to get too deeply into the role luck plays in the larger Kodaka-verse, because I'm talking too much already, but I will refer to the Magnus Archives episode "Cheating Death", where the statement giver outright says that when playing a game against Death, you should always, always go for games of chance if you intend to win. Even though luck still usually bends in favor of Death, it's more favorable than battling using straight skill.

I think these elements are significant because in most Kodaka-related properties, luck as a concept seems to represent the randomness of the universe: the unpredictable. In a story that's heavily focused on making decisions based on available information, luck is a huge enemy to the protagonist. Look at how unsettled Sumino got when he no longer knew exactly what would happen next, despite these changes being the explicit purpose of returning.

(Am I saying that Sumino is taking a similar position in this narrative as Junko does in DanRon? In a way, I guess. I think there's a few very significant differences between them, chief among them being that I think Junko desperately wants to be on a level playing field with her "inferiors" and therefore embraces the possibility of defeat, while Sumino does Not, but yeah I think you could argue that both Sumino and Junko are similar in that their "plans" can be undone by random chance.)

The fact that luck is bending in Sumino's favor the entire duration of the route is part of what should be giving it away that he's not in reality. I also wouldn't be surprised if chance still persists as a major theme throughout Hundora as a whole, and is key to getting to whatever True Ending there might be. As Veshnis gets stronger, the more important luck becomes.

Anyway, getting back to my original point before you all scream "DIGRESSION!" at me, I think the idea of Yakushiji being able to succeed by cooperating with Eva (the outsider) and thinking beyond the boundaries that are unconsciously put in place is part of the "looking beyond just what you see" motif.

I also think that this ties in with the meta themes about art, and sharing art with others, that the game has going on. Cards are just a tool used for any number of games. The the assumption that the characters would play poker with them is just that: an assumption. The medium should never be the primary dictator of artistic decisions, because you as the artist can lean into those limitations, or break them entirely, and get something much more satisfying and memorable.

(You will never convince me that V3 was not about Kodaka feeling creatively hemmed in, and Hundora is really not helping to dissuade me. I have Thoughts about the fact that he felt hemmed in and then kept making similar decisions, but let's put that aside for now.)

Trivial Bullshit Episode 4: Nelly Furtado and Billy Corgan are Very Disappointed In You

This one is so obvious that I'll hopefully have less to say about it, but no promises lol. Sumino chooses to put himself inside a cage at Aotsuki's suggestion, and then finds that actually, it's not too bad. He doesn't have to think, he doesn't have make decisions, he can just exist. It's surprisingly great, up until he decides he wants to leave and can't.

One key point is the fact that Aotsuki brings up 住めば都, a phrase similar in meaning to this Dostoevsky quote: "Man is a creature who gets used to everything, and that, I think, is the best definition of him." Even under terrible circumstances, if you live in that state long enough, you can find comfort in the situation.

People are scarily good at adjusting to things. We can hunker down and find a way to survive even in the most appalling of conditions, and while in some ways that's admirable, in other ways it can have some questionable side-effects. Think about how hard change is for most people--how difficult is it to let go of what you know even if you also admit that it's not good for you. On a personal level, we see this all the time: people stay in bad relationships; stick it out at deadend jobs; continue to live in cramped, poorly maintained apartments.

Usually they aren't being overtly forced to do this, but the longer you remain in the status quo, the harder it is to break out of it. The more terrifying change becomes. The more effort you'd have to expend. The more small good points you've managed to cling to to keep yourself afloat you'd have to sacrifice.

The cage in the courtyard, aside from representing the dream itself as comfortable and less complicated but a prison regardless, also stands in for the Academy itself and the culture that spawned it. Aotsuki mentions that Sumino is the one who is trapped inside while he's the one who is free, which Sumino interprets as himself being stuck in the dream state and Aotsuki having escaped, but it seems to refer to the deeper way in which Sumino blindly trusts Sirei and the authority he represents, whereas Aotsuki actively fights against it. At no point has Aotsuki ever been on the side of bringing The Plan to fruition, and he claims to know the "truth" of the conflict (which, again, I feel pretty confident in saying is because humans are the invading presence).

In short, Aotsuki is woke in the original sense of the term, and Sumino is still snoozing, being a good little patsy for The Man.

It's less about being imprisoned by external forces, but instead more about the subtle ways in which all of us turn away from the truth to enjoy comfort. We've examined what that can look like on a personal level, but what about on a macro scale?

What does it mean to reside in the Imperial Core, where you can hear Veshnis's threats, but she never harms you directly? Does it mean that you're justified in wanting to ensure the annihilation of everyone on her side? Should you have to see the carnage yourself, or should you be able to handwave the defeat away off-screen and focus on your own happy ending?

As a quick aside, I think it's also significant how Sumino discovers the joy of storytelling while in gay baby colonist invader jail. His conversation with Aotsuki where they have a little playground duel about whose OC is can beat up the other is funny and cute, but their creations are ultimately juvenile and don't express much about either of their thoughts, feelings, or views on the world. (Such is the nature of powerscaling arguments.) One might read this as an indication that putting oneself in this cage of comforts, of embracing blind trust in authority, hampers one's ability to create meaningful art. There's nothing wrong with enjoying creation for its own sake in a shallow way from time to time, but what happens when the alarm goes off and you now want to leave?

In Conclusion

まったり編 (the Living to the Fullest route) introduces a lot of interesting questions for the player to consider not just in the context of the route itself, but about Hundred Line in its entirety.

I keep seeing people joking about not being able to talk succinctly about what Hundora is "about", but I honestly don't think it's that hard? Like, the lyrics of Rumble are largely in English, guys.

There's three core themes:

Think critically about the world and your place in it: don't just trust what those in power tell you at face value; re-examine your beliefs using new information and other perspectives; act after having carefully considered your stances; etc.

Creative expression is essential to humanity: make art you want to make, not just focusing on what will be popular or sell well. Good art isn't always palatable. It takes work and sacrifice, but it's worth it.

The world may be pretty fucked; do something about it.

Am I wrong? Like sure I have a lot more to see in the game, but I feel like these themes have come up and been reinforced consistently the entire time. Maybe people are hearing "what's the game about" and thinking of it as "please give me a succinct plot summary."

Anyway, I'm so sorry, anon. Hopefully my rambling made sense.

P.S. The word まったり often makes me think of the Ojarumaru opening song lol. Pretty sure that's how I learned the word initially.

P.P.S. I'm a "drink to the last drop" type of person, because like 50 ml or however little they give you with school lunch is Not Enough, so when I was still teaching, you know I'd be up there doing janken to win another carton.

[a-student-out-of-time]

Reading your thoughts on the new drdt episode, I agree a lot on what you felt negatively about this episode. I've been frustrated for a while because it feels like the time spent on Levi's secret was dragged out, then Hu chimes in with her secret, then Teruko who is probably lying, and they're only just now talking about the murder method. One thing I want to get off my chest though: I think I may be in the minority in that I actually dislike the reveal with Levi's implied ASPD. For me, it just feels very jarring. He still killed 4 people, and while we don't know the entire context it just feels weird to me that this aspect of his character is being so positively received? Maybe I'm being too sensitive or interpreting in bad faith but I feel like Levi having implied ASPD and then having it revealed he killed 4 people is just iffy, especially since he mentioned 2 of those people he just decided to kill a few days after the first.

// I completely understand that, but this is also something I'm willing to go to bat for.

//I dunno if you were around for this, but last year, when it was revealed that Nico was nonbinary and then they tried to kill Ace, there were a LOT of people who were worried that DT was resorting to queerphobic tropes, or they themselves had some very nasty interpretations of them as a character.

//And none of that was true. Nico is not a crazy serial murderer whose villainy is exacerbated by being nonbinary, it was just something that happened and next episode is going to explain why it happened. Nothing about the episodes since have implied that attempted murder had anything to do with what people were worried about, and when it's brought up, it's still treated as a serious problem.

//I also wouldn't say Levi having ASPD was positively received. Everyone else seemed pretty disturbed and put off by both the murders and him admitting he doesn't really understand compassion or empathy. I'm not saying I'm happy about it either.

//But I think it's interesting to have a character like him in all this. This chapter's theme is about the complexities behind what it means to be a good person. Having someone who has done wrong, and who is physiologically incapable of remorse, but still has a desire to do good even if he has no emotional investment in doing so? That's a very different take on the idea that you don't see very often.

//I'm also just relieved that Levi isn't some crazy volatile murder machine like so many thought he was. The most common depictions of people with ASPD tend to paint them as inherently violent or manipulative, when plenty can live totally normal lives and have relationships with others.

//It's jarring, yes, but I believe that's the point. You have David, an obvious manipulator who claims to have good intentions but is willing to sacrifice others' lives to achieve them; and you have Levi, a moral sociopath who wants to help and protect others because it benefits him, but he almost seems apologetic about his inability to care about others.

//I feel the point of this chapter is that being a "good person" is not as simple as we believe, and by revealing someone with ASPD- one of the most maligned and villainized conditions out there- is actually on the up and up? It's a pretty challenging take, because I believe we're meant to consider it all as well.

//Bottom line, there's no easy answers in this situation and that's really the goal. Should we change our opinions about Levi because he's admitted he doesn't experience compassion for others? Or does it matter since he's made it clear he has no reason to harm anyone here?

//I still have my issues with this chapter so far, and I do understand your concerns, but all this why I think it's at least an interesting direction with this chapter's themes.

[larryliciouslife]

Harry Styles - Grapejuice // interpretation, analysis, meaning 

Please note: Read my profile description. This is MY interpretation. It´s personal. You may have a different opinion and that´s fine with me. If you don´t agree, just move on 😉  

If you know me from Twitter, you may know that I love interpretations, and Grapejuice always was a hard one for me. I know there is the common interpretation amongst Larries that it´s a “wedding” song and very domestic. I can see that, but I always had a hard time making all the lyrics fit for me. 

An interpretation is something personal. And also a song can be interpreted in different ways. With H we have so many songs with different layers, meaning they can be interpreted in more than one way. One interpretation does not invalidate the other, they can be your truth side by side 😉 (except for Grapejuice being a song about wine and H being a drunk. Because… no. Just. NO!! 😭) So. I just happened to find a new layer with Grapejuice that fits as well for me. 

Read on if you are open to genderfluidness and Hs female side, and also Larry being real. If it´s not your thing, move on. 😉

Having listened to it so often already, this line hit me different this morning “Give me something old and red”. While this had been used for the wedding interpretation, I never really felt it. Because originally it´s something old and blue and borrowed and new. So the only “right” thing is “old” in this context. “Red” is the wrong colour, the other two are missing completely. 

But with songs on Harry´s House we repeatedly get reminded of the Matrix. Of red and blue pills. 

Red = truth, wake up 

Blue = lie, forgetting everything, going back to sleep 

(On a side note… waking up and sleeping are also terms that Louis uses in his lyrics and also in tweets/IG post etc. and his whole FITF vibe was red-themed… Finally living the truth with faith in the future. 👍😁 you´re welcome.) 

But that´s only part of the story behind the Matrix and those colours. A friend of mine wrote an awesome thread over at twitter about Lights up music video, but it´not availlable anymore since she left the platform. I might talk her into uploading it here again! 

In short: The Matrix was written by the Wachowski siblings and the story is a transgender allegory. 

The red pill resembles an estrogen pill, commonly prescribed in the 90s while the blue pill resembles an antidepressant. So easily said: transgender persons either took the red pill for truth and being themselves, or they took antidepressants to live with the lie, not being able to be their true selves. 

With that in my mind I re-listened to Grapejuice and took a closer look into the lyrics and found other hints that it might be about himself only. (And yes, it may still be about his relationship with L as well! As I said, both interpretations can co-exist) 

So now here´s my interpretation of Grapejuice from a genderfluid perspective. “I” in my context is H, “you” is his female side – “SHE” if you want. 

Yesterday, it finally came, a sunny afternoon 

“Sunny afternoon”: Songs written by H & L (also 1D songs) have a lot of dark/night and light/daylight metaphors. Dark is usually being their true selves at night, when no one can see them. They need to hide in the dark. Daylight is how they are perceived by the public. It´s closeting, hiding away their true selves, having to stunt. 

There are two songs on HSH that pick up the theme as well – “Daylight” and “Daydreaming”. All three songs have been recorded around the same time (with LNT, too) thanks @skepticalarrie for providing us the timeline! 

However in the context of these lyrics, a “sunny afternoon” more likely would be meaning a day where you feel good in your skin. No self doubts, no negative and depressive thoughts. 

I was on my way to buy some flowers for you (ooh) 

“Flowers for you”: Seen from a heteronormative view a man buys flowers for a woman. So this might be him buying flowers for SHE, also possibly metaphorically. Meaning he treated himself well. 

Thought that we could hide away in a corner of the heath 

“Hide away in the Heath”: Could be literally, bc he knows his way around unseen. But “Heath” could also be meant as home (he has a public house near Hampsted Heath. I don´t know though if he really lives in that area, too). So these lyrics would imply he wants to be hiding at home, not wanting to go outside. 

There's never been someone who's so perfect for me 

“perfect for me”: He embraces SHE, like he does in his other songs. 

But I got over it and I said  

“But I got over it”: He didn’t hide at home, he asked for living his truth instead. 

"Give me somethin' old and red"  

“Give me something old and red”: red = truth. In genderfuid context it could be the acceptance of SHE and especially the desire to not hiding it. 

Also interesting is that red in a pride flag represents “life”. 

I pay for it more than I did back then 

He now is more famous than when he first realized his genderfluidness and queerness. He pays for it more now because he publicly can´t be who he wants to be and also can´t be with the person he loves (💙). 

There's just no gettin' through 

Without you  A bottle of rouge  Just me and you 

He can´t live without SHE. SHE´s a part of him, they belong together and only both of them form a whole person. And again the reference to “red”. The rouge probably is a red wine (Fine line vibes: “We'll get the drinks in, so I'll get to thinking of her” <-> “A bottle of rouge just me and you”) but – in context of genderfluidity – possibly also a make up blush? 

Sittin' in the garden, I'm a couple glasses in 

More Fine Line vibes, less make up vibes 😉 

  I was tryna count up all the places we've been 

They have seen the world together. 

  You're always there, so don't overthink 

I'm so over whites and pinks  

“I´m prone to overthinking” (Hunger) 

It´s what he does, but it´s not what he wants. During Fine Line era the lyrics about SHE were more desperate and confused (She, Fine Line, Falling). He was overthinking himself, but he found a way to see that SHE and HE belong together as one person. On HsH he found his inner peace. Which can also be interpreted from “Little Freak” lyrics. 

He´s over white and pinks, over the genders being “pure” (white) and he knows it´s not only “pink” (female) it´s fluid. Or from a “wine-point-of-view”: He´s over a crisp white or rose one, it needs to be a full-bodied warm dark red one. He is over doing things by halves. 

She 

Fine Line 

Falling 

Little Freak 

I pay for it more than I did back then 

There's just no gettin' through  Without you  A bottle of rouge  Just me and you  1982 

This actually makes more sense regarding the Larry interpretation. 

19 = 91 = Ls year of birth and  

82 = 28 = well… 28. Whatever happened on a 28th. There are brilliant twitter treads and tumblrs on the possible meanings of 28. Also look into Hs obsession with 28 on HSH.  

Hidden 28s in Harry´s House

As a bonus if you count all the numbers he´s counting in Grapejuice, they add up to 28. Obviously. 

There are too many options what could be meant by 1982 exactly. Besides the above stated it could also be some event that happened in 1982 regarding LGBTQ+ rights, could be the writing of Billy Jean by Michael Jackson, could be my birthday 😁. 

It´s a thing – as so often – we´ll never know. Maybe it´s only randomly chosen to make it rhyme (but… I tend to it´s not) 

  Just me and you  There's just no gettin' through  The grape juice blues 

Again a possible link to Fine line “we´ll get the drinks in, so I get to think about her” – he´s being sentimental and melancholic when drinking. Having a (wine / grapejuice) blues.  

Now that I am finished with the lyrics, I have some more details to share. 

It is said that HsH needs to be listened to backwards, so starting from the last song going to the first one. 

If you do so, the order of the songs would be “As it was” – “Grapejuice” – “Late Night Talking”. Which fits the genderfluid interpretation and the Larry interpretation on the same level. 

AIW´s music video is all about blue and red and Matrix themed and also the lyrics can be interpreted from gender perspective. 

LNT´s music video is an adaption of H´s (love) life. It obviously is about the person he loves. 

So Grapejuice nested in between these songs is the perfect link between both of them. 

If you search for meanings or symbolism of grapes there is one of interest (from a biased point of view, I have to admit 😉) 

During LOT 2023 he performed Grapejuice. The stagelights and also screens were mostly red (see Matrix reference above (also maybe a Larry reference as L was just touring FITFWT with its album colour theme red/black) 

Supporting the Larry interpretation was him singing (and giggling) “Just me and Lou” VERY clearly in Amsterdam. 💙💚 

I looked for interviews on Grapejuice and found nothing. Also nothing about the exact timing of writing, only when it has been recorded. 

To close this: Do you remember the amount of “choking” mentioned in Hs lyrics? And even L refered to it on stage with his cover of “505”. Well, imagine my surprise and giggles when I found this…. 

Oh, and btw if you still think Grapejuice is about red wine... this is the only way I accept this thought: 

[tharizt]

I enjoyed Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0: Thrice Upon A Time a lot more than I thought I would. It doesn't really work emotionally without the context of the original series. In fact, it abandons a lot of that actual character work in favor of a meta-story, but I just like it as that!

I liked the first act a lot, and how the village worked *because* they were being together with other people. The village needed to work with other villages too just to have all the resources it needed. It's an externalization of Eva's main theme; You need others to live.

Some of it gets lost in the very pro-natalist theming, as the film very much emphasizes Toji and Hikari getting married and having children as the ideal healthy human relationship and representation of adult responsibility.

There are several scenes featuring pregnancy, babies, and women either wanting to be moms or already being moms. Rei is bewildered by a pregnant cat, touching her own chest to copy Hikari, taking care of the baby, and saying she wants to hold her more often.

Hikari no longer has the leadership role she had in her class but is a stay-at-home mom, the village pregnant lady, etc. It's framing motherhood/pregnancy as a universal goal for women as they grow up. But I still think the core theme of being with others comes through very well.

I also think End of Evangelion did a better job presenting Gendo as first and foremost an abuser and centering his scenes around Rei and her experience primarily. 3.0 + 1.0 leans a bit too much into the wifeguy angle.

Don't get me wrong, he certainly is one, and while it fits the themes of the series in terms of connecting with others (again, EoE also obviously touched upon Gendo not bonding with Shinji and his obsession with Yui which he is eventually punished for by being eaten by Unit-01), but 3.0 + 1.0 frames Gendo being love-starved as the primary thing about him and the primary condemnation of him is around that.

There's a reason that in EoE, his big character moment is admitting his neglect of Sinji and being punished, while in 3.0 + 1.0 it's pining over Yui and then being reunited with her.

I also think the film fails a bit in this same regard for Misato. I'm on board with the parallels between her and Gendo, with her being a neglectful mother (like Gendo is a neglectful Dad) and how Misato sees her son as a stand-in for Shinji (like how Gendo sees his "daughter" Rei as a stand-in for Yui). But I wish we got some sort of scene with her at least interacting with her son at the end?

Beacuse the film ends up being much more sympathetic to Misato's neglect of her son (her son is happy without her and she doesn't need to connect with him) than Gendo's neglect of Shinji even though in principle they are both doing the same thing?

Fundamentally, this film doesn't really work without the meta-aspect. This doesn't work without the context of the original series in any way.

Ritsuko aiming a gun at Gendo only works as an act of betrayal in EoE because it's actually earned thanks to the massive narrative build-up. In 3.0+1.0, that scene only works from the context of EoE and what we felt then.

Asuka in the Rebuilds is a different character from the original Asuka (hence her different surname and backstory), but at the beach scene, she's supposed to represent an amalgamation of both Asuka's together (yes it's completely undercut by the horrible sexualization here).

Even with Shinji, the film frames the solution to the root of his issues as a world without Evas when in reality the Evas themselves were never Shinji's problem, but simply a by-product of everything else.

Again. The reason for this is that it's become a meta-story about Anno himself. Shinji is no longer an actual character, he is simply a representation. For Anno, a world without Evangelions means leaving this part of his life behind.

For the audience, he also wants it to mean to stop fetishizing and fixating on these 14-year-old kids who never grow up (hence the curse of Eva keeping them physically the same until the end of this film) -- but to start living in the real world.

And that works in this meta-context, but as a solution to the interpersonal dynamics and the actual root causes of their individual idiosyncrasies, it does not.

But... that's fine? We already have a series and movie about that. I'm happy to have an Evangelion about something else. There'd be no point in remaking End of Evangelion again. So, fine. Rebuild is shallower than the original series, of course it is, but that's okay.

This isn't the story of Shinji's problems in the same way that the original was, so I think simply framing a world without Evangelions as a world where genuine relationships have to be made like Village 3, is a fine metaphor that works in the context of Rebuild.

I am happy with it. This film is not necessary in that it adds anything to the original to me. But I thought it was very nice as its own experiment and even if it can't actually work on its own, I still think it achieved something poignant here in its own way.

[thormanick]

So let me throw in my five cents on Skirk's design,

because I have Thoughts TM (TLDR: it confuses me)

WARNING: this post CONTAINS Skirk's image which might still be spoiler-y if you haven't seen the livestream!

First of all, if you like it and if this is how you envisioned her to be and this design speaks to you - great!!! I'm very happy for you! I'm glad that the character you found interesting for so long without any visual details being available for so long delivered on your expectations. (Depending on how the rest of her outfit works I might join your camp lol)

Second of all. Character design. Let's talk a bit.

When you do character design, there are some aspects you ideally want to incorporate into the final look. Character design ideally should hint at the role the character plays - either have allusions to their archetype or have easily identifiable details/signifiers which could then create associations with the role they're supposed to fulfill in the narrative. At the same time, the design of the character may also reflect their nature (once again through the associations) (and I guess my impressions are mostly informed by the archetypes I encounter in primarily western media); symmetry and light colour often oppose asymmetry and darker colours, thus creating "visual" conflict between the characters that are narratively supposed to be in conflict. Yet another thing to remember when working on the character design is character's individual past and how it affects their present, as well as the environment they've grown in and are living in. Are there any specific trinkets, patterns or materials included in their outfit? If so, what is the reason behind them? What do they signify to the character and how in turn it speaks to us as someone observing them in the context of the story? etc., etc., etc.

All this to say, there are even more steps to this process when done in-depth/professionally (I only go off my assumptions): character should be recognisable, easily identifiable, preferably have very individualistic silhouette, etc. So, when we think of Skirk's design, I think we must first and foremost try to understand how it works together with the information that was already known about her.

Skirk is an warrior who dwells in Abyss, fights Abyssal monsters, someone who can be a good mentor figure and who is very skillful at what she does (fighting).

This is where I am a bit confused with what we see. Mind you, it doesn't mean that I have any strong positive/negative emotions about it yet (I'd need to see the full design to properly collect my thoughts), I'm just really, really confused so far.

My confusion stems from several key aspects of the design: chosen colour palette, chosen clothing design, chosen accessory design. Let's dig in.

I will start with clothing design. Now, I've seen some people note that a) Skirk's outfit seems to show a lot of skin, which is impractical; b) that her armour is not complete (top is separate from bottom as I understood it). When looking upon what little we currently have, the armour seems to be complete (there seems to be a connecting piece going over the mid section of the body, however it remains to be seen if it like this from the front view). However, skin exposure is indeed something I do not completely understand as a design choice for a warrior-themed character. I would understand it if it happened naturally (through tears from past battles, for example. Maybe there are patched-up claw-tears or something similar. That would instil air of fear and respect towards Skirk and show that she has been through a lot.), but current setup seems to be too deliberate and more guided by fashion choices, which in my eyes renders it quite impractical. At the same time I want to note, however, that there are weird fin-like structures growing out of Skirk's back (they are briefly visible when she turns). Depending on whether she uses them or not and if she has more of them, then the open skin on the back can be kinda-sorta explained.

Next, I would like to address the accessories. They mostly confuse me because they seem to be very flow-y and etherial. Etherial aspect works in Skirk's favour, because she is someone who should be very different compared to the average character from Teyvat. Their shape (specifically the hairpiece) reminds me of fins and butterfly wings, which can have diametrically opposed effects in term of tone in this instance. Butterfly wings seem more royal, aesthetic, unbothered by the worlds, while fins might hint at the connection of Skirk to the place (Abyss) and to her own nature (the fin-like things on her back). (Together with the loose hair, however, there seem to be lots of flow-y lines in the upper part of her design, which creates air of relaxation about her that I don't find particularly applicable to what we already know of her as a character).

The last but not the least, the colour palette that surprised me the most is something I need to highlight here. Skirk's colours are rather pale/pastel purple/lavender(?), with accents of deeper purple, blue and underlying structure of black. I think it confuses me mostly because it seems to be so non-threatening, when I expected quite the opposite. However, despite confusing me, it kinda works. One of the points of character design is to reflect the surrounding nature of the character/play on it, and current colour choicrs kinda do the job very well. All the colours that Skirk wears are the colours surrounding her (endless space), and is also kinda related to the palette Abyss technically uses in Genchin and where Skirk comes from.

This is where I need to go off on a bit of a tangent. I think normally when we think of Abyss in Genshin we think of Spiral Abyss, which contains lots of heavier, darker colours (very dark blue, dark purples, some silver, black, maybe red); however, the Abyss we've seen (or some parts of the Abyss we've seen) can be quite whimsical and use slightly lighter shades of blue and purple. What I mean to say is that Abyss seems dark, but not always threatening, and so Skirk may embody this trait of Abyss. At the same time, given her current design, she seems more at home in the space the Space Whale TM and Primordial Water comes from, which, once again, leaves me with more questions than answers.

Finally, given that she seems at home in a place that is connected to Primordial Water and the Whale and seems to have fins and fin-related elements incorporated in her design, I wonder if this is supposed to be her natural place of dwelling, and if she is as disconnected from Abyss as she seems to be from Teyvat.

Something like this. I will need to see the rest of her outfit to reach a more final verdict, but for now I am cautiously hopeful and kinda optimistic. Still kinda confused (because expectations were quite different from reality)

P.S. Thank you for reading through this if you did, I'm sorry for rambling for so long.

[zorilleerrant]

I really wish more people could wrap their heads around the idea that there's no one correct way to interpret fiction. and I don't even mean what's going on 'behind the scenes' so to speak, or what themes and messages they're seeing in the work. I mean there's no correct methodology to it.

so, yes, the people who are trying to break down some story to a one to one correlation to the real world, or trying to figure out how this would apply if it were true within the world we inhabit, they might not be doing what you would do. their version of this might not be interesting or fulfilling to you. and obviously people who are saying it's something people must do, or it's the only way to engage with the text, that's a pretty fundamentally anti-art attitude. but there are also plenty of reasons to treat something like the real world.

like, first of all, it's just a fun thought exercise. if a superhero or an alien or a sorcerer were real, what would we do? or taking it and modifying it to a modern/no powers AU, that's also fun for a lot of people. or taking the cartoon logic and giving it real consequences. or taking the drama and fleshing out the details until it becomes an example of a different genre, just by tone and voice shift.

but also... stories exist as a way for us to interpret ourselves, our lives, and the world around us. that's one of the big things they're good at. so if people want to pull that in real close and examine it, or find what the analogy suits in real life, that's a method of doing that. if a person wants to think about how similar or how different a character is to the people they know, that's a great way to engage with a story.

and sometimes people want to look at systemic structures. like, yes, it's a story, it's fiction, but there are patterns to what is and isn't included in fiction. if someone wants to say all the women do x or why are there no black people who y that's also a totally valid question. extrapolating from that to determine differences between the real world and the fictional one, that can help people comment on either world, or both. often even the most perfect example of this in a text is meaningless without the wider context of fiction, but also fiction can already be understood to be part of a wider context, and the argument interpreted through that lens.

people aren't doing things wrong when they do this. they aren't misunderstanding the text, or refusing to give it the benefit of the doubt, or taking it too seriously. it's pretty presumptuous to act like there's automatically information they don't know or a popular viewpoint they didn't even think of. in the same way it's totally fine to excuse a fictional character's actions because, like, they're fictional and it doesn't matter, it's also fine to be mad at a fictional for things that were important to the text, because, again, they're fictional characters and it doesn't matter.

complaining about something that's a standard genre or form element may not be productive at all. it may be boring. but it can also be boring to complain about something totally unique to that work, or something that subverts a trope, or something that's uncomfortable, or bad representation, or technical errors. and it can be boring to praise a work for literally anything, or even to just neutrally state it. none of that is necessarily productive either. and sometimes an argument you don't agree with, don't understand, or see no reason to go through with - even something that did wildly misunderstand what it's responding to - might be itself a gorgeous work of art. or entertainment, social commentary, comfort, information, inspiration.

people can look at a text like a reflection of the world, or a strict and standalone reality, or a psychological study of the character, or a beautiful depiction of a relationship, or a bedtime story, or a structural message within a text, or an historical document about the author, or an example of craft skills, or a commentary on other stories, or a snapshot of social influence, or something that evokes emotion, or something to build on, or something to discuss. not only are all of these things good, it's necessary to have as many as possible to keep art going as a complex system.

[norahastuff]

penny for your thoughts on salmondean codependency ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE

[dutchdread]

Bruh, we don't want to hear about your negative views about cleriths. Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her. He thought of Aerith a lot in OG , On the Way to A Smile, and AC. He went to live in her church. Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith? There are millions of places he could've gone but he chose the church. You don't have to believe our way of thinking if you don't want to, but don't tag clerith in your posts.

Thanks for your question. I think it's important to have these conversations so we can clear up these misunderstandings. Clouds motivations have been well documented so it's unfortunate that large swaths of the fandom seemingly are still in the dark about something that has been known for quite a long time, and I blame lack of communication. Before I answer your question though I'd like to address the style of it, since I find it amusing that in response to my article concerning productive conversation styles you not only used one of the styles I described, but even the same exact argument. This is a nice confirmation for me that I am right on the money. In my article, I said that the "dishonest inquiry" is the Clerith conversation style of choice. The example I gave was as follows:

The dishonest inquiry: “Why don’t you admit that Clouds actions in AC show that he doesn’t love Tifa?”

You mirrored this approach by saying "Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith?". The defining characteristic of the dishonest inquiry is that the question isn't asked with the goal of seeking clarification, but as an offensive tactic meant to attack the others position, you're not trying to evaluate your position, you're trying to get others to re-evaluate their position under the guise of a question. If we look at the rest of your post we can see the indicators I described for someone who has reached the last stage of the debate style. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her". As I noted in my article:

If assertions are backed up, they are backed up with other assertions designed to dissuade rebuttals, rather than investigating veracity.

This "argument" had no actual arguments, it was a meaningless assertion. Stating that you are correct in an attempt to avoid having to actual show that you're correct. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her": This is what you're trying to prove, you can't state what you're trying to prove as your starting premise.

If you're honestly interested in learning more about FFVII then leave out the baseless assertions, they literally just waste peoples time and makes them less willing to engage with you.

If I had to rephrase your question in a way that's more inviting for a productive discussion it would be something like this:

"Why do you believe Cloud chose Aeriths Church as his hiding place in AC? He thinks about Aerith a lot, what do you think the reason is for that if it's not love?".

The answer to this is pretty simple of course, it's been restated several times, this is not something that is some grand mystery, it's not even an aspect of FFVII that's particularly ambiguous. The reason he stays in Aeriths church is the same reason he's seen lingering at Zacks "grave", it's guilt. As stated in the 10th anniversary ultimania, and several other times:

when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him

While this is an element of the story that has been explicitly confirmed through ultimanias and quotes, this is not an element of the story that was ever in any way unclear, its a direct continuation of Clouds character arc in FFVII. Infact, Clouds mental health issues are the central part of the fake persona storyarc, and is arguably the core of the story. The rough order of events shown in FFVII, on the way to a smile, and Advent children (and also CC) concerning Clouds mental health is as follows. 1: Cloud as a boy want to protect Tifa. 2: Cloud fails to protect Tifa. 3: Cloud and townspeople blame Cloud for Tifas injuries. 4: Cloud internalizes this and beats himself up over his failure to protect Tifa. He develops a fear of failure. 5: Cloud starts acting up, starts wanting to prove himself, and decides to join Soldier to impress Tifa. 6: Cloud fails to get into Soldier, develops an inferiority complex. 7: Cloud is too ashamed of his failure to face Tifa. 8: Cloud fails to save his mother. 9: Cloud fails to save Nibleheim. 10: Cloud fails to save Tifa, again. 11: Cloud fails to save Zack. 12: Cloud develops a soldier alter ego that is everything that he isn't, as a defense mechanism. He hides from his own weakness. 13: Even as a soldier, Cloud fails to save Aerith. 14: Cloud regains his memories in the lifestream, and discovers he did fulfill his promise to come save Tifa. Here we basically end FFVII, and go into on the way to a smile. At this point Cloud has overcome the alien parasite messing with his mind by establishing a stronger sense of who he is. However, now that he's lost his fake soldier defense mechanism he's forced to deal with the past. His past failures haven't been fixed, he doesn't suddenly think he's a great person now, he simply can no longer use his fake persona to hide from his own weakness, and is forced to confront it. 15: Cloud still blames his own weakness for the deaths of Aerith and Zack, he thinks that he needs to atone for his sins, and thinks that the only way to do this is through living* 16: Cloud starts living with Tifa and experiences happiness and peace for the first time in his adult life.** 17: Cloud develops cherophobia and survivors guilt. He feels ashamed for being alive and happy while Aerith and Zack are dead because of him.*** 18: Clouds mental health deteriorates because of these feelings.**** 19: Cloud finds Denzel and sees him as a way to atone, having found a pathway to redemption, Clouds situation improves.***** 20: Cloud is unable to save Denzel from geostigma, and contracts it himself. 21: Clouds mental health worsens again, he failed again, he is unable to save Denzel, he is even unable to save himself, he won't be able to atone for his sins through living. He potentially brought an infectious disease into the house and as a result of his actions Tifa and Marlene will now lose him. 22: Depressed and ashamed, Cloud runs away. He thinks Tifa and Marlene are better off without him, he doesn't want them to see him waste away and die, he feels like he doesn't deserve to be happy and should instead die alone, Etc. Classic depression. (Some quotes concerning the *** are at the bottom of the article)

As for why he thinks about Aerith and Zack a lot, and hangs around the places that are connected with them, what else do you expect? Of course he's thinking about them, they're the people he failed, they're DEAD because of him. Cloud is a caring man, he beats himself up over it, of course he'd be thinking about them. And where else would a man wallowing in guilt and self-pity go than to those places? But the important thing to remember is that none of this is supposed to be seen as romantic. It's supposed to be viewed as sad and negative. Every internal character arc has something to overcome and this is what Cloud has to overcome in Advent children.****** Tifa to Cloud: "have we lost to our memories?" Cloud to Sephiroth: "Stay where you belong, in my memories" A well written story has internal and external obstacles to overcome, and ties the two together. In the case of advent children, the return of Sephiroth is the physical representation of Clouds internal character arc, which is that he should stop living in the past, and should move on. The past here isn't a positive thing he wants to get back to, Clouds past has always been a thing he's ran away from, but then is forced to accept. The past in Clouds case is a bad thing, his failures, and is something he should stop dwelling on. If you've ever seen the lion king, this resembles the scene where Rafiki hits Simba with a stick. "What does it matter, it's in the past", "yeah but it still hurts", "Oh Yes, the past can hurt, but the way I see it you can either run from it, or learn from it".

When Cloud returned to his normal self, he stopped running from the past, but as a result, he started dwelling in it. That's what he's doing in Aeriths church; dwelling in misery.

If we juxtapose Aeriths church with the 7th heaven, we can start to see where peoples misunderstandings are taking place. When some people look at the events of ACC they think that 7th heaven is a place of sadness, which Cloud leaves to be happy at Aeriths church, the place of happiness. The "have we lost to our memories" is then seen as a confirmation of this and that the memory, which they think corresponds to Aerith, is better than life with Tifa. This character arc then concludes with Cloud being happy by finally leaving Tifa behind, and riding off in the sun-set in search of Aerith at the end of the movie. But this interpretation falls apart as soon as you apply context to it, both narratively, and factually, it doesn't fit with with developer quotes, as well as the fundamental story themes of FFVII. 1: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, then why has Cloud been consistently quoted to experience happiness there? 2: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, and Cloud leaves at the end of the movie, then why has it been stated to be his promised land, aka, his land of supreme happiness (the reason it's literally called 7th heaven), and why is he stated to return there? ******* 3: If Clouds "memories" are positive, why is the plotarc resolved by Cloud telling the villain to "stay there"? 4: If Cloud is happy at the church, why is he living in self-deprecating squalor? 5: If Cloud loved Aerith and thought Denzel was sent to him by her, why did he abandon him? 6: Do you really think SE would write a story about a "hero" whose main emotional hurdle concerning the past comes down to. "I am sick of the girl I am with, I prefer the one that is dead, so I will get over the past by letting go of the girl I am with, as well as my adoptive children, to go chase the dead girl"? 7: Don't you think this would do Tifas character a tremendous disservice and do you think SE would be that preferential in their treatment? I could go on, but I think the point is clear. While the "Aeriths church is a happy place" interpretation is semi-coherent when looked at in isolation, it becomes exceedingly bizarre as soon as you place it in context. As I am fond of saying, this is not a matter of personal interpretation, it's a matter of lying to yourself vs not lying to yourself. I also suspect that this is the reason why SE changed the ending to advent Children, because people were misinterpreting it in this bizarre way, so they made it more in your face. In context, the following interpretation is much more fitting. Aeriths church is a place of sadness that Cloud runs to because of his guilt and depression. The "memories" line refers to Cloud dwelling on his past mistakes, as evidenced by his constant quotes about needing forgiveness. The character arc of moving on from the past is then resolved when he forgives himself, and as a result, defeats sephiroth, the metaphorical demon of his past. This allows him to return to his place of joy, his promised land, the 7th heaven, with a more positive outlook on the past. Instead of tarnishing Aerith and Zacks memories by wallowing in the past he instead moves on from it, thereby allowing it to become beautiful, which is represented by him planting Aeriths flowers on Zacks grave, and placing Zacks sword in the church. Instead of Zacks grave being the place where Zack died, it is now the place where a hero was born. Cloud has moved on, he has let his mistakes go, and has learned to come to terms with himself. I think it's hard to argue that this version of events is much less shallow, and much more meaningful than the story of a lovesick guy who abandons his partner and adoptive kids to go chase after a dead girl, but that's just me, what's more important is that it's the only version of events that's corroborated by the evidence. Thanks for the question. __________________________________________________

Corroborating quotes (not comprehensive)

* from case of Tifa: "“I’m going to live. I think that’s the only way I can be forgiven. All sorts of things…"

** Nojima in AC prologue: "“Cloud never had a candid personality to begin with, and although he started living with Tifa and even started working, he obtained a peaceful livinghe’s never experienced before, and this conversely made him anxious. And in the midst of this he contracts Geostigma himself, and rather than being able to protect the people dear to him, he instead was forced to face his own death, and so ran away.” (among other quotes)

*** 10th anniversary ultimania: "when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him"

Aeriths 10th anniversary profile : Aerith still lives on in the hearts of her friends who saved the planet. And in particular to Cloud, as a symbol of his failure to having being unable protect those dear to him, she was a major factor in causing him to close himself off. -Aerith’s 10th anniversay profile.

And more, really this is reiterated constantly.

**** From case of Tifa: "During that time, it was Marlene who noticed a change in Cloud. She told Tifa how Cloud would sometimes space out and not listen to her.

Transporting mail around the world meant he was traveling around his past too. She knew that Cloud was in great pain because he couldn’t protect Aerith. Cloud was trying to overcome that and live on. But, going back to the place where he parted from Aerith might mean that his sorrow and regret was going to tear his heart again.

It was night, and they had closed the bar. Cloud was drinking alcohol even though he rarely did. He drained his glass. Tifa thought about it before going over and filling his glass.

***** From case of Tifa: "Tifa wondered if they became a real family after Denzel appeared. Cloud was clearly taking less jobs. At night, he would always make sure he had time to spend with the children. The silly little conversations he had with Tifa were also back."

****** Reunion files, page 58: "As long as Cloud blames himself for Aerith’s death, he won’t be able to move on with his life. One of the first ideas we had for Advent Children was to have Cloud overcome and resolve that immense feeling of guilt. For Cloud, no one other than Aerith can solve that problem for him."

- Takahiro Sakurai pg. 15 reunion files: After Cloud was told, “Which is it? A memory or us?: by Tifa, he tells Sephiroth, “Stay where you belong. In my memories,” just before he defeats him. I think Cloud finally becomes free at this moment. Deep down, Cloud knew that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, but at the same time he couldn’t let go of those feelings of guilt for what happened to Aerith and Zack, or the thought that he could never forgive himself for it. But then his companions made him feel better by telling him to let go. ******* "The place where he awakens—- That is Cloud’s Promised Land As he sleeps, Cloud hears two voices. The voices of two people very dear to him, who are no longer with him. Playfully and kindly, they give him a message: he doesn’t belong here yet. When he awakes, there was his friends. There were the children, freed from their fatal illness. Tifa and Marlene, and Denzel asking for Cloud to heal his Geostigma— his family were waiting. Engulfed in celebration, he realizes where he is meant to live."

"Aerith lends her power to the people suffering from Geostigma in Edge, and personally provides for Cloud’s recovery. Geostigma is cured. Cloud returns to Tifa and the children."

-  FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Complete Timeline

[nightswithkookmin]

From Jimin: To the hyungs Jungkook is just my little brother...

I have no idea what that says. But if this is what he said, then definitely it leaves room for interpretation because it's an incomplete statement. You don't need to know the nuances of the language to understand that that statement is a sentence fragment that expresses an incomplete thought on the surface of it.

The omission of a second clause implies the opposite of what was said in the first. It's as simple as that.

The question anyone would ask upon hearing that is, so... he's more? Or, so he's not your little brother?

Makes sense...

But I've seen other translations such as, to the hyungs JK is like my little brother and in other instance, Jk is our little brother etc.

Makes you wonder if these interpretations took the context of the conversation into consideration or even why Jimin would make such a statement in the first place in their attempts to provide nuance.

"SUGA: Jungkook is good at everything

J-hope: Jungkook always surprises us. he changed his style recently!

Jimin: The hyungs all think he's like my actual little brother.

V: Jungkook is good at keeping his focus

JK: Everything about Jungkook is pretty!"

It's Jungkook from the members' lens.

When you interpret Jimin's bit within this context then it's more likely he is trying to highlight his dynamic with Jungkook more than anything, mainly to the effect that Jungkook is perhaps obedient, likeable, sweet, puppy etc.

Comparing Jungkook to his actual little brother is a compliment and perhaps has a much deeper meaning than mere friendships in my opinion. It shows just how close, more than co workers they are, how more than friends they are, how really close they are.

I don't know why shippers shy away from comparisons to family bond when in fact the bond of family is the greatest bond one could ever have.

BTS do have a habit of liking their bond to that of family- and they love to show that bond off.

It's interesting seeing Jikook through the lens of the members when most times the bond of those two are invalidated, watered down and downplayed.

Everyone would have us believe Jikook are sworn enemies from rival states. So however you wanna interpret what he said, there's value in taking things at face value. You don't need to do too too much with it to try to get its meaning across because then that would be analysis and analysis are always subjective and subject to our own confirmation biases.

To the hyungs, he's like my little brother, he is just my little brother, he's like our little brother- all have the same sentiment if taken from the perspective of that whatever JM said was intended as a compliment to Jungkook.

Perhaps Jungkook treats JM just like a younger brother would a Hyung- given the culture of respect between hyung/dongsaengs, given the way hyungs are expected to take care of their dongsaengs, given the emphasis BTS places on their bond, honorifics culture...

Perhaps he means, Jungkook treats me in such a way you'd think he were my actual younger brother- a theme which to me is in line with that whole Jimin treats me better than my own brother does or the numerous times he's compared him to his own brother or something along those lines.

They love eachother very much. Whether that is platonic or romantic is up for debate but I don't think after this anyone can invalidate their bond or gaslight is into thinking those two aren't close at all.

If the members see them as this close then it really puts an end to this whole Jungkook is uncomfortable with Jimin nonsense.

The busan bros, the busans, the sun and moon duo, the exceptionally close pair, the hyungs all think Jungkook is like my actual little brother etc

They all have a similar vibe to me.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't care much about the nuances of the language in this context or in any context to be honest as the intention behind the text is pretty obvious💀

To me he is either providing the hyungs' perspective to affirm his dynamic with Jungkook or to affirm all that he's been saying of his dynamic with JK which is that JK is like a little brother to him just as he repeated in Festa.

To highlight and affirm their bond or to compliment Jungkook like the other's were in this instance.

This is the diagram some Karny drew to explain the nuances of the text.

And here I thought I was extra chilee.

I'm not mad at this. Love when a moment brings out the delulu in yall's eyes😭🤣🤣

I don't know why we are hung on Jimin's words out of all the statements that were made trying to dissect and over analyse it.

On one hand I feel some people are over sensationalizing while others are just plain invalidating Jikook's bonds- especially over something Jimin of all people would say.

He slick slick. I'll give him that. And he loves him some double entendres. But he's also usually the one to use dictum that makes it easier for his words and meaning to be translated- if they get translated. So it's fascinating to see the confusion his words are creating out in these streets. It really ain't that deep if you ask me chilee.

Alas, we are all adults and we all have different perspectives on these things. I'd say, find a source you trust based on their track record and stick with it. Do your own analysis or seek out others' perspectives on it. This is mine and how I take it- regardless of what any Karmy says😊

My delusions are mine and mine alone. No disrespect to Karmy. In fact, yall great people doing great holding it down for the gays🤭

Also disclaimer, I'm not a translator and any translation used here isn't mine.

In conclusion,

Hyuna screws her dongsaeng and Rain fucks his Noona. Dead that whole Jikook womb mates shit before I lay my paws on ya.

Please pls Jikook is louder than this🙄

Jeonlous counts. Keep your wokeness yo yourself please. You must be in the wrong industry if you think you have to live by a code of ethic in these ship streets.

There is no ethical nor moderate consumption of ships under shipping. There is nothing like ethical or moderate shipping for the holier than thou shippers in the back.

We all ghetto ma'am. You might as well go all out😴

My favorite line from their song though is when Hyuna sings, "I'm finna tell my father about us and pledge eternity to you. You have to be careful always though, there are lots of pretty girls out there. We have to tell the world, I can't share you with another girl."

Eventually they told the world🤭

Their careers suffered but they did it anyway.

Please no nondelusional, fake woke, moderate shipper person should tell it to me when I talk about Jungkook's frustration to come out with their relationship and come act like it's illogical hence implausible for him to want to come out etc😒

I like my delulu perspective better😌

Peace.

GOLDY

[vkelleyart]

Thoughts on fandom: inclusion and engagement.

(Art credit to the kindhearted @penpanoply​!)

There’s been some stuff floating around on Tumblr about strife in the CO/WS fandom, and though I haven’t been explicitly named-dropped on anything public, my DMs have been... active. lol Rather than rehash what’s been said already, I just want to impart a little wisdom and perspective in the hopes it may soothe frayed feelings and offer a way ahead for cultivating a respectful community. As someone who has been an active participant in online fandoms since the mid-’90s, which was the advent of online fandom content creation (shout out to my fellow X-Philes!), and who has also spent a chunk of her professional life managing social media for the federal government and for activist groups, I can promise you it’s all gonna be okay.

Here’s some context for why strife happens and what we can do to create a more inclusive and communicative fandom environment. 

1) It sounds cliché, but fandoms go through growing pains. 

In the case of the Simon Snow fandom, what was once a small and cozy space untouched by cataclysmic events (such as the release of *gasp* a sequel) has grown exponentially in a relatively short amount of time following the release of Wayward Son. Newcomers are eager to find a home in this space at the same time as folks who’ve been here a while may be consciously or unconsciously wary about widening their circle, and It’s important to remember that this is not necessarily an expression of bad behavior on either side but just human psychology doing its thing. 

The byproduct, however, is that tension and stress builds over time from the lack of meaningful communication across the divide, which subsequently fuels misunderstandings. Ironically, the interfaces we use to communicate don’t help with this because any existing communication about the tension happens in tiny vacuums until a trigger goes off and bad feelings go public. 

Way Ahead: These moments of destabilization are opportunities to see where we can be more self aware about how we engage with fandom and the kind of community we want to be. Can you promote, support, or befriend someone trying to gain a foothold? If yes, please do! Each person must reach their own decision about what they can do within the confines of their available energy, health, and time, but a little self awareness goes a long way as long as you’re honest with yourself and others if applicable about what you can contribute. Anyone who judges you for it isn’t worth the strife.

2) In a fandom comprised of vulnerable/marginalized people, it’s more accurate to say that cliques are “bubbles of trust.”

This one's important. Just by nature of the source material, the CO/WS fandom includes fans with a wide array of backgrounds and experiences, especially when it comes to those who identify with the characters’ queerness, mental illness, and/or trauma. I really believe––based on individual conversations/group chats––that the difficult lived experiences that so many of our fandom peers have endured has produced one of the most open, aware, and accepting fandoms I’ve had the pleasure of participating in. Our vulnerability is, in a real way, our strength.

That said, a community of survivors also has the side effect of cultivating small circles of engagement that I call “bubbles of trust.” When you’re a survivor of abuse, marginalization, mental illness, fill-in-the-blank, it’s often quite hard to risk casting a wide net and expanding your circle to include new faces––which can subsequently be internalized by equally sensitive and vulnerable newcomers as rejection, judgement, or inadequacy.

Way Ahead: First of all, there may indeed be gatekeeping and exclusion going on. But before internalizing someone’s cagey behavior as gatekeeping or purposely exclusionary, ask yourself if you have all the information. Many people are private (I include myself in this assessment) because life has regrettably taught them to be this way, and so they may insulate themselves to a small group of people who have earned their trust. Some people might also triggered by certain content (case in point: smut triggers my anxiety) so they don’t engage with it. Others might have something in their pasts that define how they handle certain subjects (for example, a person of color should not be tone policed for getting angry when confronted with a racialized microagression, however accidental it was). You just don’t know what you don’t know. 

The solution here is to regularly check your privilege and ask questions in a private space if you sense you’re being treated unfairly by someone. If you go public with your grievances in hopes of mobilizing the mob, you may accidentally find yourself stepping into the role of the aggressor instead of the victim.

3) Social Media is not built to help you get engagement. It’s built to help itself make money off of you.

Repeat after me: Hits/likes are not a measurable indicator of talent or worth. There are ridiculously talented folks on Tumblr and elsewhere who, for whatever reason, haven’t had their viral moment, and it’s not their fault. Loads of factors come into play where things like likes, reblogs, and comments are concerned, among them being posting frequency, subject matter, the time of day, the day of the week, the week of the month, the month of the year, the current administration, the stock exchange, the concentration of middle class users, who just won the Superbowl, a madman trying to steal an election and undermine the democratic process, a PANDEMIC, do you get where I’m going with this?? lol

At the end of the day, my humble successes have been helped along by good luck, good timing, high profile signal boosters, and an absurd amount of work. (This is why I try to signal boost new work whenever I get a chance over at @vkelleyshares.) 

So while you cannot control Tumblr’s interface, trends at large, or your fellow users, here’s what you can do to ensure you give your work the best possible chance of exposure.

Have an image ready to go with your post. Tumblr is a visual platform (no matter what it says about being good for text). Not good with images? Set up a Canva.com account and get access to free graphic software with a gazillion templates to create whatever attractive image you want to attach to your post.

Keep the outward facing text brief and easy on the eyes. Too long and eyes will glaze over. Put excess text behind a “read more.”

You may think you’re being cute when you do this, but don’t put yourself down in your posts. (Don’t put yourself down in general, of course.) Doing so acts as engagement repellant. If you don’t believe in your work, no one else will.

Related: Be your best cheerleader. Confidence is a magnet, and if you don’t have it, go ahead and fake it until you start to convince yourself you are worth the buzz. So promote yourself! You have gifts that only you can impart. Use that knowledge to fuel everything you do from your art/fiction writing to your outreach with other content creators, and by golly, if someone’s done it already, acknowledge that contribution and then tell the world that this is YOUR unique take on it.

Treat your fellow fandom creators as human beings, not art/fiction/content boosting machines. I cannot count how many times I’ve had folks slide into my DMs with offers of friendship only to disappear once they realize I’m not available to draw a picture for their fic. It hurts because it’s manipulative and it makes me want to hole up and not signal boost anyone. Creators who truly support each other will not give off a transactional vibe. I want to help you reach more people, but not if that’s all I’m good for in your eyes. 

The long and short of it: Lead with compassion, do your best with the opportunities at  your disposal, and remember that fandom belongs to everyone in it. ❤️

What saves a fandom made of sensitive and vulnerable souls from imploding when it goes through growing pains is radical compassion from those who can offer it. Begin with the assumption that your fellow fandomers are not trying to harm you, and wade into the water knowing that your insight into the lives of your peers is limited by default and you may need to temper your words or actions accordingly. If you’re a content creator, save compassion for yourself as well, as there are indeed challenges to gaining an audience, and lack of engagement does not mean you lack talent or skill. Be your best advocate, and if you have the bandwidth to lift up a fellow creator and make a new friend, please, go ahead do it! 

And finally, fandom belongs to everyone, and no one has a monopoly on characters, tropes, or themes. Create and consume what you love (with respect for your more vulnerable peers), and bask in the variety, my friends!

That’s all I’ve got in my head at the moment, although I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting. Thanks so much to @penpanoply for letting me use her art for this and to everyone else, hang in there and try not to judge each other too harshly. These are unprecedented times, and most of us are doing our best in circumstances that are pushing us to our limits. 

As always, if you have questions or want to sound off on anything, shoot me a message or an ask, or ping me on Discord. It might take me a second to respond (thanks, Covid) but I’ll get to it! Love, love, and more love to all.

[insomniziam]

People who believe in zigi... I wonder if they think of this like. Since Zayn keeps calling out the industry (that it's a cage he's trapped in), fake friends, that he doesn't want to be a part of this, doesn't want to answer to certain questions so he replies to fanart instead, etc. Don't they wonder why he willingly participate in pap walks and all ? Coz given all the things he's said, it'd mean that he only participates coz he has to and not coz he wants to. And then, why would he have to? Coz of contracts duh!

Hey nonnie, thanks for sharing your thoughts with me!

And I very much agree with you! To put it frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't care. Not that I can blame them, because there is actually a lot of digging necessary to actually understand what's going on behind the scenes, and a lot of people don't have the time to worry about such things.

However, some of it is completely blatant, like the fact that G can't answer basic questions about Zayn correctly, like his nationality, or how they first apparently got together, or the fact that they don't even take a baby bag with them when taking G's daughter to the Aquarium 🤦‍♀️. Things I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of them swept under the rug under the guise that they think G and Zayn look good together, and spend way too much time fantasizing over their "relationship", no matter how toxic its portrayal. (Each to their own, I guess).

But Zayn has known how to fly under the radar for years now. He could travel from the US back to his family in Bradford and we wouldn't know until his family post photos with him weeks after the fact. What is their justification for the fact that the minute he's with G he loses all ability to stay incognito? Does that not raise red flags for these people?

In the rap, he also talks about fakery in the industry quite a lot, a line I find particularly interesting is when he says:

Hard living in pretends

Fake friends won't make amends

There's no need

These mean queens control the scenes

He's talking about his struggles with constantly having to pretend to be someone he isn't, mentions fake friendships (could be read as relationships), and then, in a line I find particularly telling, I honestly think he was shading the Hadids. They're the mean queens and they control whatever stunt it is that they deem necessary to execute, like babygates.

This isn't the first time Zayn has mentioned the fakery that clings to the entertainment industry, either. Go back through his music catalogue and you'd see him use the theme of deception over and over again.

The Theme of Fake Love in Zayn Malik's music

(I didn't think this would become a mini analysis of Zayn's music catalogue, but I'm on a roll and I feel like I need to express this because it'd be a good resource for myself in the future)

Mind of Mine

In his first solo album, the song tRuTh he talks about not wanting to be a pawn in the industry's (or management's) game:

This ain't my scene, this wasn't my dream

It was all yours, of course

I got caught up in this game

And you know I won't say names of who's to blame

His dream was to create music. but the industry has distorted that dream for their own gain, and he learned that too late. As we know, he was very young when he was first introduced to the industry, would have been distracted by all the glitz and glam that comes along with being a famous musician, that he didn't realise that his management had so much control over him and his image, and he was contractually obligated to follow their rules, i.e. getting caught up in their game.

He also talks about fake love in the single SHE DON'T LOVE ME

I think I know she don't love me

That's why I fuck around

I think I know she don't love me

That's why I fuck around

Now in the context of the song, he's very clearly talking about a lover who had no interest in him, and was cheating on him, and so he would do the same to her. However, based on the fact that he would have written this around the time he was still publicly dating a member of Little Mix, and there were constant rumours about him cheating on her, I wouldn't be surprised if this was his way of getting back at her for helping in fuelling those rumours, and turning the tables back on her.

And the obvious one, his collaboration with Khelani, wRoNg:

You're looking in the wrong place for my love

Don't think because you're with me this is real

You're looking in the wrong place for my love (my love)

Don't stop what you're doing 'cause I like that too

Very obviously following with the theme of fake love, he literally states that it's not real.

Icarus Falls

If there were ever a song wrote with G in mind, it's Entertainer:

Guess you didn't know that

You were my favorite entertainer

I watch you, I laugh with and fuck with you

Don't you take me for a fool

In this game, I own the rules

You were my favorite entertainer

I watch you, I laugh and we fake it too

Don't you take me for a fool

I'ma show you a thing or two

It's very sarcastic, and that's why I love it so much. I also think it's important to note that he mentions the game again, except this time, he's the one in control of it. He knows how the game works, and knows how to use it to his advantage, mostly through his music, and I don't think it was an accident that they used someone who vaguely looks like G to play the female lead in the music video.

Know it's harder to take

And let's face it

No one's playing your games, let's face it

I'm bein' straight up

I know a fake love when I see it anyway

I'ma turn you down when you need me anyway, anyway, anyway

Again the obvious mention of fake love, but I also think it's hilarious that he mentions the fact that he's going to turn her down, because he's done that very thing multiple times. The instances that come to mind was that one time G was left outside his apartment building because he refused to let her in:

And then the very distinctive answer be gives to a pap asking him to comment about whether or not they're getting back together:

Nobody Is Listening

You'd think the title itself would be a dead giveaway to these people, but alas, that doesn't seem to be the case.

Our first introduction to Zayn's rapping talent comes to us in the form of the first song off his third album, Calamity:

Fuck all of your fantasies

You're a snake, fell off the ladder

I prefer speakin' in analogies

I've had enough of all this wet

And I can't trust that you're my family

I don't know what's next

The brain dead, that I never miss

Again, he's referencing the use of games (snakes and ladders)but she's the one that will lose, and use the analogy to call G a snake. According to the urban dictionary, a snake is someone who is two-faced, meaning they act one way in front of one group of people and then completely different to another (her followers as opposed to who she is behind closed doors, for example).

My question for die-hard zigis is simple; if he's not referencing G, then who is he referencing? His constant reference of fake love, and fakeness in the industry, who is he talking about, if not his highly publicised 'relationship' with G?

I know that this isn't necessarily what you asked for nonnie, and I apologise for that, but hopefully you appreciate it anyway 😅

Have a good day!

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Sore (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: Revenant comforts (in his weird way) and helps a reader who is tired and sore from a lot of strenuous work and activity, coming down from a manic high. Part of a series.

Warnings: Mentions of mania, threats of violence, bodily pain.

Reader Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is non-gendered this chapter, this can be read in the context of romance or not.

Writing Notes: Reject leg damage, ascend to Octane. I guess this is a series because I have no chill.

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Ah, little skinsuit, you're back." Revenant seems genuinely surprised by your appearance in his doorway. You had wearily limped all the way back to his private room from the volunteer breakroom on other side of the Apex compound. He had, indeed, mentioned something about being willing to help you again previously, but just in case, you had an excuse for showing up.

"I brought you a water." You hold up a water bottle, your arm shaking from exhaustion. A lot of the Legends would have volunteers run water, drinks, and snacks to their rooms from the kitchen and cafeteria, so it was decent cover in case he didn't actually mean it before. After all, you were right at the start of a manic episode then and weren't thinking straight last time. I mean, you asked a killing machine for help, outright, with no thoughts of what that might lead to. But you lived! And he was oddly nice, despite your brazen request.

"When was the last time you slept?" there is something a bit off about his vocals. Genuine concern, perhaps? Or maybe you are imagining it. "You know I don't drink water, right? It's tasteless and I don't need it, so there's no point in me drinking it."

Your gut sinks. You never even considered that, but when you think about it, the only runs you ever made to his room were for various alcohols, usually hard liquors. You should have just brought something from his prior requests, but you were so confident in water as something everyone enjoyed...

"Sit down. You're not answering me quickly enough to be reassuring." He motions to a small bench in his room with cushions situated in front of the television, which was broadcasting some of the highlights from the last match. You want to walk over, but you're too busy rubbing your eyes at the moment trying to fight back the fatigue. The water bottle slips out of your hands as they rub into your eyes for a moment, and as you jolt to try to catch it, you feel the soreness in your legs lock them... causing you to fall on right your face.

"So... I take it that it's been a while." He seems bemused, but you are too tired to be bothered by it. You just lay there, face down for a moment, absolutely and utterly exhausted. The water bottle steadily and slowly rolls away from you and towards where Revenant is sitting: at a computer desk to the right of the room, pushed up against the far wall.

He audibly sighs, and you hear nothing for a moment. Then you feel a single, metallic arm scoop under your belly and hoist you up like cattle. You feel the weight of your torso balance against the weight of your legs, sufficiently winding you as your hang by your diaphragm on his forearm. You stare blankly at the floor, blurring from your weary vision. He carries you to the cushioned bench, and places you down on it surprisingly gently. The cushions help keep the bench from being wholly uncomfortable as you slowly find yourself splayed out on it. You stay limp, letting your limbs fall where they will. He's right. You haven't slept in a while.

"Sorry..." You utter as he sits next to your pretend corpse non-chalantly. He's hunched forward, forearms resting on his knees, looking over you with notable interest. Your last manic episode was only just beginning to wear off, and you managed to hurt both your legs running around at full speed during it. Even worse, the mania kept you from sleeping last night, only getting in an hour and a half at best, which is always somehow worse than not sleeping at all. You were already drifting to sleep as your thoughts wander.

"Hey." You wake back up with a jolt at the feeling of a cool hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "Seriously, what kind of ship are they running in this place? Why are you so desperate as to come to me for help--twice?"

You move to sit up, and his hand drifts away. You should apologize and leave with the water. That would be best, right?

"I'm sorry for the disturbance." You say as you hobble to your feet.

"Bit late for that. Also, those legs aren't going to hold you up for long, your muscles are already quivering like a violin string against a bow." You loosely see him point to your legs through your blurry vision. He is right. They hurt really badly. They had been given a moment of rest and they are screaming to be given a longer reprieve.

"Sit."

"I'm sorry, I'll just be--"

"SIT." His growling command is absolute. You collapse onto the bench with no further protests. Your legs are still sore, whimpering in pain, but much better now that they aren't supporting any weight. You sit upright, but you feel your posture faltering rapidly as you begin to drift towards sleep.

Revenant stands up off the bench while picking up the runaway water bottle in a single, sweeping motion.

"This is fairly cold, was it originally frozen?" He towers over you intimidatingly.

"Yes, most Legends like cold water, so we are constantly defrosting frozen bottles throughout the day." You answer blankly.

"Good. So where are the frozen bottles?"

"In the mess hall kitchen, walk-in freezer B, on the left." His questions give you just enough mental focus to break through the fuzz of exhaustion for a moment. "Would you like me to retrieve you a frozen one instead?"

"No, it's fine, I'll go." He starts to turn to leave, but you speak up.

"Actually, only volunteers and staff are supposed to enter the kitchen area--"

"I go wherever the hell I want." He turns back to shoot you a glare. "Now get up, and lie down in that bed." He points to the surprisingly large bed immediately behind the bench, perched at perfect viewing angle from the droning television. "I don't sleep. Haven't touched it. Won't touch it. You might as well use it."

"Wait, I can't just--"

"You don't have a choice anymore. Now go." He turns and slides out the door, letting the hatch close behind him, but not before giving you one last dirty look for questioning his request.

You consider that it is technically a part of your volunteer duties to do as the Legends ask. Sure, you are allowed to deny any obviously bad faith requests, but nobody said you had to deny them. Plus, Revenant is probably the most mysterious, concerningly foreboding, and terrifyingly powerful Legend in the Games. Nobody would blame you for doing as he asks the moment he asks it, especially when every word he speaks oozes with a threatening aura. Most volunteers wouldn't even come to his room. You were just happy to take all their requests and deliver them yourself to get to see him for a few moments. Sure, you had to trade away a couple Fuze requests and Wraith requests to prioritize him, but everyone seemed intimidated enough that they came to you to trade well before even considering just making the delivery. You were known as the only volunteer who actually liked delivering Revenant's many requests, even when some of them required going above and beyond the normal snack or drink runs.

You manage to hobble yourself onto both legs, which are once again screaming for relief from your weight. With a couple of well placed limps, you make it to the edge of the bed. He really hasn't touched it. Not a single wrinkle in the cloth. Nothing is out of place. Pillows are fully fluffed and without craters from a resting head. You hesitate to ruin it, but you know you must.

You crawl into it, collapsing only a few inches from the edge you started on. It's so soft. They really spared no expense for the Legends' beds, apparently. You remember them getting remodeled and finding the bench to be an odd choice over a nice couch, but you didn't know they were outfitted with beds made of clouds. You wonder, what does Revenant do all night if he doesn't sleep? How boring must that be? Does he charge his chassis? Does he shut down? You think about what it must be like to shut down. Shutting down must be nice. Peaceful. Just being able to rest. Similar to sleep. If only...

• • •

You suddenly regain awareness of your surroundings. How long were you out? Are you still in bed? Why is it so dark? You lift your head a little and tilt it towards a skylight window on the ceiling. Your back is newly sore, and your neck protests being bent. It's night now. You've been asleep for at least five hours for it to be this dark. You begin to scan the surroundings just to be startled by the hulking mass sitting on the bed next to you. His eyes glow dimly, locked on to yours.

"Feel any better?" His vocalizations are a bit more hushed than usual. He may not be sure if you're fully conscious yet. To be fair, you're not sure you're fully conscious either. You want to answer, but you're paralyzed like a deer, staring into his optic LEDs. After a moment of uncertain silence, he reaches out and touches your shoulder lightly, bringing your mind back in focus.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to--!"

"Shut it. You slept like a corpse. Probably one of least entertaining sleepers I've met." Wait, he watches people sleep? "Although, to be fair, you might be much more restless on a normal night. Maybe this is like one of those pilot episodes that is just not up to the quality of the rest of the series." You noticeably shudder and pull away as you sit up to face him. "See, more of that would be better." You hold the sheet in front of you defensively, not that it would stop anything larger than an insect. "Cute." He pulls the sheet from your hand and it falls back to the mattress.

You can't help but feel a bit bothered by his inquisitive stare, now knowing it's been collecting data for hours without your knowledge. You lean away as you think about it, continuing to shudder, deciding that perhaps this Legend is still planning to dissect you at some point after all.

He relishes in your fear for a moment, but then swiftly moves to get up and walk to the kitchenette. He opens the freezer, unleashing a powerful light into the room for a moment, before pulling out a bottle and closing the door, taking the light with it.

"What hurts?" He grabs a towel from atop the freezer, wrapping the frozen water bottle completely.

You stutter for a moment, and then get it out:

"I hurt my legs pretty badly yesterday, as well as my back, apparently." You had just woken up to it sore and aching, unfortunately meaning that all that box lifting had finally caught up with you. You reached behind yourself to try to massage it, but you felt a cool compress push up against it. When did he get behind you? He didn't even make a sound.

"A sore back is the worst." Why was he doing this? Has he really taken some kind of liking to you? "Even Rampart takes pity on me and readjusts my spinal plates when they get misaligned." He rolled the covered, frozen water bottle up and down your spine, helping with the pain a bit. "I haven't met a skinsuit or simulacrum who simply walks off a bad back."

You felt bad. He shouldn't be helping you. Why was he even bothering with you? What compelled him to do or say any of this?

"Hey, don't hunch forward like that, it'll get worse." You snap to attention.

"S-sorry!" You let slip out of your mouth as his spare claw wraps around your left shoulder and pull you back against the bottle and into the correct posture.

"Anyways, I was about to ask... Where do they get off working you to the bone like this?"

"It's actually my fault. I haven't stopped working since the third season, the more you work the more interaction with the Legends you get, I wanted to make sure I got the best positions and shifts." You pause. "I should have taken time off the moment I started to get fidgety. I should have known I would do something stupid and inappropriate..." You trail off, realizing you're speaking things out loud that are better kept in your internal monologue.

"Well, you're not dead so far, but you're really damn close to Death now." Your spine was starting to relax and decompress, finally. "So, if you're working that hard, that means you definitely are a huge fan of one of these skinsuits... so, who is it? Season 3 you said, right?" He paused as you started to turn flush without his notice. "Octane doesn't suit you, you're slow and clumsy. Although, perhaps that's something to aspire to. It couldn't be Crypto, he's unimaginably boring. Wattson, though, I have noticed she has a lot of fans..." He was simply mumbling on. It didn't really matter why you started anymore, you already had a new favorite. "So, which one? I'll add 'em to my list of high priority targets, just for you." He pauses, awaiting an answer.

"You..." You say, as softly as you can.

"Repeat that. Louder." Did he hear you?

"You." You say it just loud enough to know he heard it this time. "You were my favorite the moment you joined," you pause, deciding if you should confess this, "especially after that stunt you pulled on live TV." You hated Forge like all the other volunteers after word spread around about how he treated Bangalore. He may have put on a decent façade for the camera, but clearly was a predator behind the scenes. When an abuser is backed by big money like Hammond Robotics had, they could freely abuse anyone without consequences. Money tends to shut people up, despite the victims. Your gut told you all you needed to know about Forge the moment you first saw him. Thankfully, it was also the last time you saw him. Even though the just side of you knew that Forge deserved some kind of trial, the more primal part of you was happy to see him gone. The justice system would have been rigged in his favor anyway.

Revenant was silent as you pondered. Shock? Disgust? Or just nothing to say? He wasn't one to be speechless.

"Well, not sure what kind of a psychopath you are, but your wanton lack of self-preservation is my favorite thing about you." Was he offended at your answer? He sounded humored. You panic a little and start to pull away, but get pulled backwards--all the way into his enveloping grapple.

His entire frame practically swallows yours. You peer up just to catch a glimpse of his face staring down menacingly at you. You instinctively start to ball up defensively, but he snags one of your legs before you can tuck it away behind your arms. He's strong. Disturbingly strong. Even for a mechanical amalgamation, his grip is unfetterable. You couldn't free your leg, and you knew there was no way you could squirm out of it.

"This hurts too, you said?" The bottle was pressed to your calf, and he applied steady pressure to the muscle to relieve the nerves and cramping. Why was he doing this? Didn't he just make a thinly veiled threat to kill you? "You should consider giving me the other leg too. Unless you're afraid I'm not going to give this one back." He mocks you, but honestly you aren't sure he is truly joking about taking your leg or not. He could, if he wanted. He's huge, strong, and apparently he can make blades from his mechanical hands. You shudder a bit at the thought that those same lethal hands are currently prodding at your calf muscle... He is actually fairly adept at relieving pain, oddly enough. You feel the pressure ebb away the soreness as it reaches relief. You knew a little about simulacrums, enough to know they were once human. Did he hurt himself a lot back then? How else would he know how to do this?

"Hey, I'll trade you." He releases your one leg, it actually feels a lot better. Just a bit of pressure in the right areas really calmed it down. He motions for the other, but you cower for a moment too long. "Give me your damn leg." You immediately relinquish it, carefully pulling back the newly relieved leg into your defensive ball stance, per the trade agreement. He proceeds to perform the same relief on the other leg as well.

"You know, normally when I'm asked for help, I get to kill something." His gaze remains locked on your leg. "Instead, you just tempt me and expect me not to. Now why would you do that, little skinsuit?" You lock on to his eyes, but they never meet yours. "You've got a death wish, as far as I can tell. I'll confess, I like that about you." You keep perfectly still and silent, trying to stay as small as possible. "You're playing a risky game. Can't say I get to play these games often, so I'm going to make the most of it." He gently releases your leg, now feeling better and relaxed. You pull it into your ball, finally completing the pathetic stance. His giant, clawed hand comes down to pet you on the head a little roughly. He could crush your whole skull, if he wanted. That is the primary message, laced with the subtle message that he won't do that, yet. A chill runs up your spine.

"Alright, I've made my decision." He's out of bed, taking the thawing bottle and towel back to the kitchenette.

"W-What?" You are very uncertain.

"It's fine, I'll have it taken care of. Now sleep. You haven't slept enough." Your spine curls a bit at the prospect of sleeping in the presence of this guy again. You start to get up to leave, but it's slow moving since you're still a bit iffy on your legs.

"It's okay, I have a bunk in the volunteer space I should get back to..." You trail off, meeting his gaze and causing you to freeze right before standing up. His yellow eyes seem brighter and more visceral than before, locking you into a stare down. You blink immediately, that's not a fight worth attempting. "...why?" You can't tell if you're pleading or hoping for a genuine answer. He turns away to look back into the blinding light of the open freezer for a moment.

"Go, if you want, but I'm only giving you five seconds." He doesn't turn to look at you, he just starts counting. "Five..." Should you go? "Four..." Would he come after you? "Three..." You don't want to go, actually. "Two..." You want to see where this goes. "One..." What else do you have to do, anyway? "Zero."

Revenant turns to meet your gaze, his eyes noticeably widening and dimming in the dark when he sees you still there. He probably knew you didn't move, after all he would have heard it, but he still seemed happy to see you there anyway.

"Now, sleep. I'll take care of the rest." You felt a bit uneasy, but you laid back down, uncurling yourself and trying to make yourself comfortable. Revenant didn't linger over you on the bed this time, instead he must have gone from the kitchenette over to the computer desk, because you slowly dozed off to the sounds of the keyboard feedback chirps and pointer clicks as he worked with the heads-up displays. You were more tired than you thought, and dozed off quickly.

• • • •

"... Hah! I knew the pilot episode wasn't a good indicator of quality." You woke up to him looming over you in the bed again, but this time you were not taken by surprise. "You twitch a lot while you sleep; you even murmur absolute nonsense." You sigh. This is fun for him somehow. "I swear you were trying to run or swim at one point... Did you get away? Or did you drown?" You don't know how to answer his questions, you don't remember any dreams. In fact, he probably has more of an idea than you do at this point. You meet his gaze, and it seems to be understood that you have no answers. He sighs, clearly disappointed.

"Shame, well, in the meantime, congratulations on your promotion."

"Wait, what?"

"Here, welcome to the team." He drops a red laminated badge on top of you, and swiftly makes his way out of the bed, just to crawl up the wall, onto the ceiling, and starts to exit through the skylight window. "Sorry I can't spend more time with you, but I have a match today." His voice is nearly drowned out by the sound of aircraft starting up. "Watch for me, I'll make sure I knock out whichever one of those skinsuits used to be your favorite early on." You can hear the sneer in his voice through the overwhelming aircraft engines.

He disappears from view, the window closes, the aircraft noise dampens again, and the television drones on with the pre-match banter between announcers in front of you. You stare up at the morning sky for a moment, wondering what you got yourself into.

You look down at the badge. It is a top clearance badge, meant for direct employees of the Legends. It can get you access to almost anywhere and to almost anything. It has Revenant's personal seal on it, marking you as his. It has all the correct watermarks, and a scannable chip to prove authenticity. You've only seen a few of these, and you heard Mirage once got in huge trouble for selling his as a VIP experience. But it did nearly sell, and it was already bidding for enough money for any sane person to retire off of.

You aren't a volunteer anymore. You're Revenant's subordinate. Notably an important enough one that you can go almost anywhere he can go. The badge shimmers in your hands, sparkling in your eyes. This badge is worth more than anything you've ever held before in your life. You revel in it for a moment, until you notice it: You're now "Little Skinsuit" according to the "Name" field on the badge. He genuinely couldn't resist, could he? You'd be bothered if it wasn't genuinely hilarious. That means somewhere in the security checkpoints, "Little Skinsuit" was now registered at nearly maximum clearance. Amazing.

You sit there for a moment, pondering how you got yourself into this. You had a moment, just a single moment a few days ago, where you felt like you could ask him for help. You just wanted to calm down; you had tripped, bruised your feet, hurt your calves, and even busted a couple bottles of liquor and whisky meant for him because of your manic movements as you ran back and fourth from one side of the complex to the other. Finally, after getting him everything he requested, intact, you lost your inhibition for a mere moment. You asked if he'd help you settle your mania. And for some reason--maybe he had already started to get some kind of drunk at that point--he said yes. That's what started it all.

He said something about helping you again before you left last time. And then you came back yesterday, completely in the fog from no sleep and a continued manic episode, but holding on to that promise. And now you've somehow become his personal errand runner, holding an ID worth more than you could grasp. What the heck is happening anymore?

For now, you stare into the sky, and soak in the sun, and just relax in the moment. You get to watch today's match instead of scrubbing the floors. It'll be a nice day.

[darlingandmreames]

I rewatched The Ritual the other night for the first time in a while and am officially Back On My Bullshit, which means lots of thoughts and opinions that I am now going to make everyone else's problem. So without further ado, here are my thoughts on The Ritual's themes, character dynamics, and how the movie (in my opinion) improved upon the book

(spoilers for both the book and the movie)

Themes

So what is The Ritual actually about? I mean, obviously it's about a freaky forest monster that kills people and grants one of those kinds of immortality where you really gotta read the fine print, but underneath all that what is it actually about?

The answer depends a bit on both whether you're talking about the book or the movie, and how detailed you're being about it. Both the book and the movie share the very broad theme of "moving on", but what the characters are "moving on" from is different in each. I'd argue that the book primarily deals with moving on from past chapters in your life- cherishing the good memories, acknowledging and accepting the failures, and moving forward without becoming stuck on either.

The movie, on the other hand, is very explicitly about trauma, pain, and grief, and the process of confronting and moving on (or NOT moving on) from those experiences. This is achieved by the introduction of Rob, a character who didn't exist in the book. His actual appearance in the movie is brief, but his death is the driving force behind the entire movie. It's sudden, violent, and senseless, and it provides a very distinct and viscerally present context for the character interactions moving forward (more on that later). Rob's death faces the characters with a complex, heartbreaking, and traumatic loss and allows the movie to explore what it means to confront and move on from something like that, as well as the consequences of NOT doing so, by making that pain and grief into a very real (and beautifully designed) monster.

And that's where the movie's second major change comes in: the portrayal of the cult. I.... admittedly didn't really care for the cult portion of the book all that much honestly. It wasn't bad and some of my favourite lines were actually from that part of the book, but it felt almost jarringly different from the first part of the book to me. I felt like the heavy metal teen cultists were very much at odds with the sense of sinister supernaturality the first part of the book had spent building.

I loved the cult in the movie though. These are people who worship the personified (monstrified?) pain and grief that stalks the forest. They were chosen to survive specifically because of their own personal pain ("why me?" "Your pain is great") and by worshipping the monster they're kept in the forest and granted an immortality that saves them from death but not decay. It's a beautiful look at the consequences of being unable/unwilling to move on from pain/loss/grief and instead being consumed by it. The cultists are defined by their pain to the point that it eventually warps them into something almost unrecognizable. By worshipping Moder they are literally unable to move on, both physically (they're stuck in the forest) and spiritually (they can't die). Whereas the cult in the book felt jarringly different in tone from the story leading up to it, the cult in the movie tied into the theme beautifully and provided Luke with a look at his future if he allows his own pain to consume him.

Which brings us to....

Characters

A stories themes are often best portrayed through it's characters, and in this case that mostly means Luke.

Luke in the book is....well, to be honest, he isn't really that sympathetic or even that likeable when we first meet him or really for a large chunk of the story, at least not in my opinion. He's a 36 year old man-child who's clearly still chasing the glory of his college days and who's life up until now has mostly been characterized by failures, flakiness, and not taking responsibility for any of it. And on top of that, he's angry. The kind of angry that's violent, easily provoked, and generally unwarranted. All of the characters are facing failures at the end of this chapter of their lives to some degree (such as Phil being separated from his wife), but Luke is very clearly the least well adjusted- and least sympathetic- of them. His character arc revolves around him learning to move on from this previous chapter in his life, accepting the good and the bad and finally being willing to move forward with determination. In the beginning of the book Luke is characterized by indifference and petulant anger that masks fear and doubt, but he ends the book with a desire to move forward and determination to survive.

The inclusion of Rob and his subsequent death COMPLETELY changes Luke's character though and, in my opinion, makes him FAR more compelling and sympathetic. We still get similar notes to where he starts out as we did in the book; whereas Rob, Dom, Hutch, and Phil have all clearly settled down and moved on from their uni days, Luke obviously hasn't. This is made clear in his suggestions for the lad's holiday, his wanting to get a bottle of liquor after they leave the bar, and his conversation with Rob when they're in the liquor store. Movie!Luke really isn't all that different from book!Luke in the first scene or two.

Rob's brutal murder profoundly changes Luke's character though. He's left dealing with the grief and loss left in the wake of Rob's death, as well as the guilt associated with not having been able to stop it. By taking a character that may not otherwise be particularly sympathetic or likeable and having the audience watch him experience a deeply horrifying and traumatic loss, the movie makes Luke into an extremely compelling character and set him for a far more emotionally engaging character arc as he struggles to cope with both his grief and his guilt.

As I mentioned above, the cult in the movie provides Luke with a glimpse of the consequences of allowing his pain and grief to consume him. Now, the cult in the book sort of does the same thing- the indifferent anger and violence of the cultists mirrors Luke's own anger covering his fear and doubt and shows what could happen if he embraced that part of him. But the cult in the movie, in my opinion, works far better in this role because they feel more thematically and tonally in line with the rest of the movie and because Luke is a more sympathetic character. His decision to accept or reject that path carries more weight because we care about him. Moreover, accepting the same path as the cultist would provide him with a community that understands his pain, something he very much did not have with his friends; we understand that accepting the cult is a bad decision, but we also understand why Luke would be tempted to do so. Simply put, we feel for him and that makes the presentation of this choice much more emotionally impactful.

Interestingly, Luke's character arc in both the book and the movie end with him developing the desire and determination to survive. It comes from two very different places though. In the book, it revolves around Luke's willingness to finally close out the previous chapter of his life- highs and lows and all- and move forward into the future despite the fear and uncertainty doing so may provoke.

In the movie, though, this decision comes within the context of Luke's survivor's guilt. He feels guilty over Rob's death because he wasn't able to intervene and this guilt is reinforced by the other characters, most notably Dom and, later, Hutch. His decision to reject Moder, to fight back and refuse to kneel, represents not only his decision to move on from his grief and trauma but also the acknowledgement that despite what happened he still has worth and his life is still worth living. It also resolves his struggle with his inability to help (which plays a large role in his guilt), something that comes into play in all of the deaths in the movie even beyond Rob's. In Hutch's death Luke tried to find him but was unable to find him until it was far too late. In Phil's death he's initially paralyzed before running away, both in fear, in much the same way he did in Rob's death. In Dom's death he was able to take the necessary steps to help Dom (dislocating his thumb to get out of the restraints) but was ultimately too late and was forced to watch Dom die anyways. By recognizing that he still has worth and that is life is worth living, Luke is able to act in spite of his fear and make the decision not to allow his grief, pain, and trauma to consume him.

No discussion of Luke as a character is completely without also discussing how he interacts with the other characters and hoooo BOY did the movie really ratchet those interactions up a notch or ten. The interactions in the book were well written but they admittedly felt a little one note at times (though this is also probably somewhat due to me viewing book!Luke as not particularly likeable or sympathetic). By including Rob's death the movie adds a layer of complexity to the character interactions that I felt really wasn't there in the book and we get to see the interpersonal effects of traumatic loss. Luke may have been the only one to witness Rob's death but they're all grieving him, and we get to see how that (and how Luke's friends' perception of his role in Rob's death) impacts and strains their relationships. As I mentioned earlier, we see very clearly that Luke doesn't have any real support or understanding from his friends; Dom does little to hide the fact that he views Luke as directly responsible for what happened and while Hutch does initially attempt to provide support, it comes off as superficial and he later admits he isn't sure whether he blames Luke. Luke is very clearly struggling with what happened but can't turn to the people he would normally rely on for support, and his interactions with his friends often alienate him and further reinforce the guilt and blame he's grappling with rather than provide any source of comfort. This, again, makes the temptation to submit to Moder and join the cult, to give into his pain and grief and loss and let it consume him, that much more compelling and his choice to reject it that much more meaningful.

Overall, the movie's decision to add in Rob and his subsequent death and to change how the cult was portrayed was, in my opinion, a truly excellent one and helped move the movie from a story I would've enjoyed but shrugged off into legitimately one of my favourite movies of all time. It allowed for a more thematically and tonally consistent story and made both Luke and his character arc more sympathetic, compelling, and emotionally impactful. When it comes to adaptations I generally tend to enjoy the book more than the movie, but this is one of the few exceptions where I truly believe the movie significantly improved upon the book

[bethandstars]

I've scrolled through a lot of discourse on episode 4 of Loki and I need to talk about it

(good lord its a whole essay im sorry)

I gave myself a headache from crying while watching this. (I joined the Loki fandom post-IW so I’ve never had to see him die before while emotionally invested and boy!!! Is it doing things to my fragile psyche!!). But now I’m rehydrated and more stable and ready to party so let’s go

Right off the bat, I loved this episode — loved it loved it loved it. Silly, manic in-shock Loki is gone and shit is getting real. My thought while watching this was truly “wow this is my favorite episode so far” and damn am I in a minority with this opinion lol.

So here’s my perspective on some of the discourse flying around, and just general thoughts

On the whole ‘Narcissist’ thing:

IMO, Mobius saying this means nothing: he’s mad and he’s spouted lies at Loki to push his buttons before (see: every interaction they’ve had since episode 1).

Loki saying this to Sif-- well, Loki is and always has been an unreliable narrator on himself. The major theme of this show is that he doesn’t really know who he is, deep down, and he’s trying to figure it out. The TVA is taking advantage of this, and even though he’s trying to stay above it all throughout the series, he's still in a really impressionable spot and absorbing what others tell him about himself. (not to mention this scene is literal torture and he’s already proven that he’ll say whatever he needs to to get out of it.)

But he does admit one true thing when he says “It’s because I’m scared of being alone.” (And like wow okay same don’t mind my tears) but here’s a big brain idea!

Sif pulls him up and says ‘You are alone, and you always will be’, which is like, WOW that’s cruel after what he said, but it makes me ask wonder: Sif is sentient in this scene, but obviously it’s not really her. Who’s controlling her? And why is it so important for them to make sure Loki thinks he’s alone? I’d go as far as to wager that Sif never even said this to Loki, the big bad made this up. (he admits he forgot about this ever happening, I doubt he’d remember what she said.)

I think the nexus event on Lamentis that caused the branch was two Loki’s joining sides. Or, Loki no longer being alone. Loki insists while talking to Mobius that “she’s not my partner!” but she was, and they were partners from the moment they grabbed hands on Lamentis — right when the timeline broke off. I think Loki variants teaming up is the biggest threat to whoever is pulling the strings here — that’s why the post-credit scene is so significant. (Is Loki the only person who has multiple variants of himself who've escaped the TVA?)

And here’s where I’m gonna get salty--so I apologize but i need to rant about this-- but it’s seriously pissing me off that so many people are intentionally reading this as Loki/Sylvie and then being mad about it when that’s clearly not what’s happening and why is everyone acting like Mobius with one angry jealous brain cell and no critical thinking about the context of the characters.

If people ship it that’s chill, but for the people who are against it—it’s clearly supposed to be platonic, and it’s so upsetting that in the year of our lord 2021 we still can’t have a man and woman hold hands without people saying it’s proof they want to f*ck each other, like what in the misogyny??? STOP. This show was written by a bi woman and Tom the-most-emotionally-sensitive-man-on-this-planet Hiddleston — let them display an intimate loving friendship goddammit. This isn’t romance, this is Loki learning how to admit he cares for someone who cares for him in return — something he hasn’t experienced a whole lot of and clearly doesn’t know how to navigate.

(You have permission to personally come at me if it actually turns out to be romantic by the end of the show—but as of right now I will die on this hill.)

Him putting his hands on her shoulders to me was a clear indication he wanted to hug her, and I’d like to think he would have told her he cares about her, and that they can figure it out together. Because these are two characters who’ve never had anyone else to rely on and trust, and for the first time they’re not alone.

And I have to think about what prompted this from Loki. He just lost Mobius the moment after he called him friend. The way I see it, he’s just realized the true gravity of what they’re up against, and Loki is suddenly very afraid of losing Sylvie too before he tells her cares about her, of dying truly alone because he never told anyone what they meant to him. (Don’t think about this in the context of him also having watched his entire family die knowing he never told Frigga or Thor how much he loved them either don’t think about it—) He’s realized, finally, that he has doesn’t have to be alone, that he can choose to be close to people and have friends. And god it’s so heartbreaking that he never got to hug her or have that moment with her. I really hope they get that in the end. I hope he gets it with Mobius. I hope they have a group hug. I'm upset again.

Okay, deep breath, ANYWAY.

Hopefully this didn’t come off as attacking anyone else’s opinions.

Personally, I love this character so much, I’m just so happy to be seeing him in his own storyline that they can’t go wrong here. Objectively I think the production is amazing, and personally I love they way Loki’s character has been explored so far. (Yea yea, was I HOPING that the bad-memory loop would morph into Sanctuary and Thanos and like a full exploration of his true worst memories? Yes but let’s be honest my whump needs will never be met in canon and I have to accept that lol.)

Honestly I left all my own meta about this character at the door when the series started, because for me the opinions I’ve formed from the hundreds of (amazing) fics and meta I’ve read on this character and what’s true in canon are basically inseparable at this point, and no portrayal is going to live up to the way Loki exists in my head. Canon Loki and fic Loki are two different characters and I can enjoy both at the same time :) I’ve just loved seeing the character get given the different dimensions he deserves, and written by people who care about his story.

Also, it’s not over! If he was dead and this was it I’d be very upset, but this is the rock bottom of the storyline, and I think the whole next two episodes will be the build back up. I trust it’s gonna be worth it. SO hyped for flaming sword Loki. I would die for Sylvie, but I’m excited to see him on his own again.

My current most pressing questions are:

-what was the fallout of Sylvie’s bombing the timeline? (Have we seen that yet, am I just dumb and missing something?)

-Obviously, who’s behind it all? (Kang? Is there a head honcho Very Evil Loki at the top?)

-How much does Ravonna actually know, and to what extent is she just a pawn too? She asked Sylvie to prune her— she’s probably also been duped here.

-Is everything we learned about the sacred timeline BS? How much of what the TVA workers believe is real?

-my favorite theory so far is that the war of the timelines miss minutes talks about hasn’t actually happened yet, maybe making setting that into motion is the true endgame, leading into Multiverse of Madness?

(Side note: holy HELL im so excited for this soundtrack to drop on Spotify. It’s SO AMAZING I had CHILLS in the end credits.)

Open invitation to discuss anything with me if you feel inclined! :)