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annabelle--cane · 8 months

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I guess the thing that makes me not so fond of Jon's addiction allegory is that it's only coherent to a certain extent? Like I think people sometimes forget that he's actively violating these people

anon, through no fault of your own you have accidentally hit upon my sleeper agent trigger phrase. I have layers of answers to this.

so first off, yeah, it's not a 1:1 direct metaphor, it's a soupy dream logic fantasy plot device with flavors of a lot of different things. there's quite a lot of addiction in there, there's some abuse of power, there's some cyclical nature of trauma, there's a dash of disability, there's a few notes of gendered violence, there's a good bit of just. violence violence and being kind of a motherfucker because goddammit it feels good to be an active agent about something in your life, even if it's just choosing to be a worse version of yourself than you strictly need to be. a lot of tma's worldbuilding is very allegorical, but apart from aspects of individual statements nothing really matches up quite 1:1 with a real world counterpart, and if more things did then it probably wouldn't be a fantasy show anymore.

secondly. okay to contextualize this answer a little bit I have a kind of hypothetical video essay project about vampirism and addiction that I like to spend a few hours thinking about every so often but am almost certainly never going to make because the full research burden required is a lot higher than I actually have the time to properly do. but because of that I've spent a lot of time sorting through why framing vampires as addicts really works for me in a way that it doesn't seem to for everyone, and I think a lot of my thoughts on that also apply to jon. there's going to be a bit of a detour here before we get back to talking about tma, but we'll get there, I prommy.

I've seen a lot of people take issue with various paranormal addiction allegories because, a lot of the time, the act that is meant to metaphorically represent the act of use itself is something that is directly and inherently harmful to others, e.g. drinking human blood, handing over power to your hedonistic Evil alter ego, holding the cursed amulet and going crazy going stupid, slurping trauma out of the head of some guy you ran into on a boat to norway, etc., and yeah, I do get that. substance use is not inherently harmful like that to anyone except sometimes the user themself, and addicts are not inherently fucked up and destructive people; those are dangerous stereotypes that often lead to the demonizing of a whole group of sick people.

here's the thing for me, though: those are definitely truths I want explored and represented when it comes to portrayals of non-allegorical actual addicts, but fantasy fiction isn't for showing the world as it is, it's for showing a subjective fun house mirror version of reality where certain aspects are minimized and magnified depending on how it feels to live through it. and yes, absolutely in real life drug use is not an inherently evil act and it does not make you an inherently evil person, but... doesn't it kind of feel like that? sort of? absolutely no one is living their best life nor on their best behavior while experiencing any kind of major mental illness episode, and when it comes to addiction you've got a very clear tangible symbol of when The Episode is happening that it feels like you have much more control over than when it comes to other illnesses. it's also a thing where people are a lot more likely to be openly angry and distrustful of you if they find out it's happening. so you mix together the ideas of "I know I get worse as a result of doing this one specific thing" + "I act less like myself when I'm using, it rearranges my priorities and I care less about hurting people because that's what happens when you're experiencing The Horrors" + "society at large/people directly around me are pretty quick to say that doing this is evil," and you get the subjective emotional result of "I hurt people by using and it makes me monstrous." I tend to respond to those kinds of paranormal allegories like they're just cutting out the middle man of those subjective fears. "using makes me monstrous" -> "using is monstrous."

anyway. jon archivist.

don't get me wrong, I totally understand if this aspect of metaphor doesn't gel for some people and they only like taking it exactly as far as the text explicitly makes them, but I really get a lot out of reading jon's connection to the fears as addiction precisely because he does genuinely awful things to people as a result of it. he's a person in a very bad physical and mental place with little to no support who is constantly being told by both allies and enemies that he's already a monster just by being alive, and he copes with that by secretly falling further and further into an compulsive act of consumption that skews his priorities and makes him care less about hurting people because at least sometimes getting to be the cause of pain makes him feel a little bit less powerless when he has to be the subject of pain the rest of the time. then he's found out and is made to stop, and he has to grapple not just with the physical toll of withdrawal but with knowing there is a not insignificant part of him that will excuse any act of malice if he knows he'll feel better afterwards.

the end of tma is very explicit in the fact that the rules of its world are shaped by the subjective worst fears of those who live in it, it's "an exercise in unreliably reality" as jonny sims put it once, and I think that principle extends backwards in some ways to apply to the rest of the show. I don't think the fact that there are only entities of fear and not hope or love is meant to be a full commentary on the total nature of the real world, it's a reflection of what fear and suffering can make the world feel like. eric and melanie both go to really harsh extremes to extricate themselves from the fears and live peaceful lives, and in both cases something happens that foils their plans (getting murdered + the apocalypse, respectively), but I don't think the intended message is to say that is definitively how real life works, they are metaphors for the limits of individual agency in larger systems and represent two types of worst-case-scenarios. similarly, I don't think reading jon as an addict implies that addiction inherently involves violence or that the reactions of those around him were completely unjustified, it's just a subjective exploration of the kinds of fears that can come with addiction dialed up to 100.

#also to be clear after the first paragraph I'm using 'you' in a general sense not directly to You The Anon Who Sent This #I'm not trying to insinuate anything about whether You The Anon Who Sent This does or doesn't have any experience w substance use #tma #answered #anons

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exilethegame · 5 months

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For pure angst and evil purposes, how easy would it be to make ROs cry?

Alright, here's them rated hardest to make cry to easiest-- and keep note, this is specifically in the context of someone trying to hurt their feelings (and them knowing). Because the order would change in so many ways for so many different things (who cries most under stress, who cries most if someone they care for is hurt, etc, etc)

Hardest to easiest: Sabir, Jost, Nikke + Syfyn, Amilia, Vethna

Freedom (is their own thing)

Sabir: Sabir, in general, is a vulnerable person. He likes being honest when he's not in "politician mode", likes sharing his feelings, feels comfort in openly showing his emotions which includes crying. But if for whatever reason someone starts really trying to hurt his feelings, that man can just... shut them off. I mean really turn off his emotions. It's honestly unsettling, and probably very disturbing. You won't be able to make him cry. Like... you just won't.

That being said, there are some people I don't think Sabir could ever muster the strength to do that to. It's not that he's not capable of it, it's that he'd rather be open and allow himself to be hurt by the person he loves than ever shut them out. (Looks at evil MCs nervously...)

Jost: Jost is pretty similar to Sabir, except she's always on the emotional defensive. She doesn't let people in ever, and because of that, it's hard to get a sad reaction from her. That being said, Jost is like... hilariously easy to piss off but that can go from being funny to being really upsetting to witness real quick. Because of that, I think it's possible, if you keep pressing hard enough, to make Jost cry from anger and rage. But you'd have to keep her cornered, cause she'd try to make a run for it before that could happen.

Nikke + Syfyn: They're tied! They both have pretty strong brave faces, but at their core, they're both such loyal and dedicated people that their strong face would crack, inevitably. Seeing someone they care for lash out at them, use their weaknesses against them, would be enough to make them start breaking down. But it wouldn't be soft crying. It'd be angry, defensive, confused. And they'd both probably storm off at the end and retreat into themselves. The only difference is Syfyn is terrible at holding a grudge and keeping a cold shoulder (MC snapping is a *cough* exception), and Nikke is a little too good at it.

Amilia: Amilia, honestly, is probably equal to Nikke + Syfyn in terms of how much you'd have to throw at her to make her actually start crying, but she's a lot more vulnerable. She won't hide the fact she's becoming upset, she'll beg for the other person to just stop, and when they don't... she'd just start crying. Not ugly crying, not breaking down, but she'd make no attempt to hide her tears as she sniffles. I think Amilia is comfortable in that sadness in a way the others aren't, and she has no problem being blunt in that sadness-- asking the other person if they're happy they made her hurt (and genuinely asking, not just saying it to spite them). It's hard to explain... maybe I'll get the chance to write it... in game... (*looks at camera dramatically*)

Vethna: Don't. Please don't. If someone close to Vethna, at this point, just straight up turned on them and started throwing shit at their face in a fight to purposely hurt them and was just outwardly downright malicious, Vethna wouldn't even put up a fight. They'd probably try to look indignant, nonchalant, and unfazed, throwing a witty, sharp retort your way... but that would probably last a total of ten seconds before they just start crying. I get this image in my head of Vethna almost seeming child-like when they cry-- pouted lips, huffing breaths, avoiding the other person's gaze. I think Vethna has too many "sore spots" in their self-worth and confidence to be able to handle something like that with any sort of grace. But the worst part is I think that leaves them very susceptible to manipulation. Vethna craves approval from the people around them, so it would be easy to use their vulnerability against them.

Freedom: Okay, Freedom is just hovering all around because emotions are so wonderfully bizarre and strange to/for them. I don't think you could make Freedom cry if you were just like... "I'm gonna be a dick because I'm annoyed or angry" and started insulting them. They'd just look at you with a raised brow and vaguely amused expression. But if someone was close to them, and genuinely upset by something Freedom did, and that person was hurt and fighting back tears and lashing out as a response... then I believe that would make Freedom cry. MC + Freedom are very innately connected, and I think feeling the weight of those emotions on them if they're close would be enough to make Freedom start crying... and then become incredibly confused by it. They're definitely a pretty crier though-- like, their face is all stone-still and then their tears run down all dramatically...

#answered #this was fun to answer ngl #vethna #amilia #nikke #jost #sabir #syfyn #freedom

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ceilidhtransing · 21 days

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In light of recent and ongoing UK fuckery, I am so sick and tired of the idea that extremely transphobic things “aren't really transphobic” because they are coming from people who “probably mean well” and “don't hate trans people”.

Yeah, because bigotry can only be perpetrated by people who are actively, consciously hateful, sitting in their villainous lairs and dreaming up new innovative ways to be evil. (Obvious sarcasm.)

Transphobia is not just “when you actively and knowingly hate trans people”. Transphobia is also

A paternalistic attitude that says that trans people can't really be trusted to know themselves or what they want and so need to be gatekept from healthcare by cis “experts”

A refusal to listen to and take into account trans expertise; hell, a denial that trans expertise even exists

The idea that while some trans people existing in society is fine, ideally we should be limiting that number as much as we can

The idea that transition - social or physical or both - should only ever be a last resort after all other “possible avenues” have been explored, because being trans is fundamentally an undesirable inferior state and ideally we should be protecting people from transition for their own good

An attempt to clamp down on the use of “dangerous unregulated private healthcare” and an insistence on “safety” and on “doing things the right way” that manifests in reality as a denial of care because no viable alternatives to such “dangerous” options are actually provided

A carving out of exceptions to the basic principle of bodily autonomy whenever a body happens to belong to a trans person

A total dismissal of the concept of harm reduction when it comes to trans people; the only harm reduction that really matters is making sure no cis person accidentally does anything trans, and that end should be doggedly pursued no matter how many trans people it will harm along the way

An expectation of ludicrously unattainable standards of evidence and success for any healthcare involving trans people, that you would never demand of “normal” healthcare - a >15% regret rate for some common surgery is fine; a <1% regret rate for something trans-related is a national scandal that calls for an immediate inquiry into care standards

The refusal to change policies and approaches that have been demonstrated time and time again to harm trans people, because you view the status quo of cis authority over trans bodies as more important than the survival of the people those bodies belong to

The demand that cis people as individuals, and cis society at large, deserve to have their opinions taken into account regarding how a trans person chooses to live and what they choose to do to their body, and that trans freedom should hinge on cis approval

An assumption that segregation between “normal healthcare” and “trans healthcare” is just natural and necessary, even when it is literally the same procedure or treatment

The welcoming of openly trans-hostile voices into conversations about trans issues to the exclusion of actual trans people, because “it's really important that all views are aired” (apart from the views of trans people, obviously)

The attitude that, no matter how ignorant of, detached from, irrelevant to, and unwilling to learn of trans people's lives you are, your personal consent and satisfaction must be obtained before any progress around trans equality can be made, and trans people must only move at the pace of your willingness to understand and get on board

An insistence on endlessly rehashing the same basic points again and again and preventing any forward movement by repeatedly dragging the conversation back to square one, forcing trans people and their allies to debunk the same nonsense again and again and defend the same well-proven, well-established truths again and again

The denial that transphobia even exists or is a significant problem that needs to be addressed - it's not bigotry, it's just conflicting views! After all, gender identity is a polarising issue!

and so much more besides. Transphobia is a social system, a way of thinking, a set of baked-in assumptions, an institutionalised bias. Conscious, active “hatred” is not a prerequisite for anything listed above, but they are all transphobia, and at the root of all of them is a casual indifference to trans survival, a prioritisation of cis comfort and cis interests over trans lives, and an instinctive valuing of cis existence over trans existence. A lot of cis people don't even recognise these things as transphobia because they themselves hold those casual prejudices and therefore see the extensions of them as natural.

And at this point, I don't care about “good intentions”. These things are all manifestations of the insidious and deeply evil web of transphobia that prevents trans people from living full lives as equal participants in society. People who keep holding these attitudes and doing these things aren't “basically well-intentioned”; they're just bigots who don't know or care that they're bigots.

Transphobia is not just “when some hateful fanatic says they want all trans people dead”. Transphobia is all around us. Start seeing it.

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

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It starts really…really stupid.

The Apollo cabin is having a movie night. Will’s DVD collection is bigger than his textbook collection, which is saying something, because he is a nerd. They baited Nico with a pirate movie: then, when he was comfortable and moon-eyed and unable to keep his mouth shut for a good twenty minutes after the end credits, they started phasing in the rom-coms.

Evil. Manipulators, the lot of them; so incapable of lying that they’re masters of bending the truth. Nico would leave, except they literally barricaded the door and keep all the lights on so there are no shadows for him to duck into (something he should have questioned from the very beginning, but unfortunately as soon as the Pirates of the Caribbean theme started playing, his reasoning skills hopped on a train and fled back to the Lotus Casino in 1938. So).

“This is stupid,” Nico grumbles, not that anyone is paying him any attention. Every single one of Will’s siblings stares at the TV with their chins in their hands, completely ignoring any and all of Nico’s (very valid) criticism.

Not that it stops him. “This is less realistic than Davey Jones,” he insists, largely just so his grievances are Known and Aired Out. The leading man says something stupid and cheesy, and three seperate doofuses in his company genuinely swoon. Nico scowls as hard as he can, pulling a blanket over his head. “Idiotic and cheesy.”

Nico pointedly isn’t following the plot — not that there is one — so he has no idea what’s going on. He squints. The leading man is wearing some ugly suit, too tight, and the leading lady collapses tearfully in his arms, thanking him about something.

Will sighs dreamily. Nico scowls harder.

“When is it my turn,” Will laments.

Kayla reaches over blindly and pats him on the head. She ends up more smacking him gently and lovingly on the face, but Will doesn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t we all want to know.”

“You don’t understand,” Will says dramatically. He flops backwards, hands flailing. Nico peeks over from under his blanket. His Head Medic camp shirt has ridden up in his dramatics, showing a sliver of skin. Nico flushes and intentionally looks away, focusing on his friend’s face.

“When will a rich, attractive older man come waltzing in here and offer to put me through med school, huh? When will my dream come true?”

Nico is 90% sure that Will is joking, but without his permission, be blurts out —

“You’d run off with some guy you don’t know?”

“Without hesitation!” Will cries. He yanks himself back upright, making Nico jump, arms thrown up and forehead creased. “You know how broke I’m gonna be when I’m done school?”

Nico doesn’t answer, but Will doesn’t wait for one.

“Very! I grew up on a pullout couch, which, I love my mom, and I love our apartment, but I want — I want —”

With his long, lanky limbs and flushed face, he begins to remind Nico of a kettle. He refrains from pointing this out. His siblings, on the other hand, openly snicker at him, dividing their attention between the movie and throwing popcorn at their eldest brother’s head.

“I want an Alaskan King! And — a mahogany desk! With lots of drawers! And windows! Floor to ceiling windows! And a rooftop garden!”

He glares playfully at his siblings, who are all giggling now, pointing fingers at them all.

“Lemme tell you right now. A man walks in here offering me that and a cheque for any school I want and it’s over for you people. I’m gone. You can fend for yourselves.”

“Yeah right,” Austin snorts, disbelieving. He reaches over and pinches Will’s thigh, cackling when he squawks. “We can’t even get you to leave the infirmary at the end of your shift. You’re stuck here forever, Rapunzel.”

“Just you wait! My prince will come!”

“As if he even wants a prince,” he hears Kayla whispering to a giggling Gracie, who responds with a cheeky, “Not when he’s got a king!”

Nico doesn’t know who they’re talking about, but the fact that there’s someone — his vision goes green. He has to tamp down a genuine snarl which is — ridiculous. And out of nowhere.

He cuts another glance to Will, who is still muttering petulantly. Every few minutes, he hears something about an “open floor plan” and “high pressure showers”.

He gets a very, very stupid idea.

———

The first mistake (because that’s what it is) is easy to explain away — the Hades cabin is still under renovation.

Well. Mostly.

“Please,” Will is begging, eyes big and pleading and painfully, beautifully blue. “Please? I’ll bring movies! And Yan’s Wii! And get Cecil to lend me some of the games he — uh, acquired! Pretty please!”

Nico has to bite back the you could be toting a pack of Lastrogonian giants with you and I’d still let you in that so desperately wants to come out of his mouth.

“Bring snacks and I’ll consider it,” he says instead.

Will beams. His eyes nearly squeeze shut, when he smiles like that, and there’s nothing Nico can do about the sharp inhale that rips through his chest. He blinks the spots away from his eyes, everything suddenly a little brighter, covered in golden sunlight.

“Yes!” Will cheers, pumping his fist and jumping up and down like a lunatic. Nico is so endeared that it aches something awful in his chest, and his cheeks smart from the size of his smile. “Sleepover! After my shift, di Angelo, I won’t be late!”

Yes, you will.

“I lock my doors and set a skeleton guard to watch it at eight,” he warns with a throat suddenly dry. “I mean it, Solace. I’ll sic the harpies on you.”

Will laughs as he jogs towards the infirmary, clearly not believing him. Nico watches him go the whole way, jumping when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“You,” says Drew Tanaka, blowing a bubble with her gum, “are a humiliating case, di Angelo.”

He shoves her, scowling. His face feels sunburnt. “Shut up.”

He absolutely does not spend the day moping after the infirmary, despite whatever rumours Drew’s lying mouth might spread. He has a job, thanks. He runs three separate sword fighting classes, and the younger kids are insane, so he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Not that he is. But. Hypothetically, if he were to be distracted, he isn’t. Yeah.

He sits with Percy and Jason at dinner, distractedly wolfing down his food. Some kind of barbecue. He is not paying attention.

“No, Jase, we can say whatever we want, he’s not listening —”

“If he decides to stab you I am going to let him —”

“What’s going on?” Nico interrupts, looking up for the first time.

Percy smiles angelically, placing his hands under his chin.

“Nothing, Nico dear.”

Jason bangs his head on the table.

“I’m gonna…leave,” Nico says, slowly. “Y’all…do whatever you’re doing.”

“You said y’all,” Percy says gleefully. “You said y’all.”

Nico flushes hotly. “I did not. Shut up before I summon Jules-Albert to run you over.”

Percy cackles. Even Jason laughs. Nico throws his plate at them as he stomps away, sprinting extra quickly past the infirmary for no reason at all.

Time seems to slow down after dinner. For all Nico knows, it actually does. It wouldn’t make a difference. By the time there’s a knock on his cabin door, the sun has well past set, and Will is smiling sheepishly.

“I didn’t hear my shift alarm,” he says, the second Nico opens the door.

Nico sighs. He bites the corner of his mouth, hard, so it doesn’t do something stupid like turn upwards or something.

“There’s ADHD, and then there’s you, Solace.”

Will leans into his personal space and presses an over-exaggerated, smacking kiss to his cheek before he can stop him. Nico goes scarlet.

“But you love me anyway!”

There are no thoughts left in Nico’s brain to refute him. The only thing shaking around up there are alarm bells and KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! repeated over and over again like a gong.

“Hngh,” he says, intelligently. Will doesn’t seem to notice, striding confidently right into the cabin.

“I brought the Wii and movies and stuff, like I promised, and I’ve been saving this chocolate I bought last time I went into the city — woah, when did that get here!”

Will freezes in the middle of the cabin, gaping. Nico nearly walks right into him.

‘That’ is the giant, brand-new bed tucked snugly in the far right corner — an Alaskan King.

Nico clears his throat, shrugging.

“Remodelling, remember? The coffin beds had to go. And no one else but me sleeps here, so. Hazel has her own bed on the other side.”

He gestures to the other corner, where Hazel’s — smaller — bed sits, empty, coral pink comforter straightened neatly. Will barely even glances at it.

“What! But I thought you already renovated the beds —”

“Temporary.”

Will squints at him for a moment. Nico squirms, trying to hold his gaze. He’s not lying — they were temporary. Of course, he only made the decision that they were temporary a week ago, but. Well. Truth is truth.

Evidently, Will decides that he isn’t going to get a real answer out of Nico or he doesn’t care to get one, because he quickly turns away and, with a running start, jumps and sprawls himself on the gigantic bed.

“Oh, gods,” he groans, and oh, gods, indeed, is Nico ever going to get a fucking break or is his face just going to be stuck like this all the time. “Gods, Neeks, I am going to move in here. I don’t even — look! I can stretch all the way and I don’t touch the edge!”

“I see that,” Nico says weakly. His shirt has ridden up again. Nico bites back the confessing comment he wants to make about undershirts and how Will should invest in them.

“Man, I feel like I could pass right out,” Will sighs, eyelashes — they are so long and so blonde who decided that who gave him that right — fluttering shut. He grabs on of Nico’s pillows and curls around it, content. Nico stares. And stares.

After too much time has passed, Will cracks an eye open, smiling slightly. “Well, don’t just stand there, Death Breath. Bed’s more than big enough for us both, now. Get over here.”

Miraculously, Nico does, managing to unglue himself from the floor and look anywhere but the long, languid stretch of Will’s body.

(They play four straight hours of Mario Kart — or, rather, Will spends four straight hours losing. When they finally fall asleep, they’re so far apart on the giant bed they might as well be in different countries — but Nico wakes up in the middle of the night with his arms around Will’s waist, and practically throws himself on the ground for the rest of the night.)

———

The next thing he does is just…embarrassing.

“I think you look hot,” Mitchell, Piper’s brother, assures him kindly. He pats Nico’s flaming cheek. “Honest. And it’ll work wonders! Will’ll be struck.”

“Why do people keep saying that,” Nico croaks. “I don’t even like him!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

With Mitchell’s unwavering — if teasing — assurance, Nico finds the courage to step out of the Aphrodite cabin and into the waning sun. He’s grateful he waited until after the summer ended to do this — the fewer people around the witness, the better. His reputation is hanging on by a string as it is.

A wolf-whistle rings out the second he steps off the porch, making him scowl. Cecil, unfortunately, is far too used to being on the receiving end of it and does not even flinch.

“Looking spiffy, Ghost King!”

“Bite me,” Nico growls back, and is only aware of the trap he’s walked into when Cecil gleefully says, “I believe that’s Will’s job, actually —”

He wisely scampers away before the skeleton Nico summoned can murder him.

The second he’s out of sight, Nico slumps.

What is he doing.

“Aw, jeez, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lemme tell you the gar-bage I had to endure tod — Nico?”

Nico whips up to face the voice. Will stands a few feet in front of him, unmoving, wearing his scrubs today — heavily stained, yikes — and his favourite pair of ratty cargo shorts. The expression on his face is oddly inscrutable.

“Are you…going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, flushing and repeating himself when his voice cracks three separate times. “Yeah, I’m. Um. Ambassador of Pluto duties, you know. I’m expected in New Rome in a couple hours.”

It’s not quite the truth — he is going to be in New Rome in a couple of hours, but his reason for being there is fabricated. Literally.

“I didn’t know you were visiting today.” Will steps forward, almost trance-like. His eyes are glued to somewhere around Nico’s chest, and he reaches out — hesitantly, although he’s never been hesitant to touch Nico in all the time he has known him — to brush his fingers over Nico’s collar. “This isn’t what you usually wear.”

Nico swallows. No, it is not. Usually, his Ambassador of Pluto uniform is his black toga. (It still is. If he was actually on duty and showed up in anything else, several Romans would have his head. Good thing he’s full of it.) But right now, he’s wearing a tailored, black silk suit made by hand by some dead Byzantine seamstress whose name Nico could not pronounce if he tried. Diamonds glitter in the lobes of his ears, freshly pierced, and his rings are more polished than usual.

“Special occasion today.”

Will doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His hand still curls at Nico’s collar, millimeters away from his neck, heat boring into his skin.

“You clean up nice.” An expression Nico can’t name flits across his eyes, and Nico’s breath catches, and then he’s grinning, too-wide and teasing, reaching up to dig a hand through his hair. “But maybe ditch the hair gel, Wilbur Robinson, and just let —”

“Gah! Get off of me! You’re the worst!”

Will stumbles back as he shoves him, weak from laughter, and Nico’s stomach flips.

———

The third thing is maybe the most ridiculous out of all of them — and almost gets him killed.

“I’m starving,” Will complains, apologizing to the random New Yorker who just walked into him. (Nico rolls his eyes. Will would get eaten if Nico wasn’t here — he is too soft for the city. He’s gonna get shoved into a puddle or something; he’s so unwilling to elbow his way through a crowd that Nico has to hold his hand so as not to lose him. Definitely not a city boy, that’s for sure.) “And we don’t have to meet Argus for another two hours — can we stop for food? I want something fried. Desperately.”

“I guess so,” Nico sighs, pretending to be more put-out than he is. Will doesn’t buy it for a second, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt.

“C’mon, Nicholas Hoult. There’s gotta be a diner around here somewhere, and I still want to go shopping after this.”

He lets Will pull him around, even though they’d probably get somewhere faster if Nico leads. Will stops every three seconds to listen to a busker, or observe particularly interesting graffiti, or attempt to pet a pigeon. It shouldn’t be cute, it should be embarrassing because Will truly never gets out, but it is — endearing. A little. Even if Nico can feel his stomach eating itself.

Will brightens when he finally stumbles across some gaudy, mint-green painted, hole-in-the-wall family restaurant, beaming back at Nico like he won a sparring match rather than stumbled upon somewhere to eat. But his eyes are squished shut, the way they are when he’s genuinely excited, and some early January snow dusts his golden hair, and his nose is red from the cold, and it’s just —

It’s a lot.

They find a booth tucked in the back corner. Will slides in next to Nico, not across from him, and it makes him — flush, for some reason, cheeks glowing as bright as Will’s massive, dorky scarf.

The waitress brings them sodas. Nico doesn’t remember ordering them, but it’s cherry coke — his favourite — so he must’ve. Will has a water, because he’s annoying and pretentious, and he tries to blow his straw wrapper at Nico but he’s too fast and catches it. Will pouts.

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll show you fun.”

He’s balled up the wrapper as tiny as possible and flicks it at Will’s face before he can stop him, except it hits him in the — eye, and Will shouts in surprise, and Nico jumps and rushes to apologise but he’s laughing too hard for it to be sincere, and Will scowls playfully at him, and Nico bangs his knee on the rickety table trying to move it and it only makes him laugh harder, and Will cracks soon, too. And he can’t sing for shit but his laughter is musical, low and baritone and a little raspy on the edges, like the country music he loves so damn much. And all the laughter gets sucked right out of Nico’s lungs as he watches him, bright-eyed, red-nosed and freezing, still wearing his stupid parka even though it’s barely below forty degrees, and he is suddenly achingly truly and obviously the most beautiful thing Nico has ever seen in his life, and he thinks oh, no. But it doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

———

(After the diner, they go window shopping, and Nico feels like he can’t function. His chest aches with new knowledge that he doesn’t know where to put. New York air is disgusting but Will smells like eucalyptus and sunshine, always, and the look on his face when they pass a dusty antique shop is blinding. He’s rambling about old anatomy textbooks and gods knows what else and Nico nods along with a stupid, endless smile on his face that he couldn’t tamp down if he tried.)

(In the back of the shop there’s a big, ancient, beautiful mahogany desk. It has a divot for an inkwell and more drawers than Nico can count. It’s nine hundred dollars. Nico pulls out the credit card his father gave him for emergencies, buys it before Will can stop him, and shadow travels all three of them — himself, Will, and the unbelievably massive desk — back to Cabin 13, passing out immediately after to the sound of Will’s shout.)

(His father is the first thing he sees in his dreams, arms crossed, legs tapping.)

(“I believe I told you that card was for emergencies,” says the Lord of the Dead, “not crises over cute boys.”)

(“You were down so bad you kidnapped your wife instead of talking to her like a normal person,” Nico blurts, and immediately wishes he would melt into shadows.)

(He wakes up to another arms-crossed, foot-tapping figure: Will lectures him for two and a half hours. He times it.)

(But Will does all his paperwork in the Hades cabin, now, skin glowing amber under the Greek fire torches, often falling asleep on the smooth wooden surface. He hasn’t spent a night in the infirmary in months. Often, if Nico can wake him, he’ll crawl into Nico’s massive bed, curling all six-two of him into a ball around the centre and puffing tiny little snores into his pillow.)

(His cabin smells like eucalyptus and sunshine all the time, now.)

———

He tells himself that this will be his last thing.

(It isn’t.)

It takes him four separate times to muster up the courage. It’s — humiliating, is what it is, and he’s never been a coward except for maybe about this one thing.

“Dude,” says Katie Gardener, the fifth time he walks by her cabin without saying something, “this is getting embarrassing. Pull yourself together.”

“I’m — pulled,” he defends, wishing he didn’t get red so damn easy. “And — what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at college, or something?”

“College ends in April, stupid,” she says, as if Nico has more than a fourth grade education and would somehow know that. He refrains from sticking out his tongue because that is Undignified, and clearly he is the more mature one of the two of them. “What do you need, flowers for Will or something? You don’t need to bother. He likes dandelions.”

“I know what flowers he likes,” Nico snaps, and wallows in immediate despair as she snickers. He should consider having Will remove whatever part of his brain is responsible for Stupid, Emotional Outbursts. Or just get a lobotomy. Whatever’s faster, honestly.

“I need — a garden.”

“…A garden.”

“Please don’t make me say it again,” he begs.

Perhaps college has somehow made her merciful — which he doubts, anyone who sustains a relationship with Travis freaking Stoll stopped worrying about mercy long ago — or perhaps he truly is that pitiful. But she relents, rolling her eyes and muttering something about stupid teenagers and refusal to communicate, blah blah blah. Nico knows he’s a mess. He would appreciate it if everyone else politely pretended he wasn’t. She comes back minutes later with a truly massive bucket of soil, a handful of gardening tools, and several packets of seeds.

“Well, you don’t have a lot of space for it, kid, seeing as your cabin is kind of tucked —”

“I want it on the roof,” Nico interrupts. He manages to keep his face in check. “Uh, that would make the most sense, anyways. It’s flat and I can get there easy and — yeah.”

She narrows her eyes at him. Years of Hermes cabin pranks have left her with a truly magnificent BS detector, but after a moment she sighs.

“Whatever, kid. Let’s go. Nothing will grow for a couple months, anyways.”

———

The last thing is what, eventually, gives him away.

The issue is that camp is crowded in the summer. And, really, he would have gotten it done in the spring, except he needed help — he needed an architect.

And he only really knew one, and her school year was kind of packed.

“You want,” says Annabeth slowly, “to entirely restructure your cabin.”

Nico squirms. “I just want to change the windows,” he mumbles.

She stares at him, fingers steepled, for what feels like ten solid minutes. At minimum.

“Kid —” Nico scowls, she is barely three years older than he is and technically almost a century younger — “installing floor to ceiling windows in your cabin will restructure it — entirely.” She pulls out a paper and pencil out of, as far as Nico can tell, absolutely nowhere, and begins to sketch. “There are foundations here, see? So everything has to be moved and reorganized to keep the structure standing. I can’t just, like…knock out the wall. It doesn’t work that way.”

Nico slumps. “So it’s not possible?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, offended. “I just said it won’t be easy. Gimme a couple hours, I’ll have blueprints.”

She barely hears him as he thanks her, nose already pressed to the paper. Nico smiles at her anyway. She’s the best and brightest of them for a reason, after all, and he appreciates her help.

The walk back to his cabin is a surprisingly pleasant one. A lot of his friends (which, woah) are finally back, and Nico is realising he’s missed them, and it’s nice to see them again. It’s also nice to see camp as busy as it is, as much as he likes the quiet chill of the winter months. All the cabin doors are wide open as people sweep out the dust, shake out sheets, air out the staleness that has been locked inside some of them for months. Chatter fills every corner, and the air smells like strawberries.

His small smile widens as he approaches his own cabin — the flowers he and Katie planted a few months back have started to bloom, and with them comes the memory of Will’s gasping excitement when he’d seen them, the smile that lit up his face. They’re regular plants, but Katie — enchanted them, somehow, protected them; even when Nico is having his worst days, they don’t wither. (And they keep growing, too. Nico has taken to picking a flower every morning and leaving it in his (Will’s) desk — to brighten up the room, on paper, but the flower always ends up whenever Will is by the end of the day. (And, more often than not, tucked behind his ear, locks of golden hair caught among brightly coloured petals; a crown of his own making.)

The cabin is empty when he walks in, unsurprisingly considering how often Will is usually locked in the infirmary for the first week of camp.

(He’ll be back tonight, to do his paperwork before heading back to his cabin. Nico’ll have to be sure he actually makes it back to his cabin — Chiron has been turning a blind eye, because Will needs more sleep and Kayla and Austin can handle themselves, but the little kids need their counsellor. Well, most days.)

Nico stands in the door and realises: things have changed.

Maybe a silly thing to think. But — a year ago, this place was unliveable. Dark, and dreary, coffin-shaped and miserable, it was no wonder it had never felt like home. But the sight of Hazel’s bed (and the sketchbook she left on it last time she was here) fills him with warmth, and the windows are always open, now, so even the air feels lighter. Dozens of Will’s textbooks are strewn around the room, Lou Ellen’s jacket hangs on the back of the desk chair, a deck of cards is sprawled on the floor. A sun lamp is plugged into the wall. Nico’s giant bed is unmade. He’s got laundry peeking out of the closet doors, and he needs to clean his bathroom. A pair of obnoxiously patterned flipflops sit by the door.

It looks lived in. It looks like somewhere that can be lived in, and most of all, his friends — Will — have been living in it with him.

He swallows the lump in the back of his throat, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

It takes him time to tidy up. He leaves Hazel’s sketchbook where it is, along with most of Will’s stuff — although he shoves a couple textbooks in random drawers when he trips over them. He puts the rest of his friends’ stuff by the door so he doesn’t forget to return it, and makes his bed (which, frankly, he hardly does, because it’s a massive pain — he tucks in one corner of the mattress cover and has to freaking summon Jules Albert to get to the other. But it was worth it). He barely makes it to dinner, too distracted to hear the horn.

“Finally,” bursts a voice sometime around nine, throwing open the door and flopping on the bed. Nico smiles, setting down his game and running light fingers through Will’s frizzy hair. He groans, leaning into it.

“I hate the first week of camp!”

Nico snorts. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! It’s miserable! It’s all —” he contorts just face, mocking — “‘Will, do this.’ ‘Will, do that.’ ‘Will, I forgot how hard the climbing wall was and incinerated myself.’ ‘Will, we need you to treat the group of kids Clarisse beat up.’ Will, Will, Will! Constant!”

“How dare they take up all your time,” Nico says, grinning.

“Right! They should be less — I dunno, disastrous! I am one person! I can only be pulled in so many directions at once!”

Despite all his complaining, the slightest of smiles pulls at Will’s mouth — as Nico would expect. He’s exhausted and perpetually overworked, sure, but there’s nothing in the world Will relishes like being needed.

“I just —” He sighs, leaning further into Nico’s touch. Nico’s throat goes dry. “Man, I’m so glad we have this place to ourselves. It’s the only privacy I get. Sometimes I just wanna close the blinds and never come out, you know?”

Nico freezes. “Uh.”

“And it’s — nice, in here. Smells like you. And it just, well —” He smiles, broad and soft, and, suddenly, Nico understands his father on a level he never thought he would. If Will looked him in the eye and asked him for all the riches under the Earth, asked him to defy Zeus, asked him to rule the dead — Nico would bend time and space to do that for him. He understands, abruptly and wholly, why loving mortals ends in tragedy, why the gods promise more than they can give. He wants to give Will everything. “I like when it’s just you and me sometimes,” he says, softly. “It can be nice to disappear.”

There’s so much love bursting out Nico’s chest he doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels like every part of him is screaming his affection, every molecule is straining to meet with Will’s. He’s dizzy.

“I,” he starts, then freezes again. He doesn’t know what — what. Every thought he’s ever had hits him at once, and he can’t pick one out, can’t think with all the clutter in his head.

Will perks up. “Yes?”

“I have to. Cancel. My plans. With Annabeth.”

Will deflates. “Oh.”

There is something here, something charged, something about to change — and Nico is losing it. He panics.

“I asked her to restructure the cabin!” he shouts, startling Will. He squeezes his eyes shut instead of looking at those wide, wide blue eyes. “To! Make. Floor to ceiling windows.” He waits a bit. “Apparently you can’t just bust down the wall. You have to. Restructure.”

It’s silent for so long Nico is half-convinced Will left, if it weren’t for the faint sound of him breathing and the heat Nico can always feel leeching off of him. He peeks his eyes back open.

“Why?” asks Will quietly when their eyes meet.

Nico swallows. It takes several tries to moisten his throat enough to speak. “Why what?”

“Why do you want to…have floor to ceiling windows?”

“Same reason I wanted this massive bed,” he admits, quiet, whispering, near silent. “Same reason I — changed my Ambassador uniform. Same reason for the desk and the —” he stumbles over his words, blushing — “the garden and the flowers and — this, right now.”

“Nico,” says Will, very very quietly.

“I just. Well. You were joking, you know? And, gods, it’s been a year, now, but I think you were telling the truth? A little bit? And anyway, I want you to have the things you like, and —”

“Nico,” Will says again, louder this time, a particular quality to his voice Nico can’t name. He falters.

“…Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Nico doesn’t even have the chance to be offended. He doesn’t even have the chance to think. Before he can rationalize the situation and connect the dots in front of him, Will’s hands are sliding into his hair, his face is inches away, and then they’re kissing.

They’re kissing.

Will tastes like Blistex, like mint gum, and like the breath he sighs into his mouth. His eyes are closed, and for a full six seconds before Nico recovers enough to close his, he has the best view of his pale, fanning eyelashes that he’s ever seen — long enough to think: oh, this is a child of the sun. He smells familiar and — intoxicating. Nico never wants to know pure air again, never wants to move without the brand of Will’s over-heated hands on the back of his neck. Never wants to forget the rough scrape of Will’s chapped lips, the tiny little sounds and sighs he makes every time Nico moves their mouths, the slightest curl of his lips when he smiles, unable to hold it back. The rapid beat of his heart, pressed against his own chest.

“Nico,” he says again, slightly more urgent, pulling away just enough that their lips still brush every time he speaks, “Nico, I love you to death.”

“I would do anything for you,” Nico chokes out. He meets Will’s eyes and tries to — communicate it to him, tries to beam his thoughts into his head. “I would — move the moon and stars for you, do you understand that? Do you know how precious you are to me? My tesoro,” he says, feeling Will’s breath hitch. “Il mio cuore. Il mio cuore battendo, sole.”

For a second Nico frightens himself. He’s never spoken words like that to anyone in his life — not his mother, not Bianca, not Hazel, nobody.

But Will’s smile is radiant. And he still holds Nico, gently, and says over and over, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Something slots back into place in his chest.

337 notes · View notes

dangermousie · 6 months

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2023 End of Year Post - kdrama edition

Yes, we have a some of December left, and I want to check out Death's Game but whatever. I got time for this now and not sure if I will have later so here goes.

This is only going to cover kdramas that aired in 2023; if I watched it but it was made in a different year, it’s not on the list. This was an excellent kdrama year, the likes of which we hadn't had in a long time.

DRAMAS WATCHED

In order of liking from least to most as opposed to pure quality so pls don't come for me, fans of some popular dramas that are on my nope list. Also, I am including if I’ve seen enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list.

33. The Escape of the Seven - this is so aggressively stupid and mean that it feels like the makers are playing a practical joke seeing how much their audience will take. This has a season 2 coming, so the answer is a lot.

32. Behind Your Touch - the FL gets superpowers by touching people's and animals' butts. Yes, you read this right. Do I really need to add anything?

31. King the Land - yes, it was a hit. Yes, it stars popular actors. I HATED IT LIKE IT TOUCHED MY BUTT TO GET SUPERPOWERS!!! Plastic people in paint by the numbers story, with about as much genuineness or retability as a barbie aisle in walmart. I never expect much from Yoona so whatever, but to have LJH go from The Red Sleeve to this boggles the mind.

30. Mrs Durian - this is so dumb that I think I lost a few IQ points watching this, but its insanity becomes entertaining - I mean what kdrama can you name where a daughter in law declares her love and lust for her mother in law at a family dinner?

29. The Matchmakers - there is nothing offensive about this drama at all. But there is nothing in the least interesting either. If elevator music took drama shape, it would be this show.

28. Destined with You - sorry, Rowoon, I am still fond of you, but you are two for two in drama duds department this year. This is a drama where I loved ep 1, liked ep 2, was indifferent to 3 and...you get the point. Each ep was worse than the one before, and I bailed before I was dragged into a cosmic singularity.

27. Oasis - great first two episodes. Unfortunately it was not a two ep show. The performances are solid but the story is just not there - the effect is like a fancy chef making an amazing sauce to put on pig slop.

26. Boyhood - it's not you, it's me in action. I can see why people would like it but a 34-year old playing a high schooler in a Weak Hero Class 1 Slapstick Edition is no go for me.

25. Castaway Diva - it's so precious and kooky in the most annoying ways, with the most well-adjusted abused castaway in history. I like magic realism when done by Jorge Amado, but this ain't Amado.

24. Island - it had a good concept, good cast and fun visuals but the execution deserved one of ML's swords through the neck.

23. The Worst of Evil - if I wanted an American show, I'd watch one. Very solid performances though.

22. Song of the Bandits - period edition of what I said about The Worst of Evil.

21. Welcome to Samdalri - and goodbye to any hope of emotional involvement.

20. Joseon Attorney - I have yet to like a single sageuk centered around a profession and this was not an exception. I guess it could be worse but it also could have been so much better.

19. Twinkling Watermelon - everyone loved this drama. Everyone except for me. It's the kind of precious that sets my teeth on edge and I couldn't stand half the main characters we were supposed to root for. I guess I like my fruits to shine steadily.

18. Our Blooming Youth - probably the biggest disappointment on this list. This is not a bad drama by any means, but with that cast and that story (I loved the novel), I was hoping for a memorable sageuk not merely all right.

17. Vigilante - it has the emotional complexity and nuance of a punch to the throat but it gives us quasi-gay openly-murderous dudes going after psychos and Yoo Ji Tae holding feral Nam Joo Hyuk by his hoodie at his feet.

16. The Forbidden Marriage - expected nothing but it was a surprisingly enjoyable trifle of a costume drama that was also quite pretty.

15. Arthdal Chronicles: Sword of Aramun - a hot mess but such an entertaining epic one. And it gave us TWO Lee Jun Kis in period gear and who am I to cavil at the bounty of God?

14. The Story of Park's Marriage - it's a trifle, a souffle, so light it might blow away, but it keeps my attention and is so fun and sweet.

13. My Lovely Liar - a huge surprise, that manages to mix a murder mystery and a romcom, and shocked me by showing Hwang Minhyun can act.

12. Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 - the original ToNT was my fave drama of its year and I did not think it needed a sequel. But this is not a sequel but more of a side-quel and is such a total delight with brotherly love, adventures, romance and hijinks. It's a joy.

11. Perfect Marriage Revenge - it's actually very hard to do a soap right but this slim 12 ep drama managed. So fun, so crazy, such a good ship!

10. My Lovely Boxer - not really about sports, but about two broken people finding salvation because of and in each other. Also, if you like age gap romances, this is delicious. Sort of loses steam by the end but c’est la vie.

9. The Secret Romantic Guesthouse - this was a sageuk that was not on my radar with a bunch of actors I was not familiar with but it took my heart away. A good plot that was perfectly paced, characters and ships I adored, a logical ending. This is one of the biggest positive surprises of the year for me.

8. Tell Me That You Love Me - a slice of life remake (sort of, it's more "inspired by") of my favorite jdrama of all time. It's not as good as the jdrama because nothing could be, but it's an aching lovely story with some incredible performances.

7. See You In My 19th Life - funny and romantic and haunting and hopeful and odd. This was one of my favorites of the year.

6. Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow - it's rare for me to like a (1) sequel (2) with FL actress change (3) that is a Hong Sisters drama. But this was such a gorgeous, surprisingly achy story of love and loss and love regained with some cool monster fighting in the middle. Between the two seasons, this is the first Hong Sisters' drama I enjoyed from beginning to end in well over a decade.

5. My Demon - so tropey (chaebols, supernaturals) but it proves that these tropes are popular for a reason. The chemistry is fire, the story is unpredictable and the whole thing is an addictive delight. A rare drama where I like each new ep more than the last one.

4. Goryeo Khitan War - an old school sageuk in every meaning of the term (no romance, no eye candy, lots of bearded men, battles and politics), this feels like watching an epic movie more than a drama. The vast cast all earns their place and the performances (mainly from character actors given a chance to shine) are incredible.

3. Call It Love - two very very damaged people finding love and healing with each other. This is a narrative very hard to do to my satisfaction but when it's done well, as here, there are few things that can hold a candle to it.

2. My Dearest - a masterpiece of cinematography, narrative, performances. This is an old-school epic romance in the best sense of the term. If it doesn't make you swoon or break your heart, there is something wrong with you. A story of two untraditional, strong-willed, flawed people who fall in love in the middle of the horrifying Qing invasion of Korea and have to deal with all that the world throws at them, this is a bona fide masterpiece.

1 - Moon in the Day - who knew my favorite kdrama of the year will star a store brand Domyoji from Extraordinary You and an actress I was never familiar with. But this part period/part modern fantasy tale of doomed cursed lovers is everything I knew I wanted and everything I didn't know I wanted but did. Two lovers where their love did not save them and in modern day it might not again, has got me obsessed the way I haven't been in years.

FAVORITE DRAMA

Moon in the Day - if there is such a thing as a drama made perfectly for me, this gorgeous, emotionally haunting, utterly romantic, twisty tale is it.

WORST DRAMA

The Escape of the Seven. This drama is proof that demons exist and not sexy ones like Song Kang but horrible nasty ones who delight in the torment this hot mess inflicted on its viewers.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

Do Ha, Moon in the Day - a Silla general and a consummate killer who committed atrocities on the orders of his monster father and yearned to die for them, who found the meaning in life in loving his enemy but it did not make him better, a man so obsessed he literally was around for 1500 years of horrifying ghostly existence and still went "worth it" for a woman who killed him as long as he knew she loved him while she did it. He's intense and competent and beyond fucked up and has never had a normal day and I love him so so so very much from a safe distance.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Gil Chae, My Dearest - she starts out as vain and spoiled but the horrors that break so many others bring out all her fierce survivor potential and she becomes such a force of nature - capable of incredible love but also sacrifice and strength and compassion.

Runner Up: Shin Hye Sun's reincarnator in See You In My 19th Life - quirky, damaged, strong, so odd and so vulnerable at once.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

There are a lot of characters who fit that category (King Injo in My Dearest? My God) but the crown belongs to So Ri Bu from Moon in the Day. You think you've seen abusive parents but until you've seen a man abuse his son his whole life and then continue for 1500 years after his death, you ain't seen nothing!

FAVORITE SHIP

The doomed by the narrative OTP of Moon in The Day. Only thing that's better than enemies to lovers is enemies while lovers and their impossible relationship where her killing him is a supreme act of love and his refusing to let go is so strong that he stays around for 1500 years watching her, helpless as she dies over and over again, is everything you ever want.

Runner up: Jang Hyun/Gil Chae, My Dearest. They are so strong and so damaged and it takes them so long to figure out what they feel and what the other person feels but their love and sacrifice and complexities are perfect.

FAVORITE SECONDARY OTP

Kim Shi Yeol/Hong Joo, The Secret Romantic Guesthouse - an assassin bodyguard pretending to be a carefree scholar and a widow of the man he killed to protect his king (and whose life was destroyed as a result.) I enjoyed the main OTP of this drama but I was utterly and completely unhinged for the secondary couple.

I'd have probably picked Rang and his mermaid from TotNT 1938 even over them, but they really were the main OTP of that drama.

NOTP

King the Land couple seems like an easy target but honestly, they are both so terribly bland and antiseptic and marketing by committee, they kinda deserve each other. So I am gonna go with Destined with You, one half of which thinks supernaturally roofying someone into loving them is cute and the other half thinks dating one woman while wooing another is totally a-ok. Ugh.

FAVORITE SCENE

There is no competition for the scene in the slave market in My Dearest, where Jang Hyun finds Gil Chae - the way he screams and tries to clutch the hem of her skirt will live in my head forever.

And the scene where he 'wins' that horrifying bet, or the scene where she finds him in a pile of bodies - they are as good also. Or when he fights off a squad to protect her even though he's sick. That whole drama is perfect.

Runner up: the scene of Do Ha executing Ri Ta's family, covered in blood, as she looks at him from the crowd in Moon in the Day.

Or the scene where he talks about how he cannot live as a person but at least maybe she will kill him and he will die as one. Or when her confession in the past intercuts with his walking in the present, or when he comes home in his bloodied armor and she finds he has a fever and it's the first tender touch he's probably ever known. Her murdering So Ri Bu saying she knows she's going against filial piety in loving her parents' murderer, the way they hug, both bloody, as he says "let's live." The way she says she can't go on as she's hit rock bottom and he replies she cannot quit because she must accompany him to his rock bottom now. Honestly, the drama is a font of amazingness.

Also, the opening scene of Goryeo Khitan War or the scene of Yang Gyu ordering to shoot the captives and having to do so himself.

The OTP meeting again at the intersection at the end of ep 1 of Tell Me That You Love Me. SHS comforting ABH as he's having a traumatic breakdown in 19th Life. The love-making scene in Call It Love. There were a lot of great scenes this year.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Lee Jang Hyun, My Dearest - is that even a competition? He's flawed - vain, often emotionally closed off, not great at processing emotions, lashing out when hurt. He is also incredibly heroic in a real, knows the cost but bears it, kind of way. Whatever he does, he commits utterly but it's never without understanding the cost. He felt both larger than life and utterly real. He went through hell and maintained his soul and the way he loved Gil Chae was breath-taking to behold.

Runner Up: Yang Gyu, Goryeo Khitan War - an experienced military commander who wins an impossible victory even as it ravages his soul. Competence is sexy as fuck.

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Rang, Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 - 1938 really was Rang's chance to shine and he took it. For a character I started out disliking in the original, he really stole my entire heart in this drama. I am so glad he got his happy ending with his brother and his girl.

Runner Up: Crown Prince, My Dearest. He started out as a sheltered, spoiled aristocrat, convinced the world owed him for existing. He grew up slowly and painfully into an amazing man. And then was murdered for it and I cried.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

Arthdal - it leaves the story at a good stopping point but it's very much a "world in flux, adventures and conflicts continue" ending and I would love to see more of these characters. I know we won't but it would have been nice.

NEEDS SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Behind Your Touch - should have been snipped at birth.

TOO MANY SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Vigilante - I don't mean it had scissors taken to it because it's not cdrama and there is no NRTA, but this drama would have benefitted from being longer. I mean, I love fights and gay polycules as much as the next tumblr person but a bit more character development would not have come amiss. (ahaha - I said come. Leave me alone.)

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

I don't care about cops/doctors/trash collectors/whoever - workplace drama centering on their "cases" needs to die. I hate procedurals from any country and Korea is no exception.

FAVORITE TROPE WE’VE SEEN A LOT OF

Supernatural critter devoted to their OTP with all the power of their long life.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

Our Blooming Youth - it was far from terrible but it was a giant meh. I was so excited to see Park Hyung Sik in a sageuk (that wasn't the hot mess that was Hwarang) and I adored the source novel. It actually started well and then...it's like Revenge of the Beige!

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

I want to say Moon in the Day but to be honest, I was excited by posters and trailers so it wasn't wholly a surprise despite not having much of an opinion on the actors before I saw them. So I am going to say My Demon. I was bored by the trailers, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a Kim Yoo Jung drama and before this year I would have said Song Kang was an incredibly limited actor in everything I've seen him in and not appealing to me at all. And here I am rabidly rabiding for this drama!

If I am not limiting myself to dramas but can use this for actors - Hwang Minhyun in My Lovely Liar. I genuinely did not think the man could act and then he gave such a pitch-perfect, nuanced performance out of nowhere!

2023 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

I have actually watched all the kdramas that aired this year that I wanted to check out except for Evilive. I am saving this for when I have time.

BEST NON-2023 DRAMA I’VE WATCHED IN 2023

I don't know if I'd say it's the best but Say You Love Me (2004) with Kim Rae Won as a quasi monk seduced away from his true love by an evil older woman was a hell of a ride.

MOST ANTICIPATED

Love Song for Illusion (Lady assassin falls for her royal target who has two personalities), Captivating the King (lady spy falls for her royal target who is tormented) - notice a theme? Also Flower that Blooms at Night because Honey Lee in a sageuk, The Life of Mrs Ock (Lim Ji Yeon in a sageuk), The Love Story of Chun Hwa (an "erotic" sageuk, hmmmm, what?!), Hong Rang (Lee Jae Wook in a super angst sageuk), Queen Woo (that cast and set in Goguryeo!), Wong Kyung (about Lee Bang Won's wife and I love the cast.) Basically, if it's period, I am there with bells on.

#kdrama #year in review #my dearest #moon in the day #call it love #tell me that you love me #goryeo khitan war #tale of the nine tailed 1938 #tale of the nine tailed: 1938 #The Secret Romantic Guesthouse #my demon #the story of park's marriage contract #perfect marriage revenge #Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow #see you in my 19th life #my lovely boxer

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avelera · 1 year

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"Nice is Different than Good" Character Interpretation: Hob Gadling as Kind of a Bastard

Ok, slightly controversial take on Hob Gadling Is Kind of a Bastard that I've been toying with. It runs counter to some wonderful let me be clear, amazing fanon I've seen in some fics, so this is much more me going, "Hey, here's a way to do it different that might work better in different stories fan writers might want to tell," and not to invalidate other takes or even to put forth that I think this is necessarily true of Hob in a meta sense, it's just shining a light on the text from a different direction, y'know?

Hob as Neutral Evil (credit to Winter on the big dreamling server for this concept!)

I'm obsessed with the idea that Hob is neutral evil on ye olde D&D alignment chart because it makes so much sense if the axis for evil is primarily based on selfishness.

Primary evidence? How casually he talks in 1489 about having done a bit of soldiering and banditry. Those jobs are about killing people. Maybe not all the time as a bandit, ideally, but even then it's about taking their stuff. There is absolutely zero remorse in Hob's tone about being a soldier and a bandit just because he's at his most wide-eyed innocent and has since picked up a trade.

Hob as Politically Conservative until at least 1789 but possibly until 1989

Hob as far as I can tell is a model of the white male middle class existence in England throughout what we define as more or less the "modern era". As far as I can tell, there's no indication at any point prior to 1789 that Hob rocked the boat or was at all out of step with the Powers That Be.

In general, I kind of see Hob as always just this side of the "wrong side of history" and I personally find it more interesting when that's where we find him. And not in a grand sense but in a "middle of the road" sense of just going along with the day to day accepted levels of harm and evil caused by societal momentum. Generally speaking, only a very small percentage of the population takes active part in moving the needle towards good at any given time on a variety causes, and I tend to see Hob is generally speaking outside of all those minorities of do-gooders, except when it comes to taking care of his immediate friends and family. Which is a pretty average place to be.

Indeed, when it comes to the Wat Tyler rebellion, it's my personal headcanon that Hob was more likely on the side of the soldiers putting DOWN the rebellion on behalf of the local lords, and unlikely to have been interested in or part of the cause of greater equality in England. The fact he's a soldier drinking with his mates openly in a tavern when people around him are talking about Wat Tyler and he's blithely ignoring the discussion is where I get that sense.

Indeed, I believe (though I don't know where to cite it, even in the English Civil Wars, Hob was canonically on the side of the monarchy. So jot that down as Hob being pro-monarchy.

While, yes, I believe post 1789 he learned to be less of a piece of shit about taking active part if horrific industrial-level cruelty, I don't see evidence he became a superhero after that. The one bit of "on the page"altruism we see from him is him flipping a coin to Lushing Lou and telling an obvious alcoholic to go get a drink so she stops pestering his friend by offering herself to him as a prostitute, something Hob seems entirely comfortable with.

In 1989 when Hob gets out of his sleek convertible, dressed like a stock trader, he uses the Financial Times to shield himself from the rain, a periodical that apparently was just lying around in his car. As tempting as it would be to say it's to somehow show off to Dream, he has no reason to believe Dream would come back to his car so more likely, it's just something for himself.

All of these put together show me on the page that Hob stayed pretty fixated on making money even after deciding and coming to regret being part of the "shipping business".

And to be clear, we don't actually know when Hob quit the shipping business. Personally, I like to think he did it right after Dream asked, but that's a romantic take and deliberately so. Hob having the opinion by 1889 that slavery is wrong is not necessarily a progressive take by then. Regardless, even if in 1789 he learned it was wrong, that still puts him just slightly ahead of the curve, philosophically speaking.

If we pull in comic canon we do know Hob was ahead of the curve on feminism by 1912 in Hob's Leviathan but again, women would get the right to vote by 1918/1928 in England after the issue had been discussed for at least a century (keep in mind, male Catholics couldn't vote in England until the early 1800s) so again this puts him as palatable to modern readers but not necessary terribly ahead of the curve.

Now, let me also be clear, where Hob is at in 2022 is anyone's guess. Personally I think Dream not showing up in 1989 was a second wakeup call for Hob. If he'd drifted back towards selfish hedonism by 1989, as his whole vibe suggests, he might very well have looked in the mirror and thought, "What if this is why my stranger stayed away?"

We know he becomes a teacher. That probably would go a long way towards changing his politics. We know he's a history teacher, so now he's got the long view. He's spending time in academia, which tends to lean left. My point is, Hob in 2022 is anyone guess and I think there's a lot of evidence and word of god evidence that he's become a Good Person by then, but I also think it's the 1989 meeting that jumpstarted him being Good and not just Nice. Because I do think Hob throughout all these periods of being morally a bastard was always good to the people close to him in his life. I think he was a good friend and a good husband and would have been a good friend to Dream had he allowed it. And that's what I enjoy most, that he could be both of those things, Nice and Not Good.

Hob as non-religious

I admit, this one is very near and dear to my heart for personal reasons of identifying as an atheist when it comes to Christianity and being a lifelong skeptic of Catholicism for the brief time I was technically a member of that organization (all of which while I was a minor). To be clear there is just as much evidence to say Hob is any number of religious alignments as there is that he has none. It's a totally personal choice by any author, I'm just outlining my evidence for why I write him as effectively an atheist.

The Black Death is considered the period that broke the spine of the Catholic church as a monolith in Europe. All the good priests who did their duty taking care of people and giving last rites died leaving only the ones who fled or were young, with tons of money given to the church because of all the rampant death.

Hob would have been born into an era that was particularly rife with both fanaticism and anti-church sentiment. There was a lot of evidence abounding that being a good Christian just got you killed.

Given Hob is a soldier drinking with his mates 1389, I don't see much evidence of him being particularly devout there. No less so in 1489, by the way. Not saying there's evidence against it, just that there's no evidence for it and indeed, societally there's justification for him to not be devout given the century he was born.

1589 I'd say we've got some evidence Hob isn't devout: he seems unperturbed by King Henry's ransacking of the monasteries. Politically speaking, if Hob is a New Man, he might have even benefited from that ransacking personally. In my personal view, Hob is an opportunist and most likely converted to Church of England at the earliest possible opportunity to curry favor with the Powers that Be. I don't personally see him as someone who would bother pretending to be Protestant while continuing to practice Catholicism, because:

Why would Hob bother to be faithful at all? He can't die. The #1 reason to be devout is to avoid Hell or get into Heaven. Hob has clearly chosen the secular world as the only Heaven he cares about. He says that his current life is what, "He once thought Heaven would be like" and it's a very secular vision of good food and safe streets. He does not appear to be pining at all for any spiritual version of Heaven and indeed, speaks of Heaven as a dream only in the past tense.

Personally, by 1689, I think Hob has plenty of reasons to hate God after what he's suffered and the fact he's still not interested in dying to me seems a pretty strong indication that he does not hold romantic views of the afterlife.

Finally, for 1789 to the present, there was absolutely a class of gentleman who were progress minded, obsessed with technology and the Age of Reason. Many American Founding Fathers were self-proclaimed deists, basically a safe form of atheism that said eh, yes God exists and is out there and we owe him some deference, but he doesn't impact day to day life and we can safely ignore him most of the time. Personally, and this is pure headcanon, I put Hob in that group cheerfully ignoring religion and never looking back because he's more interested in the new technologies of the day and not the crusty old church.

We also know, canonically, that at least in 1789, Hob does not consider himself Jewish.

And of course, we can't forget: Hob has evidence that the Christian cosmology is wrong, somehow, given his stranger and his own immortality.

Frankly, given that Hob appears on the page to be a hedonist with no fear of dying, it's interesting to speculate on what his moral boundaries would be at all coming from a world where Heaven and Hell were the primary means of moral social control. It is possible to speculate that Hob could have gone completely off the rails as far as worrying about his soul for a bit there, other than thinking he's already sold it, which could go either way as far as trying to redeem himself but again, he speaks casually of being a soldier and a bandit, so it doesn't sound like if he worried about his soul being sold already, he thought there was anything that could be done to redeem it.

#the sandman #sandman meta #hob gadling #just a collection of some headcanons I have #sometimes I use these in fic #sometimes i don't!#just stuff to think about

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imunbreakabledude · 8 months

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funniest thing about Gen v to me is how they’ve set it after season 3 of the boys but they’re also kinda pretending that stuff doesn’t exist except for an occasional background joke. Because you got Marie and the other kids being like “we wanna be in the seven!!! It sounds great!” When… according to the way the boys s3 ended, here’s what these kids and the rest of the general public would know about the seven:

Three members have died while actively serving within the past 3 years (translucent, supersonic, Queen maeve), and another 2 have died after retirement/removal (Stormfront & Lamplighter, assuming his death was recorded and explained away probably as natural causes or something). The last two of those deaths were within like a month of each other.

Another member has quit (Annie) and is openly speaking out about corruption and violence within the group and Vought at large, she has officially laid out accusations of 1) Deep raping her on her first day, 2) Homelander lying about the (lack of) danger presented by soldier boy, 3) Homelander taking Maeve captive shortly before her death. These accusations (at minimum, she has possibly said even more not documented on the show) while perhaps not proven, received extensive media coverage.

As for the suspicious amounts of deaths, Translucent died on a mission, ok seems normal, Supersonic died of an overdose, okay sure that can happen to some people but not to everyone, and Maeve died while valiantly fighting the last generation’s American hero who was actually super evil and radicalized by Russia but Homelander told us all not to worry about him at all?? Hmm this pattern is maybe a little weird now especially considering the group had zero deaths for its first decade-plus of existence

Like a year ago they let a literal nazi into the group and then kinda just said “oopsies” and made a movie about it starring Charlize Theron as the Nazi

One of the remaining active members was accused of sexually assaulting another member of the group and then was in a cult for a little while and now claims he’s changed

Also Homelander recently murdered a guy in broad daylight with hundreds of witnesses so that’s horrifying on its own and maybe adds some weight to Annie January’s accusations

You’re telling me Marie wants to join THAT GROUP? right NOW??

#I’m really questioning her judgment bc…#that’s not a good place to be girl!!!#and it made sense when the s1 arc of the boys was Annie thinking the seven are good #and then learning they’re not #but within the universe there have been MANY MAJOR LEAKS of how bad things are now #even if you assume voughts running a full smear campaign on Annie #it’d take a fair amount of mental gymnastics for a young black woman to wanna be anywhere near that group I should think…#I almost feel like this should’ve been set between seasons 2-3 #gen v #this is a shitpost btw not actually shitting on the show #not a CRITICISM but musing on the consequences of making a spinoff #and connect its timeline so decisively to the main show

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arieshasbrainrot57 · 7 months

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helluva boss shows it’s audience that, despite being born in hell, children are still children. Innocent, non violent, etc. Baby Blitz was a little violent, but was still put off by the idea of stealing and clearly loved his mum. Baby Fizz didn’t like blood, Baby Stolas just openly cried and wanted to make friends. So in Hell, none of the Hellborms are born evil

Well, except Stella. Stella was just born a little Satan spawn, attacking random creatures, with intense rage issues. Bc that makes sense

#Helluva boss critical

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lesbianangeldust · 2 months

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Luck of the Draw

Chapter 1 ♤

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Husk × Angel Dust (HuskerDust)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Being drugged, mentions of sexual and physical assault

In the early hours of the morning, the Hazbin Hotel bar is still open, albeit empty, except for the bartender himself. Angel Dust isn't back from work yet, and Husk finds this troubling. He's learned that it's a game of luck predicting which version of Angel will walk through that door - Angel Dust the porn star, or the real Angel. The one he respects, yet can't help holding at arms length. However, when Angel finally shows up, Husk quickly learns that luck is something that people like Angel never get a taste of.

4:28am.

Husk looked down from the gaudy parlour clock to the freshly polished bar with a grimace. Angel should have been back from work by now. Not that he was waiting for him, fuck no. He wasn’t no goddamn baby sitter. He had better things to do than sit around waiting for the kid to waltz in and talk his ear off, demanding some sickly sweet cocktail that took way too much effort to mix for what amounted to booze and fruit juice, and taunt him with his sleazy porno pick-up lines (which, admittedly, he’d been cooling off on lately). Besides, it wasn’t like Husk needed a drinking buddy – he’d drank alone his whole life and all that came after, and he’d be double damned if the flames of Hell were hot enough to melt the thick, icy shell that encased his heart.

He had to admit, though, he had been getting used to the company. It had become an unspoken routine: Angel Dust usually flounced into the hotel sometime after midnight, and the two demons would share a few rounds to see off the day. But a gambling man like Husk never discredits the influence of luck on a situation – not least when fondness has sweetened the pot – and he’d come to realise it was all down to chance which version of Angel Dust would walk through that door. Most nights he’d burst in all toothy smiles and suggestive remarks, his carefully crafted mask barely faltering no matter how many times Husk brushed off the sexual comments. As irritating as he found them, he quickly learned that after a couple of drinks, Angel would mellow out and the mask would slip just enough for the two of them to have a real ass conversation, to just shoot the shit and reminisce, like old friends – real friends. The kind you make in life. Husk even found himself at times wondering if it would really be so terrible for his cold heart to warm a little, if the burn of the whisky and the spark of a newly kindled friendship could thaw him enough to feel the closest thing to affection he was still capable of. This thought was never given the opportunity to bloom into anything more substantial before Husk would stamp it from his mind with vigour, assuring himself it was nothing more than a liquor-fuelled fantasy, tantalising him with the fickle temptress of hope.

The other Angel was a different story. Husk couldn’t help but dread those nights: the nights where Angel would skulk through the door with his head hung low, bruised and bloody, torn clothing just barely clinging to his battered body; the nights where the mask Angel clung to fell to the floor, shattered, useless up against the black eyes and smearing makeup. As openly as Husk despised Angel’s bullshit persona, and although he valued authenticity above all else, seeing behind the curtain like this could be a little too rich for his blood. The sheer stench of shame was overwhelming, and Husk had to hold in his feelings with an iron grip. Angel didn’t need to know how much of a useless idiot he felt, or the anger that burnt him from the inside out every time he thought about the evil bastard that treated Angel like his prize fucking punching bag. Husk was well aware that he didn’t know the half of the abuse that Valentino inflicted upon Angel, and, as shameful as it felt to admit, he’d prefer to keep it that way. His old, decrepit heart didn’t know what to do with the emotions that swelled within him when he dared to wonder how much Angel was forced to put up with, and he was certain no amount of booze could placate him enough to keep his cool if he were ever to find out.

But, all that aside, Husk was a bartender. He was no stranger to pouring drinks for down-on-their-luck losers looking to drown their sorrows. So, when Angel came home looking worse for wear, he would simply do what he did best and pour him his favourite drink, and the two would stew in the heavy silence until Angel loosened up and their usual conversation would trickle into balance, feigning some semblance of normality.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open with an almighty shove, followed by the clumsy scuffle of heels on hardwood and hissy, murmured curses. Husk had been a bartender long enough to recognise the graceless sounds of a drunk bastard, and his eyes narrowed as Angel’s silhouette stumbled up to the bar, seemingly unaware of Husk stood behind it. Sure, he’d seen the kid in all kinds of states. Drunk? Sure. High? As a kite. Sober? You gotta be kidding. But fucked up enough to be tripping over his own feet, mumbling incoherent nonsense? This was new. Even in the depths of whatever he was high on, Angel Dust was sharp as a tack, quick-witted and oh so irritatingly fake. Eternal damnation plus addiction equals one hell of a tolerance, Husk supposed. Of course, his “supposing” was arbitrary – he knew this first fucking hand. So, to see this display from Angel filled him with a sense of unease.

As if on cue, Husk’s ears pricked up as a high pitched yelp, punctuated by a sudden smack to the floor, rang through the empty halls. Peering over the bar, he was greeted with a pitiful sight – Angel sat crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs, massaging the part of his head that had made contact with the floor and clutching a bottle of clear booze to his chest that he appeared to have been protecting during his ungainly fall. His blazer was mostly open, and the few buttons that were done up seemed to be in the wrong places. As he swore under his breath and began dusting off his sleeves, Husk couldn’t help but notice his expression. Irritated, sorrowful. Tired. The performance was nowhere to be found, and as had been the case since the real, raw Angel had started making himself known, Husk was gripped by a familiar, palpable tension. But there was a thread of something different about it, some kind of vulnerability that came with witnessing this particular scene.

That’s when he realised what – who – he was seeing: Angel Dust when no one was watching. When he thought no one was watching. Husk was struck by something akin to wonder, a glimmer of awe at the rarity of what he was witnessing, that was snuffed out instantaneously by the nakedness of it. Angel Dust, the porn star who’s entire afterlife consisted of working the cameras; the demon who, for once, truly believed he was not being watched; and Husk, the unwitting voyeur, the pair of eyes from the darkness that promised the safety of being alone.

“Need a hand?” Husk broke the painful silence. The idea of watching any longer than he already had was nauseating.

Angel’s head snapped up at the shock of realising he wasn’t alone, and his face momentarily flushed from embarrassment of being witnessed in his predicament. Quickly as the embarrassment came, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cockiness Husk knew all too well. He never thought he’d be relieved to see that fake bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than whatever the fuck that was.

“Nah. I got plenty,” Angel Dust flashed Husk a flirtatious grin as his third set of arms made an appearance to steady him against the floor, one arm still clutching the bottle tightly to his chest. He pushed himself up onto his feet with great unsteadiness, swaying dangerously before he flopped dramatically down onto a stool and planted the bottle on the bar beside him with a careless clunk. Husk whisked it behind the bar in less than a second – there was no way he was letting this kid drink anything else, and besides, Angel was too out of it to even register that the bottle had gone.

“It’s late, y’know. Even for you,” Husk immediately cringed at the domesticity of the words that just came out of his mouth, like a pent-up housewife chastising her deadbeat husband for leaving her home alone all day.

Even with his usual sharpness dulled by the intoxication, Angel was quick to sense Husk’s insecurity. He pounced in his usual manner.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waitin’ up for me, Husky,” he teased, his usual sultry tone sullied by slurred words. “I woulda come home sooner – ya only had to ask, babycakes.”

Angel’s flirtation bounced straight off Husk as though he’d barely noticed. He didn’t even look up from the glass he had taken to polishing to distract himself – to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Angel.

“What the hell did you take, Angel? You look-”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

This time Husk looked up from the glass, one eyebrow raised. That stupid, sleazy, shit-eating grin again. God, even in the state he was in, he managed to be the same annoying fuck he always was. The relief of the mask going back up was quickly losing it’s charm.

“You look like shit,” Husk growled. It was true. Angel was slumped over the bar, propped up on one elbow as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling right back onto the floor. His eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, unable to stay focused on Husk even as he’d been shooting him those ridiculous looks, and his face was swollen, puffy and flushed crimson. This wasn’t just alcohol, and it sure as hell wasn’t coke or any of Angel’s usual uppers. The nagging, biting feeling in Husk’s gut grew the longer he went without certainty. Fuck, why the hell did he even care? This was Angel, the kid could handle himself, and Husk would be a damn fool to criticise a sinner for getting high. And yet here he was. Pissed off, unsettled and worst of all: worried about him.

Angel opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever bullshit he had ready to defend himself from the insult, but Husk held up a hand to silence him. Fuck it, if he was going to care about this stupid kid, he wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Don’t try your shit with me. It ain’t gonna fly this time.” He crossed him arms firmly, meeting Angel’s hazy eyes with a steady, piercing stare. “I’ve seen you fucked up every which way, kid, but I ain’t seen you this far gone. So let’s try this again- the fuck did you take?”

“I ain’t took nothin’, Husk,” Angel sighed. There was a softness to his voice, something almost believable. He dropped his head into two of his hands, covering his face as the other set sprawled out across the bar. His voice was slow and thick. “Well, nothin’ I ain’t used to. I went out drinkin’ after work. It was a long shoot, okay?” The softness gave way to irritation, like a child receiving a scolding as he looked up from his hands with a scowl. “What, I need your permission or somethin’? There’s other bars in Hell, ya know.”

“Not ones you get to drink for free at.” Husk retorted, and Angel let out a sharp, cold laugh.

“Oh, please. That’s cute, Husk, but in case ya forgot, I’m kinduva big deal round these parts. You think THE Angel Dust pays for his own drinks?” Angel jabbed a finger at his chest and gestured towards his body with his other arms, threatening to lose his balance and come face to face with the floor for the second time that night.

“So, you’re tellin’ me you got in this mess from boozin’ with lowlifes?” Husk scoffed. “I ain’t tryna insult you, legs, but ain’t that your idea of havin’ a quiet one?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he steadied himself on the bar, fingers curling against the hardwood. “Yeah, Husk, and I’ll thank ya to quit it with the third fuckin’ degree already. What, ya jealous I ain’t drinkin’ with you? I’m here now, so pour me one already.”

Husk let out a quiet humph that could almost be considered a laugh, amused at the idea that Angel thought there was any way in Hell he’d give him more alcohol, but pulled a glass out from under the bar all the same. “Kid, I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, refusing to be affected by Angel’s irritation. “Like I said, you look fuckin’ terrible.” He pushed the now-filled glass towards Angel, who scoffed at this remark.

“Please! Ain’t no way, kitty. Besides, you don’t know me. What makes you think-” he stopped dead, raising an eyebrow at the glass in front of him before fixing Husk with a withering glare.

“What the shit is this?”

“Water. Drink it.”

As though a switch had flicked, Angel’s annoyance mutated into his usual choreographed flirtation.

“Aww, Husky! You’re taking care of me!” he crooned, reaching a hand across the bar to heavy-handedly caress one of Husk’s wings, his intoxicated state blunting his usual suaveness when it came to flirting. “Well, how about we take this to your bedroom, baby? Maybe you can... take care of me some more in there.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk couldn’t hold in the flurry of rage at being groped by the idiot he was trying to help. He had limited tolerance for Angel’s bullshit on a good day, and this pushed him over the edge. “Even in the fucking mess you’re in, you still won’t give it up?!”

Angel’s eyes were wide but unreadable. Husk steadied himself with a deep breath, fighting the surge of anger that wanted him to tell Angel to drop the fucking act, that he was embarrassing himself with this ridiculous charade. Did that incoherent shithead really think he was the type of guy to take someone this wasted to bed? The anger simmered down as he thought about the types of guys Angel was used to being with, and he let out a deep sigh through still-gritted teeth.

“Let me get one thing clear: I ain’t one of your scumbag drinking buddies who wanna get you all nice and lathered up to do god knows what to ya. And even if I was dumb enough to play into your goddamn games – you’re plastered, kid. I ain’t going nowhere near you.”

Angel rolled his eyes, as if the concern for his wellbeing was boring him. “Husk, you think I ever fucked sober?” he said dryly. “Not in Hell or Earth, sunshine. You don’t do the work I do without somethin’ to take the edge off,” he paused, a flicker of something real gracing his expression as he broke Husk’s gaze. “And hey, some jag off puts a little extra somethin’ in my drink, I ain’t sayin’ no. Free drugs, ain’t it?” His laugh had a shaky edge, less believable.

Husk looked at Angel, dumbfounded. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, processing this information before blurting out densely, “What, you got spiked?”

Angel scoffed, throwing his hands up in a mocking cheer. “Aaaand he hits the jackpot!” he slurred. “Guess the wise old bartender ain’t so wised up after all. Yes, dumbass, I got spiked.”

“And what, you knew? And drank it anyway?” The hair raised on the back of Husk’s neck.

“Husk, I’ve been in the game a long time,” Angel said flatly. “I can handle it. That shit barely makes a dent anymore. Sonuvabitch knew it to, the way he kept ‘em comin’.” The laugh that followed was jarring, like silk sheets on a spent mattress.

Husk could not fathom a response, but Angel kept going.

“Y’know, he probably paid top dolla for whatever the fuck he was usin’ too,” he laughed idly. “Spent it all on little ol’ me. I’d be flattered if the handsy bastard wasn’t such a goddamn bore. I’ve had better conversations with a brick wall, I’m telling ya.” He spoke about it so casually, as though recalling a funny anecdote. “Probably thought I’d pass out after the first one. Sorry, baby, but I’m a pro. You shoulda prepared more conversation than “hey, you’re the guy from “Three Dicks, One Hole”, can you really do that with your-”

“Angel, are you okay?”

Husk felt his stomach tighten as Angel’s nonchalant facade was shaken by his remark of genuine, honest concern. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t bear to listen to this. He hated how pathetic he felt in these moments, when the weight of Angel’s chains felt almost as heavy as his own.

Angel’s gaze dropped to the glass of water he’d yet to touch, as though shielding himself from the bartender’s penetrating eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that Husk.”

“Like what? Like I’m worried about you?”

“Like ya feel sorry for me. I can handle myself, okay? This is my scene, these are my people. I do what I gotta do.” The grit had returned to his voice, warning Husk to back off.

Husk ignored his instincts and walked out from behind the bar and took the bar stool next to Angel. He wasn’t going to let this slide.

“If that guy hurt you-”

“Christ, Husk! You’re the one that keeps tellin’ me I’m a wreck! My head’s in pieces, I don’t need this right now.” The sharp, warning tone in Angel’s voice finally cracked with a defeated sigh, and he looked down at the bar. He looked so small in this moment, so... not Angel Dust. It was like Husk was seeing a completely different person. Angel didn’t look up from the bar as he spoke.

“If that guy got a piece a’ me, he’d be the latest in a long fuckin’ line of ‘em. Not like I remember anyway.”

He gave Husk a wry smile. “Hey, whatcha don’t know can’t hurt ya, right?”

Jesus. Husk took a deep breath and prepared himself for the usual sick avoidance he felt when Angel was at his most real and raw, but something within him forced a new kind of steadiness. The pain written across Angel’s face was taste Husk usually found all too sour, but this time the bitter flavour was his own. Was he really such a fucking coward? He was a goddamn bartender, he listened to people bitch and moan all day long but being there for a friend was all too much? This kid needed someone, and despite it all, despite everything Husk thought he knew about himself, he cared. And as much as that scared the ever loving shit out of him, he wasn’t going to turn away this time. He was going to follow Angel into that darkness if it meant he would have someone there with him.

Finally, Husk let out a sigh and stood up. “Alright kid, let’s get you to bed.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Husky,” Angel drawled, following suit and standing, only to tumble forward face-first into Husk, who caught him with an air of expectancy. Angel caught Husk’s shoulders as he leaned against the shorter demon, who’s hands were now holding Angel up by the waist in an attempt to steady him. Husk peered up at the sudden look of surprise on the demon’s face. There was that vulnerability, that gleam of something real that darted out from the shadows before Angel inevitably caught on and stuffed it right back down inside. For the first time, Husk decided to savour it, knowing he only had a fraction of a second before The Angel Dust Show resumed.

Only it didn’t.

Angel’s eyes were wide with unexpected emotion. It was hard to describe what Husk was seeing – was it tenderness? Fragility? Fear? He only had a moment to contemplate this cocktail of emotion before Angel’s face was buried into his shoulder, two sets of arms clutching him fiercely in a hug that felt hungry and longing. Despite Husk’s efforts to keep the lanky demon upright, Angel dropped to his knees, his impressive height allowing for him to pull Husk parallel against him in this position while his head remained fixed to the crook of Husk’s neck. Angel clung to Husk like a child to their mother, as though the desperation for soft and gentle affection was suddenly too much for him to bear. Tentative at first, Husk allowed himself to pull Angel a little closer, one hand cradling the back of the demon’s head, thumb brushing against his tangled hair. The frenzied tension of Angel’s grasp and the automatic rigidity that came over Husk when faced with affection both began to subside, and the moment morphed from a frantic, unexpected plea for something tender, into equally unexpected tenderness itself. The lull was thick and heavy, as though draped in velvet, and a sudden awareness of just how close the two demons were gave Husk a hesitant, heady thrill. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone like this.

Angel was the one to finally peel back from their embrace, and as he did, Husk felt the cold breeze brush over a wet patch of fur on his shoulder. His stomach twisted in knots as he realised Angel had been crying. The spider demon furiously dragged a gloved forearm across his face, trying fruitlessly to hide the obvious. Husk looked away sheepishly.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

With that, Husk scooped Angel up into his arms bridal-style and began carrying him towards the stairs. “Christ, you ain’t as dainty as you look, legs.”

Angel let out a yelp of surprise. “Husk, what the hell are ya doing?”

“Getting you to bed. What, you think you can take on the stairs? That’s real funny, kid. You can’t even stand.” Husk’s tone was mocking, but warm.

Angel’s initial shock dissipated. He felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him as his aching body savoured the blessing of being whisked off his feet. His arms wound around Husk’s neck as he sank his head into his chest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t fuckin’ drop me, dickbag.”

Husk could tell he was trying to sound annoyed, but the slur of the poison and the softness of incoming sleep blunted the sharp edges of his usual tough talk. A smile toyed with the edge of Husk’s lips.

“I ain’t gonna drop ya,” he smirked. “Make no mistake though, you ain’t no small feat. You might be all legs and arms, but you’re still an 8 foot sack a’ potatoes.”

“Fuck you, whiskers,” Angel managed to mumble, followed by a string of incoherent nonsense that his sleep-addled mind mistook for a killer comeback.

Husk smiled, trudging up the stairs with Angel. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied mindlessly. It would be almost cute, the way Angel was falling asleep in his arms, if it weren’t a result of the heavy dose of sedatives finally kicking in. Yeah, that was it, Husk reminded himself. Got nothing to do with the gentle moment they shared, or perhaps a sense of safety he felt in Husk’s arms. It was just the drugs. That was all.

Angel was almost fully passed out by the time Husk reached his door, and he felt himself wince as he watched Angel drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this perhaps wasn’t the first time he’d passed out tonight. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t used to the cruel nuances of Hell: he’d seen things – done things – that would stay burned into his mind for as long as he existed down here. But the innocence of the demon sleeping in his arms, the innocence that was taken from him over and over again until he simply signed it away... that cut deep. It made him feel sick. He knew the pain of being a victim of circumstance, of being someone’s unwilling pet. It was a fucking horror show.

“It’s your stop, kid,” Husk spoke softly, rousing the spider demon from his slumber as he stood outside Angel’s door. It was adorned with neon pink lights and cheerful photographs with friends.

Angel looked up, bleary-eyed. “Huh? Oh. Hey, Husky,” he looked around, realising where he was, and began to shuffle in Husk’s arms in an attempt to get down. Husk gave him a stern look.

“Sure you can stand?”

“Oh, yeah. Not that I don’t love ya big strong arms around me, whiskers, but think I can manage the couple steps between the door and the bed, capisce?”

Unconvinced, Husk kept Angel’s arm fastened around his shoulder as he stumbled towards the bed, where Fat Nuggets lay curled up in one of Angel’s fluffy pieces of clothing, unbothered by the kerfuffle.

“There ya go,” Husk groaned, half-launching Angel towards the bed, where he collapsed inelegantly in a heap next to his sleeping pet, who was abruptly awoken by the disturbance and squealed happily at the sight of his mama. Angel chuckled softly as the pig settled into his lap, a sound Husk had never heard him make before, followed by soft cooing as he showered the pig in affection.

“Who’s mama’s special boy? That’s right, you are! Yes, you’re my special lil’ guy, aren’t you Nuggsie? Aren’t you my special lil’ guy?”

It was almost sickeningly cute, Husk thought, although this was promptly interrupted by a flush of embarrassment as he noticed Angel start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. He looked away hotly. Should he go now? He’d done his part, there was no need for him to be here when he-

“Hey, give me a hand here, will ya?”

Fuck.

Angel was fumbling uselessly with the last button of his blazer, clearly unable to get it to cooperate. After a moment of hesitation that felt far longer than it actually was, Husk sighed and sat down on the bed. His eyes fixed on the button and the button alone with exaggerated intensity, made all the more comical by his flushed cheeks, and with one swift movement the blazer fell open. Husk’s eyes found a spot on the bed to focus on intently and his blush grew darker. Angel cackled.

“Husk, their ain’t a sinner in Hell that hasn’t seen me take my clothes off. Now, quit bein’ a gentleman and grab me that nightshirt, ya prude,” he gave Husk a playful shove as he pointed out his pyjamas.

With a grumble, Husk swung his legs over the bed and leaned to grab the purple oversized shirt hanging off the spider’s vanity. Still averting his gaze, he handed it to Angel, who shrugged off his blazer and pulled the nightshirt over himself clumsily, before shimmying off his miniskirt.

“You need help with the boots?” Husk stuttered out. God, this was awkward. The way that Angel seemed to be lapping up his discomfort like the cat who got the cream made it 10 times worse.

“Nah. I got it. Who woulda known you were such a Prince Charming, Husky? Ain’t ya just my knight in shining armour.” Angel was still slurring but his voice was sweet and sing-songy, drinking in the effect he was having on Husk. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second as Angel started to roll down his boots, and a sudden flicker of bashfulness tinted Angel’s expression.

“Uh, do ya mind? I kinda got a thing about my feet.”

Husk couldn’t even stifle his laugh as he turned away diligently. “You’re kidding. The whole of Hell’s seen every inch of you in every position you could dream of but you’re shy about your feet?”

“Hey. Everyone’s got their hang ups, don’t they?” Angel said huffily, kicking his boots off the rest of the way and pulling the duvet around him. “You can look now. I’m decent.”

“If I turn around and you’re naked, I’m telling Charlie to give us another one of those sexual harassment lectures you love so much.” Husk muttered, relieved as he turned to see Angel cocooned in his duvet, Fat Nuggets wedged contentedly under his chin. His eyes were fluttering, looking ready to pass out. Husk smiled involuntarily, taking one long, last glance at Angel Dust before turning to leave him. “Goodnight, kid.”

Just as Husk reached for the door handle, a hushed voice stopped him dead.

“Husk?”

It was spoken like a question, with a strangled urgency that made Husk spin back around with dizzying intensity. Angel was propped up on his elbows, jump-started awake by a sharp jolt of obvious fear.

“Stay.”

Husk opened his mouth uselessly, having no inkling of a response in mind, but he was swiftly unburdened of this responsibility as Angel spoke again.

“Not... not like that.”

Husk cringed that Angel even felt the need to make that distinction: it was obvious from the demon’s distress that – for once – it wasn’t sex that he was propositioning. He sat forward rigidly, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes fixed downward.

“Just... stay. Please, Husk.” His voice was heart-wrenchingly small as he choked out his final confession.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Swallowing down the visceral pain in his gut at yet another unforgiving glimpse of reality and chasing it with a heavy sigh, Husk trudged back over to the demon’s bed and sat down beside him. He spoke gently, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could practically feel Angel relax at this affirmation. His eyes closed once more as he slid down against the pillow, nestling into a comfortable position. “Thanks, Husky.” His voice was thick with sleep, a smile just barely teasing the corner of his mouth. To Husk’s surprise, a hand slipped out from beneath the covers and his fingers were interlocked with Angel’s before he could say anything. A shiver of defensiveness ran up his spine at the tenderness of the situation. It was sweet, it was intoxicating, it was inviting. It was unlike anything he’d felt in life or death. Was it worth the risk, allowing himself to acknowledge this softness? To look this sentiment square in the face, knowing it meant he could get chewed up and spat out in more ways than he could imagine? He held his cards close to his chest, he always had, but what good was that if not even he knew what he was holding?

He glanced at the demon next to him and his mind immediately muted, the sight of Angel fast asleep, hand still in his, turning down the volume on his deafening thoughts. He didn’t have to know what this was, what it meant. This was all it had to be for now. This was all that mattered. He gave Angel’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he let himself sink back into the pillows, smiling a little at the sight of his friend sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written since I was literally a teenager so I hope this holds up! Hazbin and HuskerDust in particular has me in a chokehold, so naturally I spent more time and effort writing this than I did on any of my uni work this year. There are going to be more chapters of this (god willing) so stay tuned! I'm not on ao3 unfortunately so keep an eye out on here if you're wanting more, I'm a slow writer though so don't expect anything for a while. Hope you enjoyed! 🪩

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sakivonobsidian · 3 months

Text

Gilbert von Obsidian If you served your master ～Beast and Maid～ voiced story

☆ I don't usually translate so there will be probably lots of mistakes, sorry in advance ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

☆ There might be some spoilers...not of his route per se, but more about how Gilbert acts so if you're waiting for his route release maybe it's better to avoid reading for now.

☆ + 18 story

☆ Characters, story and everything belongs to Cybird. If you play in JP server I encourage you to purchase the story, it's really worth it!!!! ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

Enjoy!

There is one person who mustn't be defied in the country of Obsidian, where military and ore reign.

The calamity of the world, the trampling beast—only he possesses those evil titles, without exception.

Gilbert: A maid having such courage to defy her master, huh? What did you just say? Say it again.

The atmosphere in the room was so oppressive that breathing was difficult.

My master was smiling pleasantly but his blood-coloured eye showed no hint of amusement.

(My body is trembling even when we're supposedly lovers.)

Gilbert doesn't mind the difference in our status as maid and master and pays no attention to our forbidden love

That’s because he is the absolute ruler of this land.

He openly loves me without minding other's opinions but still he sometimes directs his killing intent towards me mercilessly.

Gilbert: Just this time I'll forgive this.

(...Don't run, Emma. Even against Gilbert, there are things I cannot yield.)

Clutching my so tight it hurts, I face Gilbert.

Emma: I won't return to my room.

Gilbert: Oh...you want to be punished that badly, huh? You're doing something right now that could get you killed, you know?

Gilbert presses the cane he was holding against my throat.

Gilbert: There's no mercy for a maid who doesn't obey her master's orders.

Emma: ...

“I might be killed for real”

With his hand pressing firmly against my throat, my heart screams of danger.

Yet, I refuse to retreat, and instead, I grasp Gilbert's cane.

Emma: I won't change my mind, even if I'm killed.

Gilbert: Why?

Emma: Because I truly love you.

Gilbert: Hmm... you're quite brave, aren't you? Isn't being a maid about obediently serving one's master?

Emma: No. It's about considering and acting in the master's best interest. If a maid simply obediently follows orders, then she's no different from a slave.

Gilbert: I see... maybe I've been too permissive.

Gilbert drops the cane and then grabs my neck with his cold hands. I never avert my gaze even when my throat is lightly pressed.

(Ah... it smells like blood.)

When I had that thought my face was blocked by a beautiful face who pressed his lips against mine.

Emma: ...

Gilbert: Just kidding.

The oppressive mood that filled the room vanished as if was an illusion and it became easier to breath.

Gilbert: Looks like I've been exposed. If you're that worried, shouldn't you hurry and bring the medicine box? And while yo do so, you could maybe tend me too.

Emma: Y-Yes!

(Finally, he acknowledged it.)

I hurriedly move away from Gilbert and pick up the medicine box that is always kept in the room.

The box is supervised by Gilbert's own physician and contains first aid supplies and treatment tools to treat both external and internal wounds.

(Gilbert usually hides illnesses and injuries skilfully.)

(But lately, I've become better at seeing through it.)

I don't know if it's whether Gilbert is unconsciously letting his guard down or if I've developed a deeper understanding towards my master.

However, since Gilbert doesn't take care of his own body, whether as a maid or a lover and even if it means risking my life, I couldn't turn a blind eye to it.

Gilbert: You seem pleased.

Gilbert chuckles in disbelief and sits on the bed.

Emma: There's no reason not to be happy. Since Gilbert, who always refuses to show weakness, has finally relented.

Gilbert: It's not like I mind being seen. However, if you see a wound you'll make a face like you want to cry, right? I like to see you cry, but it annoys me when the reason are the wounds inflicted by someone else.

Emma: ...Your range of jealousy is too wide.

Gilbert: That's just how much I love you.

Gilbert seemed to be in a good mood as he casually returns my previous words.

(...Maybe, despite everything, he didn't dislike it.)

I approach the bed and sit beside Gilbert who takes off his clothes so he can be treated more easily.

On his exposed left arm, there were painful traces of previous bleeding.

Emma: ...Did you get Walter-san to look at it?

Gilbert: Haha, no way.

Emma: Gilbert-sama...

Gilbert: The wound it's not that deep. It'll be fine if you just put some medicine on it.

Emma: If that's what you say...

(My master is always in a position where his life is targeted.)

(Injuries that would never thought of are probably common for Gilbert.)

I wipe away the blood, apply the medicine, and bandage it.

I can't avoid feeling the pain, even though it's Gilbert who's injured.

(...This is bad.)

Though I'm determined not to make a face like I'm about to cry, I involuntarily frown.

I lower my gaze as I can't hide or disguise it under a smile and Gilbert, who wears a shirt now, lifts my chin with his finger.

Gilbert: You'd be punished if you were just a maid, but you're also my lover. I'll make an exception for you... but in return, should I have you serve me?

A brief kiss changes Gilbert's behaviour completely.

He transforms into a seductive figure and pins me down onto the bed.

Gilbert: Come on, open your mouth. Or are you going to defy me again?

Emma: …No.

(If I have to cry, I'd rather drown in Gilbert's embrace.)

Emma: But I don't like this position.

Gilbert: Oh, defying me after all?

Emma: It's not that…! It's just that... it strains your arm, Gilbert-sama.

I manage to free myself and sit up. Gilbert, in turn, ends up rolling onto the sheets.

Gilbert: Alright then, let's do it like this.

Emma: ... ...

Gilbert: Maid, you know what you should do, right...?

(Truly, this man...)

Breathing deeply, I straddle Gilbert's body while trying to calm my racing heart that is now agitated by a different reason than before.

As I kiss his cold lips, his hand wraps around the back of my head.

Our tongues intertwine, and his cold lips, occasionally nibbling at me, grow warmer.

When I retaliate with a bite, Gilbert raises his knee and mercilessly rocks between my legs.

Emma: Ahn...!

Gilbert: ...Your know that for every bit of defiance you'll have to work harder to please me, right?

The pleasure forcibly dragged out overwhelms my body.

I can still say that I love this evil prince even when being faced with intimidation, threats and the attempt to drown me in pleasure.

Because the love that overflows from his red eye reflects his true feelings and they can't be hidden.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #gilbert von obsidian spoilers #イケメン王子 #イケプリ #ギルベルトフォンオブシディアン

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