#Options blurred for -POTENTIAL- Spoilers

[alchemistdetective]

((I may like this game a little bit too much

Also Amber is a HUGE WEENIE T___T))

#OOC #Options blurred for -POTENTIAL- Spoilers #(Most likely not but I'll be careful LOL) #I watched Sev stream yesterday and I forgot just how BLOODY this game can be

[babyangelsky]

How much is hallucination and how much is real?

I almost touched on this in my post where I posit that Non is the killer but I didn't wanna go off on a tangent and make that post even longer than it ended up being.

Now that it has been canonically and explicitly established that what's scaring these boys isn't something supernatural, I wanted to go through and determine how much of what they see/hear is them hallucinating and how much could potentially be real.

Spoiler: it's not as cut and dry as you'd think.

Jin hears chanting when he's up on the balcony with Phi that Phi does not hear. I feel confident saying this is just an auditory hallucination.

The next two people to have hallucinations are Tee and Top when they're riding through the woods to get help for Por.

Tee sees a figure wielding what looks like an axe.

And Top sees the now infamous figure on crutches.

Once again, I'm fairly confident that what Tee saw was a hallucination but with Top, I'm not sure. And this is where it starts getting harder to draw a line between hallucination and reality.

We see the figure on crutches a second time when Top is in the bathroom. He starts having his hallucination and a candle beside the sink falls off the counter and shatters, spreading broken glass all over the floor.

But, when Tee and the boys break into the bathroom a short while later?

There's no broken glass on the floor. However, note that there also isn't a candle beside the sink anymore. There's three options here. One, it's just a continuity error. Two, there never was a candle beside the sink. Three, the candle on the sink was part of the hallucination, as was it falling and shattering.

Line's getting blurred isn't it? Stay with me here, because the sequence of these next three events is important.

In the first of these events, White is in the bathroom doing his skincare routine and hallucinates plague on his skin.

At the same moment, he looks into the mirror and sees a masked figure reflected in the mirror behind him.

He turns to look out the window and the figure is gone. Then he turns back to the mirror and the plague is gone, so we know the plague was definitely a hallucination.

In the second event, Fluke is with Por and the door behind the couch opens.

He gets up to close it and when he turns back to the couch, he sees Por with blood pouring out of his eyes and hallucinates that Por strangles him.

While he's being "strangled" we see the masked figure standing behind the couch.

It's unclear if Fluke saw the figure since his eyes were squinting and started to close as he struggled with Por. Regardless, we know for a fact that the strangling was a hallucination.

In the third event, which happens in the very next scene, we see New searching for the hard drive.

And this is where I thank @respectthepetty for reminding me they watch shows on mute and inadvertently sending me down this rabbit hole because at the very moment I captured in the screenshot above, New has an auditory hallucination.

He hears chanting and screaming just like Jin did on the balcony and as this hallucination is happening?

A masked figure walks past the stairs. These two things happen almost simultaneously so it's very hard to tell whether New looked up from the box he was searching because of the chanting or because he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

And again, we know it was an auditory hallucination because when he rejoins the group, he asks this:

These three events happening one after the other--the figure White saw, the figure just inside the door while Fluke was being strangled, and the figure walking past the stairs--lead me to believe that the figure was not a hallucination.

I think Non (or whoever) was skulking around outside, was seen by White, and then made his way around to where Fluke was. He opened the door and when he realized Fluke was hallucinating, he slipped inside the house and he was seen by New.

The plague, the strangling, and the chanting were hallucinations, but they happened to coincide with a masked figure actually entering the house.

There are two more instances which I am fairly certain are NOT hallucinations.

After Uncle Dang gets decapitated by the wire and Tee and Top take his bike, Tee sees a masked figure in the woods. (Also worth noting that this time, they ride off in the opposite direction because of the wire, away from potential escape)

I couldn't quite manage to capture it on the exact frame, but the figure isn't just there when the camera pans to it. They were crouched in the bushes and popped up when they saw the boys coming.

My confidence is shakier on the second instance, which is also the last time we see a masked figure before shit goes down at the temple.

When New and Top are riding through the woods, Top sees a figure wielding an axe and throwing it at them.

Although the figure is already there when the camera pans to it this time, Top sees it before it raises the axe to throw it.

Although we can't quite tell how far away the figure was from the spot where the bike fell over, we don't see it on the ground. We also don't see it later when the boys come to investigate where Top went. All we know is that there is an axe, because Top (or Non) attacks the boys with it when they're in the temple.

The only other hallucination of note after this point is Jin seeing bloody Keng in the temple but I do feel confident saying that one wasn't real, especially since he sees bloody Keng again when Phi gives him the spiked water.

If you made it this far, thank you, I love you. I know this was very long but the curiosity simply would not leave me alone. As soon as drugs were put on the table, I just had to know if all the hallucinations were real and as it turns out, it's a very mixed bag.

I hope you don't mind me tagging you for the second time in one day @slayerkitty 💜

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #meta

[feybeasts]

Personally, I think a lot of issues with mature tagging and such would be solved with a general visual filter one can then apply their own labeling to.

As is the conversation going around right now, “not safe for work” and “explicit” are two very different things- The former is something that could potentially get you in trouble for viewing at work or in such a setting, the latter is- depending on one’s own culture and definitions- things that are outright explicitly sexual/violent/whatever. Kink content is often the former, yet very often doesn’t actually satisfy the definition of the latter, but your options right now are “tag it mature and have it vanish from sight entirely by default” or “don’t tag it and risk having the overzealous automated moderation tag it as something “sexual” without justification.

Frankly, I think we’d be better served with a general filter that an author can choose to apply- a simple filter button that will blur an image with the choice to have a brief description of what it is and why, a bit like spoiler tagging on discord or the like. One click on the image, the filter drops, but the post itself isn’t hidden from feeds, it isn’t treated like some taboo thing that needs to be hidden away. A way to have a “woah hey don’t look at this in a public setting” filter without condemning art to an orwellian memory hole.

Letting people curate their experiences is good- I would prefer not to be flashbanged by genitalia as a matter of personal preference, but people should have the right to post their art without dooming it to a complete lack of exposure, as it stands under the current system.

[themagenamedsage]

Nothing Else Matters (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Witch!Reader

Warnings: Season 4 Spoilers, Heavy Angst, Explicit Language, References to Major Character Death, and Steve Harrington, who does not know how to handle his feelings. Reader uses she/her/hers pronouns. No Y/N used, though there is a couple uses of a nickname.

Summary: Coming to terms with Eddie’s death has been... difficult, to say the least. Unfortunately, Steve Harrington inadvertently makes it all worse. But they say that the universe has an odd way of presenting you with whatever it is that you are in need of...

Word Count: 5,550

A/N: Hello! @sallymakesstuff​ and @theforgottenmcrmy​ here. Please enjoy part 1 of our literal fix-it fic (which may or may not have the potential to become a series) for everyone’s favorite Stranger Things metalhead. If you enjoy, please consider following this little sideblog of ours for more Eddie content. And, if you would like to be added to the taglist for when the second part is posted, please feel free to let us know! 🖤

Listen to the playlist here. 🎶

48 hours.

It had been 48 hours.

Actually, it had been less than 48 hours.

Less than 48 hours since her entire world had shattered right in front of her eyes. Never having felt more powerless, she was forced to watch everything she had ever cared about burn to the ground along with the rest of the pathetic, cowardly town. Hours blurring together, yet maintaining a sick sense of individuality - each one that passed acting as it’s own unique form of torture. Each of them spent alone, faced with the soul crushing reality that the love of her life, Eddie Munson, was dead.

She had to believe Wayne didn’t realize what he was doing when he told the cops that he thought they’d both been in the trailer that night. She had to believe that it was said with the intention of coming to their defense, assuring the officers that he would never have committed such a heinous crime if she was around. But even if that were the truth, it wouldn’t have changed the fact that a literal witch hunt had sprung up- a campaign that she knew without a doubt had been spearheaded by her own family. 

Though Hawkins was in a decent state of disarray, she couldn’t throw caution to the wind. She knew her parents, and they wouldn’t stop until they found her. She had to lay low.

The environment she found herself in in the days that followed was almost horrible enough to elicit some kind of reaction out of her. The old house, which had once belonged to her great aunt, was still in utter disrepair after years of neglect. Actually, to say that it was on its last leg would be more than generous. But by the time the group had managed to drag her through the gate, it was the only option of refuge she had.

Someone had brought her some snacks - she can’t exactly remember who, but she figured it was Dustin, the boxes of cereal and pack of pudding cups sat unopened at the foot of her makeshift bed. The ache in her bile-filled stomach began to go unnoticed by the 24 hour mark. 

Each member of the party had stopped by at one point or another. Encouraging her to try to eat something, anything. Offering to stay and keep watch while she got some much needed sleep. But it didn’t matter. Once she’d cried herself sick, she’d become catatonic. Each of their suggestions only sparked anger from deep inside of her, as they were all temporary solutions to a devastating and permanent problem.

He was dead. And they had all left him there. She had left him there.

Before the cycle could repeat and she would once again replay each detail of that night, slipping into an endless spiral of her thoughts, the sound of movement around the back of the house grabbed her attention. The subtle yet very much audible shuffling immediately pulled her back to the present.

She would feel shock - if she could feel anything - that she was as reactive as she was, her body already going into high alert at the threat of danger. She took a second to consider her options. The noise was far enough away that she could easily flee. But she couldn’t help but hear Eddie’s final words echo throughout her subconscious.

I didn’t run away this time, right?

She was tired of running.

She glanced around quickly, and was immediately met with a plank of baseboard, which had long since broken off from where it had originally been installed. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it would have to do. She rose to her feet and plucked it up off the ground swiftly.

She’d never been one for weapons, or any kind of fighting really. But the events of the last few days had forced her into situations where she’d been given no other choice. In fact, as her fingers gripped the aged wood, it felt almost as familiar as the barrel of the shotgun that Nancy had given her following their stop at the War Zone. 

She looked at her with a glimmer of fear in her eyes. But Nancy was quick to reassure her. 

“You’re a fighter, Sage. You’ve got this.” 

And she would be lying if she said wasn’t up for a fight.

As she slowly stalked towards the sound of the noise, which was coming from the back porch off the kitchen, she braced herself for whoever - or whatever - she might find. She took a deep breath as she entered the room, and as she took a step forward, the screen door slammed shut behind the uninvited guest.

She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip, lifting her arms up just high enough, prepared to strike.

“Hey- Woah, woah, woah! What the hell are you doing?!”

She froze mid-swing, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Steve stood there, hands up, eyes nearly bulging out of his head, looking at her like she had two heads.

“Jesus Christ. You could’ve taken me out with that thing!” 

She narrowed her eyes before sighing, letting the baseboard fall to the ground. Steve visibly loosened up at the sight, his usual “cool guy” exterior completely disregarded as he took a moment to recover. 

“You can’t just come over here without telling me first. I didn’t know it was you.” 

Steve picked up on the anger dripping from her voice the second she spoke. So, in typical Steve Harrington fashion, he tried to ease the tension with a poorly executed joke. 

“I’ll announce myself next time. Maybe like a ‘honey, I’m home!’ Kinda thing.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

She merely rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“I tried reaching you through the walkie. But I’m, uh, assuming you didn’t hear it.”

She shook her head so lightly Steve almost didn’t catch it. Looking away, almost as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

She hadn’t been very responsive to anyone who tried to talk to her, so it wasn’t very surprising to him. But he couldn’t shake this feeling that this interaction was different, specific. And although he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew deep down what it was. She didn’t want to see him.

Everyone has a different way of processing grief. And unfortunately, Steve Harrington’s go-to was to pretend like nothing had happened. Which normally wouldn’t bother her as much as it did. But when the mere sight of him made her feel as though his arms were still wrapped around her, forcing her to leave the corpse of her boyfriend - not even an hour after he’d died - to rot, alone, with the lifeless fucking beasts that tore him apart littered around him, she couldn’t help the sickening feeling his presence gave her.

To say Steve had been worried about her would have been an understatement. The idea of her sitting in that dump, alone, terrified him and the others. But her relationship with the group - especially him - was tricky, to say the absolute least.

“How are you, uh… how are you doing?” He began awkwardly. His hands on his hips, eyebrows knitted together in what seemed like a perfect storm of curiosity and concern. He then went on to ask the exact same series of questions that at least one of them always did whenever they came over. Do you have enough food? Enough water? Does your walkie need new batteries? But she just sat there, staring blankly at the wall ahead. Tuning out his voice as he spoke.

Steve sighed. Wracking his brain in desperation for something, anything he could say that might get her attention. 

“So, yeah… just wanted to pop on over and give you a little update on what’s been going on over on our end.” 

None of it mattered to her. Something about the Byers coming back. She never knew the Byers. Something about a girl she didn’t recognize the name of. Something about them being down at the hospital.

Max.

She knew Max. Max was her neighbor. She kept to herself most of the time and was almost always wearing headphones, but there was always something about her that made her stand out. Something that she felt was worth knowing. She never had anything against Max, she wanted her to be okay. But she just couldn’t understand that after half of her bones had snapped and her eyes were damn near sucked into her skull, after she had died for over a minute, how she was still “alive”. 

How is it that Max survived but Eddie didn’t?

“How is Max?” 

Steve’s head perked up at the sound of her voice, mouth slightly agape in shock that she had actually said something. But he pulled himself together, quickly adjusting his demeanor to fit the serious topic at hand.

“Ah, you know… There hasn’t been any change.” He cleared his throat, before adding, only half-heartedly, “But, she’s stable, so there’s that.”

She was no medical expert, and Max was in no enviable state. But she was breathing, and was most likely being overseen 24-7 by doctors and nurses, not to mention Lucas and the other kids, who she could only assume had been refusing to leave her side until they were forced to at the end of visiting hours. Max was alive, and though it may have seemed small, she still had a fighting chance. 

“That’s good,” she agreed before retorting, ever so slightly. “I’m glad she’s got people who can be there for her.” 

Unlike someone else, she thought.

Steve ignored her tone and instead opted to reassure her. “Oh, it’s okay. They all know you’d come and see her if you could. They understand your situation.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. For the first time since he got there, she allowed her gaze to meet his. Looking past that signature “cool guy” exterior, she saw just how uncomfortable he really was. But there was something else. She could see it in his eyes and sense it radiating off of him like the almost overpowering scent of his cologne.

It was guilt. And based on their interactions over the past two days, there was only one thing she could think of that he could feel guilty about.

“This is about what I said the other day, isn’t it?” 

Panic flashed behind his eyes, so quickly he hoped she’d missed it. But he should’ve known better than to think anything would get past her.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Don’t bullshit me, Harrington.” She narrowed her eyes, taking a step towards him. “This is about the fucking memorial isn’t it?” 

Steve didn’t blame her. None of them did.

To her, the plan was fairly simple. There was no way they could bring his body back through to their world, but he still deserved a proper burial. All she had suggested was that they get some of his things, if any, that hadn’t been destroyed by the gates and pick a spot in the fields or somewhere else out of the way where they could go to pay tribute to him. The hero that had sacrificed his life for them. 

Every single time any of them asked her if she needed anything. If there was anything they could do that would help her in any way, that had been her only request. And every single time, they had ignored her. 

There were many, many reasons that Steve could quickly think up off the top of his head as to why it was a bad and extremely dangerous idea. 

She was still very much wanted for her supposed role in several “murders”. And even if the cops were too busy dealing with everything else going on in Hawkins to be actively pursuing her, Steve had no trouble believing a mob of civilians would take her out themselves if she were to be spotted. 

There was also the concern of vandalism. Said civilians were already defacing all of the missing posters Wayne had been putting up around town. They certainly wouldn’t waste any time doing the same to a memorial for a supposed murderous cult leader. 

“Sage…” His tone was laced with pity. 

“You don’t get to call me that. Don’t think that all of this has made me forget about what’s happened between us. You may have changed your ways as of late, but I’ll never forget who you were, Harrington.” 

Steve held up his hands defensively, well aware of his mistake. When he did, she saw something in his hands that she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“What’s that?”

Steve’s eyes left hers and fell towards the denim fabric in his hands. He looked back up at her with a softer expression, and lowered his hands slowly. “Yeah, this… I realized this morning I still had it. I didn’t get a chance to give it back before…” He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly before continuing. “We can’t give it back to its rightful owner, but it’ll be in good hands with you.”

Steve held out the vest to her.

She probably should have hesitated, but upon the sight of the familiar garment, all decorum was thrown to the wind. She grabbed it quickly- but carefully- from Steve’s outstretched hands and drew it close. The fabric felt all too familiar in her fingers, but it made the stark absence of its usual wearer that much more apparent.

“Look, I know I royally screwed up our friendship. The way Tommy, Carol, and I treated you back then, it was awful. I was awful to you, Sage. I’m so sorry.”

She closed her eyes tightly for the briefest of moments, fighting the urge to have any other physical reaction to the use of the nickname once again.

Thankfully, Steve was avoiding making direct eye contact with her, and seemingly missed the slip in her composure altogether. 

“And I’m so sorry that you lost Eddie. I truly am. I know how much he meant to you.” 

He still wasn’t too comfortable, with the surroundings or the conversation at hand. And he was terrified of saying the wrong thing, especially since she was very clearly on edge. She looked at him though, waiting patiently for his next words.

When Steve finally locked eyes with her once again, he had no choice but to find the words and confidence to continue. “And I hope that having a piece of him with you brings you some comfort,” he said. Despite the mixed emotions she was feeling, Steve’s sentiment sounded sincere. “Especially since we can’t do the memorial.”

There it was.

By this point, it had seemed pretty clear to her that he wasn’t even going to try to see things from her perspective. He certainly wasn’t taking her opinion on the subject into consideration. Which was hurtful, to say the least.

She let out a bitter laugh. “No, it’s fine. I get it. I know you never cared much about him anyways,” she declared, oddly calm despite the anger that was steadily brewing inside her. “After all, he was just a freak, right?” 

A distressed look flashed across Steve’s face at the accusation. “That’s not-”

“You don’t need to defend yourself, so spare me any lame excuses,” she interrupted, not skipping a beat.

Steve nodded, not wanting to anger her any further, he let her say her peace.

“You know, I begged him not to go out there. Dustin and I had already gotten through the gate. He was right behind us.” 

She choked back a sob. The memory was so fresh in her mind, it felt like she was still there. 

“But he had that look in his eyes. He was determined that what he was doing would make things right, after everything that had happened. He wasn’t gonna let any of you die out there.” 

She looked him dead in the eye, tears rolling down her face. Not caring that her vulnerability was on full display.

“Don’t let his sacrifice be for nothing, Steve. Please help me put him to rest.”

Steve’s heart broke at her words. He wanted more than anything to just cave in and give her what they all knew she desperately needed. But he knew deep in his heart that it just wasn’t possible. He looked at her, defeated, before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. You know I can’t-“

“You don’t have to help me. In fact, you don’t have to do anything else for me from here on out.” 

In a desperate attempt to regain her composure, she turned away from him and began grabbing at her belongings, with the intention of packing up and getting the hell out of there and on with the memorial as fast as she could. 

“C’mon, please don’t do this.”

Maybe he would consider Dustin’s opinion, she thought to herself bitterly. Truth be told, she wouldn’t even mind if that was the case, so long as the memorial came to be, one way or another.

Perhaps Steve just needed someone to force his hand on the matter.

“Why don’t I just go ask Dustin for his help, huh? After all, he’s the only person other than me who actually gives a shit about what he did for all of us.”

Nervousness steeped into Steve’s already uncomfortable demeanor as he feared her reaction to the subject that he was about to bring up. “Listen, I need to talk to you about that.”

She whipped her head around. Concern for the younger kid clouded her mind immediately, temporarily breaking through the overwhelming grief that had taken up the majority of her focus over the past few days. Her terse tone dissipated, and her clenched jaw softened as she implored, “What’s going on? Is he alright?”

“What? Yeah, no, he’s fine,” Steve assured her readily. He tilted his head thoughtfully, and then added, “Well, as fine as he can be, I guess.”

Whatever was on Steve’s mind, it must’ve been something pretty big. It was a rare sight to see him look so uncertain about anything. He paced around the room idly, looking anywhere but at her. Given the fact that the room was just about empty, his poor guise of trying to appear distracted by his surroundings fell flat.

“Look,” Steve continued with a light sigh, finally coming to a stop and meeting her eyes. “Nancy, Robin, and I have been talking…”

She watched him curiously, patiently waiting for Steve to find the words he desperately searched for.

“There’s really no great way to put this, so I’ll just say it. We’ve agreed that it might not be the best idea for Dustin to come around and see you anymore.”

It had felt like all of the air had been knocked out of her. She didn’t think she could ever feel more heartbroken than how she already felt. But the things she had experienced the past week had proven that the impossible is very much possible.

“What?”

Steve winced, raising a defensive hand yet again. “You saw how bad he’s handling everything. But yesterday, I made some stupid comment and he actually laughed. Can you believe that?”

Steve sounded surprised, but she wasn’t. People handled grief in all sorts of ways.

“I mean, the kid hadn’t even smiled in two days!” Steve rambled on, as if any pause would make him lose his momentum and motivation to continue. “What’s going on with Max alone is a lot for a kid to deal with. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with, really. And Dustin’s just now starting to figure out how to come back from what happened there…  And we think him seeing you as you are in your condition might set him back a bit. He needs to move forward.” 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Anger was bubbling up through her stomach and hot bile was crawling up her throat. It was only a matter of seconds before it all came to the surface. She watched with fuming eyes as Steve winded down what she believed to be his extremely misguided spiel.

“We all need to move forward.”

“You do realize that Dustin’s not a kid anymore, right?”

Maybe it was a low blow, making the subtle suggestion that Steve was babying him. But it was effective. The look Steve gave her in response was one of protest, if not one of hurt.

“He is, though,” Steve disagreed. “They’re all just kids. We’re the older ones here-”

“He saw someone die Steve. He saw his friend die. He’s traumatized. I of all people know it makes you grow up pretty fucking fast.” 

“It doesn’t have to be like that for him, Sage.”

“I told you not to call me that.” she snapped, involuntarily scowling at the use of the nickname that reminded her so much of the person who had once bestowed it upon her.

“Fine,” Steve relented, holding up his hands defensively once again. “But my point still stands.”

“He has every right to grieve, Steve. He doesn’t have to grieve only or Max, or for… him,” she finished uneasily, unable to bring herself to say the name out loud just yet. “I’m the only other person that saw what he saw. He needs someone who understands. You can’t support him the way he really needs.”

“But Dustin will have the support he needs,” Steve swore, suddenly sounding less argumentative and more persuasive than he had just moments before. “It won’t be forever. We’ll start with just a few days, and then we’ll go from there.”

She remained silent, still in disbelief of what was being discussed.

“If we can take some of the burden off of Dustin’s plate, even if it’s just a little, and even if it’s only for a little bit, then don’t we owe it to him to at least try?” he asked. “If you were in his shoes, wouldn’t you want someone to do the same for you?”

She had been in Dustin’s shoes… five, going on six years ago. And there had been someone there who helped her lessen the grief and guilt she’d felt. That very person would have been there for Dustin, if he’d been able to. And since he wouldn’t, she had a strong hunch he would’ve wanted someone else to be. 

Maybe Steve had a point.

But then again, this was Harrington. The same boy who said one thing and did another. The same boy who had a poor track record with keeping his word and being honest about his intentions. The same boy who she had once considered a friend, before he decided that he, and his reputation, were better off without her. 

That was five, going on six years ago, too. But the scars of those events ran deeper than either of them realized.

She looked at Steve suspiciously, trying to determine whether he was being honest about his motivations for his hair-brained scheme this time.

Steve stood steadfast, looking firm and resolute in his expression and posture. Whatever reasoning he had for this decision, he seemed to believe in it.

She turned, leaving the room. He was quick to follow, so she moved fast, and made every second count.

The mattress, turned into a makeshift bed, was set up in the living room. The walkie given to her for communication with the group was wedged between it and the wall. She made a beeline for the mattress and swiped up the device swiftly, before Steve could even process what she was trying to do.

“Henderson?” she spoke into the transmitter, eyeing Steve daringly as she did so. She waited for a response patiently.

Silence.

She cleared her throat, before clicking the button down once more. “Henderson, do you copy?”

More silence.

Her face fell. She tried one more time, “Dustin?”

Nothing but silence.

A glare returned to her face as her focus snapped back to Steve, and the realization of what he had done, based on the boy’s guilty look as plain as day upon his face, seeped in.

“If it’s any consolation, Dustin didn’t take this very well either,” Steve explained, half-seriously. “I thought he was going to fight me for the walkie when we took it.”

She couldn’t help but scowl. Was he seriously making jokes about a matter like this?

There was the good ol’ Harrington she knew. For how much he claimed to have changed over the years, he still lacked anything of value in the tact department.

“Get out, Steve.”

He did a double take. “What?”

Hot, angry tears began to cloud her vision.

“Get out.”

Steve looked at her appraisingly, as if trying to gauge her seriousness. “Listen, let’s just take a minute to talk this through-”

Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “Get. Out. Now.”

She saw the moment of realization as it flooded his face. But he made no attempt to move, other than the nearly undetectable step he took backwards.

Something possessed her to encourage him to move faster. With her free hand, Sage plucked up a nearby unopened pudding pack from the foot of the mattress, and hurled it across the room.

The pudding cup soared through the air, missing Steve’s head by about a foot or so, before colliding with the wall behind him. The packaging burst, and pudding splattered sickenly across the peeling wallpaper.

Wide eyed, Steve glanced between the mess behind him and towards her. He gave her one last solemn look, one that was also laced with a decent amount of pity, and fear, before giving her a relenting nod.

“I can take a hint,” he said meekly. “I’ll have Nancy or Robin swing by tomorrow to check on you.”

She said nothing in response.

She turned as Steve headed towards the back door, not bothering to make sure he was even out of earshot before letting out a frustrated, enraged shout.

The potential of someone overhearing them be damned; she was done.

Done with the pitiful small talk. Done with the atrocious persuasions to be thankful that so many of them had gotten out of the frightening endeavor virtually unharmed. And done with the piss-poor pep talks and motivational speeches trying to encourage her to move forward.

“We all need to move forward.” … How was she supposed to just move forward and look towards the future when the one person who was supposed to have that future with her was gone?

How was she even supposed to properly grieve when she had nothing left of him? There was no goodbye letter she could read from him, like the ones Max had written. There was no sharing her grief with his uncle. Unless she wanted to take the chance of being spotted and thrown right into a cell. There was no grave to visit, and there sure as hell wouldn’t be a memorial.

There was nothing.

She kicked another broken plank of baseboard with all her might, unaffected as the wood skidded across the old floors and slammed against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Enraged, she tried to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. Her knuckles began to turn white as she clenched her hands into fist, barely registering the feel of the denim material between her fingers.

There was nothing… nothing except the vest.

An eerie sense of calmness fell over her as she lifted the vest up closer to eyesight. She took a few steps back slowly. Once her heels hit the wall behind her, she slid down until she was seated upon the floor.

Her eyes scanned the fabric. For everything the vest, and its miscellaneous wearers, had been through over the past few days, she was shocked that it looked the exactly the same as she could remember.

There were the buttons and few pins, purposefully selected by him. She was certain it was only by some miracle that none of them had fallen off.

And then there were the patches. Surprisingly, he’d sewn them all on himself. Of course, he’d been most proud of the Dio one on the back. She’d gotten in a few stitches here and there, once when he took a break to smoke while he was working on it one night, and another time when he’d been too tired and frustrated to thread the needle properly. But for the most part, the vest in her hands was entirely Eddie, crafted for and by him.

As her gaze wandered upwards towards the collar of the vest, something beyond it caught her eye.

The kick to the baseboard had caused more damage than she realized. It’d broken loose one of the wooden panels running along the bottom half of the wall, which was bent inwards towards the dark, most likely cob-web ridden space, between the walls.

Curiosity getting the best of her, she set the vest down on the ground beside her. Taking great care to fold it gently before doing so. Then, she rose to her feet slowly before making her way across the room.

Once she reached the wall, she knelt down, inspecting the damage. Should her parents find the need to swing by the old house, she doubted they’d realize the broken paneling was a new addition. But she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of guilt- not for them, but for the home’s previous owner.

Her great aunt had taught her more than she’d ever realized. And now, she’d gone and damaged the woman’s once beloved home even more than it had been just at the hands of passing time. 

She sighed, and leaned forward, yanking the already broken paneling free and setting it aside. Immediately, her suspicion of cobwebs aplenty were confirmed as she took a closer look into the space between the walls.

Gross.

Just as she was about to ditch her curious peruse in favor of welcoming the ever-raining clouds of grief to flood over her once more, something made her pause.

That space wasn’t just littered with cobwebs.

She took a breath to brace herself, and reached inside the walls, blindly feeling around. Her hand made purchase with something, and since it was something that was neither slimy nor furry, she considered that a win. She withdrew the mysterious object, and flinched slightly as some loose dust filled the surrounding air with the motion. She blew the remaining dust off the object, and swiped away at the cobwebs with great interest.

It was a journal.

An old journal, but clearly a journal, nonetheless.

She immediately opened the front cover, mindfully slow with her movements. Just as she suspected, the writing inside was familiar.

She’d never be able to forget handwriting like that - especially not since it had taught her almost everything she knew. Additional journals and scribbles in the same hand had provided her with more knowledge than any books obtainable in or anywhere near Hawkins would provide.

But why hadn’t this journal come into her possession with the others? Why had a certain someone gone through painstakingly great lengths to keep it not only separate from the others, but to hide it?

She kept turning the pages, the aged papers beneath her fingers keeping her grounded and providing a temporary, albeit very intriguing, distraction. As her eyes skimmed over the pages, a glaring answer quickly jumped out at her.

… Oh.

One of her core beliefs, as instilled upon her by the same author of the morally dubious journal in her hands, was that there was lightness and darkness inside of everyone. Most of the people in Hawkins would have readily denied this logic. They loved their virtuous idols and figureheads of the popular religions, which they placed upon metaphorical pedestals. From personal experience, she had the hunch that maybe they loved being able to condemn anything - or anyone - even remotely different from them and declare said things as satanic even more. The majority of the people of Hawkins were all too quick to paint someone as good or bad. But she’d never been one of them.

The world was not black and white, but greatly varying shades of gray. And while she may not have believed people were inherently good or bad, she did believe that their actions defined just how gray one would be.

And the contents of the journal in her hands were dark gray, to say the least. Perhaps that’s why it had been placed in the space between the walls, its fate to be forgotten until her outburst of anger gave it a new fate.

As she continued to stare down at the pages in front of her, it was becoming increasingly clear to her that the author’s intention of hiding the journal was to prevent temptation. It was to prevent either themself, or someone else, from tapping into their own dark gray, morally questionable side.

And yet…

They say that the universe has an odd way of presenting you with whatever it is that you are in need of. She had always been a firm believer in that principle, but what she had just discovered couldn’t have been any clearer of a sign of its existence. The message was clear:

“Bring him back.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to the taglist for when the second part is posted, please feel free to let us know! 🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x witch reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #angst

[darthkvznblogs]

I actually am looking for more PS5 games to buy. A more detailed review/recommendation of Spider-Man 2 would be appreciated if you have the time.

Alright, I'm gonna try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible!

THE PROS:

-Story's great! Perhaps not as emotionally resonant as the first game (they really did knock it out of the park with the Otto-Li-Osborn story), but still very impactful, and I loooved everyone's characterization. The setpieces were freakin' wild, so much more intense than almost anything in the previous entries, but the smaller, quieter moments were also very well done. Dialogues are great, can range from corny to eye-roll worthy, but in such a way that it matches Spider-Man's vibe very well.

-Traversal is the best in the series, with multiple new options that feel seamlessly integrated and a boost to swinging speed that can genuinely get you across the city in just a couple minutes, if that.

-Combat has been streamlined in some ways, deepened in others. YMMV on some on the missing gadgets from previous games, but I found the new ones and the new abilities (and the much simpler activation mechanic, ditching the slow "weapon wheel" style for an L1/R1 + assigned button method) an overall positive change. You kinda need it, because this game has a much steeper difficulty curve than the previous two.

-Aside from some facial oddities (I do find it a bit annoying that they keep changing how Peter looks, and even though it's the same MJ face model she looks super different from the 1st game to me, too, while the characters from Miles' side of the story look better but still perfectly recognizable), game looks incredible. Visual design, costumes, special effects, just all around a gorgeous game, and incredibly well animated, too.

-Practically zero loading times or any sort of performance issue (I did play on the 60 fps performance mode, tho)

THE CONS:

-Some real narrative Choices(TM) are made that could definitely be divisive if you're expecting more of a traditional Spider-Man story. I personally wasn't bothered by most of these (especially as this is its own universe), but I could understand some ruffled feathers.

-The expanded map can get a bit same-y, outside the obvious landmarks, especially with the added speed which blurs things together a bit more.

-Like I said, some facial models/animations kinda dip into uncanny valley territory, at least for me. It's not game breaking, but it could potentially take you out of a scene if you're more bothered by it.

-Less activities/sidequests than the first game (but what's there is very good!)

-This is mildly spoilery, but my biggest complaint with this game is that they got rid of minor but valuable worldbuilding elements like the Twitter-esque social feed or the in-universe character bios. I get that that's a lot of writing that a lot of people are gonna skim or skip, but you want to see people's reactions to the crazy stuff that happens in this game, trust me. Also, if you miss the podcasts or they get cut off when you're swinging around, there's no way to replay them this time around, for some reason? Maybe I just didn't find them?

So, yeah! I think it's an easy 8.5 or 9 out of 10 for me! I had a blast, and even if I don't agree with some of their choices, I respect the hell out of them for making them. Insomniac!Spidey remains my favorite of all the Peters in the Multiverse <3

#ask box #insomniac spider man #spider man 2 ps5 #if y'all want a spoilery discussion let me know!

[manonamora-if-reviews]

All or Nothing (1973) by Autumn Chen

============= Links

Play the game See other reviews of the game See other games by Autumn or follow @cyberpunklesbian

============= Synopsis

A collection of anecdotes about a troubled Kickstarter production

============= Other Info

All or Nothing (1973) is a Dendry* short game, submitted to the Goncharov Game Jam**. * **Autumn was also the organiser of this jam.

Status: Completed Genre: Unreality, Goncharov, Slice-of-Life, Meta

CW: / Note: cheating, mention of violence/death

============= Playthrough

First Played: December 2022 Last Played: 3-Jun-2023 Playtime: around 20mins Rating: 4 /5 Thoughts: Give your All and get Nothing...

============= Review

Adding to the Goncharov craze of November 2022, All or Nothing (1973) takes on a meta commentary approach on internet trends, the cashing out on said trends*, and artistic creation. Set during an undefined present, we discover through snippets a group of four adults are putting together a trailer for a Kickstarter project to create a Goncharov movie, competing with other crowd-sourced project on the same idea. *which, lol, considering the jam

Spoilers ahead. It is recommended to play the game first. The review is based on my understanding/reading of the story.

The game starts as a rendition of a scene for a Goncharov movie*, being shot, formatted like a script and with a dark edited picture. You get to choose some options about where the scene goes until one of the characters yells CUT, following one of the actors fumbling his lines. The scene moves to real life (change in background and font), as the crew bickers about the production. The game will continue flipping between the dark setting while the scenes are shot and the brighter background of real life, announcing the transitions**. *which is not a real thing, just to be clear... **until... movie and reality are but one.

We are introduced to a four-member crew shooting materials for a Kickstarter campaign: Arash - playing Goncharov - the director of this whole enterprise and maybe a bit too obsessed with the project, Vivian - playing Katya - the scriptwriter who is disillusioned with making it in the industry, Tony - playing Andrey - looking for a paycheck, and Sofia - playing Sofia* - also here mainly for a paycheck**.*This made me laugh so hard. **I think? It's not as explicit as Tony. Maybe some connection or support?

Like most of Autumn's games, All or Nothing (1973) takes a storylet approach to the storytelling of the downtime of the crew (about 2-3 scenes). You can follow two groups: Arash/Goncharov and Tody/Andrey, or Vivian/Katya and Sofia/Sofia. Each will discuss their view on the production, their worries and dreams, and what is happening in their lives.

Arash's method acting is worrying some of them or getting on their nerves, but he only cares about making art and be remembered* *this is an interesting conversation between Tony and Arash on the subject, where fame doesn't seem to interest Arash if behind it there is no creative output to show for...

Vivian is starting to resent telling Arash (her boyfriend) about the meme and letting him string her along the production, while she questions whether she still want to even pursue this.

Sofia lives in a shitty studio with a baby, Tony looks to get paid* (and maybe more?). *Unlike the other three characters, it didn't feel like there was much to Tony. Maybe being paired with Arash made him more of a background character...

By the second storylet, lines between the characters in the real world and in scenes start to blur. Vivian and Sofia comment on events being similar to struggles the Goncharov characters suffer through, while Arash and Tony lean more and more into the method acting (with Arash being much more into it). Like their movie counterpart (according to lore), both couple have the option of potentially leaning into the sexual tension in the air (with Vivian/Arash cheating on the other*). *Funny thing, in the lore it is unclear whether either party knows about the cheating, condones it, or resents the other for it. Still they don't see each other separating because of it.

The line fully disappears when the real world characters embodies their scene counterparts so much during the height of filming, that neither Arash, Vivian, nor Tony realise Sofia's cries to stop the scene (even her holding her child do not phase them). At this point, the background does not even return to "real-life" mode. While Tony and Vivian do manage to come back to their senses, Arash still stays in character, ending the game with I am Goncharov...

I really enjoyed figuring out that the characters' lives mirrors the ones they portrayed (though the exact lore is unclear one the specifics), with Vivian and Arash being a couple and playing Katya and Goncharov who are canonically together, Katya's dalliance with Sofia, Goncharov and Andrey contrasting identities (light/dark, naive/serious, free/taken...)... as well as trying to find the Goncharov themes (the clock, the gun, the boat...).

A final note: the game references two works: All or Nothing (which is incidentally the name of the game, paired with the fictional release year of Goncharov) and Miss Officer and Mr Truffles, two crowdfunding campaigns which started from a meme post on Tumblr making the rounds on the website. Neither managed to deliver an end product (the second never reached its goal). A bit of a wink to A Paradox between worlds there... Is it also foreshadowing the future of this project?

#All or Nothing (1973) #Autumn Chen #interactive fiction #complete #review #dendry game #2022 #goncharov #unreality #slice of life #meta

[kuroko99]

for the WIP game, Only Way Out sounds very angsty, tell me more 👀

it's not lmao. the ONLY ONE without angst. or. much of it.

ORV POKEMON AU

this time i give the outline (contains various ORV spoilers but none that you don't know, Song and the last one is a theory):

Set at onset of divorce arc - when YJH leaves the pocket watch behind KDJ wakes up to a hidden scenario panel Blurred out game name, choose between game version Light or Dark, Gray option is blurred out Instead of boy or girl, you are an angel or demon KDJ gets wrapped up with professor (Mass Production Maker) and chooses starter pokemon Team constellation steals the remaining pokemon and some research Subplot having to collect ‘stories’ research papers for professor Meet YJH argument and battle Montage of leveling up and meeting other KimCom characters as trainers No one really remembers who they are outside of the scenario setting Potentially go in to how KDJ meets all of his final team pokemon Dragon type gym leader HSY? KDJ loses every rival battle against YJH but progresses anyway Final battle with the Champion Scenario is completed and KimCom returned to the Industrial Complex Turns out everyone was aware in the sub scenario but wanted to enjoy the peace of the Pokemon realm and played along with the story We are once again duping KDJ because fuck him i guess Accidental reveal of YJH’s ‘end’ - he pretends that he was the only one that wasn’t connected to the scenario and thus doesn’t remember any of it so he can have his internal freak out.

wow. maybe it is a little angsty. well. you know me!

#pokemon au #orv #kuro writes #I WILL #ONE DAY #fic

[orioo]

Officially Baptizing the Main6! (yes, ALL of them!!)

after a painful two and a half hours of scrolling through and tapping away at a name generator, i was finally able to decide on what names the main6 will go by from this very moment >:D. it felt like an eternity and my eyes started burning halfway through, but it was more than worth the effort! 

before i get into the nitty gritty i know’s got everybody fidgety in their seats right now, i want to offer special thanks to my 3 irl friends (out of which only one has tumblr at the moment) for aiding my undecided ass with the name-picking. honestly, if i knew settling on names for my characters would be such a hassle, i would’ve created a smaller squad (... who am i kidding. i’m actually already coming up with several other important characters as i type this, all of which will need to be named too). right; i bow down to my knees and thank you from the very bottom of my heart @kazumaple9, Yuri and Ralu for partaking in my stressful journey of baptizing my kids.

one last thing i must mention is that i (after a very long and enjoyable talk with my friend Yuri, who has been the best advisor i could ever have for this personal project of mine) have come up with most of the plot. very broadly, sure, but the base is built and it is there to last. one thing i’ll make sure to focus on in this story is character development, at least for my main6, which will be getting individual character story arcs (most of which, if not all, have already been decided upon). i have taken this into consideration when choosing some of their names, and i will mention whatever it is to mention about my reasoning, so if you would prefer not to have these things spoiled to you just yet, make sure to skip over the text underneath each character name reveal.

without further ado, let’s start the introductions! :D

N1 - the Prince, will now be called Filip !

very original, yes, i know. he’s a prince, thus he gets the name Filip with an F. i looked through so many different types of names (from fantasy&folklore to real like names based on EVERY.COUNTRY.EVER.) that i don’t exactly remember what origin his name has, sorry. unfortunately, this is also the case to most of the others...

N2 - the Bodyguard, will now be called Kaji !

i searched hard and i searched wide before promptly giving up blind looking for a name that would fit N2. nothing seemed to fit him, be it hispanic, british, irish, taiwanese, indonesian or latin names, it just didn’t ... fit. seeing as he was the last one to be named, i went on and looked up names related to fire in foreign languages, and settled on Kaji, in japanese. here’s the meaning: “Kaji means fire in Japanese and could also mean damage, anthropomorphic spirit, and riches battle.”. i think it fits him pretty well :]

N3 - the Mercenary, will now be called Shreya !

if i’m not wrong, the name’s origin is malaysian...? i might be wrong though, the time i spent looking through thousands of names is a blurred, hazy mess inside my mind right now. soryr about that. 

no further explanation needed in her case. she’s a big, strong, confident and hot woman that could snap anybody that dares provoke her in half and then in forths, and i frankly think that Shreya is a powerful enough name to radiate that exact same vibe. sue me.

N4 - the “Brawns”, will now be called Milo !

i’ll be honest, before i even began specifically looking for a name to fit him, i knew his name had to contain the letter O. he just, he fits the letter O. the other potential name i had ready for him was Olavi, but my friends and i unanimously decided that Milo is the superior option. Milo is a very soft sounding name and i think it does my baby N4 justice. 

N5 - the “Brains”, will now be called Piper !

unexpectedly, Piper was the one that gave me the most trouble. not that i couldn’t find a fitting name, but the exact opposite; i had way too many options to choose from, all of which fit her but didn’t ... feel fitting at the same time. the process was very difficult.

major spoiler alert ahead. i settled on calling her Piper since it is also a name fit for a witch. part of Piper’s independent story arc will revolve around the descovery of her heritage, so i went out of my way and looked for witch (and fae) specific names in particular. Piper also sounds casual enough to not raise any question signs as to its origin region from the Kingdom, which is perfect; since Piper (and Milo!) both come from very small regions, almost lost into the unknown when looking for them on a map.

N6 - the Goddess, will now be called Phala !

Phala’s name is old news by now, but what must be done needs to be done. i won’t forgive myself if i do things halfway regarding my dear main6, and in no reality ever was i going to exclude Phala from the official naming ceremony.

for those still in the dark that haven’t read my last post regarding her name picking reason, it’s very simple; Phala is a fitting name for a goddess and one i liked the sound of at first sight. aditionally, it sounds very gentle and elegant, both of which Phala is plenty!

alright, that’s that for the names, everybody. i’ll go back and edit their actual names in stead of the basic N(number) in my other posts. it will take me a while, so have patience <3

in addition, i started working on a very important post; additional worldbuilding, major plot points and character arcs. just a planner for now, nothing too extravagant, but it’ll help me as much as you to understand the flow of things better; what’s to come, when to expect certain stuff and more details regarding the Kingdom (unfortunately, i have yet to name the grander regions. i’ve had enough of name-picking for one day, sorry). i expect this post to clear up some of the question any of you might have, so i’ll take my time working on it and organizing my thoughs first before writing them down. 

thank you for your patience and i hope you enjoyed today’s post! i also hoped you like the names chosen for our dear main characters, and that you will get more attached to them now that they have an actual identity ^^ 

good night lovelies~

[mariyekos]

Souls and Aether: A look at Estinien's sense of self and Nidhogg's place within it

After a throwaway line in Endwalker reignited my love for the topic, here are some thoughts and theories about the mix of Estinien and Nidhogg's souls post-Heavensward (that I'll probably use for fic material someday when I feel like I'll be able to do them justice). Some of this is very much canon, some is headcanon, and I tried to make sure I distinguished between what the game tells us and what I like to imagine from it. This turned into way more of an essay than I meant it to be, but meh. Includes some caps and ideas from Heavensward and Shadowbringers, as well as spoilers for Endwalker under the cut! You've been warned!

"My Eyes": The Mothercrystal Quote

A.K.A. The Whole Reason I Wrote This Ridiculously Long Essay

The first thing I want to talk about is this quote from the optional pre-battle conversation before The Mothercrystal fight. Mostly the last part, but I'll include all three pictures to capture the entire thing.

There's a lot to unpack here, but I want to focus on the quote that I've thought of on a daily basis since beating Endwalker.

"Then you and Alphinaud threw my eyes off a bridge, and I've never known peace since."

My eyes. My eyes. Obviously he's referring to the Eyes of Nidhogg here, which were bound to Estinien's person. That much I would say is not up to debate. In that respect, they could be "his" (i.e. Estinien's) eyes, since they were technically a part of him at the time. So the "I" or "me" or "self" that Estinien is referring to could be himself as the man that has always been Estinien. A less exciting, but sensible reason for that phrasing. Or... the perhaps less likely but much more enticing/interesting option... is that the "I/me/self" that he could be referring to could be the part that was once Nidhogg. My eyes he says, thinking of his true eyes which were once in his own wyrm skull, not the foreign eyes which were embeded in his elezen shoulder and wrist. My eyes, as in the eyes which came from him and were originally his. Him, thus, being Nidhogg.

And thus, I looked at this quote and thought, "ah. Estinien is refering to Nidhogg's eyes as his own, and thus not differentiating between the being he is now and the being that was once Nidhogg. He sees (at least parts of) Nidhogg's past and being as his own."

It's worth noting that this comes right after he talks about "people I cared for," and then refers to people Estinien knew (Alberic, Alphinaud+WoL or Aymeric, and Ysayle). So there are three potential levels of self here - The "I" that was originally Estinien, the "my" that seems to be Nidhogg after taking Estinien as his vessel, and the "I've" that is surely both. The Estinien who is Estinien, who seamlessly carries pieces of Nidhogg, as if a blended version of the two. Three points in time, three kinds of self. Three levels of existing as two beings eventually merged into one.

I want to say that I believe Estinien still sees himself as being different than Nidhogg. He's still Estinien, and he has always been Estinien. Before this quote, I imagined him not thinking of himself as Nidhogg, but instead as the bearer of Nidhogg's legacy. But when I saw this...He's still Estinien, and he has always been Estinien, but I think there are times when the line blurs a little. He's not confused about who he is at all. He knows he was born Estinien, and Nidhogg was something separate. But there are things that seamlessly merge, just the slightest bit, when they get too close. The eyes were Nidhoggs, but they were also Estinien's for those few days (...Lucia says something that implies the whole possession thing only lasted a few days. In my head, it lasted closer to 6 months, or about the patch time, because I don't like the whole "all of FFXIV takes place in about a year" thing. But I acknowledge that canon says that only lasted a few days.). They belonged to both. And so what was more Nidhogg's than Estinien's may now seem wholly Estinien's. Because both were one. There was no difference at the time. And now? Well.

The Heavensward Soul-Merge

Part of this train of thought comes from something I've rambled about in other scattered posts: the idea that a part of Nidhogg's soul has stuck around with Estinien since Heavensward. There are a few components to this. First, in Heavensward when Alphinaud asks Y'shtola and Krile about saving Estinien. Sorry about the lower quality of the following screenshots, as these are phone screengrabs from YouTube rather than my own snaps. I repeat the important parts in the indented sections below.

"We know not if that would serve to separate wyrm's soul from man's."

"[...] we have no way of knowing if your friend's soul would survive so violent a separation."

If we take their word as absolute truth and not exaggeration or some sort of dramatic flourish, then these two quotes tell us that Nidhogg's and Estinien's souls were once connected. Entangled, if you go with an earlier comment from this conversation about Nidhogg's aether and Estinien's form. So their souls were once merged, to an extent. Probably not in a healthy way, especially given Nidhogg's Final Steps of Faith quote about Estinien, but an unhealthy connection doesn't necessarily mean a weak one:

"Witness the darkened wings that beat about his shriveled soul!

Again, this is a case where you can either take Nidhogg for his word or imagine he's being dramatic, but for the purposes of this post I'm going to imagine he's being (mostly) honest.

But let's put that all together: after the eyes were merged to Estinien's form, Nidhogg's aether had all but smothered Estinien's, entangling his form. This led to a definite connection between, partial blending of their souls (whether it's merging is up to interpretation. My HC says yes. Canon simply implies a hard-to-break connection). During this period of connection, Estinien's soul began to shrivel, or was otherwise damaged.

Shadowbringers, and How to Mend a Damaged Soul

We know from Ardbert and Shadowbringers that adding a soul to one's own broken soul can fix that damage. Take the following quote from Ryne about the WoL, after Ardbert rejoins with the WoL for the Hades trial:

"[...] your soul had begun to break apart. Yet now it seems somehow...restored."

Ardbert and the WoL's situation is a lot different than Estinien and Nidhogg's. Ardbert and the WoL were fragments of the same soul. Pieces that were meant to be together. And when Ardbert was rejoined unto the WoL it fixed the cracks that had begun to form under the pressure and corruption of the Light aether. Estinien and Nidhogg most certainly weren't fragments of the same soul. Nidhogg's presence (his aether, I would say) itself was what was damaging Estinien's soul, if said soul was actually damaged. What else would have "shriveled" Estinien's soul during his possession? Nidhogg's aether was far greater than Estinien's, which even if not explicitly stated is just plain canon because dragons have a TON of aether. Estinien's would've been minuscule in comparison, and it's no wonder Nidhogg won out (until the very end when, after expending aether to fight Hraesvelgr-powered WoL, Estinien finally managed to break through). Where the foreign Light Aether fractured the WoL's soul, Nidhogg's foreign natural Aether could have damaged Estinien's soul.

But just as Nidhogg damaged Estinien's soul, I argue that he could've fixed it. Probably not intentionally? But intent is unimportant in this case, and I don't have any evidence to either support or counter any claims of intent..

Now, this is much more Headcanon-territory than a lot of what I've said before, which I would consider pretty much canon. But in this HC territory, I believe that Estinien would not be nearly as functional as he was post-HW if his soul remained damaged as it was. The WoL sure wasn't doing too hot when their soul was fracturing. But Estinien recovered post-possession, and I would like to say that it was because Nidhogg's soul filled the cracks his Aether had created in Estinien's soul. Similar to how Ardbert's soul filled the cracks the Light Aether had created, except Nidhogg was both the problem and the solution instead of one or the other.

At the end of 3.3, we can see Nidhogg's soul, or something that looks like it, rise from Estinien's body and dissolve in the air. Nidhogg as we knew him was then gone. By pure canon, it looks like Nidhogg's soul completely left. But for tge sane of some fun HCs, what if a few tiny pieces of him stayed behind? If, as I proposed, they stayed to fill the cracks and fix the damage that had been done to Estinien's soul and aether? As Y'shtola and Krile discussed earlier, the souls of dragon and man were tangled in a way they worried might not be possible to separate. So what if most of Nidhogg left, but not all? An imperfect separation, if you will. Enough of Nidhogg having left that the elezen who remained would call himself Estinien, as he had always been and still was Estinien, but had a few fragments of Nidhogg so deeply entwined in his being that he didn't regard them as "other"? Not Nidhogg and Estinien as two conscious beings in one body, but the lone being Estinien who has pieces of Nidhogg so well- or near-seamlessly integrated or blended with his own being that even if he recognizes some thoughts or feelings as originating in the part of him that was once Nidhogg, they don't come from some separate consciousness. Just a thought he'd have that he could identify as being more of a Nidhogg thought, but he'd think and feel is all the same, and the voice and feeling would be in essence his own.

The Great Patch 5.5, A.K.A. The Other Quote That Made Me Lose My Mind

"Nidhogg is a part of me. I feel his emotions as my own."

There. There it is. Confirmation from the man himself. I don't even know what to say about that other than look at it. Now, it's important to note phrasing here. He doesn't say "I am Nidhogg." He doesn't say "His emotions are my own." It's that Nidhogg is a part of him, and he feels Nidhogg's emotions as or like his own. He's still Estinien. Not Nidhogg. He still thinks of Nidhogg as someone else, separate from him,, so there's still a distinction...somewhat. But functionally? Considering how deeply they're connected and how much Estinien bows to those feelings? Not really.

Whether or not it's a fragment of Nidhogg's soul that has remained with Estinien, something has stayed behind. Memories, feelings, aether, something. And it isn't just a throwaway line - his conversations with Tiamat and Vrtra just hammer this in. He has specific ideas of how dragons should act that clearly aren't just what some dragonslayer turned dragon-friend would think. Actions befitting a great wyrm are something that only another great wyrm can and should comment on. And his facial expressions (or the zooms that just barely cut off his eyes...) when talking to the First Brood and to the residents of Ultima Thule (the remnants of the Dragonstar) show how deeply he cares and how he's impacted by them. More than just a guy who now cares about dragons would. It's Nidhogg's emotions rising to the top, but so integrated with Estinien's that I don't think he feels that much of a difference. Maybe he can tell which part of him they come from, whether it's the Estinien part or the Nidhogg part who they probably originated in, but does it really matter? They're his feelings now, and it's hard to ignore them. It doesn't matter who is at the core, or what part - Nidhogg or Estinien - they might have come from. They're his. One. Not two shoved in the same body. Nidhogg's emotions are his own. And throughout Endwalker, I really saw it. There was a lot of pain and grief there. More than the other Scions showed. And while Estinien says it himself up above: "I've not a heart of stone," the others don't have stone hearts either. So for him to seem so much more bothered by all the things happening to the dragons...that's definitely Nidhogg showing right there. The Nidhogg that is now a part of Estinien, but will never forget its past or its family or all the love it had for them all.

In Summary

I've done a whole lot of rambling here just to say: I firmly believe that within canon, Estinien and Nidhogg's souls were once at least partially merged, and even though Nidhogg's soul has departed, many of his memories and feelings have remained behind with Estinien. Canon doesn't give any explicit evidence that this soul-merge lasted post-3.3, as shown by Nidhogg's ghostly form dissipating post-FSoF.

Regardless, the parallels are there. Just as the comment about "my eyes" could be seen as referring to Estinien's eyes, as something that was a part of Estinien, or Nidhogg's eyes, as something that was once a part of Nidhogg. They are in effect synonyms, though not quite. Metonyms? Also doesn't quite work. But hopefully you get what I mean - a sort of blended interpretation. He can tell where Nidhogg ends and he begins if he thinks about it. But from time to time that line is blurred subconsciously. Nidhogg is a part of him. And at times, that part doesn't feel so foreign or separate anymore. Because it's him too.

To get into more Headcanon territory, I would like to believe that part of Nidhogg's soul has remained with Estinien. That soul helped fix the damage done by Nidhogg's overpowering Aether. Estinien knows that he is not Nidhogg, in that Estinien does not think that he was once Nidhogg in the past, but instead thinks that he's a man who carries on Nidhogg's legacy and should honor it. There are, however, certain points at which Estinien does not make a distinction between the two of them. This is a subconscious thing. He probably thought nothing of saying "my eyes" instead of "the eyes" or "Nidhogg's eyes" or anything any less possessive. I think of it in the same way he might mourn the loss of a sibling - it would be, in an offhand comment, about both Hamingant and Ratatoskr. He would have specific stories about Hamignant, of course, and might be more likely to talk about his lost younger brother than a dead wyrm that was once a younger sister. Hamignant's would be a potent loss, and he wouldn't confuse or necessarily equate Hamignant's murder with Ratatoskr's murder. (Though I will say another headcanon of mine is that every year on the anniversary of Ratatoskr's death Estinien feels a grief the likes of which he's never felt. Nidhogg felt. And he felt for a thousand years. That grief would be passed on to Estinien more than anything else.) So if you asked him what it felt like to lose a sibling he'd recall both the rage at Ratatoskr's loss and the sorrow at Hamignant's, but then speak of Hamignant, who was his true brother, as opposed to Ratatoskr who...wasn't really his sister. Except...

Final tl;dr, Endwalker I love you. There were some Estinien moments I didn't love that much but then there were ones like this that made me lose my mind so. Yeah. My eyes. My eyes. Ahhhhhh I've wanted to talk about this since like December 5th... it's so good.

#FFXIV #Endwalker Spoilers #Endwalker #Nidhogg FFXIV #Estinien Wyrmblood #heavensward #estinien varlineau #Nidhogg #I am. so entertained. and interested. if anyone has any strong thoughts about this i would love to chat. follower or not. #uh what else should i tag #heavensward spoilers #EW Spoilers #FFXIV Spoilers #i should really proofread this but i need to make dinner so. posting and maybe i'll come back to do that later #i was originally going to talk about both the mothercrystal quote and the ultima thule wind quote #but. this got so long. i'll make a different post for that one. #FFXIV Endwalker #my post #erurandomness #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV Endwalker Spoilers #Final Fantasy XIV Spoilers #I really don't want to spoil people but i do want to talk about this

[amlovelies]

are we there yet?

this is another one of those deleted prompts from January that I am just now filling. better late than never right? Sidestep days, post nanosurge hurt/comfort. some mild spoilers for the public demo

big thanks to everyone on discord for all your help and feedback with this 💜

12. things you said while you thought I was asleep from this prompt list

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating: T mention of mental trauma, migraines, nosebleeds, and cursing words: 2.7k read on ao3

              It’s not until you hear Ortega’s voice that you realize the pounding isn’t just your migraine, but rather her fists against your front door.

               “Cynthia, I swear to God I will break this door down!”

               Part of you just wants to try and call her bluff and roll back over, try to lose yourself to the state of semi-consciousness you’ve been floating in for God knows how long. The other part of you knows she’ll do it. There’s thunder in her voice; she’s reached the end of her patience. Breaking it down wouldn’t even phase her, and the last thing you need right now is to deal with that mess. 

               “Don’t you dare,” you try to yell, but your voice just cracks from lack of use and dehydration.

               It’s too fucking bright outside, even with Ortega looming in your doorway blocking most of the light. She’s tense, brow furrowed and her lips turned down in a frown. You’re too tired for this. Too tired for whatever confrontation she wants. You don’t bother with a greeting; it’s not like you invited her here. Leaving the door open, you trudge back to your bed and bury your face in the pillow.

               You hear her close the door as she walks into your small studio. “I guess this explains why you weren’t answering your phone.”

               You peek up to see her kneeling next to the shattered device. You’d thrown it when it wouldn’t stop ringing. You had tried to turn it off, but the buttons were too small, too difficult to manipulate. You just needed the noise to end. There was already so much chaos in your head, bouncing and rebounding off the sides of your skull, pooling behind your eyes, settling between your teeth. You were so desperate for some semblance of peace.

               Was that two days ago or three? You can’t remember. Time has stretched and blurred, too many days in pain. Too many days with your brain full to bursting. You’re no stranger to pain, no stranger to migraines, but it’s never been like this. The first few days you’d been able to keep going, to swallow the pills, to swallow the pain and keep moving. It’s not like your comfort had ever mattered, but the pain hadn’t stopped. Two weeks now and you are tired, so tired.

               “Somebody wouldn’t quit calling,” you say with a glare which just bounces off her. “I’m not dead, so you can quit worrying and go home.” The words slur on your tongue. It’s difficult to make it move the way you want to, but you get your point across just the same.

               “Like hell I will.” Stubborn. “I’m not leaving you here like this.” So damn stubborn and arrogant. What does she think she can do to fix this?

               “Please, just leave me the fuck alone, Julia.” It’s hard to keep your eyes open. Crystals dance in the edges making everything blur and twist.  

               “Not a chance.” You feel the bed dip as she sits down next to you and places a soothing hand on your forehead.

               You whimper at the contact. The press of her hand alleviating some of the throbbing in your temple, making it a little more bearable. After a few minutes she gets up, and you groan at the loss of her touch. You almost call her back, ask her not to leave, not to stop touching you, but that would be too much. You can hear her rummaging around the apartment. You should probably care, probably worry about the invasion of privacy, but it’s too much effort.

               Besides, you are the most incriminating thing she could find.

               When she comes back to sit on the bed, she gives you a choice: the hospital or the ranch. She’s already packed your bag, and her mouth is a firm line. There’s no way out of this. She is more than capable of carrying you out of here against your will.

               You take the lesser evil. Not that you are thrilled by the thought of spending hours in the car, not with the havoc the migraine has wrecked on your ability to keep any food down. When was the last time you ate anything besides dry toast? If you get sick in her car it’ll serve her right for meddling.

               By some miracle the traffic isn’t terrible. Ortega is driving fast, reckless, but that’s Ortega. Los Diablos disappears behind you and the relief is immense. The roar of too many souls in too little space fades away.  You can still feel the drivers around you. Blips of impressions, emotions, frustrations, occasionally the lyrics of a favorite song, but they’re gone too fast to stick, too fast to hurt. They can’t touch you.

               Ortega helps too. The static nothing of her thoughts like a cool compress to your fevered brain. A maze to get lost in, to try and shut everything away. Not that you’d ever tell her that. It would just give her another reason to stick around every time you get hurt.

               Shields had been your first lesson. The most important thing in a telepath’s arsenal, it’s too easy to be overwhelmed otherwise, to lose yourself in the howling around you. So many thoughts and feelings and emotions. Shields were your savior.

               Your shields are gone.

               Maybe the nanovores devoured them. A small price to pay when you compare it to the flesh missing from Ortega’s arm, to so many people just gone, to so much loss. What was your sanity in the face of that?

               Maybe you are broken. It’s never taken you this long to recover before. It’s never been so hard to get your shields back. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. She’ll force you to the hospital if this continues much longer, and you won’t be able to run. Even at your best she’s always been faster and stronger than you. Right now, you doubt you could dodge a single blow, doubt that you could throw a punch or misdirect a mind.

               It’s not like the doctors could do anything for you anyway. Not the ones in Los Diablos at least. There were other doctors, specialists who loved nothing more than taking you apart and seeing what made you tick, how to make it better, how to make it stronger. What would they think about what you had done?

               How would they try to use you because of it?

               It’s too easy to remember. Too easy to remember rough hands and cold instruments. Fluorescent lights reflecting on exposed tattoos as you ran the drill again, again, again. Failure was not an option. Especially not when she was watching.

               Your mouth tastes like copper and it’s too familiar.

                “Jesus, Cyn,” Ortega’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “your nose.”

               Fuck. Looking down you can see where the blood has already dripped onto your flannel.

               Shields don’t just protect you from what’s outside. There are things inside you thought you’d locked away too.

               “Don’t worry. I didn’t bleed on your seat.” You’d meant the words to bite, to set her at ease, but you just sound exhausted. Weak. She keeps glancing over at you, her brow wrinkled.

               The shirt is already fucked; you might as well use the sleeve to sop up the mess. You’re almost grateful for the nose bleed. It’s better than the memories you were lost in. There’s pain and then there’s pain. “I’m fine. Just keep your eyes on the road, idiot.”

               A huff, but she turns her attention back to the highway.

               Good.

               “I thought you said the nosebleeds had stopped.” Her voice is tight and you can see the tension where her hand grips the gear shift. Sparks dancing over knuckles.

               “I did,” you say as you let your head rest against the window. It feels cool against your forehead and you sigh in relief. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s better than it was.” It is. The first few days after the nanosurge, it felt like the nosebleeds were happening every couple of hours.

               Minutes pass in silence, and for a moment you think that maybe she’ll just let it go. That hope is dashed as you feel the car begin to slow down. You’re still an hour at least from the ranch. Still climbing the grapevine up into the mountains. You haven’t even reached the toll roads that sprung up to replace the damaged five following the big one. Not that Ortega would have to pay, the shiny Rangers decal on her windshield a free pass almost anywhere in the FEZ. You’re nowhere near the central valley, and you feel a stab of fear at the thought that maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she is taking away your choice, and she’ll turn the car around and drive you to the hospital.

               Should you bail out now? Run while she least expects it? The hillsides are sparse and desolate following last season’s wildfires. The twisted layers and striations of the rocks are a stark reminder of the violent potential of the land. There’s nowhere to hide. Nowhere that she couldn’t find you, couldn’t catch you. Still, it would be better to die of exposure or thirst in the mountains than to return to that place.

               “What are you doing?” you ask, trying to hide the panic in your voice.

               She doesn’t answer as she brings the car to a stop off the side of the road and gets out. Not turning around then. You breathe a sigh of relief as you hear her rummaging around in the trunk, a thud accompanied by a soft curse, and then she is pulling open your door. You repeat your question.

               “Do you expect me to just ignore it? Just keep driving like everything is fine?” she asks as she opens a bottle of water and begins to dampen a napkin with it.

               “Yes? It’s not like you’ve never seen me with a bloody nose before. Fuck, you’ve given me one.”

                She shushes you before pushing your hand out of the way and gently dabbing under your nose with the wet napkin. “That’s training. It’s different.”

               “Not really,” you say with a shrug. “Blood is blood.”

               “At least it’s stopped,” she says with a frown as she finishes wiping away the evidence.

               “See I told you it’s nothing to worry about, idiot.”

               Her hand cups your face, eyes staring into yours and you can’t bear it. You have to look away. You’ve helped bandage her up more than once, plugged in her mods, wrapped her cracked ribs, but you’ve rarely let her return the favor. Always dancing away from her hands, finding a way to slip away in the crowd before she can pull you to the medical tent. Too many secrets too easily revealed that way.

               There’s nothing for her to stitch or wrap or heal now, just you and your broken brain and blood on your shirt, but she is here, so present. Her thumb is rubbing along your cheek, along your scar, her hand so often finding its way there.

               A kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if she could have any effect on the damage underneath the surface.

               You don’t argue when she tells you to drink some water. Swallow the pill she offers you. It’ll be stronger than anything you have access to. You’re thankful for the clean shirt she offers you. The last thing you need is to give Tía Elena another reason to worry and fuss after you. Julia leans against the hood of the car as you light up a cigarette.  Just one, and then you are pulling back onto the road.

               Maybe it’s the nicotine, or the painkiller, or just being away from the city, but you can feel the pressure behind your eyes lifting.

                 You drift in and out of consciousness. Ortega chats with herself, a running commentary of complaints, about paperwork and the media team. The stupid outfits they wanted her to wear for a photo shoot. Never comfortable with silence, she always wants to fill the space with words or actions. Can’t pace when she’s in the car, so words it is.

               You don’t really sleep, not really. Just drift in and out. There’s a lot less traffic on the roads this far from the city center, and it’s peaceful. Your head still feels tight, unpleasant, but the painkillers Ortega gave you were no joke. Guess she wasn’t kidding about the Ranger’s health plan being second to none.

               “Cyn?” your name draws your focus, but you’re too tired to respond. “Are you asleep?” A pause as she waits for you to respond, and when you don’t, she keeps talking anyway. “Still wish you’d let me take you to the hospital. Stubborn idiot.” A soft chuckle, and she continues, “I know, I know, pot kettle but still, at least I let the doctors look me over before I ignore their advice.”

               She keeps talking, her voice quieter than before, barely a whisper in the empty air of the car. “I hate it, you know--” she takes a deep breath and her voice is brittle when she begins speaking again-- “watching you slink off after a fight. Not knowing how badly you’ve been hurt.”

               It’s nothing she hasn’t said before, but usually with shouted words and frustrated huffs, not whatever this is. If you didn’t know better, you’d say she sounds fearful, or maybe that’s just you. Fearful of where Julia might be going with this.  She stops speaking, but you can hear her fingers tapping against the wheel, as if continuing the conversation in her own head.                  

               You want to pretend to wake up, to save yourself from her concern, but you feel frozen. It’s like listening from underwater. The combination of the lingering pain and exhaustion and the numbing effect of the painkillers keeps you submerged, unable to surface.  

               “I worry about you. I just wish . . .” her voice trails off. ”I guess that doesn’t really matter.”

               Her fingers keep tapping against the wheel. You wish you hadn’t told her to turn off the radio. Her singing would be preferable to the anxiety you’re feeling now.

               You don’t want to know what else she might say.  You desperately want to hear what else she might say.

               “Cynthia, I—" Her voice cracks and it feels like a blow, quick and painful in your chest —  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” There’s a desperate edge to her voice which you don’t understand. You’re the one who almost lost her, not the other way around. Why else would you shatter yourself, except to save her?

               For a moment you had thought she was going to say something else. You should be relieved. Relieved that she didn’t say it.

               You’re being fucking stupid. Drugged and stupid and wishing for things you can’t have. It’s always been an unsteady thing, this spark between the two of you. She’d push and you’d pull away. She’d give up, and go out.

               Photos in the tabloids screaming out at you from the newsstands.

               Who has Charge been seen with now? What sharp jawed man has had his arm around her waist?

               She never denied it, and why should she?

               You said it yourself. It was just fun.

               There’s a tightness in your chest making it difficult to breath.

               It doesn’t matter how much you want to hear those words. It doesn’t matter how much you wish you could reveal the truth to her. You belong hidden. In the darkness. Any attempt to expose you to the light will leave you shriveled and burned away. Exposed for the fraud that you are.

                You jump in surprise as fingers tuck a strand of hair gently behind your ear

               “Sorry,” she says as she pulls her hand back. She gives a small embarrassed laugh as she rubs the back of her neck and adds, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

               “Whatever,” you grumble and avoid looking at her. Reaching forward you turn on the radio. It takes a minute or two to find a station, but once you do you settle back into your seat in relief. The noise is a much more controllable pain. “Are we there yet?”

               “Not quite.”

#fhr #fallen hero #julia ortega #chargestep #lovelieswrites #if: fhr #fhr ortega #ship: you’ll be her ruin #oc: Cynthia basri #fic: cynthia basri #ship: chargestep #the deleted prompts

[henoda4]

--Just a little ficlet I had rolling around in my brain after the latest manga chapter. Can be read as platonic or romantic bkdk. Hopefully not too OOC, and probably some grammatical errors. Enjoy!--

* Manga spoilers- for those not caught up to chapter 317, ye' be warned!*

Finding that which is Lost:

It's been days, multiple infuriating days of searching, flying over rooftops and zigzagging through desolate alley ways and getting mostly useless information from the occasional civilian. Bakugou was pissed, hell he'd been pissed since he'd woken up in a hospital only to find out Deku was still unconscious, and then later to a goddamn letter and a nerd who'd gone off to fuck-knows-where. Uraraka had tried to tell him that he was probably just scared more so than angry, that they all were. Naturally he told her to shove it. But more than anything he'd been pissed from the moment that All Might walked right back into the UA dorms, fucking months later, looking absolutely miserable and terrified. The former Pro Hero had barely gotten the explanation out of what he and Deku had been up to before he'd straight up slugged the man. Deku left All Might behind? Deku's pushing everyone away? What the fuck does that even mean? Godammit, didn't he warn the damn nerd not to do this shit?! All Might at least had the decency to look apologetic, as if he knew he deserved the hit.

As he moves the buildings start to blur a bit and he recalls a memory from the recesses of his mind. He and Deku had been very little, he doesn't recall how old exactly, he just knew it was at some point before he had driven a wedge between their friendship, and it was the first time both of their families had gone on a camping trip. The two children had wandered away from the campsite for a bit to explore. He recalls several minutes passing and him and Deku getting separated, and even though /he/ wasn't scared of anything in the woods, he wanted to keep Deku close, you know, just in case, poor nerd would probably bawl his eyes out without him. Sure enough after a few minutes of searching he heard loud sobs and found the green haired boy crouched underneath a tree, his knees all scratched up from taking a tumble. Deku's green eyes lit up in relief upon seeing him and his little heart swelled at the reaction.

"Kacchan!"

 "Stupid Izuku! I told you to stay with me!"

"I know, I'm sorry Kacchan, I guess I got lost."

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah-"

"Well, come on then!"

He grabbed Deku's hand and yanked him upright, then practically pulled him along behind him.

He put on his best All Might voice impression, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back Izuku!"

 

If he'd turned behind him, he'd have seen the beaming smile aimed his way.

But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan."

 

Back in the present moment, Bakugou was snapped out of his memory by a blur of green, and he abruptly came to a halt on a rooftop. Looking over the edge, he saw down to the street below where there was another flash of green and just as suddenly a figure stepped out, their silhouette half covered in shadows. His eyes widened, he was far away, so he couldn't be sure. But that lightning, the black-green tendrils that trailed the figure, it had to be...it couldn't be. He leapt ahead to the next building over making sure never to lose sight of the ground below, and then jumped down the side to stay out of the figure's line of vision. He silently thanked Hatsume for the upgrades to his gauntlets that rendered them way quieter than usual. As he peaked around the corner he saw the figure walk close to the sides of the building heading his direction. Suddenly their head came under a direct beam of light from a street lamp, and he felt his whole body freeze from the inside out.

The person in front of him, was unmistakably Deku. The teal jumpsuit, worn and disgustingly dirty and covered in various degrees of drying blood, his leg bracers ripped to shreds, those ridiculous bunny ears frayed, and those red shoes that he would recognize anywhere. It was Deku, but not Deku as he had named him, a useless person, incapable of doing anything, and not Deku as the boy himself had taken the meaning, a person capable of anything, full of unlimited promise. No this was Deku as in a doll, a mere foreboding vessel of power and purpose. There was nothing in those green eyes, glowing but soulless. It was Deku, but it was no longer the Deku he knew, and it definitely wasn't Midoriya Izuku.

"I know you're there. Although if you're not here to attack me, then what is your purpose?"

Bakugou flinched at the voice, momentarily having forgotten about "Danger sense", All Might had tried to explain before, but he'd been a little too preoccupied planning how to get around the security at UA to go after Deku to pay close attention to the details.

He figured to hell with it and stepped out into Deku's line of view.

"What the hell do you think I'm here for Deku?"

Now Deku froze, his head raising slightly. His voice came out quiet and hesitant, completely unfitting the ominous aura his appearance gave off.

"Kacchan? Is that really you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?"

To his surprise Deku started approaching him again, the tendrils of black whip receding and the lightning dimming to nothing. When he was close enough he yanked his hood down, and Bakugou got an up close look at the grime and blood caked on his face, the sunken eyes and black bags of sleep deprivation.

"What the fuck happened to you Deku?"

The green haired boy seemed nearly ready to collapse, as if he was standing upright on sheer willpower and adrenaline alone. Bakugou fought the urge to grab him and throttle him, as fragile as he seemed at the moment, like a breathe would knock him over. Instead it was Deku who grabbed him by the arm as if he couldn't believe his eyes alone, and needed the physical confirmation of his presence.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was worried... after you, you know."

Bakugou felt his anger boil back to the surface.

"Worried about me?! What the fuck?! Worry about yourself for fucking once! Do you have any idea how upset everyone was when you took off after nearly dying, and then left only a fucking letter! How worried sick your mom is?! How scared your fucking shitty friends are?!"

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Deku's hand slide down his arm slightly.

"I'm sorry Kacchan, I know I should've talked to you in person. But I had to go, and if I had waited, you would have tried to stop me."

"DAMN RIGHT I WOULD HAVE!"

Silence.

"I told you not to do this shit on your own Deku, I told you not to play the hero on your own. Do you not think I'm strong enough to help you?! Are you actually fucking looking down on me this time?!"

"No, of course not! I told you I've never looked down on you. I just....I can't see you get hurt for me again. I can't risk anyone getting hurt again because of me, because I couldn't do anything to protect them....I can't let that happen! I have to do this on my own. OFA was given to me so I could-"

"You're such a fucking idiot. You think you can take down every fucking villain on your own? Take down AFO on your own?"

The little shit had the nerve to smile awkwardly at him, "I've managed fine so far."

Bakugou yanked his arm out of Deku's grasp, and gestured at his whole body.

"This! This is not fine! You're barely standing, you're covered in blood and you look like you haven't slept in weeks. When's the last time you fucking ate? You can't keep this up Deku, even in his prime All Might didn't handle shit like this. And I know I said some real shitty stuff in the past about you being quirkless, but you are more than just OFA's vessel. You were the one to fucking get that through my head.. that we are more than just our quirks. So what the hell?"

"I-"

"Just let me help you Deku."

"But Kacc-"

"Dammit! It took me years to understand that you genuinely wanted to help me not because you thought I was weak, but just because you're a natural born hero and you care about me or some shit. Just..just let me return the favor for once. You don't have to do this alone."

He turned his head away uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of how inept he was at expressing himself in these delicate situations.  How was he supposed to get through to Deku? Would this be enough? The nerd always seemed to be able to read him like a book, he hoped that proved to be the case now.

"Ka-"

He felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. He was running out of options, aside from pummeling the nerd into submission. But for once he wanted to chose a different option.

"Please Izuku." He lifted his gaze to meet his child hood friend's. A silent plea hanging in the air.

In the span of seconds that felt like an eternity they kept eye contact and Deku seemed like he was trying to find something in that contact, like a promise, or a confirmation, whatever it was, he finally sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground.

It was barely a whisper.

"Okay."

Bakugou let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Can you walk nerd?" He extended his hand out to the green haired teen who took it right away. He tightened his grip immediately.

"Yeah, but I'm a little sleepy-"

Before Deku could finish, and without a word Bakugou yanked the other teen towards himself and lifted him up. The teen seemed surprisingly small and light in his arms, a far cry from the monstrous visage he painted when they first crossed paths several minutes ago.

As he walked down the blocks and could feel the tension leave Deku's body as his form went slack, he gazed down to see the nerd's eyes slowly closing, he must be exhausted. He kept walking down the vacant streets, on alert for any potential threats, the nerd's weight a comforting presence in his arms.  He assumed the other teen was already unconscious .

 He briefly gazed up and saw the stars through the gaps between the building silhouettes, he thought back again to that time in the forest as kids.

He whispered in the dark, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back."

If he had looked down a second time he would have seen the subtle but content smile aimed at him. But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan." before the teen fell asleep in his arms.

#bkdk #platonic bkdk #bkdk fic #bnha bkdk #bnha #mha bkdk #bnha angst #bnha spoilers #bnha 317

[oldblog-ileft]

Hi so I just realized that Kota has a very high chance of DYING in the Treehouse Trio AU.

Let's face it, Shirakumo took "I'll be a hero even if it kills me" literally. He absolutely is not above risking his own life to save Kota, much like Izuku, the only difference being... Shirakumo's chances of coming out on top are deep past the earth's crust when fighting someone like Muscular.

Do I think Shirakumo is smart? Yes, in fact I think he would be great at coming up with a solution. The only problem is that his quirk isn't exactly going to be much help in fighting Muscular in particular and he's self-sacrificial. The most he could do is maybe blind Muscular, but even then that's only putting himself and Kota at further risk because Muscular could start blindly swinging, taking down the mountain around them and crushing all three (and potentially anyone near) in the process.

Shirakumo is nowhere near Izuku's strength in canon, even at that time. It's confirmed early on that each OFA user grows stronger each time it's passed along. Meaning, Izuku is going to be more powerful than Yagi "I can change the weather with the sheer air force in one punch" Toshinori. Izuku barely won back then, only getting lucky because he was able to surprise Muscular. Cloud is very weak in comparison to OFA, so Shirakumo's chances of surviving using his quirk to help already eliminates it as an option. That leaves him quirkless and...

Yeah, that's not gonna happen. The most they could do is run and try to escape Muscular but there's no way that's happening either. As much as I want to have faith in Shirakumo, I just realistically can't when putting him up against Muscular.

Frankly, the most Shirakumo could do is delay the inevitability of his death, and then Kota's by default. I really don't want to kill off either of them, but Muscular has no qualms with murdering children, even actively enjoying it.

There could be the chance that someone else fights Muscular, despite Shirakumo and Izuku being the ones to swap places, and realistically I think Aizawa would be the one to do it. Erasure would really help in that situation. But we run into a similar problem even then.

Muscular is beefy. Aizawa, Mic, and Shirakumo all look like absolute twigs when we see them during their UA days in comparison. I can think of two other people who could take down Muscular in this AU, but I haven't confirmed their presences in this canon or at the training camp yet, so they're being pushed to the side right now, and even then they'd still be getting testy and running a gamble with death.

There could be the chance that Muscular isn't even included in the storyline at this point, thanks to one major change that I can't disclose because it's too heavy spoilers for something I don't want to air yet. But he'd inevitably appear later because he's in the hero students' general area, and he'd still want to kill off the entire Water Hose bloodline, and this time the chances are there wouldn't be a hero student to even try intervening because they most likely wouldn't know.

I have two possible solutions where Kota and whoever tries to save him don't die.

A. Muscular is not included in the attack, but that would only leave Kota in a more vulnerable spot later on, resulting in his death then.

B. Izuku/Shinobu is still the one to intervene (this would actually most likely result in Muscular's death because at this point in time, Izuku's morals have been blurred heavily in order to serve AFO and Shigaraki) but I don't want the entire story to just consistenly be "Izuku jumps in to save everyone" because he already does so several times even as a noumu.

Option B could even be a result of A. Kota is left vulnerable under Muscular's attack, and Izuku or one of the members of the league (I say that like Izuku and Shigaraki aren't the only ones that would be willing to step in) interfere then.

Any thoughts on this? Was there something I potentially missed that could have resulted in a better ending?

#Treehouse Trio AU #overthinking #idk man im trying #i have to go every tiny detail that i can think of when im putting together my aus #it hurts slajhdhd

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Like her - Bucky Barnes

Hello!! I did a thing... I big oops... I have no idea where this is going but honestly... gosh, Bucky is finally given the spotlight! Yes, I am talking about that trailer.  So, I guess bear with me? From what I feel, this is going to be ... quite the journey. Spoilers, if I accidentally am on to something? MASTERLIST Word Count~ 2k.  If you want to be tagged or you have an idea about this, please let me know!  Love you all! 

      Nothing made sense anymore. The world seemed to be upside down and he couldn’t find an anchor to hold on to. A thousand thoughts on his mind, past and future blurred into a chaotic present. He had found a still moment in the universe, after his best friend retired and that was the only way he could cope with the ever-changing situation.   

         He had believed that a new beginning was all that he needed; but before he could begin, he had to be free of his past and that he simply could not do. Working with Wilson was not his cup of tea, either. He was searching for meaning but maybe fulfillment wasn’t about what he had already done, maybe it was about the things he hadn’t and that was worse.                            It was simple mission; keep an eye on a questionable individual. Well, at least, that was what the files told him. Girl, early twenties, not a very interesting life – to him, at least, he thought. She might have loved studying and serving coffee to people she didn’t know just so she could earn her living. And a clue that linked her to an old enemy – Zemo. No one knew what their relationship was, or even if there was any. They had been able to pick up a single message sent from her phone to an unknown number that it was later identified as Zemo’s.                He was standing outside the coffee shop she was working, not knowing if he would be able to identify her; they only had a blurry picture of her – another clue that she was onto something as she was avoiding to be seen. Not that he could blame her for that. If she was working with the man that put him trough all of that a couple of years ago, he didn’t know if he would hand her over or…                    He walked inside, trying to appear as relaxed and nonchalant as possible, knowing that he would be awkward anyway. Sam could have done this, he thought, rolling his eyes at that. It was quite busy, actually, and the atmosphere was cozier than what he had expected. And so, he found the table that furthest away but had a good angle-view to keep an eye on the personnel and sat down. He scanned the place but there was no trace of the girl from the picture. He was pretending to read the menu so no one would come soon to take his order.                He was about to stand up and leave, having spent almost half an hour being a jerk and not ordering a thing, when a soft tornado rushed through the front door. He was left gawking at her for a moment and then quickly shook it off. She murmured an apology to her colleagues but they just smiled at her, as if they knew why she was late. He was able to distinct two words: application, problems. He cleared his throat and not a moment later, there she was.            “Hello! What can I get you?” she politely asked him, ready to take his order, not exactly looking at him. Whatever she was previously doing, affected her still. He was caught by surprise, because he actually never looked at the menu.                    “An americano and um, what do you suggest?” he had to act normal, he thought again. Maybe channel his inner long-lost self. She finally looked at him, with a questioning smile on her face. The picture they had was old and did not do her any justice.                “Our sour lemon bars are amazing” she informed him after a second of brainstorming. Sour, huh? He noticed her body language – she truly didn’t know who he was. Then again, without his long hair and a visible metal arm, not many people could recognize him. He nodded in agreement and she left.                    She was in a pretty bad mood. The application she had sent to the university was still not accepted, her computer broke down, she was barely making it by and she was tired having had zero sleep the night before, tormented by nightmares. She handed the order to Jackie and sat down, behind the bar. While Jackie was preparing everything, she was making herself a cup of coffee.                    “He is cute” she heard – and so did he, thanks to his enhanced senses. He was not used to being called cute or anything like that. Maybe an older version of him was pretty good with women – this one, not so much. He wasn’t bad, unlike Steve, but … something wasn’t there anymore.           She looked at him, for a split second before gulping her coffee down.                  “Better you than me” she whispered. The other girl was shocked.            “What happened?” she asked her, a ton of concern laced her voice and that captured his attention.              “I don’t know what to do” she said, almost desperate. As his lemon bars were being transferred to a beautiful plate, Jackie asked the one-million-dollar question.          “What about that guy? Helmut?”. That was all Bucky needed to add her to his suspect list – well, to cross off everyone else but her, really.            “Hasn’t delivered and I am running out of time” she murmured in fear of being heard. She was right to be afraid of that, he did eavesdrop. Bucky hoped that she would be the one to bring his coffee but unfortunately, another waiter came.                    For the better part of an hour, he tried to catch anything of importance, having already informed Sam. But there was nothing. She just did her job. Deciding that it was better to leave in order not to attract any kind of unwanted attention, he left the money on the table and walked out of the place, faster than he would have liked.            Who was she?        

           It had been pretty hard for her, lately. That roughly translated into more than ten years. She was used to being treated badly by life but she was standing right on the edge and she had nothing to grab onto to stop her fall. As long as she could remember, she was alone. The first person she had met was a grim old lady, telling her to stop crying otherwise the Sinnerman was going to eat her. Once she was at an age, she could understand what was happening, she was made aware she had no family – that wanted her, anyway – and that was why she had ended up there. It more of a torture-place than an orphanage.                    By the age of fifteen, she had achieved an early high school graduation, and her caretakers saw that she didn’t have the potentials to become the next prodigy, no matter the hard work. Being fifteen and on the streets was something she wished on nobody. She was smart, though – she got a job and soon was able to afford her own place. It was small but it was all she needed. A roof over her head, a bed and a shower.              Lately, things were just not easy. She hadn’t been paid for at least four months and she had no cushion of money to fall onto. Her landlord would kick her out any minute now, and she had no backup plan. Her study application hadn’t panned out yet and when a stranger reached her, promising her a ton of cash and a name, she didn’t think twice.            When she agreed to hack into a couple of databases, she had no idea who that person was. Only that he knew her parents and was willing to pay. That was all she needed, really. Little did she know, she was helping a criminal to get out of a life-long sentence. She tried to back away, but a single threat was more than enough to persuade her. She wasn’t used to knives being that close to her neck.            She had done her part, even though she regretted it, but he had still to deliver and she had no other option. She would stay awake, thinking why her? Out of all the hackers in the world, why her?            “Don’t worry! They’ll choose you, they would be stupid not to” Jackie told her, as she was ready to leave. She laughed at that.              “I am not gonna pay them, I am the one asking them for a fund. They would be stupid if they did choose me!” she explained again, waving her goodbye. She was closing up the place today. She didn’t mind. The later she got back to her place, the smaller the chances to meet her landlord. She liked working alone, being alone. That was why she had it easier than the other girls back in the day.  They struggled keeping up with the classes, the training, the killing. She did her job, and got on with her life. Well, at least until she was kicked out.                Placing the last cups back on their self, she heard the door opening and closing – footsteps were approaching her.                “I’m sorry, we’re closed” she chimed, as she turned around. That guy again. Yeah, alright, he was cute but her mind was warning her. He smiled – but it was forced and she saw it. Something wasn’t right.                  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see any sign” he said and it was true, she hadn’t put on the closed sign. He knew that she knew – but instead of making a run for it, she played along. Sam was waiting outside, car ready.            “Oh, yeah, that’s my bad” she calmly informed him, letting her towel down and picking up the sing to hang, moving slowly through the space. He recognized her moves but it couldn’t be. Her moves were familiar but not fully known. He was closing in. After a rather long eye-contact, she threw the metal sign at him, aiming his exposed neck, almost cutting him. She was strong.              All it took was two steps and they were engaged in a full-blown combat. He threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but she slipped to the side, pushed his elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Not even a second later, Bucky threw her off of him and was on his feet, watching her rush toward him in slow motion. He reached under his shirt even as he pushed past the tables. She did not try to stop the gun; she rolled his hand under his wrist, drove his arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. She had the gun before he slammed into the floor, and was pointing it at him.              She wasn’t afraid to use it, and he was almost scared by the look on her face. He had seen that look before. He tackled her, grabbed her wrist with his right hand and held the gun hand against her chest, while he placed his left arm tightly around her neck. She headbutted him but neither flinched.              Before she could do anything, Sam placed a cloth on her mouth and nose and knocked her out.              “Took you long enough” he mused at an annoyed Bucky. He rolled his eyes at him, still very much confused as to why she knew those moves.                “I think she was trained for the Black Widow program” he let on, as he picked her up while Sam made everything to look as if nothing had happened. He even closed up the place.                    Bucky placed her on the backseat of the car. She wasn’t a Black Widow, yet her fighting style…                    “Who is she?” Sam asked as they were driving away. 

#marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes imagine #Steve Rogers #sam wilson imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #avengers imagine #the avengers #captain america #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine

[bearballing]

i still think that discord's image spoiler thing would be great for uploading nsfw stuff on social media. the preview is heavily blurred and you have to actively click on it to see the actual image. so nobody would have to see stuff they don't want to see and if anyone complains then it's on them because they made the choice to open it. it'd work for stuff containing potentially triggering material too.

xkit's tag blocking system is similar. like it shows you there is a post tagged as whatever and it gives you the option to show anyway if you actually click it. really need something like this built into all social media.

[manonamora-if-reviews]

Barcarolle in Yellow by Víctor Ojuel

============= Links

Play the game See other reviews of the game

============= Synopsis

Barcarolle in Yellow (1975, released in Italy as "Barcarolla in Giallo"), starring Eva Chantry. This lurid but stylish Italian thriller is set in Venice during the filming of an eponymous exploitation film, with the lead actress credited as "playing herself". In the day it was critically panned by highbrow critics as "yet another entertainment for those who relish scantily clad ladies being murdered in grisly ways, trippy camerawork and nonsensical plot twists" and relegated to the relative obscurity of other "video nasties". In the ensuing decades, this giallo has attained cult status, fondly remembered for its bold photography, ambiguous subtext, and of course the tragic circumstances that surrounded the production. Rumours abound about alternative endings that were cut from the theatre version, either by the Italian censors or the American distributor, with bootleg Betamax copies commanding high prices online.

============= Other Info

Barcarolle in Yellow is an Inform 7 parser, submitted to the 2023 Edition of the IFComp. It ranked 55th overall.

Status: Completed Genre: Giallo

CW: Murder, blood, sex, nudity, terrible acting

============= Playthrough

Played: 15-Dec-2023 Playtime: around 1h-ish (with walkthrough) Rating: 2/5 Thoughts: Missed the mark with loads of potential

============= Review

Barcarolle in Yellow is a meta parser, working as an interactive movie script for a pulpy giallo, blurring the lines between reality and movie scenes. You play as B-list probably-washed-out actress Eva Chantry as she gets the call to star in the eponymous movie. With a twist-on-twist-on-twist, the game includes multiple endings (found A, I know of at least 6), in-game hints, and a walkthrough for one ending (A).

Spoilers ahead. It is recommended to play the game first. The review is based on my understanding/reading of the story.

This game got me a bit conflicted.

The premise is enticing, the poster is so eye-catching, and the starting scene? an incredible way of hooking players. So darn unique! With the formatting the game introduction and credits, the game seem to play heavily on movie codes. With its whole fake-cult movie vibe, it reminded me a bit of the Goncharov meme. I was really intrigued with what the game had to offer, what meta commentary it might be making about the genre, or how to approach the scene/real-life aspect.

Then I started the game... and the problems started. During the first proper playable scene, a Spaghetti Western filmed in Spain, events ended up repeating itself when I took off my costume after the shoot ended, with the director screaming CUT again, belittling Eva for screwing with filming. The following scene is timed, with any wrong move, any missing action, leading you to your early death. I died and restarted the game so many times because of that ONE scene needed a very specific sequence of actions to ward off your stalker. The timing is so tight it barely takes into account failing or asking for hints.

The rest of the game feels pretty railroady, with us/Eva getting few opportunities to have agency. This makes sense, considering she is an actress playing the role given to her, following the directions told. You have some options of choices here and there, which influences the story, but not much more. There is only one path you can take, or you'd lose the game, essentially.

But the game is not always clear about which actions are the wanted ones. It does provide hints, which are formatted like snippets of a movie script, telling the player a general idea of what they should do next (this was so smart!). Sometimes, the necessary (and unusual) action is not included in the hint... making things complicated. This maybe the most obvious in that first times scene. I had to look the walkthrough up to avoid (finally) dying right at the start. It really takes you out of the immersion the game so craft-fully created in the prior moments. It happens again when shooting the scene on the bridge. The undercluing really messes with playing.

After trying and failing to get through the game... I just opened the walkthrough and followed it to the letter... or tried to. Your hotel in Venice changes name with every playthrough (that was neat), but only one is included there (so I died... again and again, until I realised what was wrong). I would have been nice if the walkthrough included all possible paths instead of just that one ending... I'm sure someone will end up publishing a comprehensive walkthrough at some point...

The writing goes all-in in the giallo genre, with the depiction of Eva as this seductress woman in her hotel room - the character being overtly sexualised, but also wink-wink hihihi - as well as being the subject of quite a large amount of violence... and not being able to do much about it on or off screen. It's not really pleasant to go through, honestly, and I am not sure what the point of the game was concerning this. Was it discussing how movies with shitty budgets have bad production periods where accidents happen but everyone have to deal with it? Is this a commentary on standards in the entertainment industry for actresses, especially in terms of being replaceable when their attractiveness fade? Or about the psychology being having no agency through the frame of an "adventure" game? Is there even a message in all this? Do you need to find all the endings to get the overall picture? (I hope not...)

This game had ticked all the checkboxes for being incredible, but its potential just fell flat with the muddled and sometimes buggy implementation. It has a good solid back bone, and some neat things (the script formatting and custom messages), but it still needs quite a bit of tweaking to make it the cult movie/game it is hoping to be.

Final note: spam Z at the end of the game for bonus features.

#Barcarolle in Yellow #Víctor Ojuel #interactive fiction #complete #2023 #review #ifcomp #inform 7 #parser

[orhelponefaintingrobin]

The Irredeemable Witch

Back in my first RWBY theory/analysis a few months ago, I mentioned that one of my theories as to how the fight against Salem will end is that she’ll end up being, in some way, redeemed. I want to expand on that here, because I’ve been thinking about it again recently.

(Some minor V8 spoilers here, so I’m putting it under a cut again)

One thing that RWBY, in my opinion, has been playing a lot with, especially since Volume 4, is the idea of who is good and who is not. In the first few volumes, the heroes and villains were pretty cut and dry. The closest to ambiguity we got was, like, Ironwood always seemed like a bit of a macho military man, but even then it’s only in hindsight that you can see the seeds of what he’s ended up becoming. Emerald and Mercury, despite RWBY and JNPR thinking they were friends, were introduced literally murdering a guy, Cinder and Torchwick and Adam were always obviously evil. Everyone else was pretty obviously on the side of good; even though you had your arseholes like Cardin, they were still broadly working on the same side as our heroes, when push came to shove. The White Fang were pretty inarguably terrible, just a bunch of terrorists. But, since V4, those lines have blurred an awful lot.

The White Fang are a great example; the show started becoming increasingly sympathetic to at least some of them; in the first few volumes, we got Adam and the guy with the chainsaw, in V4/5, we got Ilia. Even further than that, it turns out Adam’s group was a bit of a splinter group, going too far even by the rest of the organisation’s standards. Certainly when you see how Ghira spoke about Sierra, while he obviously disagrees with her, he doesn’t seem to think she’s a monster, and she certainly didn’t approve of Adam’s actions. And now, presumably back under Ghira’s leadership, the Fang, or at least its replacement, is likely going to be more of a force for good, likely coming to help in Atlas.

Past that, we’ve had more good guys turning bad; Lionheart working with Salem, and Ironwood’s, well… everything. Winter and the Ace-Ops are blurring that line; they say they think they’re doing good, but very clearly they don’t believe that deep down despite following their orders anyway. And we’re seeing people initially antagonistic proving not to be as much. The Happy Huntresses are shown in opposition to RWBY et al, but they’re now on the same side. Emerald and Hazel are turning on Salem. And even the more obvious villains, some of them are getting some depth; it’s definitely getting harder to see Cinder as pure evil knowing what’s brought her to this point.

This show is blurring these lines all the time, and I think the message is clear; people aren’t good or evil, people are people, and they make choices, and those choices can do a lot of good, or a huge amount of harm, but people are able to evolve and move past those choices. Again, Emerald is introduced as part of an actual murder. You can debate whether or not she physically was the one who killed him, but she was there, and she didn’t exactly seem shaken by it; they’d clearly done that before, and they seemed fine with that. But now she’s realising there are other options, and in making that decision, seems to have been quickly accepted as an ally by JNR and Oscar. She’s more than those past actions.

And thinking about that, I quickly came back to Salem. See, I rewatched Volumes 1-7 before V8 started last year, and getting to Salem’s backstory in V6, I noticed something specific about that episode that got me thinking. Ozma’s question to Jinn was “how do I destroy Salem?”. Not even ‘how do I stop’, but ‘destroy’. I had some thoughts about that at the time, but it wasn’t until this episode that those pieces started to fall into place again, in a more solid way.

When I started thinking about this today, I realised that the real turning point for Salem was Ozma taking the children and leaving, and, more importantly, it’s significance from his point of view; he gave up on her. Ozma was obviously right that Salem was going too far, that what she was doing was wrong, but he decided that she couldn’t change, that she was beyond saving. And he seems to have retained that belief through all his lives since.

And it got me thinking, made me realise that, despite seeing all these character arcs, all these stories showing that people are not inherently good or evil, that people are able to make different decisions and change, is that it’s very easy to exclude Salem from that. It’s very easy to see Salem as uniquely evil, uniquely irredeemable, but… Is she? 

I mean, I don’t think the Brothers thought so; their punishment to her wasn’t just ‘you don’t get to die’, it was ‘you live until you learn the importance of life and death’. That isn’t just a punishment, it’s a test (they seem to like those…). And it’s not like we don’t see any light slip through; she was certainly not great when her and Ozma were pretending to be gods, she was doing bad things, but she certainly seemed to have genuine affection for Ozma and their children. If she’d embraced that, instead of fixating on control, her and Ozma probably could have been genuinely happy. The truth is, I don’t think Salem has ever been pure evil, any more than anyone else in this show is.

But no one’s considered that. Even Ozma, the person who should know her better than anyone on Remnant, could only see an end by destroying her, and if he can’t do that, then just delaying the inevitable as long as possible. But, if we can accept that RWBY is showing us that the line between good and evil is in a person’s decisions, if people like Emerald, Hazel, even, potentially down the line, Cinder, can make decisions and choose to change, why can’t Salem?

This is, right now, my primary theory as to how the fight against Salem will end. Someone, presumably Ruby and probably with some input from Oscar/Ozma too, will manage to get Salem to realise what the Brothers wanted to teach her; the importance of life and death, and, more broadly, to realise that she was wrong. Ozma, all those years ago, before even he started to lose faith, was right, humanity was capable of creating something great, and its continued existence is worthwhile. 

And, like, Salem’s motivation for wanting to destroy everything does really seem to be that she just wants to die, so if the only way she can die is by learning that lesson, then presumably she’s got to learn that lesson at some point.

As for what happens after that? I mean, that COULD just be how the show ends, in however many volumes it takes to get to that point. I’ve also seen it suggested that the show could end with some rebellion against the Brothers, in which case I think Salem joining the good guys for that fight would make a lot of sense; they’d need some firepower in that fight, and Salem’s got a lot of it; maybe fighting alongside Oscar, and the maidens, the reincarnations of their whole family.

I obviously don’t have all the details worked out, but the core of what I’m saying is this; I don’t think Salem is at all irredeemable, and especially in a show about breaking cycles and the newer generation making better decisions than the old, Ruby and her friends showing Salem a path back to the light, rather than seeking to destroy her like those that came before, seems like exactly the sort of ending that would make sense for this story.

#RWBY Meta #RWBY #RWBY Spoilers #RWBY Salem #I swear I'm not a RWBY blog now I've just been thinking of loads after this episode