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micamicster · 2 months

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Super Rich Kids

Close my eyes and feel the crash...

I wrote this one on post-its on a trans-continental flight after my phone (where i was re-reading the raven cycle) died. 0/10 plane experience would not recommend but I did manage to entertain myself! And now hopefully you as well!

When Ronan pulled into Monmouth Manufacturing he knew Gansey wouldn’t be there. Adam Parrish was, though, sitting on the steps in the golden afternoon light, bike dumped to the side in dying grass. He didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid when Ronan bootlegged the BMW into an approximation of parking on the far side of the lot, which was fine because that’s how he would have parked the car anyway, whether or not Adam was here.

Ronan was pretty sure that Gansey had arranged a shift system with the other boys, to prevent Ronan from being unaccompanied on the rare occasions of his own absence. The idea of a babysitter should have rankled Ronan, but Adam did not seem particularly invested in his role. Small favors.

As he got out of the car he gave Adam his customary once-over, as brief as it was habitual. You could notice a lot in a single glance, if you were Ronan, glancing at Adam.

Adam was wearing long sleeves (his father? Or just because it was October?) and his faded camo pants, the ones Ronan said made him look like a jingoistic meathead. They had recently acquired a tear in one knee. Not in the stylish, deliberate manner in which Ronan’s own jeans were shredded, but awkwardly, in an L-shape, where they had caught on some jagged edge and given way before even careful Adam had noticed and unhooked himself. The tear gaped open at times, like it was doing now, revealing Adam’s knobby left knee and, worse, a triangle of his brown thigh.

Ronan looked away.

Ronan never allowed himself, even in dreams, to trespass beyond the carefully demarcated boundaries of Adam’s clothes. And Adam was usually helpful in the maintenance of this boundary. Unlike Gansey, who could be found working on his model Henrietta in boxers at all hours of the night, or wandering to and from the shower in a towel, absent-mindedly forgetting his clothes in bathroom or bedroom. Unlike the boys Ronan played tennis with, who stripped down casually in the locker room after practice. Unlike even Ronan himself, who’d never met a shirt he couldn’t rip the sleeves off; Adam was always fully covered.

This summer, foolishly, Ronan had imagined that this might change. Now that the hideous secrets Adam protected with his long sleeves were no longer his alone. But by now he knew what kept those sleeves in place, something that Adam had already understood: that knowing and seeing are two very different things.

For example: this. Ronan knew that Adam, like most people who walked around on earth under their own power, possessed thighs. Two of them, attached in the normal way to other body parts, such as knees and hips. To know this was one thing.

Now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The way his knee bent, and the muscle above shifted as Adam made room on the steps for him. Ronan was looking away, out at the familiar, grounding, skid marks on the concrete of Monmouth’s lot, but he could picture in their place with deadly accuracy the hinge of Adam’s knee, the tanned skin of his thigh, scattered with golden-brown hair. He could dream about pressing his face against it.

He picked up a rock and hurled it. It glanced off the side of the soulless suburban and fell anticlimactically into the grass dying by the rear tire. It didn’t help.

Adam shifted next to him, subtly.

“What?” said Ronan. “Impressed?”

“Surprised, more like. I thought you were supposed to be the tennis star.”

“You think you can do better?” Ronan pried another hunk of gravel or concrete out of the dirt and tossed it in his left hand, tauntingly.

“I know I can.”

“But?”

“But,” said Adam, with some hint of exasperation coloring his voice, “I’m not going to sit here chunking rocks at Gansey’s car to prove it. My ego’s not that fragile.” His accent slipped out on chunkin’, not as if Ronan had pissed him off enough to forget to hide it, but as if it was a word he’d never used any other way.

Ronan threw his rock again. This was, if anything, a worse throw than before, and it skittered harmlessly across the suburban’s roof.

Adam made a small but contemptuous noise.

“Don’t give me that shit, man. You know he hates this fucking car.”

“That was for your shitty aim.”

“Come on then.” Ronan hefted another piece of gravel. “Ten points if you knock out his taillight.”

“It costs a hundred and five dollars to replace a taillight on that make and model. Plus tax.”

Ronan’s brief cheer was collapsing again. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to bust Dick’s lights.”

Adam blinked slowly, his dusty eyelashes obscuring the contempt in his eyes for a brief moment. “I’ll leave.” (He wouldn’t).

Ronan dropped the rock. Next to him Adam sighed. Abruptly, he put out his hand. “Telephone pole. Six feet from the top.”

Ronan swept back up the rock and dropped it into his hand. Their fingers did not touch. His heart thudded.

Adam tossed the rock once, testing its weight while his gaze, cool and assessing, remained on the telephone pole. It was a splintered, tilting thing, shamed by his attentions. In one smooth, economical movement, he rose to his feet and let the rock fly. His leg went forward, knee jutting out of his clothes, his back curved, and his arm swept around in an arc, fingers scraping at the blue October sky. Ronan didn’t need to turn his head to know if the rock hit—he could see it in the brief hard satisfaction on Adam’s face.

Adam turned back to him, one eyebrow cocked.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to earn that hundred,”

Adam shrugged. The gesture was disinterested, but there was a quirk to his mouth that contradicted it. “I know nothing blew up, but…”

Ronan already had another rock in his hand. “West corner lightbulb. It breaks or it doesn’t count.” Adam rolled his eyes, but turned agreeably to watch Ronan miss.

“Would you like to get your tennis racket?”

“Eat me,” said Ronan. (Maybe).

They traded shots back and forth for a while, calling increasingly specific and complex plays.

“Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Get the government to pay for some glasses, Parrish, and then come back and try to tell me that wasn’t a fucking bullseye—”

“It wasn’t even close! You—”

“You calling me a liar?” Ronan loomed, and Adam, as usual, was unimpressed.

“Just because you don’t lie doesn’t make you right all the time! Like when you said that quote on Tuesday was Seneca. It doesn’t stop being Martial just because you’ve got a child’s sense of morality—”

“See, right there.” Ronan pointed triumphantly at an invisible scuff mark on the doorsill, marking where his handful of gravel had made impact.

Adam gave it a skeptical glance. His face was faintly flushed from exertion in the cold air, but his eyes were as cool and considering as ever. “What we need,” he said, “is a knife.”

Ronan was not allowed knives.

“Are you trying to stab each other in the feet? Why are your shoes off! It’s October!”

“Equal playing field.” Ronan wiggled his toes against the cold asphalt. “Parrish’s shitty knife is no match for my boots.” Over Gansey’s head, Ronan tried to catch Adam’s eye, to share a ‘can you believe him’ sort of look. Adam’s embarrassment over being caught acting irresponsibly meant Ronan could expect the look to be rebuffed, but he couldn’t help himself from trying it anyway.

Adam was bent over, eyes hidden. He carefully dusted off his socked feet one at a time before sliding them back into his shoes, as though the socks or sneakers could look any worse. A little parking lot crud might improve their appearance, actually.

Next to him, Gansey was still fussing. Without the pressure release valve of eye contact with someone who knew Gansey was overreacting, Ronan snapped, “Come off it, man, I’m not going to slit my throat while Parrish watches. He can’t afford that caliber of snuff film.”

Gansey’s concern transformed into revulsion, but underneath it he looked hurt, which was far far worse.

Adam straightened up. “We were just using it to mark where we hit. Honestly, we could have done it tossing a sharpie, but neither of us had one.” He sounded conciliatory, which pissed Ronan off. But Gansey was letting it go, returning the knife to Adam with an apologetic smile. Sorry for the fuss. Sorry for Ronan. Ronan’s bare feet were cold against the asphalt.

“Well? Are you going to throw or not, Parrish?” he said belligerently.

Adam rolled his eyes, but obligingly stooped for gravel and let one fly at Ronan’s open bedroom window, a shot he made easily.

Gansey whistled. “You’ve got quite the arm on you. How come you’re not on the Algionby baseball team?”

Adam shifted his feet, awkwardly.

“Please,” scoffed Ronan, “he’s not a team player.”

Gansey did not let it go. “Bet you’d have a better fastball than both our pitchers.”

There was a pause, during which Adam’s face clearly showed all of the thoughts he was trying to corral into a polite response to Gansey’s unconsidered enthusiasm. Ronan got there first. “Yeah, Parrish, why not hitch your wagon to the star of organized sports, like every other rags to riches wannabe?”

“Ronan!” said Gansey, Ronan’s offensiveness registering where his own had not.

“Hitch my wagon to a star?” Adam was unruffled. “I thought quoting Transcendentalists could get you excommunicated.”

“Who said I know it’s Emerson. It’s a sourceless idiom to those of us who aren’t sad little nerds.”

Adam smirked. The smirk said, I never said Emerson. His words said, “Gansey’s damning me with faint praise. No one’s going pro out of an Algionby sport team. Even tennis.”

“Ouch,” said Ronan, cheerfully. “Hit me where it really hurts. My school pride.”

Now that Gansey had arrived, his plans for the day took precedence over noble pastimes such as flipping pocketknives at each other’s feet. His plans involved comparing readings from various instruments and then placing said various instruments in various new locations, all of which were equally arbitrary (to Ronan’s eyes) and inaccessible. Gansey’s plans involved him waiting by the car to monitor the readings while people hiked with antennae to the outermost reaches of the signal. People, in this instance, being Ronan and Adam, Noah having mysteriously and silently fucked off, as he so often did when a job required carrying anything.

Ronan put his head down and trudged. It was brambly here, and slightly damp, and he was beginning to work up the kind of counter-intuitive sweat that appears from working in the cold, the kind that makes you colder later.

As the person leading the hike, custom would dictate that he should catch and hold the long clinging arms of the brambles for the following hiker. This presented a dilemma. Ronan compromised, and set about stomping the multiflora into the ground as he walked. Scarlet hips burst under his feet, invasive and beautiful, spreading their millions of seeds across the damp earth. Noxious weeds.

“It’s too unreliable,” said Adam, into the silence. “Sports. It all depends on… your physical condition.”

“And your condition is shit.”

There was Adam’s ironic smile. “Yes. So.” He shrugged. There was the part they weren’t saying, which was that his physical condition could always get worse. Unexpectedly.

“My dad hates baseball.” Ronan heard himself make the slip—hates and not hated—and a spark of fury burned through him, brief and inconsequential.

“My dad loves it.”

They marched on in silence.

Adam swore as a bramble Ronan had beaten down sprang up again, catching him right across the tear, where his skin was exposed. He bent to unhook it from the camo with deft, deliberate hands. “What?” he said, like he could feel Ronan’s eyes.

Ronan looked away. “Why not the military?” He kicked purposelessly at the bramble and heard Adam sigh. “And don’t tell me you never thought about it. Test scores like yours out in hicksville high school, you must have had recruiters hopping all over you like fleas.”

“Would you believe I had a moral objection?” Adam’s smile was self-deprecating. Ronan studied it.

“No.”

Adam shrugged. It, too, was self-deprecating.

“I think you had a superiority objection. You think you’re too smart for that shit.”

Adam blinked at him. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Ronan snorted. “Hell no. You can do better than getting blown up in a desert for the United States government.”

The smile, when it came, was small and stunning. “Damned by faint praise again.”

#lmao with this and the country playlists this blog has been on a real raven boys kick the last few days #anyway... enjoy?#i need to make a tag for my writing like... generally but until then #super rich kids #this really isn't about anything and had nothing else attached to it #it was just a random scene that stood alone so like...#probably the best thing for me to start out this 'posting unfinished stuff' project #i feel like gansey does not appear at his best in this fic but that's not a reflection of how much i love him!#he's trying his best to keep this family together! and the other 15 year olds are no help at all!#ronan lynch #adam parrish #the raven cycle #pynch #tw suicide mention

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duskerot · 2 months

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i disappear inside myself / my friends don't know it can't be helped

[Pure You - Nothing But Thieves]

#my art #mysme #mystic messenger #v mystic messenger #jihyun kim #ummmm hi guys #^-^#fanart from me?? posted directly to this blog ??? or at all??? Well.#i was looping this song and i had the idea for this and then sat down for about four hours and here it is #im on like day 2 of v's route for the first time AND this song just came out like right as i got into his route yknow #and i was listening to those lyrics like.... huh.....#this soundssss. familiar.#anyway. politely i did NOT think that if i made fanart of this game after returning to it for the first time in like 6 years. it would be V #i adore this song though. and it compels me #i havent ever seen his route before so i still don't know how it ends idk how accurate this vibe even is #i would say try to avoid spoiling me in the tags but im gonna be real say whatever you want kings #i love u mysme fandom thats still around in 2024 you get me #anyway im drafting this at about 3 in the morning and i need to be awake earlyish tomorrow SO.#we'll see when i post this #its been so long since ive posted art i just do nawt make fanart until i get divinely inspired #iffff its blurry please click to see it its supposed to be crisp ^^;#been on this site how long i still pay no mind to their suggested image resolution #OH and by day 2 of V's route i mean like day 6 overall. you understand

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transboysokka · 9 months

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Zuko def started realizing how his dad and the Fire Nation fucked him up towards the end of the war, but I love to imagine that he had TIME to process/deal with it away from the FN before he had to go and be Fire Lord

Like there’s the abuse angle OF COURSE which takes time to recover from

But it’s also during that time that he also starts to realize just how… brainwashed he and the other FN citizens were and that is an Awful Realization to have because it makes him feel so used and there is an entire aspect of his identity that he has to rebuild/rediscover.

He doesn’t even understand his reactions at first, but for a while he’s so ashamed to even be considered Fire, and he has a LOT of animosity towards his whole nation. He panics when he sees the colors or the symbols because, justifiable or not, he just feels like such a victim and that’s so embarrassing and he wishes he could just stop it all…

It’s at this point Iroh realizes he needs to Step Up and take the throne— at least for now— so Zuko can just Be A Kid and deal with his trauma. Zuko and Sokka get a place in Ba Sing Se and slowly… slowly… Zuko is able to come to terms with what happened to him and with his identity.

And it’s the fact that he knows the pain and the recovery and everything in between, and his love for his people, that has him crowned Fire Lord 10 years after the war is over, ready to lead his people into a new era.

#ALSO it’s the fact that he is trans and that the FN had him HATING himself for it that really makes the brainwashing and trauma #that much more real #okay at this point I’m KIND OF projecting like there are huge parallels between this and my newfound existence as an ex-evangelical #like I was IN IT y’all and now the trauma is JUST starting to come to the surface…#atla #Zuko #trans zuko #zukka #idk I hate tagging stuff to like show up in a tag but I need it for my own blog organization u know #greatest hits #100

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discworld-heritage-posts · 4 months

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What do you think you add? Do you think you make a poignant post better when after scrolling down through it we see someone saying it's "official"?

I'm choosing to interpret this ask as a genuine question (albeit one that's been worded a bit rudely) instead of a hate anon, because I wouldn't want to tarnish people's dashboards with hate anons.

Now, to answer your genuine question... The "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline I add to the end of posts has as much validity as I have authority to bestow it: none. Do I think my tagline makes posts better? Of course not! And I certainly don't think I make them official, (and neither my url or my pinned post claim that I do so).

I don't know what reasons other people had to start their own Heritage Posts blogs for other fandoms, but I will gladly tell you mine: I got into Discworld. I discovered the Discworld fandom in Tumblr. And, one day, while scrolling down some Discworld related tags, the idea just popped into my head. After checking that there wasn't a Discworld Heritage Posts blog already, I decided to make one.

I personally follow a few Heritage Posts blogs, and my reason to do so is probably the same as to why many people follow this blog: I wanted to see that kind of content. Tracking tags and being up to date on the most popular posts of a fandom is doable, but doing so for the dozens upon dozens of media I'm into is impossible, so I like to follow some Heritage Posts blogs to get some of those posts directly into my dashboard (it's also worth mentioning that sometimes, some iconic posts are made when people comment stuff on them, and those don't appear in the search tags, so following blogs that post about a certain fandom is the best way to come across some of those collaborative posts, because otherwise you'd rarely get to see them). So yes, I created a blog that, had it already existed, I would have liked to follow. Also, while other blogs with this gimmick usually limit themselves to reblogging, let's call them the "greatest hits", I've said since the beginning that I didn't care about how many notes something had. Be it cool art or a funny or insightful post, if I like it, I send it to my drafts.

However, none of those reasons are the main reason why I made this blog. The main reason is that I did it for myself. After exhausting all the content that showed up in the Popular Posts tab, I couldn't help but think of all the gold and treasure that wasn't there, buried and hidden due to the way Tumblr's search engine works. If you're familiar with the Discworld concept of "lies-to-children", that's what the "top posts of all time" is in Tumblr. A 20k post from 2016 will not be there, but a six month old post with 400 notes will show up. Surely there had been amazing Discworld posts and art posted in 2015 and 2013, but I wasn't going to find most of them unless I expressly went looking for them. And this blog was the perfect excuse to do so. As of replying to this ask, there's nearly 600 posts sitting in my drafts, and if I didn't have this blog I would have never discovered 90% of them. And those are the ones I've seen. I still have dozens of places I haven't searched.

I know that if I reblog a month old post with over 2k notes, a lot of people in the fandom will have already seen it. However, a 2k notes post from 2014, or a drawing with 40 notes from 2012 is something that is less likely to have hit people's dashes recently, or at all. When you come across the "Discworld Heritage Post" tagline in a post, please don't picture me as an uppity monarch performing the Tumblr equivalent of a knighting ceremony, or a stuffy museum curator deigning a piece worthy of being included in an exhibition. Picture me as a kid enthusiastically jumping and flailing my arms around while yelling "holy shit guys check out what I just found!!", because that's how I feel running this blog.

Ultimately, whether one of my posts does better or worse is indifferent to me, because they aren't my posts, or memes, or drawings. I'm just the intermediary. That being said, of course it's not indifferent to me, because more engagement means that was a post many people hadn't seen before, or had forgotten about, and one of my goals was to run a blog that would allow people to find those hidden or long forgotten gems.

When all is said and done, Heritage Post blogs are just another one of Tumblr's gimmicks. If we're not your cup of tea, you're free to ignore or block us. If you want to reblog something and don't want the tagline, you can reblog it directly from OP (or from another reblog if OP has deactivated their account).

#long post #THAT BEING SAID #I've seen people being very exited about something they made showing up in this blog and calling it an honor and stuff like that #and to those people I say: I see you and your lovely tags and my heart warms when I read them #i might not have any real authority besides a self imposed gimmick in a nearly defunct social media platform #but if seeing your stuff here makes you happy and proud those feelings are valid and I want you to treasure them #a lot of things only have the meaning we ascribe to them and my tagline might not hold any official meaning #but it does mean something VERY IMPORTANT:#that I saw your post and I loved it and I reblogged it to make sure other people could also find it and love it #I need to come up with a tag for asks don't I? ok how about #asked and answered #dhp's asks #discworld

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gobstoppr · 2 months

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UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE

NEW NAME

transmaskmetaknight -> GOBSTOPPR

wanted a change of pace. the word gobstopper has been bouncing around in my head lately

#text #transmaskmetaknight #need a new pfp... and my phones home screen i wanna change it too.. n maybe redecorate the blog while im at it...#ive been tired and angry lately. its my hater arc etc etc #ugh idk. ive been trying to be more honest with my feelings #but that means my annoyance gets magnifyied like 10fold #ive been impatient about a lot of stuff that doesnt amuse me. ive hated the boop shit today bc the word is so. dumb. childish.#ugh i feel like one of those nerds with the minors dni in their fuckin bio at age 19 #but its how i feel!! im tired of settling for things i find not very satisfying. i want art that feels real. i want fandom to shut up.#i want to watch shows that are not Cartoons for Babies. i want to feel something Real.#i need to go Deeper. i have to chase this

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 8 months

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I'm surprised you haven't posted any Welcome home stuff recently! Honestly kinda makes me sad since I love your WH art and stuff

yea y'all are gonna have to be Patient w/ me bc

a) i have like. a week left to pack all of my stuff before i need to shove everything into a uhaul and leave, so its crunch time! leaving little to no energy/interest in anything else

b) to be honest my mental health is the worst its been in years - which is fine, its whatever, i can deal. it's not as bad as it could be and im handling it! like a champ, even! but also its leaving little to no energy/interest in anything else

c) had a minor crisis over my art and how i interact w/ WH, and i realized im not scribbling enough of what I want. ive mostly been trying to please people and do as asked and thats! not good! so i want to temper expectation & reassert that im Not a WH art blog - its just a hyperfixation / something i love rn. i draw what i enjoy & what i want in the moment.

#i picked up my tablet last night and all of my motivation died on the spot #so im just. eh whatever ill get back into the swing of things eventually #but yeah im spending my time packing & keeping myself afloat! not much room for other things at present!#rambles from the bog #but yeah i was starting to feel like a commodity of sorts?#like the majority of asks are just some form of 'can you draw this' 'draw this' 'id love it if youd draw this'#which is. fine. im an art blog! thats what i do!#but its also like hey. im just some guy doodling what they enjoy. im not a machine churning out content for consumption #& it gets to the point where there's so much expectation and obligation and 'demand'-#when do i ever sit down and truly indulge in what i want?#like the monster scribble i posted the other day! it made me so happy! i love monsters and Beasts!#when do i ever allow myself to draw them?#rarely bc i feel like people Expect puppets from me. and thats not a great feeling!#i love puppets i love wh and everything but i would like to enjoy it w/o pressure yk yk....#& for a second there i Was feeling the pressure and scribbling puppets was starting to feel like a chore #something i Needed to do to please people #so! im focusing on real life & taking a break from creation & keeping my mindset away from 'jump into traffic' thankyew <3 #theres just too much going on right now #in my head And outside of it.#so ill stick to packing & binging psych & i'll lovingly place everything else on the backburner

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whitmore · 7 months

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listen this may be a hot take that’s okay i’m fine with that i just feel that the @everyone main tag fandom vagueposts about sending admins hate and/or targeting ccs is . abyssal nonsense to post to tumblr. like you’re not wrong im not disagreeing with any of you— it just feels fruitless to post that on a website where none of us have direct contact with any admins or creators. if you see it in the main or side tags feel free to call it out, i think we should be doing that, but like the aimless vagueposting is not only reductive but directly adding to the negativity you’re trying to combat

#eleanor.txt #qsmp #i feel bad for even putting this in main tag but it’s like. at the same time i do want the tag to be a nice space #correct me if i’m wrong and there’s admins that are being targeted here but like. idk post ur post on twitter maybe #and this isn’t me trying to excuse qsmpblr we have issues of our own just. those aren’t our issues i don’t think #plus maybe my blocklist just works real well but i personally don’t see any excessive hate or negativity or anything #willing to be wrong on this one maybe we really need the callout or something idk. did we do something #this isn’t even discourse this is just blogging and it also feels like nobody knows the difference here. THATS one of our real issues

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six-of-cringe · 11 months

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Tumblr blog six-of-cringe take iceberg

#the top is stuff i dont shut up about. the bottom is for secret thoughts that have not seen the light of day #you dont even know about my soc moral ocd diagnoses. you dont even know the matthias autism #i barely even know the matthias autism the take is half buried in the sands of my vast mindscape #listen that straightforwardness can't ALL be cultural right? like. “you can't cry in a corner this room has no corners”#he's so fucking real #anyway i need to post about some of these more they need to come up a couple levels in the iceberg #hell i need to post about the top layer more. the spectral bfwp is a phantom that constantly haunts my blog and never appears #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #matthias helvar #nina zenik #six of crows #soc #six of crows memes #soc shitpost #soc headcanon #bfwp

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myrmica · 2 months

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i'm rewatching the second to last day of wormhole eclipse convo for the one millionth time because i need parts of it transcribed for my blog post and vitalasy straight up asking "Why do we play?" is killing me. you may as well turn towards the camera and stare directly at me. 2k words of this analysis are spent on definitions of play. stop that

(incoherent vitalazam ramble below the cut real stream of consciousness in here. i guess some of this might get rehashed in the thing i'm Supposed to be writing right now but it won't have the same sense of fervor due to the restraints of proper grammar. consider this a bonus...?)

i can't even articulate what i want to say here fucking. fuck my life. the way this conversation is a perfect capstone on eclipse's relationship. zam spends the entire thing acquiescing to whatever vitalasy tells him but not hearing any of it. because he's still mad but he can't express that, and Vitalasy is still mad (Cannot acknowledge zam's anger at him re: exploits without jumping to his own defense. and then he cuts himself off because he knows that's not helping . purely said that on reflex. it reads like a joke.) and vitalasy Still doesn't understand him at all, is still so intensely frustrated by him. and it's just manifesting as vitalasy digging the two of them into this pit while zam does nothing, doesn't fight back even though he reads it as vitalasy trying to kill him to which vitalasy says "i'm not trying to kill you!" even though moments later vitalasy will offer to ban zam, has been urging him to do it this whole time. because not only is killing zam in this moment made trivial and pointless by the exploits but even if it were possible and it could mean something it Wouldn't mean anything because it wouldn't change anything; banning is synonymous with leaving and despite how relentlessly zam toys with the idea he will never. ever. Ever. actually do it.

he's miserable but he can't put himself before the server the way vitalasy thinks would be best for him and for everyone else because as far as zam is concerned his health and the health of the server are one and the same. he's playing out the exploits and sticking with spoke because it's like, it's almost saying "if you won't see it through I will" to a vitalasy who has in his own words discarded first the exploits and then the server itself. BUT AGAIN: HE CAN'T EXPRESS THIS! HE APOLOGIZED TO VITALASY! it would be wrong to go back on that but the apology was as much of a lie as his relationship with vitalasy always was when they were on good terms.

i mean look at this you can literally watch him course correct over and over again as he remembers what vitalasy wants from him. it never ends. i want to squeeze him until he dies. it's exponentially easier to place the blame on himself but doing that has always just freaked vitalasy out he hates when zam does that so bad. it's the easy way out of dealing with a problem to punish yourself for it.

LIKE OKAY ... what does he want? does he want vi and subz to just fight him? would that be easier? that's always been the expected response that's the counter to the move zam has made on the board. i betray you; you attack me; differences are settled in combat. he talks about fighting at one point like winning and losing have ingrained moral qualities. if someone thinks you're wrong, and tries to stop you, and you beat them, it proves that you're right. but he tried to go against the exploits and vitalasy wouldn't fight him, vitalasy stepped out of bounds entirely and said "i'm not playing anymore, i don't like this game!" after fucking the game over for everybody else, and he never forgave that. and now, vitalasy hates what zam is doing but he's not trying to fight it, he's trying to force zam to do what he did, to stop playing by his own rules. to look outside of bounds. to consider a bigger picture. he is notoriously bad at that.

he likes mapicc so much because they speak the same language. you know how mapicc is able to temporarily settle their differences before the pangi duel and subsequent extremely obvious betrayal by handing a "win" to zam and it Works? it works really well? whatever. whatever

#vitalasy and zam are The characters ever i am being so for real when i say this. why? because they are intimately connected to all of the #ideas that rule my stupid baka life. im never getting out of here #m #lifesteal #'why do we play?' 'to suffer.' is so funny . i hate him #also half of this is just me rehashing the same shit i'm always saying which is why i need to FINISH MY BLOG POST. SO I CAN HAVE SAID IT #ONCE AND FOR ALL. AND MAYBE THEN I WILL STOP.#starting to feel like a guy with one trick. in my defense it's a good one

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