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Fiction is not reality.

You can enjoy things in fiction that would be awful in the real world. Like playing a murderhobo in a game! In the real world, being or supporting a murderer-thief would be pretty damn awful, while in the game it's just good fun. Same with anything else you choose to do with the pixels on the screen, like kinks that don't affect anyone real, so they're okay in fiction, but would be pretty damn bad in real life.

No one else is responsible for your online experience. They are required not to harass you, but they are not and never will be obligated to not post about ships, kinks, or tropes you dislike just to avoid you seeing them. It's up to you to blacklist words or phrases, block tags, or even block users as needed to avoid seeing content that upsets you.

No one can force you to read anything against your consent. Any content you don't like seeing can be instantly avoided by closing out of the offending post/fic.

You are not owed an online experience free of discomfort.

Nothing that happens in your imagination can ever make you a bad person. Words you write or read about fictional characters will never make you a bad person.

The claim that media consumption influences real-life behavior is intellectually dishonest and serves only to excuse the behavior of real offenders.

Fiction is a safe way to explore horrifying or confusing concepts. Therapists agree that fiction, even (or especially) about taboo topics is a good coping mechanism, especially, but not exclusively, for trauma survivors. Fiction is to adults what play therapy is to children. This doesn't stop being true if the work in question is of a sexual nature.

Sex isn't an inherently worse or better motivation than anything else. A work written to create feelings of arousal isn't dirty, shameful, or in any way less pure than works written to entertain, provoke moral questions, or for other reasons. And worth noting is that multiple purposes can exist in the same story, especially fanfiction.

Send tweet (jk, but I do wanna talk about it)

Please note that making these big analysis posts is not my strong suit, and while all this makes sense in my head, I'm not the greatest at putting everything I wanna say into words. Sorry in advanced if this gets a little messy but pls stick with me here!! 🫡

I wanna thank the amazing @burrythebusy for yapping with me about how gay Kagi is and for letting me borrow some of their points to write about here 🫶 and also for gathering a bunch of panels for me to use 💕💕

Spoilers for chapter 37a

OKAY

May I also present for the court, the time a girl wanted to give Kagiura chocolates because she thought he was such a cutie on the basketball team:

And in multiple panels, Kagiura's face is hidden.

Like he isn't himself when a girl confesses.

Like he's, sadly, had to do this so many times, he's detached himself when girls do this.

From what little we can see of his face here, he just has like this whole heavy "oh..." physique going on. I'm sure he's aware that he's popular (he's gay not blind) and I wouldn't be surprised if this detachment dates back further (aka before he was certain of his feelings for Hirano. Who knows maybe he started being this way late middle school too even when he didn't know what was going on with him)

Ok we're turning this into a thread of examples now 🤗 anyone feel free to add on!!

This is off topic from above, but Burry gave another example when we were yapping that I didn't know how to put in the og post (+ I hit the image limit) I'm just gonna post a screenshot cuz I'm not doing this (spending forever writing) again tonight haha oops

(cw: discussion of sex)

additional commentary from me:

Your name is D- Strider and you’re dying.

The overwhelming pain that ripped through your body put you into shock long ago. You can barely feel a thing. Your body is lost to you, completely disconnected from your mind. You could be falling. You could be bent into impossible shapes. You could be simply resting on your back in the grass. You can’t tell, save for the few glimmers of pain twitching through your muscles.

The battle is a blur to you now. Your body moved faster than you could keep up with. Closer to a robot with one function than an actual person. The only thing you can recall was a blaring siren of a command over and over and over again.

Fight. Kill. Win. Fight. Kill. Win. Fight. Kill. Win.

When Dave showed up, he wasn't quite Dave. He was painted a brilliant shining orange and had wings like an angel. This Dave had a dedication and melancholy to him that you've never seen in Dave before. You recall his voice, screaming at you from his side of the battle.

Then you hit the ground.

The moment you lost your ability to fight was the moment you lost all relevance. Cal is gone. Your head is silent for the first time in…. Ever.

Everything within the past year is a blur. As the stars above pity you in your slow march to death, it dawns on you that your glasses have been stolen. Your hat is gone from your head. You're looking at the sky with your own eyes.

It's beautiful.

The shock wears down as you draw your final breaths. Your sword pinning your body to the ground is a dick move, but you're actually grateful for it. You would have gotten up if it wasn't there. You would have continued your robotic level of dedication to this one task. Fight.

You're so tired of fighting.

That's all you've ever done. It's all you gave to your kid. It's the only thing you could think of to justify your existence. The puppets never mattered. The adult industry never mattered. Your video games, magazine subscriptions, neighbors, hobbies, and turntables never mattered.

You wonder if Dave will miss you. You hope he doesn't. You hope he forgets you and lives on out of spite, or something similar. But selfishly you hope he will.

Tears well up in your eyes.

You wish you were better. But that's a thing that comes up often in your tale of woe and puppets. You found yourself wishing for so many things. Wishing you were a better person, however, doesn't mean a god damn thing. Instead of wishing, this time, you're going to hope. That's what you were missing, isn't it? You hope with everything you have left that Dave will make it through this hellscape of a game.

"Mh?" Dirk pulled out an earbud, giving Dave a questioning look. Surely Bro knew better than to violate Headphone Etiquette, he must be calling for his attention for a reason.

"You're always listenin' to that ipod, you got a favorite song? Or do you just shuffle and let the lord Steve Jobs decide your musical pleasure for the evening?" Dave wryly gestured at Dirk's pocket, where indeed his timeline counterpart's ipod nano was safely stowed away.

The question made him pause. Discussing his Bro had often left Dave in a sort of... wistful mood. Not quite nostalgic, but far away. Tinged with a melancholy Dirk couldn't understand, but Dave would look at him again and he'd know he was seeing his own Bro. Wondering where he could find him, if he came at Dirk from the right angle, would his guardian appear?

It was simultaneously a shitload of pressure and a quiet relief that he never quite measured up. He knew Dave preferred him just the way he was.

Even still. "I shuffle it, yeah, but that's just cause I think that's how you listened to it. Cherry picking vibes never struck me as the way."

"But do you have a favorite?" He looked a little impatient, and Dirk really couldn't figure out why it mattered.

He shook his head a little in disbelief and answered honestly. "Changes now and then, but 2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted might be the current pick."

A slow and easy grin spread across Dave's face, and Dirk let go of the tension that had started spreading through him, holding his shoulders up. "You got the best taste Bro, always did."

"Was there any doubt?" He furrowed his brows. "Now, you."

"It's the same for me dude, you already said it." Dave punched his shoulder then moved to his system, sorting through his vinyls until he found the right one. "Put that old ass trash away dude, c'mon."