coin flip for whether or not to canonize aratav moirails

In the ever-expanding multiverse of fandoms, niche terminology, and speculative fiction, few decisions have sparked as much ironic curiosity and symbolic relevance as the hypothetical “coin flip for whether or not to canonize Aratav moirails.” Though on the surface this might sound like an esoteric in-joke, it captures deep philosophical and narrative questions about storytelling, chance, queer-coded relationships, and the blurred boundaries between creator intention and fan canon.

To unpack this peculiar phrase and reach a meaningful understanding, we need to explore each element: What does it mean to “canonize” something? Who or what is “Aratav”? What are “moirails”? And what, exactly, is the literary, social, or even comedic significance of leaving such a pivotal decision to the randomness of a coin flip?

This article takes a deep dive into the layers of meaning, contextual culture, and broader implications tied up in this phrase. It’s not merely a thought experiment — it’s a case study in how modern fandoms interact with authorship, community dynamics, and the role of randomness in storytelling and identity construction.

Understanding Canonization in Fiction

In fan communities, the term “canon” refers to material that is considered official or authoritative in a given fictional universe. Canon determines which events, character relationships, or facts “actually happened” within the story’s universe, as opposed to fan theories, alternate universes (AUs), or fanfiction.

To “canonize” something, then, is to declare it officially part of the story. When fans push for a ship to be canonized, they are often asking for creators to confirm a romantic relationship in the source material. Canonization can validate interpretation, bring closure, or legitimize a character’s representation — especially when it comes to underrepresented identities or non-traditional relationships.

However, canonization also implies a degree of finality and control. It creates a boundary between what is considered “real” and what is relegated to headcanon. In an age where fan engagement is interactive and often democratic, this line is increasingly blurry — and contested.

Who or What Is Aratav?

The name “Aratav” doesn’t appear in traditional literary archives, but within the cultural lexicon of internet fandoms and emergent digital mythologies, it could represent a constructed character, entity, or symbolic figure. Aratav may be an OC (original character), a figure from a lesser-known fandom, or an amalgamated identity derived from collaborative storytelling platforms like MS Paint Adventures (e.g., Homestuck), webcomics, or alternate reality games (ARGs).

Given the stylized, alien-sounding nature of the name, it aligns well with fictional universes where names are carefully curated to reflect race, culture, or world-building conventions — think Alternian trolls, Deltarune characters, or custom races in tabletop role-playing games.

Thus, for our purposes, we can imagine Aratav as a character whose identity exists in flux — between genres, media, and modes of engagement. Aratav might be a character straddling myth and metafiction, built through fan consensus rather than authorial decree.

What Are Moirails?

To understand this fully, one must step into the lexicon of the Homestuck fandom, created by Andrew Hussie. In the Alternian culture of the troll species, relationships are divided into four quadrants — each representing a different kind of bond: matespritship (romantic love), kismesissitude (rivalry/hatred-love), moirallegiance (protective, platonic soul-bonding), and auspisticism (mediating triangle).

Moirails are essentially soulmates in a deeply intimate, but non-sexual, non-romantic sense. A moirail is someone who stabilizes you emotionally and psychologically. They are a constant, a co-regulator. In Homestuck, the moirallegiance between characters like Kanaya and Rose or Eridan and Sollux was portrayed with complexity and nuance, and fans often interpret moirailships as a queerplatonic ideal.

Moirallegiance challenges heteronormative frameworks by proposing a deep emotional intimacy outside of romance or familial ties. To “canonize Aratav moirails” is to officially declare that Aratav (perhaps with another character) is engaged in such a relationship. This raises questions about how we value different kinds of emotional bonds — and why some forms of love are more visible in fiction than others.

The Coin Flip: Chaos or Commentary?

Now comes the crux: why leave such a serious matter to a coin flip?

In storytelling, a coin flip is a trope laden with meaning. It represents randomness, fate, the relinquishing of control, or the embracing of ambiguity. In fiction, coin flips have determined life-or-death decisions (as in No Country for Old Men), reflected psychological duality (as in Harvey Dent / Two-Face), or signified character turning points.

To apply a coin flip to a decision about canon — especially one involving moirallegiance, queerness, and underrepresented relationships — is to question the authority of canon itself. It’s an act that challenges the very structure of storytelling.

Would leaving such a profound decision to chance delegitimize the relationship? Or would it mock the arbitrary nature of what does or doesn’t become canon? Perhaps the flip is meant to reveal that even creators often make decisions based on convenience, audience expectation, or impulse.

Alternatively, the flip may be an ironic nod to the “Schrödinger’s canon” that exists in many fandoms — the state in which a relationship is simultaneously canon and non-canon, depending on viewer interpretation and creator ambiguity.

Fan Agency in the Age of Meta-Narratives

By proposing a coin flip for Aratav moirails, fans are engaging with a deeper metatextual commentary: the tension between creator intention and community ownership of a story.

This gesture evokes a long tradition in fandom spaces where users reclaim narratives and assert their interpretations — especially when it comes to representation. The idea that moirallegiance could be “up for grabs” via coin toss critiques how little control fans may have over the fates of their favorite characters — particularly when it comes to queerness, neurodivergence-coded relationships, or emotional intimacy outside the mainstream.

Creators are increasingly expected to be aware of these dynamics. Yet, when they avoid confirming certain ships or dynamics to keep audiences “engaged,” it can come off as disingenuous. In this context, the coin flip is both satire and strategy — either finalize it or admit it’s arbitrary. Either validate our interpretation or don’t tease us.

It also reveals that fans want narrative weight to be given to more than just romantic or sexual relationships. Moirallegiance is just as valid a connection, and canonizing it — even by a coin toss — forces a conversation about what stories are worthy of official space.

The Role of Queer Readings and Emotional Canon

Much of the debate about canon revolves around queer readings. Moirails are a perfect case study because they operate in a liminal space: often coded queer, emotionally intense, but not explicitly romantic.

This ambiguity is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it offers flexibility for interpretation. On the other, it allows creators to sidestep representation by cloaking it in vagueness.

By suggesting a coin flip to determine the legitimacy of a moirallegiance, fans are parodying this lack of commitment. They’re saying: if you’re not going to canonize this relationship, at least admit that you’re arbitrarily choosing what counts.

In many fandoms, there is already a concept of “emotional canon” — the idea that what resonates deeply with fans, even if it’s not confirmed by the text, holds value. Canon becomes less about decree and more about consensus. The coin flip could thus symbolize a bridge between official and emotional canon — a final flourish before a fan-made truth is accepted universally.

Implications for Future Storytelling

What can writers, artists, and narrative designers learn from this?

First, that fandoms are not passive recipients. They are co-authors, interpreters, critics, and architects of emotional truth. Second, that relationships like moirallegiance deserve space — not just as symbolic tokens but as serious, meaningful elements of character development. Third, that meta gestures (like a coin flip) can be both powerful and problematic depending on the context.

Storytelling in the digital age is porous. Canon is just one layer. Around it are layers of headcanon, meta-theory, fanon, and personal truth. When creators ignore this dynamic or treat fan interpretation as frivolous, they lose the opportunity to engage meaningfully with their most passionate audience.

A coin flip — ridiculous on the surface — becomes an existential question: who gets to decide what matters?

A Final Reflection: Would the Coin Land Heads or Tails?

Let’s imagine we actually flipped the coin. Heads: Aratav moirails become canon. Tails: they remain symbolic, speculative, hovering in subtext.

Heads means validation — that queerplatonic relationships have a place in the spotlight. It signals to fans that their emotional truths matter. Tails means ambiguity — but also possibility. It allows for continued interpretation, transformation, and resistance to closure.

But perhaps the real power is in the flip itself. It forces the conversation. It reveals the fault lines in traditional narrative authority. It opens a doorway between art and audience.

In the end, whether the coin lands or spins endlessly in the air, the question has already done its work. Aratav moirails — canonized or not — are real in the minds and hearts of those who believe in them. And maybe that’s the most profound canon of all.