I will not tag spoilers, be warned.

I somehow hit the jackpot and grew up being raised by a mother who was actually good and liked me (while she was poor and disabled nonetheless! Big Fascism is always saying poor and disabled single mothers who aren't evil can't exist, get #owned lol), and that actually made me extremely anti-adult from a very young age. every single friend I ever made from ages seven to nineteen would constantly tell me crazy stories about what regularly went down in the penal institutions that passed for their homes, and that was all considered normal and fine and the gold standard for what nice suburban families were meant to be, meanwhile if I said something like "my mum lets me read any book I want and all movies and tv are allowed as long as we watch them together" then I'd get un-invited from every birthday party because I was deemed a corrupting influence (which, to be fair, I was, because I would spend a lot of time convincing my friends that if their parents' rules sucked and were unfair then it was okay to lie to get around them). and whaddya know I'm twenty-four and still get on really well with my mother and talk to her as much as I can and this is the case for literally no one else I know.

can I just say that we all owe Kojima an apology for Metal Gear Solid 2? He looked right into the camera and said “the future of information control will not be censorship, it will be drowning people in trivial noise and misinformation until people partition themselves into their own separate realities” in TWO THOUSAND AND ONE. Three years before Facebook existed. Kojima gave us the biggest Babe-Ruth-pointing-at-the-sky called shot of all time and we weren’t ready for it.

Raiden is a diegetic video game character who is an anxious millennial being told to replicate the past while living in different circumstances who is a parallel between the player obediently accepting the limitations of the game and a soldier taking orders. And he gets sexually harassed by the president of the United States of America.

forced love confessions are whatever but forced hate confessions make me foam and froth at the mouth. show me someone visibly tormented by their own catharsis, wracked with the shame of losing a fight with themself. show me someone who leans in and twists the hand clutching the knife buried to the hilt inside them. cross the wires of desire and disgust with me.