#is the concept of ‘open for interpretation’ this fucking foreign
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Thoughts and opinions on aro steve? 🤨
Aro Steve my beloved
Sorry it took me so long to get to it, but here it is :)
Yes. Absolutely. (BTW I hc him as aromantic bisexual) there's a bunch more stuff ab him that suggests completely different, and ofc all headcanons are valid, this is just how I like to interpret I'm not trying to, like, prove aro Steve canon. I'll start with how he acts in canon and then move on to some headcanons after. The first part of the post is about my canon analysis but it has a kind of overall theme of heteronormativity, so caution but it isn't that that heavy. If you want, you can skip to the second part, which is just some headcanons. I'll make the title orange so you know when to stop scrolling.
Canon:
starting with season three:
Steve was essentially weighing pros and cons of dating ppl. He knew exactly how to get someone to like him, but Dustin's "choose someone who you like dating" concept was foreign. In not dating he couldn't have a multitude of other reasons for dating popular girls, but specifically the analytical approach he was taking is what comes off to me as aromantic. "Oh, romance was supposed to be a feeling? Since WHEN!?" -me after finding out alloros exist. Another thing is that Steve doesn't even consider Robin a romantic interest, it doesn't even cross his mind, until Dustin brings it up. Consider- Robin opens up to him while they're drugged. "I was obsessed". And *this* while speech is what Steve considered to be a romantic confession. Only after this does he say that he has a crush on Robin. Not only this, he says that having a crush on Robin is why he isn't still in love with Nancy- which just isn't how that works (see: Boyce/Jopper). All of this shows an understanding of "courting rituals" so to speak, but not of romance.
Season four:
Steddie is fanon.
"I would date her, but.. nevermind" honestly, I hate this line so fucking much. I think it was put in to make a *point* out of not outing Robin, which I appreciate but it OBVIOUSLY sucks. (What I appreciate way more is him talking to Dustin generally and just ✨️not✨️) what I see is him being "caught" and his first instinct was to scapegoat Robin. There isn't any reason for him to feel defensive about not wanting to date someone- unless those two experiences are associated. "Of course I want a girlfriend, look, there's a girl". In the beginning of season four, what Steve says is "do I want to start another relationship just for sex?" Which is a valid thing to say, it's okay to prefer relationships that are mostly about romance, but in Steve's case, there could be more to it. Looking back at season one, the way Tommy and Carol talk about Nancy is like the first time they've interpreted Steve's advances towards a girl as romantic. Up until that point, Steve had been able to "get away with" not being romantic with anyone and still come of as "normal" by continuing this pattern. Imo he was totally fine with it, and the reason he isn't still is because he falsely associates those type of relationships with the entirety of that phase of his life. Likewise, he associates his relationship with Nancy with the time he started actually making friends and being a better person, unconsciously tying his image of the guy he wants to be with being someone who can hold down a romantic relationship. Consider how Robin phrases his problem, "you go on a million dates and have no clue what you want!". Because Steve has an idea of romance that he's aiming for, but he doesn't really feel romantically towards anyone. Even his vision for the future: I think it's unanimous that nobody thought "six little nuggets" was romantic. I think of Sieve was being honest with himself when he decided to make a move on Nancy (if he was even trying to) be would have described the "wife" more than the kids. "Me, my beautiful wife, and our family" doesn't sound Nancy's style at all, but it's still far more romance-oriented than "six kids and um also you btw".
Headcanons:
Steve still wants his huge family, he's someone who thrives having several types of platonic relationships in his life
I'm adopting the fanon/hc that Steve learns all he can abt the LGBTQ+ community and is super involved with the local queer community
Every time he sees a love triangle on TV he just points and says "those two should just get together, that person is tired and I don't think they want to date either of them", while Robin is a big fan of "they should just all date".
He doesn't really like the aro flag once he eventually finds out about it. (Don't crucify me I fucking love the aro flag) he just doesn't like the colors. He does like the bi flag, but he just has the rainbow.
He probably continues using the eight stripe rainbow on like, pins an bracelets and whatnot as well as having one in his house once he has one. He uses the eight stripe rainbow right up until he eventually finds out about the progress flag with the chevron thing.
He puts rainbows subtly on himself all the time, like bracelets and pins, but also coloring his shoes, picking which hair clips to wear, on his socks and pretty much any item he owns so ppl feel safer around him
He gets married to someone at some point and idk if it's before or after adopting his kids, but I just feel like Steve is someone who likes the idea of marriage
He definitely thought everyone felt the same way as him for the longest time
He pronounces it "Ay-ro-mantic" not "air-romantic" and is like, far too insistent on it.
(While writing this I literally just realized how different he and I are bc most of these are not true about me as an aro person lol)
If you have questions, you can ask and I might answer, probably in the comments bc this post is pretty long and I don't want it clogging my blog by reblogging alot.
#steve harrington#aromantic steve harrington#lgbt headcanons#character asks#gayer things#song says a smart thing
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IT’S ALL LATIN TO ME
ZUKO X READER COLLEGE!SMAU
⏎ MASTERLIST // part III « IV. seduction siri » part V
SUMMARY: you’re a premed student at BSSU and you thought it’d be a good idea to take a latin class, but you’re in way over your head here. good thing your buddy sokka knows a classics major in your section you can study with.
WARNINGS: language, alcohol/partying
Zuko felt... oddly nervous as he pulled up to her apartment building. He sent the text to let her know he’d arrived and anxiously scrolled through his Spotify, flicking quickly through his various playlists. He knew he was far too concerned about what music to play while she was in the car with him but he wanted to get “the vibe” right, as Sokka would say. That, and it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t panicking over conversation starters in case of an awkward lull. When he saw her coming he leapt out of the driver’s seat.
“Hey, Zuko!” (Y/N) smiled when she saw him and then furrowed her brow when he hurried over to the passenger side. Her face heated when he opened her door. “Oh, my gods. You don’t have to do that,” she said as she slid into her seat.
“It’s polite,” he said simply before shutting the door and walking back to his side. In reality he was already freaking out — had he fucked it up by being weird literally seconds into this?
“Making me feel like a princess or something over here,” she laughed, face still red. He looked over at her and she closed her mouth quickly, remembering he was actually a prince. Like, for real. “Sorry.”
She shook her head with a small smile. “Is this a date, then?” she teased and the tips of his ears went red.
“No,” he said quickly. “No, it just... sounds like you’re dating the wrong kinds of guys.”
“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes and slumped down into the seat. “My type seems to be chauvinist douchebag.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He never thought he’d ever wish to be a chauvinist douchebag. Maybe her type also included awkward but well-intended ex-royalty and she just didn’t feel the need to mention it.
“That’s unfortunate.” He never thought he’d ever wish to be a chauvinist douchebag. Maybe her type also included awkward but well-intended ex-royalty and she just didn’t feel the need to mention it.
“Very,” she said darkly before perking up. “So are you excited for the party?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Me too. I’m really glad you decided to come.”
“Didn’t really have much of a choice since I live with Sokka,” he joked lightly. She shrugged.
“Still, I’ll be happy to see you loosen up a bit. I know I haven’t known you for very long but you always seem so tense.”
“It’ll definitely be interesting,” he deflected deftly. “I have to say, though, that I’m looking forward to seeing for myself what Suki meant when she said you’re an affectionate drunk.” He shot her an amused smirk that made her stomach feel fluttery.
“Spirits, my friends are such gossips! Yes, I get a little more touchy and I like to dance with people and tell everyone how much I love them. But one time I hit the merlot a little too hard and started feeling sexy — as one does after drinking too much wine — and tried to make out with everyone. It only happens when I drink wine, though!”
He laughed at her animated retelling, her wild gesticulations visible out of the corner of his eye. He grinned over at her after he’d pulled into the store parking lot and turned the car off. “I guess I’ll have to be sure to grab a bottle or three, then.”
She laughed, looking away to hide her flushed face. “That’s on you, then. I’ll be your responsibility for the night.”
“It’d be my honor and immense pleasure.” He waggled his eyebrows and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. He was pretty proud of himself for his flirting thus far. He’d discovered he really liked making her blush, watching the pink tinge spread from her cheeks across the bridge of her nose and creep up her temples. He made her go red again when he made purposeful eye contact with her and slipped two bottles of red wine into the cart as they stocked up on liquor.
When they got back to his and Sokka’s apartment, (Y/N) started giggling at the amount of decorations Sokka had put up — the crepe paper and streamers being the least of it. He had even done a few very interpretative portraits of Suki and hung them. She looked up at the ceiling and laughed, elbowing Zuko and nodding up at the balloons.
“I thought they said Suki was blowing the balloons up?” she said. He looked up and frowned.
“Sokka, do you have helium somewhere?” he shouted into the apartment as he unloaded the alcohol. Sokka and Suki popped out of a room.
“Not anymore,” Sokka answered. “Used it all up. Suki had to do the rest.” He pointed at a few balloons scattered on the floor.
“Where the hell did you get it?”
“Found it.”
“Wh-“ she murmured, looking over to Zuko. He just shook his head. Probably better to not ask questions.
“Katara’s on the way with Aang and Toph,” Suki said as she started pulling cups from the cabinet.
“And pizza!” Sokka added. “Don’t worry, she got Hawaiian for you two.” He shuddered, glaring at (Y/N) and Zuko.
“You like Hawaiian too?” She grinned at him and held out her fist. “That’s what’s up.”
He hesitantly tapped his knuckles against hers. The first time Sokka had tried to fist-bump him he’d just grabbed his hand and shook it. Sokka liked to torment him about it often. “It’s about the sweet and salty.”
“It’s fucked up is what it is,” said Sokka. “Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza. And don’t say tomato is a fruit.”
“But it is,” (Y/N) said.
“That’s a moot point.” She and Zuko exchanged looks and he rolled his eyes, making her giggle.
Soon after the other three arrived, with the food of course. Sokka continued to spout slander about Hawaiian pizza until Zuko put him in a headlock while (Y/N) shoved a piece of pineapple into his mouth. He piped down after that while everyone else laughed. Once they’d eaten, they finished the beers they’d been sipping on started to break into the “good shit,” as Toph so eloquently said. She made everyone drinks, pouring with a very heavy hand. It didn’t take long before they all started getting a little tipsy and Sokka started setting up beer pong on the kitchen island, pouring shots in the Solo cups.
“Okay, so,” Sokka started, “Me and Zuko, (Y/N) and Suki, and Toph and Aang. Katara, you ref as usual. The winner of the first round plays us.”
Suki and Katara shared a look. “Don’t you want to be on my team, and (Y/N) can be with Zuko?” Suki asked.
“Sorry, babe, but Zuko’s the best shot pong player here and I’m not losing.” He linked his arm with Zuko’s.
“Don’t worry, Suki; Sokka doesn’t know that I’m actually the best ‘shot pong’ player here because he’s never played against me,” (Y/N) said, resting her hand on Suki’s arm reassuringly. Suki’s concern was more about forcing Zuko and (Y/N) together, but she nodded anyways.
“Yeah?” Zuko smirked. “Is that a challenge?”
“I think it is, Sparky,” Toph said, egging them on. They would just have to push them together from a different angle and obviously Sokka would be no help.
“You’re going down, hotman.” (Y/N) set her drink down, eager at the prospect of some friendly competition.
“Maybe later, princess. I have a tournament to win first,” he said smugly, grinning at the way she went bright red. Her stomach flipped at his words and she couldn’t even think of a witty response. She downed her drink instead, shuddering when the alcohol burned her throat.
“It’s on,” she growled. Zuko had to shake himself to tear his eyes away from the intense look she was giving him – it made him a little scared, but also a little turned on.
It all started off well and good. She and Suki pretty easily beat Toph and Aang. Though Toph was blind, she was definitely the better player of the two. When it came time to play the boys, Zuko watched, mesmerized, as (Y/N) rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, shooting him a cocky smile.
“Ready to lose?” Sokka taunted, now starting to sway a little bit from the amount he’d indulged while the other game was happening.
“I don’t think that’ll be a concern, babe,” Suki said, looking on with amusement and, strangely, adoration when Sokka belched loudly and started laughing. Zuko chuckled at the look (Y/N) shot him from the other side of the island.
It was a tough game, they would both have to admit. Neither (Y/N) nor Zuko missed a cup at the start, but the alcohol began affecting the game soon after the start. Toph, Aang, and even the “impartial judge” Katara cheered when (Y/N) or Suki were able to sink a ball into a cup and groaned animatedly when Zuko or Sokka did. Eventually, both teams were down to one cup.
“Watch this,” Zuko elbowed Sokka roughly, knocking the other boy onto the floor. Undeterred, Zuko turned around and tossed the ball over his shoulder without looking. It missed tremendously, bouncing off Toph’s forehead. “Sorry, Beifong,” he laughed as she scowled in his direction. With a wink, (Y/N) easily tossed the ball into the boys’ last cup. Everyone cheered as Zuko drank, including Sokka from the floor. Suki hugged (Y/N) tightly, spinning her around as they celebrated their victory.
“Did we win?” Sokka asked, sitting up with great difficulty.
“Not this time, buddy,” said Zuko as he helped his friend stand again.
“You serious?” Sokka gasped and pushed him, causing both of them to stumble. “What the hell?! (Y/N), you’re officially my new shot pong partner from here on out!”
“Maybe. On the other hand, though, if Zuko and I teamed up we’d be unstoppable.”
“I like the sound of that,” Zuko mused and Sokka started babbling about betrayal and the “coup d’état” they were staging against him. Aang, bored of Sokka’s drunken whining, cranked up the music. (Y/N) grabbed Zuko and pulled him into a dance while Suki went to go comfort a pouting Sokka on the couch. She laughed at how stiffly he moved even when drunk, like dancing was a completely foreign concept to him. He just kind of shifted his weight from foot to foot, hardly even in time with the beat of the music. Zuko filled his cup again and hoped it would help unlock some secret rhythm or skills.
“I’m so sorry, Zu!” she giggled as she wobbled, grabbing onto his bicep for support. She’d bumped into the glass he was holding and spilled it everywhere, including across both of their shirts. Sokka looked over and cackled.
“(Y/N) made Zuko wet!” he crowed, making everyone else giggle at the pair.
“Shut up, Sokka!” Zuko laughed, chucking a kitchen towel he’d been using to mop up the mess on the floor. It hit the other boy square in the face, making a wet slapping sound against his skin. The group was nearly in tears at Sokka’s shriek of disgust. (Y/N) leaned heavily against Zuko to keep from toppling over.
“Can I borrow a shirt?” she asked of Sokka once she caught her breath.
“No,” he pouted. “Get one of Sifu Hotman’s shirts. We’re not friends anymore.”
“You are such a drama queen!” She rolled her eyes, still grinning. “You got a shirt I can borrow, Zu?”
“Yeah, sure.” He felt anxiety pulling in his gut as he led her to his bedroom. She followed closely behind, also feeling rather nervous but clutching his arm still as she wobbled. He tossed her an old t-shirt and, to his immense surprise and embarrassment, she’d already stripped off her soiled top when he turned to her. She giggled when his face went red and he quickly turned back around. Mumbling an apology, he started to pull off his own shirt.
(Y/N) stared as the fabric lifted, revealing a massive tattoo across the expanse of his muscular back. It was a beautifully intricate dragon done in red and black ink and its angry eyes seemed to follow her as she swayed on her feet.
“Whoah,” she gasped and stepped forwards.
He was about to ask what was wrong when he felt her fingertips ghost across his skin, making him shiver involuntarily. “I didn’t know you had such a dope tattoo.”
“I didn’t know it mattered,” he said, closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of her tracing the lines. It was hard to tell whether it was the alcohol or her gentle touch that was making his head fuzzy and his skin feel hot.
“Of course it matters!” His breath caught in his throat when she slid her hands around to his front and hugged herself to him, resting her cheek against his back. “Tattoos are sexy and cool, and you’re already sexy and cool, so now you’re, like, extra sexy and cool.”
“You- you think that I’m sexy and cool?”
“And warm,” she sighed happily. He turned and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he cautiously settled his hands on her hips. He pressed his forehead against hers in an attempt to bring her face into focus.
“Well... I think you’re sexy and cool.” He hiccuped. “And warm,” he added after a moment of thought. She giggled at the way his alcohol-scented breath tickled her face.
“Hey, c’mere,” she whispered, squishing his face between her palms.
“I’m already here,” he murmured back, pulling her in by her hips anyways so their bodies touched.
“I have to tell you a secret.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “I wanna... smooch your face.”
Zuko wrinkled his nose adorably. “‘Smooch?’ You spend too much time with Sokka.”
“Why, you jealous?”
Yes. “Shut up,” he grumbled.
“Make me.”
That means she wants me to kiss her, right? She just said she wants to kiss me and “make me” always means “kiss me” in the romcoms and romance books. But maybe not. “How?”
(Y/N) laughed. “You’re cute when you’re dumb.”
“Hey!”
“What? You are.”
“I’m not dumb!”
“You’re a little dumb. What else do you need, a written invitation? An e-vite maybe? Do you want to RSVP? I’ll need to know if you’re bringing a-“ He cut off her teasing by pressing his lips to hers, squeezing her hips. She responded immediately and enthusiastically, leaning into his chest and threading her fingers through his hair. She hummed contentedly into his mouth when he slipped his hands down to grab her ass. When she pulled back he chased after her lips needily and she chuckled, patting his chest. “We’re taking a long time, they’re gonna get suspicious.”
“So what?” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her jaw instead and trailing more down her neck when she tilted her head to give him easier access. He was feeling awfully emboldened by the kiss and the considerable amount of liquid courage he’d indulged in. “Sokka introduced us with exactly this goal in mind.”
“I don’t know about exactly this goal, but that’s ‘so what.’ I couldn’t stand to see him so pleased with himself.”
He considered this and pulled himself with great effort away from his ministrations at her neck. “You’re right. He’d be unbearable.”
She looked up at him with bright eyes and swollen red lips and he wanted desperately to kiss her again. With a grin, she pulled his t-shirt over her head. He’d completely forgotten how they’d even ended up in his bedroom in the first place. “Put your shirt on and let’s go, hotman. I’m gonna kick your ass at blackjack.” She started to pull him by his hand towards the door but he yanked her back, catching her in his arms she stumbled.
“Don’t think we won’t pick this back up later, princess.” His tone made her gulp, eyes wide. He gave her a wicked grin and led her back out to everyone else as he shrugged on a new shirt.
“Finally! What took so long?” Aang said, a knowing look in his eyes.
“Don’t ask that. I don’t want to hear them talk about making out,” Toph huffed. Both Zuko and (Y/N) blushed in response, looking at the floor. Sokka started cheering and shouting and Katara punched him in the arm to get him to shut up. (Y/N) and Zuko squished in together in the empty spot on the couch as Suki started dealing playing cards. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pretended not to know how to play the game so she could tease him and show him how. They were so engrossed in each other that they missed the satisfied smirks all their friends were shooting each other.
A/N: whenever i add a read more cut on my laptop tumblr freaks out and deletes half the fic so. sorry lmao. anyways this makes me miss drinking with my friends. woulda hugged the homies a little tighter if i knew it was gonna be like this 🥺😪
TAGS: @theblueslytherin @beifongsss @coconutsaiyan @5sos-wdw @silverreading @the-lva-way @cupofnctea @khaleesi-of-assassins @bloomkings @pyromaniac-olive @lil-lex1 @sokkas--boomerang @cece-lives-here @coldlilheart @royahllty @astralsaf @not-a-glad-gladiator @damianwaynerocks @darkskin-buttercup @emogril @plutaars @duh-dobrik @harajukukitsune @kangaroobunny @harmlessoffering @rosetheshapeshifter @past-2am @welovediaaxx @dailytrashypanda @thenutellabreadsticks @sara5208 @whalerus @fanworrior @andrevvminyrd @travvestys @rosesandpines @cipheress-to-k-pop @starryzxko @justab-eautifulmess @mochminnie @whoevenfrickenknows @asianequation @booksandwonderlands @thesstuff @dekumiya @ya-fwiend-rainbow @spookities @394pitterpatterpotter394 @rockinearthbending-marauders @beardsplittler @kurt-nightcrawler @sifucuteness
#mine#ialtm#atla#avatar the last airbender#avatar the last airbender smau#smau#atla smau#zuko#prince zuko#zuko x reader#zuko smau#zuko x reader smau#zuko fic#zuko x you#zuko x y/n#prince zuko x reader#prince zuko x you#zuko x oc#sokka#katara#toph#aang#atla modern au#atla college au#avatar fic#avatar au#avatar zuko#atla zuko
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Your Prompt is this picture/concept! I hope you have fun.
(Art by: p1neapplerum, https://p1neapplerum.tumblr.com/)
Oh :000 I've seen this art on Tumblr actually.
Of course, the art belongs to p1neapplerum, the credit belongs to them and also check out their stuff.
I'm just here to make a one-shot out of the concept of the art, though I'm not really good with interpreting messages in art (ask my art teacher, the panic I felt each time I got called to say what I think the meaning of a piece of art is) so what I might write might not be the story they're going for.
Anyway, hey Pillow! Thank you again for the prompt and I did my best to sorta make a plot but I don't know what the story behind it is so this is just my interpretation of what just happened.
I'm pretty sure the first part of the art is like a separate thing from the other stuff? But I'm just gonna assume Wil accidentally got turned into a fox by a witch and while he was waiting to turn back, little kit Fundy found him and decided then and there that Wil is now his dad.
So... yeah.
I didn't know what I was doing but I hope it's good enough XD.
Wilbur had royally fucked himself over.
It wasn’t enough that he’d offended a witch - OH NO - now he was a fucking fox.
He settled underneath a tree canopy, his mind racing with solutions.
Wilbur couldn’t go home like this. Well, he could, but his brothers would never let him live it down. He’d be lucky if Phil found him first, but he highly doubted that.
He glanced down at his soft, furry brown paws, wincing at the thought of coming home like this. A witch’s spell could only last for so long, he only needed to wait it out. Wilbur let out a small huff, resting his tired head on the ground, his fox tail thumping slowly behind him. You would think for a river witch, he’d be turned into a salmon or something. Then again, he’d rather be a fox. Less chance of him getting hunted down by his own family this way. Techno did love his foxes and he’d sooner bring Wilbur home with him than hunt him for his hide and meat.
The wind ruffled at his fur, his skin itching with the foreign feeling of having fur all over him. He moved deeper into the tree canopy, the leaves providing cover from the scorching sun above. Wilbur found a small hole within the tangle of tree roots, and while he couldn’t fit into it, he settled right next to it. If he was lucky, maybe he wouldn’t be attacked by a snake whose territory he’d just laid down next to. Wilbur took a deep breath, he should probably sleep the curse away.
His eyes fluttered close, but it was barely minute before he heard a low growl come from next to him. His eyes snapped open, instincts forcing him to his feet. FUCK HE FORGOT ABOUT THE WOLVES! He turned to leave, but a sharp pain travelled throughout his whole body. His fur bristled, a low whine escaping his throat as he angrily turned around to face his enemy. Only... it wasn’t a wolf.
A little fox kit was biting his tail... oh, fuck.
Wilbur wagged his tail, but the kit wouldn’t let it go. If anything, it’s little teeth sunk deeper into his tail, causing him to yelp in pain. That seemed to give the kit pause, after a moment, it reluctantly let go. He sighed, awkwardly patting the kit on the head before moving away. A kit meant a litter, and a litter meant a vixen. He’d rather not get mauled to death by a mother fox today, no thank you. He moved away from the oak tree, heading deeper into the forest before settling underneath a small berry bush. He laid down, content to finally take a short nap.
That was short-lived. A small weight settled over his back, a snout nuzzling into the back of his neck. Wilbur froze, turning his head. The kit had followed him, its tail wagging behind it happily. Unfortunately, that was when the curse wore off.
.
.
.
.
.
“PHIL! DAD, PLEASE HELP ME!”
He looked up, heart beating loudly in his chest. Wilbur had gone into the forest today - and while Phil would never question his son’s whereabouts - it had been hours, and now his son was calling for help. He flew out of the large window, ignoring his other sons’ screams of surprise. Phil let the wind carry him towards the tree line, his son’s disheveled form standing out against the flower field that surrounded their home. He landed gently, his wings letting out a gust of wind.
“Wilbur, what—” He cut himself off. Wilbur was holding a fox kit in his hands, and every few seconds, the fox would shapeshift into a more humanoid form. It continued to do that before finally settling into its humanoid form. “WILBUR—”
“A witch turned me into a fox and now this kit came out of nowhere and wouldn’t leave.” Wilbur held the fox out, a terrified look in his eyes. From the look of his cheeks, Phil could tell that Wilbur had been crying. “He wouldn’t leave me alone even after I turned back and now I’m a dad! I’m a dad! Phil, what do I do?!”
Phil sighed, “I disown you.”
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No, Phil did not actually disown Wil. It’s a joke, pls. It’s a joke.
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Hi
I'm not up to date with all the drama in this fandom bc i tend to scroll past it. But being a reader of the books before I landed in these fandoms, I'm utterly shocked about how people treat eachother.
I'm very neutral on this stupid ship war going on. I tend to fall more for Elriel. But I understand everyone's opinion. I used to read all the book analysis, but now it just seems so exhausting. I get that people love books and ship different people. That's normal, everyone has different taste etc i'm just here trying to understand why we need to bring other human beings down in order to push our own narrative.
Since when is it okay to do that???? Can't we have a normal conversation without sending death treats?
I normally don't really respond to anything that involves drama. But these last couples of months have gotten me to dislike the books more and more solely because of these, may I call them blandly, horrible people.
And i'm very sad to have to admit that i'm also getting sick of the art of the multiple ships. Which that's horrible because I love what all these amazing artists create. But the hate they receive and the comments just make me hate it all more,this whole fandom with all these toxic people ruining it for me personally.
Can't we all just agree that we like these books, and respect eachother as human beings, no matter what everyone else thinks? And maybe wait and see what the author writes? In the end it are still her books and she will have the final say in everything.
I wish SJM would release the next book sooner so all this hate would stop, then again i don't know if it will stop. They will likely continue and probably bother SJM too...
Thank you for listening to me ranting, you always seem very nice to people with different opinions, so I thought i might as well rant a bit too.
Have a lovely day!!
Hello! Thank you for this message! I think it's really helpful for people to see because they can see the impact of the things they are doing and saying in the fandom. There are a lot of people who feel comfortable being vocal in the fandom, but I gotta say, if I were just joining now, I'm not sure that would be me. I wonder how many people walk in, take a look around, and walk the fuck back out. I probably would.
I got on my soap box a little bit because I was thinking about some of the things you've said!
I was just talking with some friends, some of whom I've been in the fandom with since 2017, some who are newer. And we all 1000% agree with you. It's so, so frustrating that the fandom has gotten so nasty to the point where we've become so separated from each other that we can't have a single civil conversation. Where people of color don't feel safe, and where a lot of the fandom doesn't even seem to care about that.
When I first joined the fandom, there were definitely people who shipped one way and people who shipped another, but we were still able to have conversations with each other. There would be these really, really long posts that were chains of people commenting on posts and reblogging, then someone adding on their thoughts, then op would respond, etc. Yeah, the posts were super long to scroll through, but there was so much engagement, ya know? And it was genuine, too. We could disagree or say "hey OP I like this point, but have you thought of X?" And it was great! (I even have a tag for it, #long post tag, because I once got an anon who was annoyed at how long my conversations with people would be 💀so I made that tag for people who wanted to block those posts.)
I'm not going to pretend it was perfect - there were definitely people I didn't get along with. But that wasn't a fandom thing, that was just a personality thing. And I never in a million years expected those people to fly off the handle and start attacking me anon, or to ss my posts to make fun of elsewhere. Now, that's a constant fear hanging over everyone's heads.
It has created an extreme echo chamber. I would genuinely like having those old fandom discussions where people would comment - in the open, on reblogs - and then we could all engage in that discussion in public. Now, all of that discussion happens in private, in groupchats and Discord. And don't get me wrong, Discord is super fun. But it also means that 1) people who aren't in those groups have no idea wtf is going on when we vague, although I try not to do that anyway, and 2) when people are in those groups they egg each other on to be worse and worse. Worse than they would have been if they were on their own and didn't feel like they had a group of people there to support their asshole behavior. tbh, I have to check myself sometimes and think, "would I do this if I hadn't just gotten into a rant conversation with friends on Discord?"
And what you said about fan art, it's so frustrating!!! Since when did fan art become a battle ground??? Since when did the appearance of fan art = a win for one ship or the other?? Why can't the comments of those arts ever just be nice and appreciative of the work someone has put into it? Honestly, it makes me paranoid to write fanfic, too! I mean, is that next???
I totally agree with you that we should be able to respect each other as people. We used to be able to do that. I hate to admit it, but I have so many people blocked now because I just don't trust them. I don't trust them to be civil, I don't trust them to be able to see my posts, I don't trust them to even read what I've written without misconstruing everything I've said.
I'm not sure if people realize that there is a big difference between this:
I don't like X ship
And this:
People who like X ship are delusional
The first one is okay! It's normal! Like you said, we all have feelings and interpretations and stuff we would prefer to see or not see!
The second one, not okay! Stop insulting people, people!!!!
The idea of engaging in a normal, healthy debate with a huge portion of the fandom is such a foreign concept to me at this point, and it never used to be. There could be a lot of reasons for this. And I always try to avoid pointing fingers because I know that not everyone is like that, though I'm sure I have slipped into that from time to time.
I think it would help if we stop seeing each other as a gwynriel or an elucien or an elriel, and start seeing each other as individuals. When acosf first came out, I started noticing a trend where people would send me asks and write them as if they were writing to every single person who ships elucien, or as if they were writing to every single person who holds a certain opinion about Azriel. It was really confusing at first, and I'm gonna request that the fandom stop doing that altogether, to everyone. If you want to engage with someone, engage with that person, not your idea of who they are and what they think.
I'm down for conversations where we talk about the series and what might come next as possibilities, because that's all this is, so far. Anyone who says that "X thing will never happen" is making some bold claims, and it's really off-putting to people who know that that's not why we are here. It's not a contest where we "win" canon. It's fandom, where we talk about what we like and what we don't like and what we want and cross our fingers and hope.
EDIT I wanted to add on one thing - a lot of this behavior is incredibly shocking and disgusting and I think that we, as a fandom, need to be better at 1) calling it out, and 2) not assuming that whoever did X horrible thing represents all people from that corner of the fandom.
I hope that you have a lovely day as well! And that the fandom doesn't get you too down. @heleencollier
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why do so many asoiaf stans have a problem with asoiafuniversity? i've seen sansa stans claim its run by dany stans, and i've seen dany stans claim its run by sansa stans.
Lord above I can hear people sharpening their knives as I type this but
asoiafuniversity is one of the older fandom blogs that will reblog a wide variety of meta and theories, oftentimes even types the mods disagree with but that's still well articulated, that can be positive or critical in nature. This is kind of a foreign concept more recently because of the idea that there's only one "right" way to interpret a character or their story (usually being that they're either perfect or the devil) and that a blog or person who's more open-minded or even uncertain about one specific analysis is just Plain Wrong.
and So, some point during the show's run when Dany vs. Sansa discourse became all the rage, asoiafuniversity continued to reblog and queue (book-specific!) pro Dany and Sansa meta as well as critical Dany and Sansa meta. there are several posts they've reblogged that I myself disagree with and even dislike, mind you, but I've never really attributed that to the blog itself because it's only purpose is as a reserve of meta for people to enjoy and consider--and hell, even to refute in their own analysis if they really disagree with something.
but unfortunately that doesn't fit with the incredibly uncomfortable "you're either with us or against us" mob mentality that accompanies stan culture and so the only Logical Explanation must be that the blog is some super secret propaganda station (because fandom discussion is.. definitely equivalent to real life politics now, I guess) run by whatever type of character stan ~opposes~ the other so they can prop up their fav and sway fandom opinion through specific meta selection.
and as off the wall ridiculous as that theory is, it's also one of the absolute funniest fucking things I've ever heard. asoiaf illuminati... grrm please just drop twow I can't do it anymore
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Love isn’t a Deus Ex Machina thing, it’s literally the core theme of the series, hence why Love Magic exists
Love Magic is never a concept at any time in the series. It’s only about “Lily Potter’s spell”. But what’s so special about Lily Potter? What’s so great about her? She did the thing any halfway decent mother would do for their child: she gave her life for them. Molly would’ve done it for any of her sons. Narcissa would have done it for Draco. Mrs Granger the nonentity would have done it for her daughter had she not been lobotomized instead. Lily Potter’s sacrifice isn’t anything special. It’s only special because Rowling decided so, because the Plot needed it to be.
Love isn’t a Deus Ex Machina thing? Then how come Quirrel conveniently burned to death at Harry’s hands? How come Harry had to live at Privet Drive because reasons so he could be abused so naive readers like you could feel very sorry for the poor widdle orphan and pat themselves on the back because wow, aren’t you special for feeling sorry for the poor widdle orphan?
And I didn’t misunderstand Harry. I literally explained him to you
If you don’t like him, I don’t care. Just stop giving his uniqueness to other characters
And you literally showed me exactly why you don’t understand him.
Harry’s superpower isn’t teh special uniqueness of his luuuurve, or the absolute pure pureness of his heart, it’s that he has FRIENDS. Friends who’d die for him, friends who’d sacrifice themselves for him, friends who’d do anything for him. THAT’S the power of love, not some bullshit ~special pure pureness of the heart of Harry Christ our lord and savior~. Harry isn’’t unfailingly kind or uniquely loving or whatever the shit. Harry is a run-of-the-mill teenager who has such obscene luck I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was conceived under the influence of Lucky Potion.
You just showed me you’re a member of the Church of Harry Christ and I’m not interested in joining. Dear God I thought I was too attached to fictional characters but wow am I glad I’m not at your level.
Also one more thing: “tortured” someone?
Sure. A painful stunner is DEF torture (that’s legit all his Crucio did; it acted as a painful stunner. It threw Carrow backwards and hurt him while it did. Crucio isn’t even close to that when performed properly)
............ you... you fucking little hypocrite.
You filthy, lying, little bitch cunt of a fucking hypocrite.
Remember when I said the next person who’d try to lie to me to pity poor wee widdle Hawwy would be sorry? You pathetic little piece of shit. If you’re so in luuurve with your precious cuntfuck of a camera archetype you’d accept EVERYTHING about him, wouldn’t you? Haha, but noooo. “Oh wee poor Hawwy only used a painful stunner :)))))))” you fucking little bitch. Oh you accuse ME of trying to “make Hawwy not special :(((” but you... YOU...
Hahahaha sorry everyone. I have a slight aversion to people blatantly trying to gaslight me. You may find me getting a little bit angry if you happen to trod on this trigger of mine.
Let’s see that again shall we? Open your eyes and your chakras, bitch, we’re going for a ride.
“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. You time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.”
And he spat in her face.
Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”
The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor.
“I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.” - Deathly Hallows
If I could reach through my screen to force you to look at the relevant bits, I would. And I’d also slap you in passing. Yknow, just so you think twice before being a stinking fucking hypocrite again in the future.
Now, let’s do some actual literary analysis that isn’t your ~wah hawwy puwe of heawt luuurrrve~ diarrhea you’re still trying to paint my poor innocent blog with.
Now let’s see that PaInFuL sTuNnEr in detail:
He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain
In bold so you can see it very well. Admire the curve of each letter, the angles and the lines. And most of all, interpret the meaning of each and every word. Watch how he’s compared to “a drowning man”, do you know how excruciatingly painful and distressing it is to drown? How the air fills your lungs as you claw desperately for the surface, trying to find something to cling to, anything, the feeling of your lungs filling with this foreign substance you cannot spit back out? The feeling of fading away as all your oxygen is consumed by the futility of your hopeless flailing, your muscles losing their strength, your panic dulling as you slip into unconsciousness and water claims yet another victim...
Of course, drowning people don’t thrash and howl in pain. Because all they’re focused on is trying to BREATHE. But Amycus’ focus isn’t on trying to breathe. Amycus is only focus on Harry’s Crucio and the pain it’s bringing him.
But sure Anon. A pAiNfUl StUnNeR. Fuck you.
and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass
Now I’m aware Dummywood has made you believe that glass can be traversed easy without any consequences but real glass doesn’t work like that. Real glass takes some force to shatter. Real glass shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces that embed themselves into your flesh and skin, kinda like... oh! Kinda like that glass chandelier that fell on Hermione, once. After she herself was Crucio’d if I remember well. Hmm, by whom exactly, I have it on the tip of my tongue...
“I see what Bellatrix meant,”
Ah yes. By the woman who tortured to insanity Neville’s parents and whom Harry is literally acknowledging as having taught him this particular lesson.
Harry himself is TELLING US HE LISTENED TO BELLATRIX’S ADVICE. ON FUCKING TORTURING PEOPLE. But “a PaInFuL sTuNnEr He’S aN oRpHaN :’‘‘(((((”. Fuck off. Fuck off, Anon. Fuck off and learn to fucking read.
Ah but I got ahead of myself! We’re not even CLOSE to the point!
he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor
So Amycus gets tortured - or, as Anon astutely put it, pAiNfUl StUnNeR - smashes through a sheet of glass, and gets knocked out.
Hmm. Now if Harry just took out a knife and brought it to Carrow’s neck, he’d be worthy of being called Bellatrix’s faithful apprentice.
And now I’m gonna quote one of my Quora answers again because my followers deserve better than to see me completely lose my mind at some anonymous cowardly cunt trying to lie to my fucking face.
On the topic of Harry’s Crucios:
This could mean that Harry is scarily proficient at casting Crucio, that Amycus has low pain tolerance or that he was knocked out when he fell, but regardless of the meaning, IT’S NOT GOOD. EVEN IF IT’S A DEATH EATER, EVEN IF HE PROBABLY DESERVES COMEUPPANCE - IT’S NOT HARRY’S JOB TO GIVE OUT SAID COMEUPPANCE.
(Like, can I please remind everyone that Harry is supposed to be the Jesus Christ of his story? In the Bible we never have Jesus Christ torturing the pharisees or any of those who didn’t believe in him. Just… you’re telling me Jesus “Peace and Love” Christ would torture people… what the hell, Joanne?)
“I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”
…………………….. Um. Harry, what the fuck are you doing???!
He’s taken Bellatrix’s advice! He actually relates to the insane sadistic terrorist! He is capable of using a curse that literally requires sadism to work!
(Again, when someone tells me “Jesus Christ”, “sadism” isn’t the first word that would come to my mind.)
At least there’s some sort of reaction. “the blood thundering through his brain”. But that’s a very… nondescriptive reaction. Is it the “adrenaline pumping in my veins” blood? Is it the “holy shit what have I done” blood? Is it the “I could get used to this” blood?
We don’t know. We’ll never know.
Alright, skipping to the part that interests us -
She struggled to pull herself together. “Potter, that was foolish!”
Eh, I’d have said “tactically unsound” (what if Amycus wasn’t knocked out), “monstrous” (that’s Bellatrix’s favourite curse you’re using, Harry), “insane” (re: Bellatrix), but yeah, I guess “foolish” would also cover it.
“He spat at you,” said Harry.
Ever heard of Disproportionate Retribution, Harry? A few fascists regimes all over the world were especially fond of it.
Then I’m skipping over the one thing that causes the most outrage because I’ll go back to it soon, just let me finish with this:
“[…] but don’t you realize — ?”
“Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her. Somehow her panic steadied him.
I guess we can imagine that McGee is saying “don’t you realize what you’ve just done?”
Harry “assures” her he realizes. Harry knows. Harry has just used the literal goddamn Torture Curse and he’s totally cool with it.
Or, if he was uncool with it, now he’s cool with it. Because “her panic steadied him”. So seeing McGonagall panic makes Harry think “yeah, using Crucio was the right thing to do”.
Well then! Onwards then, Dark Lord Potter! First it’s just one Crucio, then it’s just three, then it’s just one little murder of one lowly little naysayer, then it’s only a little more murder…
And now we’ll go back a smidge, because how are we supposed to react?
How are we supposed to reconcile the idea of Harry, who’s supposed to save us all through his Power of Love, with the Harry that has just tortured a man into inconsciousness?
Even if that man was a Death Eater, Harry is supposed to be the Christ-like figure. He’s supposed to be love and forgiveness incarnate. Heck, not a hundred pages later he’ll offer forgiveness to freaking Voldemort! He forgives Draco Malfoy, he forgives Albus Dumbledore, he forgives Severus Snape!
So how do we reconcile Harry Potter The Forgiver with Harry Potter The Torturer? Tell us, O Author! Tell us how to navigate the murky, twisted depths of human morality!!
“Potter, I — that was very — very gallant of you — […]”
…
…………………
………………………………………………
That was… gallant?
Gallant?
Wait, doesn’t gallantry imply some form of honor?
As in, not taking your opponent by surprise -
Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand…
As in, facing your opponent head-on instead of hitting them in the back -
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted…
As in, not torturing your opponent???
He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain
That’s… unless the definition has changed, nothing about this is gallant…
Let me just -
(of a man) polite and kind towards women, especially when in public
showing no fear of dangerous or difficult things
Alright, so, Amycus isn’t a woman, so Harry can’t, by definition, be “gallant” to him.
Still, being “polite and kind” to a woman didn’t involve “torturing someone who disrespected her”, last time I checked. Punching an asshole harrassing her, definitely *pats Ron*, but torturing that asshole… no, just no.
And well, I guess casting Cruciatus is a difficult thing to do… and Harry didn’t seem very afraid to do it… that’s not supposed to be a good thing, but apparently, now it is…?
What made that
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”
more gallant than
“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”
After all, they’re the exact same thing. Torture. Inflicting tremendous pain upon someone for the heck of it.
Why do people lose their heads over Harry using Crucio, when they seem to neglect the fact that Draco Malfoy cast it?
Well, easy enough - Draco Malfoy is an evil little cockroach. The guy wished death upon people, he bragged about the fact that his Daddy dearest was a terrorist who killed people. It’s not too surprising that an evil little cockroach like him would find it acceptable to torture someone he considers “not human”, isn’t it?
What’s more surprising however, is that the hero, Harry Potter, who has been subjected to the Torture Curse, whose only use of the Torture Curse previously was when he felt distress and pain unlike any other, that Harry Potter whom is supposed to be a hero and some sort of role model, would actually manage to use said Torture Curse even though it requires real sadism to actually work.
And what’s even worse is that Harry Potter casts that curse, that literal Torture Curse, and instead of being rightly horrified, instead of being terrified by the boy’s use of such a heinous spell, instead of saying “alright Harry, you’re not doing this again, ever, right?”, instead…
Instead McGonagall calls Harry “gallant”, instead of telling him off for using such a curse. She briefly calls him “foolish”, but it doesn’t register, really, since she ends up calling him “gallant”.
That’s what angers people. That the Torture Curse is the most horrible, awful thing you can do to people… unless you’re Harry Potter, in which case it is a little “foolish”, but mostly “gallant”.
......................
But of course, little Anon over here isn’t angered. Because little Anon is a faithful devoted member of the Church of Harry Christ Our Lord And Saviour. Little Anon can say enormities like A pAiNfUl StUnNeR and believe it with the whole force of their little Anon heart, because uwu Hawwy speshul orphan pure lurve uwu.
Little Anon, please get the fuck out of my blog and never, ever come back. I’m sure this arrangement will be beneficial for everyone involved.
#vivi answers#ask#harry potter#harry potter series#crucio#cruciatus#cruciatus curse#bellatrix lestrange#hp meta#lily evans#lily potter#tw: drowning#harry potter critical
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first impressions ( are they pointless if fate has already decided? )
Characters / Pairing: Fukawa Touko/Naegi Komaru, ( implied ) Syo / Komaru
crossposted on ao3
Notes: day 7 of @tokomaruweek!! soulmate prompt.
sorry if i manage to absolutely fuck up posting this one i'm half awake rn.
i appreciate how unrealistic and improbably soulmate aus are. anyways i knew i wanted to play with this idea as soon as i saw the prompt. i think that bodyswap au has interesting potential. the bodyswap soulmate au in the specific sense that you’d theoretically get to see the kind of hardships your fated might be going through but that’s not really the angle i took on it here but i mean do any of us want komaru to face abuse and bullying? no. i cannot comit to that. someone else can do that i am going to live here angst free
anyways in case it isn't obvious the basis premises around this is that once you come of age, you swap bodies with your soulmate.
HONESTLY not sure how a body swap au would work w/ a did person but considering that every alter / identity is considered their own person, i figured that it would simply just swap w/ the host, meaning any alters would be left behind. i do think it'd be an interesting concept to play with, maybe?
tw for trauma / abuse ( /ive parents )
Summary: most circumstances to figure out the identity of your soulmate are pretty unfortunate, but she thinks this one might take the proverbial cake in some regard.
For most people, this would be the kind of momentous occasion that people would count down to. For Touko, it catches her completely off guard because she hardly registers the fact that her birthday is coming up until the day it happens.
‘It’ being the day she comes of age and is supposed to find out who her soulmate is.
She’d be lying if she said she didn’t think about this kind of stuff on occasion. It was kind of a given, with her entire shtick of being a romance author. But quite frankly, she tries to forget it, because really? Soulmates? For someone like her? Not likely.
Who would want to be stuck with someone like her? Best not to get her hopes up too much, and stick to unrequited crushes on people she knows she’s probably not destined for.
The sound of an unfamiliar alarm is what wakes her up— Touko doesn’t really process anything more than trying to turn it off and laying down for a few minutes. And then realizes her body doesn’t quite feel right. Empty. Something’s missing and it’s too quiet and it all feels horribly wrong. And then opening her eyes and realizing she can see perfectly fine without her glasses.
Oh. Oh no. No no no no no.
She hops out of bed and spots a phone ( thank christ ) and confirms her fears. Right. It’s her birthday. Thank god she doesn’t need to know a passcode to figure out that information. Well, nothing she can do about that. Time to sleep off today, so she can go back to living her life normally, soulmate-free.
Or well, that is what she plans to do, until a picture frame catches her attention from the corner of her eye, and— oh. Oh no? Oh no. She absolutely recognizes one of the two people in the picture. She presumes the girl is the one whose body she’s currently inhabits ( nothing particularly special to note there, plain as plain can be ). The boy— she loathes that nonchalant, easygoing expression— the boy she recognizes as her classmate. One Makoto Naegi.
God, it’d be just her luck, huh. Speaking of which—
“Komaru!” Ah, so that’s her name. She hears a shout from downstairs, followed by footsteps. “You’re going to be late!”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit.
In a panic, she sprints to dive back under the covers and pretends to be asleep still. Maybe she’ll get off without much of a punishment that way? Definitely less than the realization that she’d been awake and not getting ready for...school, presumably. She has no clue what this girl is usually like, but hopes that it isn’t painfully obvious what is going on here.
“Komaru?” The voice is closer this time, the sound of the door opening follows close behind. While she panics over the thought of what to do asides from pretending like she’s asleep, Touko misses the sound of footsteps approaching and flinches when the covers are tugged away from her head. She doesn’t mean to let out a whimper of fear when a hand comes down on her forehead, teeth clenched, not that the sound is interpreted as fear. “Are you feeling all right, dear? You’re not feverish, but you are a little sweaty...”
It takes her a moment to recognize the tone of this woman’s voice is one of concern, an incredibly foreign concept for her to expect from any parent ( she’s presuming this is the mother ). It certainly was never one she’d expected to hear from her own mothers, squeezing her eyes shut as if to ignore the truth. “N-No...” It’s not a lie, at least— all of this makes her feel sick to her stomach.
( It leaves an awful taste in her mouth, knowing the love that she is being shown here is just an illusion; not meant for her at all. And yet Touko wants something that she has never had. What an awful child she is )
“Why don’t you take it easy for today, then? If you feel no better later, you can start taking medicine.” She manages to utter a thank you, whatever will get her with no repercussions and left alone again, and there is a hand gently stroking back her hair before she is alone again.
Once ‘her�� mother leaves, she locks the door and buries herself under the blankets, so she can sleep and forget about today ever happening.
In comparison, Komaru Naegi finds herself having a much less than pleasant awakening. In that she doesn’t know what wakes her up, just that she is suddenly, forcibly awakened and in a room she doesn’t recognize.
Weird. Is she dreaming? It kind of feels that way, because she has no control over the body she currently resides in, marching over to the desk and reaches into the draw for...a pair of scissors? Really, really sharp scissors, but a pair of scissors nonetheless.
It’s not a dream. Get out. They hiss at her, scissors pointed at her— themselves? Oh boy. Uh.
“I don’t think I can do that.” She says aloud; wincing. “I don’t— I don’t know what’s going on...?”
Ugh. You think I know any better? ( Yes! Yes she does!! ) It’s totally bullshit that this is my wake-up call after ages, and she’s not even awake and instead I’m stuck with you? Ah. Shit, hold on a second how long has it been. They reach for the calendar, and she feels her face frown. Aw, it hasn’t been that long? She really forgot her own birthday coming up? Some heads up would’ve been nice instead of just waking up to this fucking mess. The voice continues to complain.
“Um...” She hates to interrupt, but she’s still pretty confused. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
You’re expecting me to just give that up without knowing your own name? Or do you not care?
“Sorry!” And she is, given that she’d kind of gotten ahead of herself. “Komaru. Komaru Naegi. But just Komaru is fine!”
Ah— Naegi? What are the odds— Dekomaru it is!
“What? That’s not my name at all!” Komaru completely manages to miss the faint recognition, huffing a pout. “And I told you, so answer my questions!”
Syo. And what I mean is that now I’m stuck explaining this shit— did you seriously not pay attention to any of that or are you that dumb? Geeze, listen to me this time. Okay, so we can have a lesson on proper terms and all that shit another time, long and short of it is that we share this body— miss gloomy and I. It’s technically her coming of age birthday today, which is why you’re here instead of her.
“Oh, okay.” Komaru nods along in agreeably, before her mind catches up and process the implications of what she’s been told. “Wait, you mean I— she— this is my soulmate?!” Her voice cracks as it pitches, hands quick to clasp out of her mouth, a little worriedly.
Yeah, obviously. And don’t worry, the rooms are soundproof. Otherwise, I would’ve already told you to stop replying out loud. People would think that’s weird. They sound amused, reaching back towards the table and fumbles around for a moment before raising something up into the field of their view.
This is a student ID card, which provides her with several helpful bits of information— none of which Komaru chooses to fixate on. “...Hope’s Peak?” What were the chances of that?
Focus, idiot. Do you have any idea of what this means?
Komaru beams, an expression that might have been frightening for anyone else to see on this face. “It means I can be a Hope’s Peak student for today!”
No. Ouch, that’s probably the most cold they’ve sounded so far. Which is saying a lot, considering how they’d greeted her. Well, maybe. I know she really wouldn’t like it if you went around in our body. She doesn’t like it when I force control over our body either, but if it’s you then she probably won’t care. Personally, I don’t give two fucks— I can give you tips on acting more like her if you want.
Komaru makes a face. “I’m bad at acting. Am I really that different?”
Given that you don’t shut up, yes. That’s not a bad thing. They add on when they seem to sense the indignation rising in her. You really want to go around like normal today?
“Please?” She begs in what is sure to not be the last time that Syo enables her in doing something she probably shouldn’t do.
Okay! You’re more fun to have to share with than madam morose. This is way more chaotic. If things go wrong, I’ll help you cover up.
Komaru thinks that’s supposed to be a compliment. Or flattery? Either way, she enthusiastically takes to observing her appearance in the mirror for a good several minutes— more than several, but who’s keeping track? Syo. Syo is— before they point out they’ll be late for class and still haven’t had breakfast. But Komaru really only registers late and class and grabs her bag and rushes out into the hall, only to realize she didn’t really know where she was supposed to be going.
Syo sighs at her and directs her in the right direction of their locker and then their class while Komaru considers what’s the best way to seem cool if she can’t technically be herself. And also try not to nervously overthink things. That is also a thing she tries to avoid.
You know it’s weird that we’re going to class early, right?
“It’s fine...!” She grumbles. I can’t help but be excited, okay? It’s not everyday I get to pretend to be attended one of the most prestigious schools in the country.
Uh huh. Okay. I don’t think it’s really ‘cool’ to be this early to class, but.. Syo snickers at her, and she pouts before opting to ignore them, gathering her nerves before ( with more confidence than the actual Touko Fukawa would ever muster ) pushing the door open and stepping inside the classroom.
And then the whole act cool plan falls apart because while Komaru had registered the, we’re at Hope’s Peak Academy, she had failed to consider the whole, this is the school my brother goes to, I might run into my brother dilemma that she is immediately forced to acknowledge in a very graceful manner.
( And by gracefully she means she very embarrassingly screams at Makoto and Syo cackles at her, and she learns a very important lesson on why she should not trust Syo so easily )
Unfortunately for Touko, her body refuses to sleep much, which means she is wide awake when someone tries to come into the room just after four. Clearly not giving up, a knock soon follows, and, “Fukawa-san? Can you let us in?”
And then the sound of her own voice, way too cheery for her own liking. “No one else is home right now, so you don’t need to worry about it. Please? I really want to meet you! Uhm, properly.” Silence follows, since Touko makes no attempt to acknowledge that- if she pretends to sleep, then they’ve got to give up eventually. Even if she can only run away for so long, given that Makoto will probably just confront her tomorrow if she doesn’t. “Uh, Syo-san says they’ll take matters into their own hands if you don’t...? I’m not really sure what that means, but...” Makoto makes a panicked noise and god damn it Syo. She hadn’t counted on Syo working against her as well. Should she have expected that from them? Eh.
( It might speak more about the other girl, if she’d managed to get something like Syo’s...approval? That doesn’t seem quite right, and feels weird to think about either way )
“Give me a moment.” She calls, just to make sure Syo doesn’t go ahead and try and start picking the lock or break a window or something else that’s drastic and unnecessary. Takes a deep breath as she pulls herself out of bed, doesn’t bother double-checking if she seems too presentable and trudges over to unlock the door.
No sooner than she does so, the door swings open cautiously— Touko manages to sidestep out of the way before she needs to worry about being hit by it. She can feel the other’s gaze focus in on her almost immediately, but she very pointedly decides to not meet her gaze, mostly because it feels weird to be looking at herself, and looks at the same bookcase she has been staring at for the past four hours straight.
( Manga. She hates it. Of course, she would be stuck with someone that loves something that she practically loathes. She also hates the fact that she’d also been so bored that she’d almost considered reading it )
The only thing she chooses to acknowledge is the fact that her hair is down and not braided, really could she not have put forth even that much effort— and that while having her in front of her now is much different from what she might have thought it to be, she really has no idea of what to think of her.
And then the other seems to decide that enough is enough and holds her hands in hers very excitedly. She can only guess what Syo makes of all this. Schadenfreude, probably. She doesn’t actually say anything to her, just giggles to herself ( she’s not sure if she’s trying to be creepy, or if that laughter is directed at something Syo is saying ).
“Stop that...It’s w-w-weird to see my face doing that.” She gnaws on her lip— is this what everyone else saw all day? That’s awful.
As if reading her mind ( and certainly not the atmosphere of room ), Makoto helpfully chimes in, “Give her a break, she’s done a pretty good job trying to not attract any unwanted attention.”
“They made me skip class.” She pouts, crossing her arms. “Syo even said that they’d take the blame for it, but no, I had to skip out.”
“You screamed at me and scared Fujisaki-san? I was more relieved that Ishimaru-kun was willing to get you excused for the day.” Oh good, at least she can count on having reliable notes and not misplaced homework like with some people ( Syo ).
“It wasn’t that bad, Makoto, you’re making it seem worse than it was—”
“Because screaming like that could come off as good somehow?” He butts in.
“— and what’s done is done, so with that said, let’s eat!” She raises a bag that she’d failed t notice earlier. “I know it’s a little weird, but it’s still your birthday, so we can at least celebrate, right? I even asked Syo what you’d prefer the most while we were at the bakery.” That kind of disgustingly desperate face is all too fitting and completely foreign on her face, and Touko scowls at her.
It’s also a very foreign thought to actually be celebrating her birthday for once, and with a practical stranger nonetheless.
“Actually, I have a call I’m supposed to make. So I’ll be waiting downstairs, Komaru— we do have to get back at a reasonable time, so I’ll come back up if you’re staying too long, okay?” Makoto flees in the most inelegant way possible, fittingly.
Traitor, she wants to yell at him. She’s not quite being left alone here, because Syo is clearly present, but it’s not the same. She still feels a sense of betrayal here on all sides nonetheless.
“Touko-chan! Come sit with me!” Not that she gets any say in this, dragged along by her hand into following. She considers telling her off because when did she say that she was allowed to call her that? But bites her tongue for the moment because she’s still a little startled about the ease at which she has accepted all of...this, given the fact that she’s currently got Syo co-fronting. She suspects that they have arbitrarily elected to not acknowledge the elephant in the room which is very annoying to her, but she’s not really given a chance to acknowledge that either since a plate is shoved into her hands.
Fruit tart. So she’s not lying about the fact that Syo has taken a liking to her, apparently.
( No she’s not jealous over her own apparent soulmate. Why on earth would she envy that? )
“Fukawa-san?” Pale lavender eyes peer up at her, lips pursed in a small pout. “I know this isn’t the most ideal situation, and..I don’t expect you to warm up to me right away. But I’d like it if we could meet again sometime, as ourselves.”
Touko gives her a long look, scrutinizing, and then looks away. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay!” She’s quick to agree like she’d said yes; humming happily with a fork in her mouth ( which would be cuter if she didn't have to look at her own ugly face ).
#tokomaru week 2021#tokomaru#toukomaru#komaru naegi#touko fukawa#toko fukawa#danganronpa#* zhi writes
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step out! do what you want (chapter eleven|finale)
pairing: reader/bang chan/han jisung
rating: explicit | 18+
warnings: BIG FUCKING TW for implied death by suicide clearly designated at the end of the chapter, major character death, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, postpartum depression, profanity, smoking, discussion of pregnancy/childbirth, drug dealer/organized crime!au
word count: about 5,400
also on my ao3 here.
chapter/series navigation
chapter eleven: now it’s over, we’re sober.
important beginning note: I have labelled where the possibly triggering content is (it’s at the very end) so that you can just stop reading from there if you’d prefer.
note: this is it. this is the final chapter for step out! do what you want, and I am devastated. this series took so much out of me, but I loved and hated every moment of it. if you’ve stuck around, even after all this stuff with feelings and plot when you probably just wanted smut, I am really grateful. without further ado, let’s begin the end.
recommended tracks: nightlight by illenium, smile like you mean it by the killers, modus by joji, forever rain by RM, like you do by joji | playlist can be found here
disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.
if you have thoughts of suicide or struggle with mental wellness, please reach out to your local hotline or emergency services. life is worth it, I promise. to any fellow authors, please take this article (and its sources) into consideration if writing about suicide.
Sunshine bores through your shared bedroom window, songbirds chirping loudly outside. The smell of pancakes fills the room as you slowly wake up. It almost sounds like Christopher is singing in a hushed voice from the kitchen, occasionally talking in a cutesy, baby-talk voice, likely to Jiyoon. She’s usually awake by the time the sun comes up, but since it seems like it’s at least a couple hours past daybreak, you assume Christopher woke up and decided to take care of her.
You move to get out of bed, the smell of pancakes tempting you to practically float into the kitchen, but Jisung pulls you into his chest as he sleeps. He grumbles something in his sleep, and you’re unable to make out exactly what he says. He clearly seems comfortable, so you gently turn to your side and kiss him on the forehead before you slip your way out from under his arm and on to the floor.
As you stand up, you accidentally knee the nightstand next to the bed, jostling the charging cable in your phone - you really needed to stop leaving it plugged in overnight - causing the cord to dislodge itself and your phone to wake up.
10:18. No new messages or notifications, just like normal and the way you liked it. Talking to most people was absolutely draining. You had a hard enough time handling Christopher, Jisung, and now Jiyoon. Hell, it was hard enough to handle your own thoughts sometimes, you were just glad that Jiyoon had three parents so that she could get attention from at least two of them whenever she wanted it.
Whatever, you think to yourself, ignoring the lack of notifications on your phone, as the smell of bananas and pancakes distracts you too much to really allow yourself to get too depressed over it.
Why did this all feel so familiar?
There’s a bit of a headache in the front of your head from the bright lights, but it starts to dissipate as you make your way towards the kitchen, Christopher’s singing voice getting louder and louder the closer you approached. You were able to peek over the doorframe without either Christopher or Jiyoon spotting you, so you watched them for a few moments.
Christopher was made for this. He did a great job of keeping Jiyoon entertained in the harness strapped to his chest, holding her in place as he prepared breakfast. You took in the view of the two of them, warmth enveloping you from head to toe. It was endearing to see how much both Christopher and Jisung cared for both you and Jiyoon, but there was still an uneasy feeling in the back of your mind.
It had been maybe four months since Jiyoon was born. It was likely due to all of the psychological stress you had been going through the past year, but when the doctor told you that you were experiencing postpartum depression, it didn’t surprise you. They prescribed you yet another antidepressant and pushed you out the door when you had physically recovered.
You spent a lot of time aimlessly staring out the window. Jiyoon kept the men off of you, keeping them from barraging you with check-in questions, since taking care of a newborn was so hectic. Of course, you did help, but there was this sense of detachment you had from everyone, like you were behind glass and just watching a movie play out in front of you. There wasn’t much of an attachment you had to anything anymore.
Why were you even here?
“Oh,” Christopher softly gasps, “hey, baby, you’re awake.” He smiles and grabs Jiyoon’s arm, making her wave at you. “Good morning,” he sets down the spatula in his other hand and walks up to you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. “How did you sleep?”
You give a timid smile and nod your head. “I slept alright, although I could use a little more.”
Liar.
You hadn’t slept well in over a year. A year and a half, at this point, maybe even two years. Time didn’t make sense anymore, like it was a foreign concept someone tried to explain to you in a language you didn’t comprehend. Memories of Changbin jumping in front of you, dying in front of you, Christopher getting shot in front of you, Minho punching Christopher in front of you, Minho coughing up blood as he died in front of you, all of these memories would rudely interrupt your dreams nearly every night, causing you to wake up in a panic, cold sweat dripping down your body. The medication you had made it a bit more bearable, but it still felt like someone was building The Great Wall of Despair in your chest, brick by brick. It was starting to smother you, consuming you from the inside out.
“That’s good,” Christopher leans in and kisses your forehead before returning to the pan, flipping the pancake inside of it. “Have you taken your meds yet this morning?”
You shake your head, knowing that he wasn’t actually asking, this was his way of reminding you to take them. He specifically kept them in a kitchen drawer so he knew you took them. The second week you were home after Jiyoon was born, you kept “accidentally” forgetting to take them, so after you had a complete meltdown over being incapable to fold a pair of socks, Christopher and Jisung would alternate bringing your pills to you in the morning, until you finally started getting up and taking care of yourself, then they moved them from your bedside table to the kitchen drawer, making sure they observed you as you took them.
“I’ll take them, just give me a second. “ You reach down to the island’s drawers, flipping open Tuesday’s reservoir, shaking the pills into your hand.
“What the fuck did you put in these?” You swear you hear a voice come from the opposite of the counter. A gasp escapes your lips as your eyes slowly tilt up and you freeze in place. There’s no one in the seat across from you, but you swear you could have heard Changbin’s voice.
“That reminds me,” Christopher says, his eyes still on the stovetop, “I was scrolling through recipes the other day and I saw that, if you add a bit of maple syrup to pancake batter, it makes them taste nice and lightly sweet. So,” he smiles, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you, “I added some to the batter and wanted to try it out. Figured it would go well with the bananas in there and change it up a bit.”
This felt so oddly familiar, but you couldn’t figure out why.
You shake your head, trying to clear the strange feeling from you, as if it would just fly out of your ears. The pills in your hand suddenly feel weighted down and heavy as you go to grab a glass from the cupboard, then fill it with maybe a hundred millilitres of water. With a bit of a shake, you spill the pills into your mouth and suck down the water, feeling the gelatine coating stick to the back of your throat for just a second as the pills travel down your esophagus.
“There we go,” Christopher says with a laugh. “Everything’s ready. You should go wake up Jisung so that he can -“
“I’m already awake,” Jisung groggily complains, shuffling his feet on his way up to you. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, then steals the glass from your hand, filling it with water and taking a drink from it. “You guys are loud, and you,” he playfully pokes you in the shoulder, “you left me in there all by myself. I just wanted more cuddles and to be lazy, but no.” He continues to whine before setting the glass down and taking a couple steps to Christopher and Jiyoon.
“Morning,” Christopher says, turning to softly kiss Jisung’s forehead, and Jiyoon makes a soft coo when she sees Jisung, reaching her tiny hands up to his face.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” the younger man’s face brightens up with a smile. “Mind if I take her off your hands, baby?”
Christopher nods, removing Jiyoon from the harness and passing her off to Jisung, giving the top of her head a quick peck. “Please do. She’s getting bigger and it’s killing my back.”
You smile as you watch the two of them interact with your daughter. They were so good to her and she deserved the best parents she could ever have.
The day that Minho and Hyunjin died, Christopher dropped Seungmin and Jeongin off at their apartment, then made the way back to Cheongdam-dong. As he parks the car in the apartment building’s garage, he turns the car off and reaches his hand down from the steering wheel to pull another cigarette out from the pack, but you snap your hand over his wrist.
“You need to quit,” you tell him without thinking and without looking at him.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he scrunches his nose up at you in confusion. “I know?” He wiggles his fingers, trying to pluck one from the packet, but you tighten your grip on his wrist and pull the plastic test out of your pocket with your other hand, tossing it into his lap. You let go of his wrist and stare out the window, too afraid to see his reaction.
“You need to quit,” you say again, quieter this time. “I’m not asking.”
Jisung grabs the back of your seat, pulling himself between the two of you. “Hold up,” he says with an alarmed voice. “Is that what I think that is? Is this why you were acting weird at CU when you darted off to the washroom?”
“Holy shit,” Christopher gasps, then tugs you by your arm into his chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!” He excitedly kisses the top of your head, running his hand through your hair.
“Wait, seriously?” Jisung gasps as he reaches into Christopher’s lap, grabbing the plastic test. It takes a minute for it to register, but he eventually lets out a squeal, throwing the test into the air as he wraps his arms around both of you. “We’re seriously going to be parents,” he happily sighs, nudging his face up against yours, giving your cheek small, frequent kisses.
You should be excited, but you can’t bring yourself to be as excited as them. There’s an overwhelming feeling of dread enveloping your chest with a vice grip.
The doctor tells you that you’re being taken off of a couple of medications, replacing them with ones that were safer for pregnancy. You just kind of sit there, letting her words go in one ear and out the other. Christopher demanded that either he or Jisung went with you to your appointments, since he knew how flighty and unstable you were. He sat next to you, squeezing your hand as you drifted off, staring at the name plate on the desk.
Park Hyunmi. Your doctor had a pretty name. Would you name your child something Korean, like Jisung? Japanese, like yours? English, like Christopher’s? When should you tell your parents? Should you even tell your parents? You hadn’t talked to them since all of this started. You wondered if they knew if you were alive or not. Did they even care?
“Did you hear that?” Christopher shakes your hand, pulling you out of your dissociative trance.
“Mhmm,” you lie, nodding your head. You know he doesn’t believe you, but he won’t make a scene until you get to the car.
You mentally drift away, the walk from the office to the passenger seat of Christopher’s car blurring together. After he closes your door, he walks around the car, stopping in front of his door. He presses his hands against the roof of the car and takes a step back, letting himself unravel into an emotional wreck.
This happens every time he comes with you to your appointments. Jisung would keep it together until he got home, then he’d lock himself in the studio or the washroom for a half-hour and come undone.
The nightmares never seem to stop chasing you, haunting you every night, scaring you to the point where you can’t sleep until your body literally shuts down. It's almost as if every time you close your eyes, someone gets shot in front of you. Every time you close your eyes, your brain pulls you back right into those moments.
Tonight’s nightmare starts with Hyunjin, staring at you with empty eyes and a bloodied face. “No one makes it out of here sane or alive.” A wide grin slowly spreads on his face as he moulds his hand into the shape of a pistol, aiming it at you. He snaps his thumb down and quietly whispers, “bang” as you fall through the floor.
Time slips through your fingers, like grains of sand; it’s impossible to grasp or keep a hold of for more than mere seconds. You continue sinking in the deep darkness until you land on the couch in the studio. If this was reality, your back would be aching. You would be crying. But nothing was real here, no matter how real it had emotionally affected you when you woke up.
“Christopher,” you hear Jisung whine from the kitchen, repeatedly saying his name over and over calmly, as if it were a mantra. It never made sense why Jisung called him Christopher in your nightmares. You make your way up to your feet, staring what appeared to be blood spattered on the floor, trailing itself through the door. There’s nothing more that you want other than for this nightmare to be over, but you know it won’t come that easily.
There was no choice but to see it through.
You follow the blood spatter out of the studio and into the living room. The image that greets you causes your entire body to run cold and your heart to stop. In the empty floorspace between the living room and the kitchen, there are four lifeless bodies placed next to each other in an intricate manner.
“It’s just us,” Jisung speaks up, and you don’t bother looking. You can’t take your eyes off of the bodies, the pool of crimson surrounding them. The four of you look so cold, so lifeless, so blue. Hyunjin is behind you, his head right behind yours, mirroring your body but with his arms open wide. Changbin’s body is closest to you on your left, his hand outstretched behind you to Minho’s hand, who is mirroring Changbin’s positioning. Your body is right in between them, laid flat on your back, as if you were in a coffin and the three men were presenting you as some sort of macabre art piece. If you were awake, you would be sick to your stomach.
“It’s all her fault.” Jisung whispers, his voice echoing in your head. “Nobody would have died if she never got involved.” As harsh as it was, he was correct. If you had never met Christopher that night several months ago, they would all be alive.
Changbin would be alive. He would have never taken that bullet for you.
Minho would be alive. He and Changbin could have left the family, got out of South Korea, gotten married, started the family they wanted.
Hyunjin would be alive. They would have never gotten in that fight.
Hell, even Minji would be alive too, probably, but she didn’t matter much to you anymore.
“I loved her,” Jisung croons, “but I wanted you, Christopher. Everyone wants you. Not everyone can have you, though, only me.” You’re finally able to turn your head, staring into the kitchen. Jisung looks through you with an empty stare, covered in blood, as Christopher leans up against Jisung’s chest, his eyes gazing vacantly off into the distance. He looked lifeless, but you were able to see that he was still breathing and blinking.
“She never deserved you,” Jisung says as he stares at you with wide eyes. “She deserved nothing. She was never good enough for us.”
Your therapist sits back in her chair, taking a deep breath as she processes your nightmare. “It sounds like you’re afraid that he’s is going to become too possessive, or already is possessive.” She exhales slowly as she writes some sort of note down on her pad. “And you’ve had this nightmare how many times?”
“Four times, I think,” you say, turning your head to stare out the window. A few birds fly past the window, aimlessly scurrying off into the distance in a uniform pattern. “It’s the same every time. Every night.”
“You need to talk to them, you know,” she says, taking her pen in between her teeth. “Until you talk to them, you’re -“
“Going to keep having the nightmare,” you cut her off, not meaning to seem so rude. “Sorry, but I know. This happens every time. It’s predictable at this point.”
The rest of your appointment is the same generic therapist shit she always gives you. Write out your dreams, talk about your feelings, work through your personal life, stop being such a fucking train wreck. That last tip may not have been verbatim, but that was what it felt like she was actually saying as she stared at you with terrified eyes at the end of every appointment.
“No one makes it out of here sane or alive,” Hyunjin’s words echo in your head again, very real and very crisp, yet so far away from you. You give your head a quick shake and subconsciously rub your stomach as you walk out into the lobby, not bothering to look at Jisung as he greets you.
“That’s terrifying,” Jisung whispers, trembling as he loosens his grip on the steering wheel. Tears start rolling down his face, and he turns away from you. “I would never… Why would you think that I…?”
You shouldn’t have told him, you knew that in the back of your head, but it just slipped out as soon as you were idle in the parking garage. “Jisung,” you whisper, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, but he shifts away from you, putting a hand up between the two of you.
“Sorry,” his voice shakes as he says it, wiping his face off with the sleeve of his sweater. “This is just so much to process. I’m not going to do something like,” he pauses, swallowing hard, “I’d never do anything like that.” He slowly turns to look at you with bloodshot doe eyes, tears falling from them in a continuous stream. “I love you, bunny. Yeah, I love Chan, too, but you were the first person I fell for. Ever. Sure, there have been other people in my life, but you were the one.”
He sniffles, rubbing his face with his hands. “If I never joined up with the family, I wanted to marry you. I was gonna ask you not long before we broke up, but we stopped seeing each other so I figured, what’s the point if I’m just gonna leave?”
His confession makes you rapidly blink your eyes several times in succession before you can clearly focus on him. “What?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, nodding his head in disbelief. “But I was stupid and younger and I thought I could really go somewhere with my music career. I don’t do anything with music anymore, at least not like I want to. I’m too busy with this kkangpae shit I never wanted to be a part of. Fuck’s sake, if I never left you, we would never be in this situation.”
“No,” you reach down to his thigh and grip it firmly with your fingers. “Don’t go down the ‘what if’ rabbit hole, Sungie. Just don’t do it.” Ironic that you were giving him advice on staying sane when you had lost the plot a long time ago. “Trust me, once you start with the ‘what ifs’, they don’t stop.”
Jisung blinks away a couple of tears, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater again. He looks up at you and pulls you into a hug. “I’m so sorry for all of this, bunny. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” you whisper to him and close your eyes.
“So,” the nurse stares at the three of you in disbelief as you groan in the wheelchair, a contraction ripping through your body, “exactly which one of you is the father?” Christopher and Jisung were probably exchanging an uncomfortable glance with each other, as an awkward silence fills the empty waiting room.
“It doesn’t matter,” you whine as sweat drips from your brow. “I don’t know, I don’t care, I want this child out of me and I want her out of me now.”
“Ma’am,” the nurse speaks up, looking down at you with soft eyes, “I just need to know who to let into the delivery room with you.”
“Both of them,” you grumble, tilting your head back as you ride out the contraction. The nurse furrows her brows and her face contorts in confusion. However, she doesn’t protest as she walks behind the wheelchair and starts pushing you forward.
“Mother knows best,” she whispers under her breath, probably hoping that nobody heard it. “Alright, let’s get going.”
On the third day you were in the hospital post-delivery, you shifted for the first time in hours, looking at the doctor as he told you that Jiyoon was biologically Jisung’s child, that he would be listed as the father on the birth certificate. All legal responsibility was on the two of you; Christopher would have no legal rights over Jiyoon, and that probably felt like a knife in his side.
“Oh,” was all you could manage to say. It didn’t matter to you. Sure, you had spent eight and a half months growing another human being inside of you, but she felt like she was just this tiny, babbling human that didn’t belong to you. You never wanted to be a parent, so this entire situation was just foreign, strange, and unwelcome. It was another thick layer to add to The Great Wall of Despair.
Your eyes roll over to Jisung and Christopher, and it’s painfully obvious that Christopher is trying to not be offended or uncomfortable. Jisung blinks rapidly a few times, biting back a smile. He flits his eyes down to you and lets a small glimpse of his smile creep up.
“I’m happy for you, Jisung,” Christopher says, pulling Jisung into an awkward man hug. The two of them would hide any romantic affection towards each other if there was a stranger around that they had to interact with. They would force themselves to be as heteronormative as possible and it was uncomfortable for you to watch because you knew they were agonizing over it.
“Doesn’t change anything,” you softly say, then roll over to look out the window some more. Today was window-washing day, so you would eventually see someone scale down the window and wipe off residual dirt and grime that had built up over the past two days. It was probably the most interesting thing to watch nowadays.
The doctor exhales sharply through his nose. “We’re going to increase the dosage of a couple of your medications and add on another mood stabilizer.”
“Great,” you say nonchalantly, throwing your arm in the air and dismissively waving it. “I don’t give a shit. Dope me up, doc.”
“Maybe you should consider signing away parental rights to -“ the doctor starts quietly making a snide comment before Christopher interrupts.
“We’ll handle it,” he curtly cuts him off, stepping forward to likely usher the doctor out of the room. “Thank you.”
Jisung walks up to you, bending down in front of you to be at your eye level. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
Your face remains devoid of emotion as you stare past Jisung. “Probably. Don’t care, though.”
The younger man frowns at you, scooting a bit to the side and closer to you to basically force you to look at him. He puffs his cheeks out and makes a silly face, which does get a bit of a smile out of you.
“I can’t promise you’re going to feel better any time soon, but I can promise we’ll be here with you, every step of the way.” Jisung brings his forehead to yours and rubs the back of your head. “We both care about you so much and just want the best for you.”
You try your best to offer a genuine smile, but it just feels awkward on your face. “Thanks, Sungie.” His honesty was appreciated, but you knew in the pit of your stomach that none of this was going to get better any time soon.
Christopher had talked up how great the pancakes were, but to your tastebuds, it was like you were eating syrupy cardboard. This was no fault of his, but you just couldn’t taste things anymore. A few months ago, things still had some semblance of flavour. You had no idea when things stopped being flavourful, when everything became desaturated and bland, but this was life now. It felt like you were stuck in this fog of misery and there was no way out of it.
“Bunny,” Jisung waves his hand in front of your face, “you’re staring off again. What are you thinking about?”
“My life flashing before my eyes,” rolls off of your tongue before you really process what you actually say. You quickly correct yourself to sound a bit less depressed and insane. “How excited you and Christopher were when you found out I was pregnant. Jiyoon’s birth. You know,” you stab at the pancake on the plate and begrudgingly shove a forkful of it into your mouth, “normal sappy shit.”
“They taste really sugary.” Changbin’s voice echos in your head again and you drop your fork, turning your head to where you thought he was. “That’s sugar on top of sugar, dude.”
You blink a couple of times, staring at the empty spot at the island counter. Why the fuck were you hearing his voice so much today?
“Are you alright?” Christopher asks with a layer of concern in his voice.
There was no way you could tell them that you were hallucinating, especially not that you were hallucinating Changbin’s voice over and over again. No, not today. You had plans tonight and you didn’t want to risk it.
“Yeah,” you lie, reaching back down to your plate to grab your fork. “Just thought I saw a spider or a bug or something, no big deal.”
Christopher and Jisung exchange a confused glance and shrug it off. Jiyoon starts to whine from the bedroom, and Christopher gets up. “I’ve got her, don’t worry. Finish your breakfast, both of you.” He smiles as he walks towards the bedroom.
Jisung puts his fork down and looks at you with a frown. “Are you sure you’re alright, bunny? You’ve been really out of it lately.”
“Haven’t I been out of it a lot for the past few months?” You retort, taking another bite of the syrupy, bland cardboard to your lips.
Jisung purses his lips and bobs his head. “Yeah,” he draws out, “but you’ve been a little extra spacey lately. Is it the meds?”
“Probably,” you say, looking up to him and offer him a fake smile. “I’ll be fine soon, though, I just have a hunch.”
[tw from here on out]
It was about three in the morning when you make your way out of bed. You hear the soft pattering of rain hitting the windowsill as you look down to the bed. Jisung shifts in his sleep, rolling over to Christopher. He rubs his head up against his chest, and Christopher rolls into him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. You bend down and kiss them both on the forehead. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, nearly silently.
You quietly shuffle over to Jiyoon’s bassinet, looking down at her as she sleeps. A tear makes its way down your face as you bend down to kiss her forehead and gently stroke her hair. “I love you so much, all of you, but I’m so sorry.”
You don’t bother changing out of your pyjamas, making your way to the entrance of Christopher’s apartment. Quietly, you take your slippers off, then grab a random pair of trainers off of the shoe rack, slipping your into them and not bothering to re-tie them. You turn to the door, your hand trembling as you reach out to the door handle.
Another tear falls down your face as you take in a deep breath, quickly looking over your shoulder to make sure that nobody has awoken. As soon as you confirm that you’re the only one awake, you quietly open the door and step out into the hallway, quietly making your way through the building, then out towards the Seongsu bridge.
No one makes it out of here sane or alive, do they?
[ to be continued in step out! you’re the sanctuary ]
final notes:
thank YOU so much for reading this insane story.
massive thanks to my best friend/wifi T for panicking with me from beginning to end, for reading this when you barely knew anything about stray kids and you barely knew me. you are a genius, and I couldn't have done this without you.
also, thanks to my spouse for reading this even though this wasn’t something you were interested in. you really helped me out a lot and I am thankful for ya for believing in me.
to my friend D: I still don’t think I’ll ever turn this into a novel or anything remotely similar, but thank you for always supporting me and keeping me going. your kind words really meant a lot to me when I was having a rough go from chapter eight on.
the words from all three of you AND all of the people that left me comments on AO3 and tumblr meant so much and I couldn’t have written this dumpster fire without you.
I know this wasn’t a happy ending or a happy fic at all (the epilogue, see you in the next life, ends on a happy note, at least) but I personally struggle with mental wellness (always have) and so writing this was kind of a trip. it was almost oddly therapeutic in a way because I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit, but I’ve come back from the brink. reach out for help if you need it. it’s worth it, I promise.
I still can’t believe I wrote this. what the fuck.
until we meet again, yuki. ♥
#tw: suicide#tw: death#tw: pregnancy#tw: depression#tw: mental instability#tw: ptsd#step out do what you want
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Religion: what it is supposed to be and what we have made it
Religion is supposed to be an intimate guide of a person, extremely personal and beyond the reaches of anyone else than the person itself. This would’ve been my ideal judgment of the affair had it been similar to its definition in real world.
A religion expresses a person’s ideal code of conduct as an individual and a part of the society. It shapes the conscience, morality, conduct and lifestyle of any person. We have tons of religions in our world that means we have tons of codes of conduct which may be complacent or conflicting with one another. This also means that we as humans have an inalienable choice to make, of either choosing any religion or none at all. It should not be of anyone’s concern as to why a person is following that religion and not mine; hello…it’s none of your business because it is what that person feels is right for them.
My own opinion is that this whole complex tangle of religion is abhorrent. As mentioned earlier, there are so many religions that are out there, mostly with conflicting views, or so it seems pragmatically. This leads to hatred among the followers of somewhat “polar” religions (mind it, they may not be polar in their ideals but have been made so by most of the preachers) and then, follows a race of establishing superiority of one over the other. I think most of the conflicts in the world, particularly in the Middle East and South Asia, definitely have an attribute of religion too, that keeps the fire burning. This also brings me to my conjectural conclusion that conflicts over religion mostly occur in places where at least one religion has its origin at.
I absolutely have no interest in discussing religion because I consider myself an atheist. But it disturbs me listening to instances of violent, communal riots, especially in my country which is a fucking developing country and all people talk about is this smallest aspect of one’s fucking personal life. This has a lot of reasons such as illiteracy among the citizens (especially, men; I will justify this later), obsolete yet unconditional love towards the religious preachers (not the religion, but the preachers because as it turns out people assume that they connect with them and the preachers teach the ideals, which is mostly not the case), and the most powerful of all, ‘people in power struggling to make religion a public issue and shamelessly declaring their religious identity in space and slandering other religions’. There are a lot of other reasons too, but these are issues I consider are at the forefront of them.
In most of the cases, the conflicts are seen in the developing world that is struggling to develop using available resources. And since, these countries comprise a huge share of illiterate population, there are certain popular arguments which are used against minority groups. One of them is xenophobia. The minority groups are often of foreign origin or from regions in the peripheral areas. The majority (that, mostly, comprise the native religion) feels this unjustifiable superiority complex that they are the sole inheritors of the land they live in. This theory itself reflects roots of illiteracy because these are given by people who are struggling in the country, and who hence, may not be having access to better education. To further bring the perspective of feminism in this argument, we need to know the fact that the modern religions (and this time it is the ideal concept of almost all the religions, besides the accentuation by the preachers) have their origins in a society dominated by men. The modern religions are simply anti-paganistic; be it Christianity, Islam or Hinduism. Each and every religious epic was written by men, with men protagonists and addressing men solely. Women were just represented symbolically, and that too reinforcing the fucking ideas of fragility, subordinance, and for the pleasure of men protagonists. It is very rare to see strong women in these epics as compared to zillions of men counterparts and that too probably, just to satisfy feminists. But guess what: this is not helping feminism even a bit. Firstly, men think that the women gods are superior to real women in the world, thus having an unanticipated effect; those gods are majestic which women in real world are not, logically, yes fuckers, because this is real world and that’s why they are fantasies. Secondly, a more direct consequence of the representation of women as fragile and delicate creatures in these epics has made men to believe that women NEED men to protect them and that their honor is central to men’s honor and courage. This really pisses me off because again fuckers, those epics are fantasies, women in the modern world are not those women, you are really backward, women know how to protect their own honor, they do not give a fuck about your honor and you are the ones we need protection against, so won’t it be a simple task to control your testosterones and remain within your boundaries. If we compare men and women living in exactly the same conditions except for their genders, women are much more aware of this fact and they do not need men to interfere in their affairs; they are being toxic. For example, in India, honor killings are a widespread practice in some of the rural areas. It arises when a woman marries a man, consensually, but the family of woman thinks that the man trapped her. Unsurprisingly, this would not have been a problem if the man belonged to the same religion or caste as the woman. It becomes a problem if the man is of an alien religion, mostly a Muslim, or of a lower caste. Then the family, without asking the woman for her fucking conviction, goes on to kill the man through mob-lynching and surprisingly, the woman is killed too because she was being difficult and rebellious. And mind it that things never even reach to this point; even if the woman is seen with a man of the same kind as mentioned above, the man will be lynched and woman confined to the house. Rumors are spread that a woman of one religion was raped by the man of another religion and the man is lynched. In the backdrop of all of this, is the man’s political dream of being masculine as preached by their religion; but YOU ARE BEING FUCKING LEECHES ON WOMEN AND WE DON’T LIKE IT, SO FUCK OFF AND DIE SOMEWHERE FAR.
The second important issue is the personality cult around the priests and preachers of different religions. People are illusioned in front of these “mystical” leaders who know this fact and use this to facilitate hatred among religions. When I wrote about the feministic problems earlier, it must be noted that the men with those toxic beliefs are disciples of these preachers. So, ultimately, the preachers are the overlords. They just need to speak a word slandering any other religion and this rat race of disciples start to run behind it. These preachers are in no way propagating religion and they have absolutely no idea what a religion is. They are bestowed upon the responsibility of interpreting the religious texts in accordance to present context and try to accommodate different religious ideologies so as to attain overall peace and harmony. This is exactly what a religion should do- peace and harmony. But this may come as a surprise to almost everybody, as this is not what religion in the real world means. It more likely to be a phenonmenon upheld by a group of fanatics, radicals, bloody orthodox terrorists. That’s what a religion is today. (again this is a general idea; there are many people within these religions who are against this mainstream approach, including some priests too)
Any sensible person will not believe wholly in any one religion; rather they would consolidate the good virtues of all religions and create their own personal religion. Every other insane person will be wholly devoted to a particular religion and act as a robot in the hands of fanatic overlords.
The last yet the most worrying issue is the knowledge of the religion of people in power and their open declaration about it. Democracy is supposed to be a consolidating force and the people in power should be symbols of this consolidation. This means that they need to suppress their personal opinions and act as an absolutely neutral person. But guess what threatens this argument: the people in power being more personal than public and in the worst case, BLOODY PREACHERS BEING BROUGHT TO POWER. Can you believe this? The fundamentals of secularism, fraternity, liberty, freedom, equality, and every other political principle being endangered by giving the power in the hands of these people. This scenario is an extensive combination of all the other issues I have mentioned in this article; think about it. And this is the only reason my country is observing so many riots, communal clashes, police brutality, women objectification, and loss of hundreds of thousands of innocents lives every fucking year.
This is my take on religion and again, I personally do not give a fuck about religion. But those who do, please know what a religion is supposed to be and what we have made it. (and for those leeches, get your act straight otherwise you are the ones who’ll need protection; FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING DIRTY LIVES.)
#religion#religious#communal#harmony#peaceandlove#peace#democracy#secularism#atheisim#false preachers#preacher#feminism#history
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OP of 187331231785. The follow up confessor completely missed my point. I did say that it’s all good if both muns are okay with it, or was that illegible? Let me break it down. “X hit Y in the face and knocked her down.” is godmodding. Why? Because you just decided for Y that she was not only struck by the blow, but that she was hit hard enough to fall. That is, in fact, controlling the other muse’s actions. It doesn’t matter if respecting your partner hurts your little feelies. A strong/powerful muse doesn’t give you a free pass to be a dick.
If respecting your partner’s muse makes them ooc, then you need to rethink some things. Seriously. If writing conflict in a way that leaves an opening for your partner to write what they actually want is such a foreign concept, then you need to rethink some things. The commentors were entirely correct in their interpretations. It’s beyond easy to write something like “X took a swing at Y” or “X lunged at Y, trying to knock her down”. The refusal to do so is contemptuous and disrespectful, and shows that you don’t value your partner at all.
“But my muse is powerful! They’re stronger than the others! It’s only natural that they can harm them when they lash out!”
Once again, say it with me now, if that mun is not okay with you deciding for them whether or not their character has been affected by their words or actions, then doing so anyway is fucking godmodding.
The set of rules I originally referenced in my original confession read as follows:
Number one rule is no godmodding. It’s extremely disrespectful to me.
My muse is extremely powerful, so if your muse pisses her off, she willhurt them. I won’t hold her back.
Not “might”. Not “will probably”. But “will."
Some people are cool with minor godmodding, so you’d think that if it were the case here, it would say as much, right? But no, this person condemned any form of godmodding against them, but immediately announced that they’d godmod whichever muses didn’t basically worship their muse. It’s hypocrisy at it’s finest. ”You can’t do this to me, but I can do it to you.“
Anyone who thinks that this is okay because duh powerful muse gives off the impression that they don’t value their partners either. To anyone reading this who has had it happen to them, you deserve better. You don’t have to write with people that put you and your characters down. You don’t have to bend to someone else’s whims. Hell, if you don’t want to drop, why not employ one of my favorites? Write the exact opposite of what your rude partner is trying to force. They say your muse is on the ground? What’s this? That’s funny, your muse is standing upright, concerned for their friend because she’s punching air. They say your muse just got shoved out of the way? Nah, she hasn’t budged an inch. Don’t give a fuck if their muse is a half demigoddess assassin lady and yours is just a gardener, if they can’t respect your right to control your muse, then they might as well be writing alone.
regarding this confession and ask.
- mod liv
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Salted earth part 2
Title: Salted Earth
Word count: 2873
Relationship: F!Deputy and John Seed, Jacob Seed and F!OC
Rating: T
Summary: The collapse happens sooner than expected, and leaves Junior Deputy with John Seed in his bunker. How will the next 7 years play out?
A week later.
John’s gate.
A slight knock of the metal wall brought John back from his day dreaming. He was currently in the control room for his gate. On the monitors, he could see everything that went on in the bunker at all times. Including the live feed from Olivia’s cell. John turned his attention from the live feed to see who had come to visit him.
It was Joseph. He stood there, dressed in his white shirt and dark vest. “John.” Joseph greeted, in his usual calm and patient voice.
“Joseph.” John’s eyes met Joseph’s graze, still hidden behind the yellow aviators. ”How lovely to see you.” John replied with a smile, but he was kind of nervous. He hadn’t expected the Father, not at this hour at least.
“You have done well, brother.” Joseph brought John in for his signature forehead touch. “I wanted to thank you for bringing the deputy to our gate. They will find salvation.” Joseph praised.
“Thank you, Joseph.” John smiled.
“I was afraid of what might happen if you allowed your sin to consume your soul, but you did the right thing. We shall enter the gates of Eden together, as a family.” Joseph explained. John was overjoyed, the love he got from his brother was something he had sought after all his life. His life with the Duncan's had been devoid of everything even remotely similar to love. The concept was sometimes even foreign to him.
“I look forward to it, Joseph. But...-” John took a deep breath. “-There is a slight problem.” John underplayed the issue he had in his mind as much as he could.
“And what would that be?” Joseph asked, his voice still calm.
“Well, the deputy atoned and confessed… But… She hasn’t spoken a word since her atonement. I struggle to get her to talk.” John confessed. Joseph studied John’s face in a very intense manner, but remained silent as John tried to interpret what Joseph was thinking.
“Bring me to her.” Joseph finally ordered, and John nodded slowly. The walk to Olivia’s cell was silent, and it haunted John to no end. He hated when his brother refused to speak. John couldn’t help but feel a bit afraid; he feared what Joseph would do if something went wrong. He had always stressed that the deputy should be brought in to their folds with love.
The cell down was opened with a swing of his personal key. Joseph nodded to him, and gave John a look that could only be described as: Please leave us alone to talk. John obliged, slowly backing away from the cell door and taking a deep breath. Joseph would know what to do, he always did.
Olivia had been stationary for close to 2 days now. Not moving an inch from her position in the corner, her head buried in her knees. Her head simply couldn’t comprehend what had happened. She refused to believe Joseph was right; there was simply no way in hell. She hoped that she would wake up any moment, wake up and hear her friends call for her. But it never came, and soon she knew that it would never come.
The door opened, and she suspected that it was just another peggie that had been ordered to give her food. But no, this was different. The air had a sickening sweet taste to it, and when she looked up a bit, and cleared her eye sight of the remains of the tears, she could see a figure in a white shirt and a black vest looking at her.
It didn’t take long for her to piece together that it was indeed Joseph, but how could he be here? He was in Faith’s bunker… Wasn’t he? Her mind hurt as it raced to gain answers that might never be revealed to her.
“May I sit here, my child?” He voice was like silk, so sweet and calming. She hated it.
She didn’t answer him, she didn’t want to. But, she had to admit, she was torn between telling him to fuck off, and demanding that he explain himself. But, the words refused to roll of her tongue either way.
“I see that you are confused, you are wondering how I am here?” Joseph asked. He had to ability to read her like an open book, and she was always terrified by it.
“In the days that these bunkers were built, they connected them with tunnels to ensure maximum capacity. Nuclear war was always on the edge during those days, and it wasn’t until now it came.” Joseph explained, he shifted on the prison bed, and continued to stare her down.
She creeped as far as she could in to the corner, and covered herself as much as possible.
“Do not fear, you too will become worthy of seeing the new world. If you believe in me, and cast away your fears, your doubts and look into your heart. You are part of this family.” Joseph’s voice still sounded sweet like honey. He offered a promise, and in that very moment, she considered taking his hand. To finally listen to what he said.
But, the images of Hudson flooded her mind, of her crying her make up off, of John terrifying her. Then came the images of Pratt, all beaten to a bloody pulp. The sight of The Marshall, Burke, walking through a bliss field, forever doomed to be there. She bit the bullet, she would endure.
“Go fuck yourself.” She said, it was not more than a small whisper, but he heard it none-the-less.
“I am quite disappointing in you, deputy. But, God’s forgiving nature allows me to keep the door open for you, even after all you have done.” Joseph remarked, as he stood up.
“My family still has trials for you, but I am sure that you will see the light.” Joseph finished as he left his book on the bed table. “Please, read it, and enlighten yourself.” He requested, before leaving.
She didn’t want to, but with nothing better to do, she finally exited her corner. She sat down on the bed,, and found that it was much more comfortable than the concrete floor. Her mind picked up the hard cover book, and slowly felt the texture of the book. She sighed as she looked around the small cell. She had no idea how long it had been since the collapse happened. Joseph had probably banned all forms for time measurement and calendars. She opened the first page of the book, and read the first passage.
”If you are reading these words, then there is hope.
Hope is the rock on which we build our future.
Know that you are not alone.
Know that you are loved.”
4 days later
Time flew by, but in the bunker it was often hard to keep track away way. The father had gone back to Faith’s gate, and had been visiting Jacob’s armory every now and then. Olivia had been invested in the book she had been given by Joseph. John studied her on the live feed, taking notes for their nest session together.
Joseph’s sermon came on. It was playing quietly on the voice announcement system, but John mostly tuned out. He felt like it was his personal mission to make the deputy submit to the project full heartedly. In this train of thoughts, he realized something. He didn’t know that much about the junior deputy. Only her first name, Olivia.
Since the collapse was already here, information gathering was hard to come by, so he saw an opportunity. He was never one to pass up on an opportunity when one came knocking. Hudson had been kept on ice since the collapse happened, he didn’t have much interest in her anyway. But, he might learn more if the two believed that they were given time together without supervision.
He would pad himself on the shoulder if pride wasn’t a sin. But, he feared that the father wouldn’t approve of it, so he kept it a secret. In John’s mind, it was sometimes easier to ask for forgiveness than permission to pull these stunts. He smiled as he prepared himself for yet another meeting with the stubborn deputy.
When John wanted something done in his gate, it would always be done. No one dared ask questions, lest they be sentenced to another confession. So no one looked twice as he went down and opened the door to the cell. Olivia shocked, and in a panic threw the book underneath the sheets.
“Deputy.” John greeted with a wide, teeth showing, grin. “How are you feeling today?” He asked as he stepped further in to the room.
“Just peachy-” She said, her voice was thick with sarcasm. “- Being stuck in a bunker with you is one of my dreams come true.” Olivia elaborated.
“That’s great to hear, because I think you deserve a little reward.” John replied, and instantly saw her eyes turn from bored to curious. “You see, Deputy Hudson is really missing some company, and I think you might be the perfect playmate.” John watched her eyes light up at the mention of Hudson. She nodded, and almost began begging to see Hudson. John wanted to smile, but kept his ulterior motive hidden.
There was no way the deputy didn’t smell something rotten about it, but she simply wanted to see Hudson more. Any chance she could get, she would gladly take. John happily took her the shoulder and began leading her out of the cell, and down the narrow corridors. The followers had begun to complain about some of the conditions of the bunker, how they felt the walls were closing in and how they couldn’t see the sun anymore. He had assured them that there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t dismiss that he felt that way sometimes as well.
Finally, they came to the cell where Hudson was being kept. Her cell was a mess; she had been throwing everything that was throwable around. John tsked as he watched it in person. “Guess she really wants some company.” John joked as he took his key and opened the lock.
Hudson turned her attention from the broken objects to the newly opened door. She was already in attack mode, ready to fight. She had already bit the ear of the servant who served her some food. “Hudson.” John greeted. “Breaking stuff is not good manners. I would suggest keeping that wrath in check, lest we will stop serving your food again.” John threatened in the most annoying voice that only he was capable of.
“Olivia here-” John slowly padded her on the back. “-Wanted to have a play date, think we can manage that?” John asked.
Hudson nodded slowly, and John smiled. He let Olivia in to the cell. And promptly left and locked the door behind him. “Have fun.” He said as the door locked.
Olivia and Hudson stared at each other for a good long minute, before they threw each other in their arms. Olivia was not ashamed to admit that a small tear escaped down her cheek as she hugged Hudson still her was certain it was hurting her breathing.
“I thought you were dead!” Hudson proclaimed, her voice was weak and hoarse. Probably from not talking in a long time.
“I wanted to get you out...-” Olivia looked down into the concrete floor in shame. “-But I failed you, I failed everyone.” Olivia allowed the tears to flow.
“Look, Olivia-” Hudson shook her until she stopped looking away. “-We will get out of here… Somehow.” Hudson promised.
“But how? The Father said that-” Olivia was quickly interrupted by a slap.
“Don’t tell me you bought in to the bullshit of him.” Hudson was dead serious as she asked the question.
“But-But… The collapse-” Olivia began, but once again, she was overridden by Hudson’s voice.
“I don’t care if the psychopath guessed right, all I care about is getting out of here, with you preferably.” Hudson explained.
“I want to get out, but what about Pratt? And Burke?” Olivia asked concerned.
“We’ll get Pratt out as well, hopefully Burke too. Where is the Sheriff?” Hudson asked back.
“Last I heard, he was still at the prison.” Olivia answered, but she didn’t know what happened. She hoped that he was still okay. He had always believed in her, he had been the father figure in her life after her own father died.
“We’ll go look for him as well. But, we need to smart about this. How do we get out of here?” Hudson asked.
Olivia thought about it, scratching the back of her head in the search of an answer. Then, she remembered. “John’s key! It’s around his neck.” Olivia snapped her fingers and replied.
“But, how do we get it?” Hudson asked with worry.
“I have an idea, but I don’t think you will like it...-”
“John.” A voice greeted, it was at the door way. John almost fell back over his chair when he heard the voice. He had been watching Hudson and Olivia talking for the last 10 minutes, while his record player was busy giving him the sweet classical tunes of Mozart.
John quickly gathered himself and was back in his usual self. It was his older brother Jacob standing in the doorway this time, and John was more relieved. Jacob and John had both made an effort to get closer. But when they were separated, it was at a young age, and the age gap between them was quite big.
“Jacob.” John smiled. “Why haven’t you visited before?” John asked, hoping to distract him from the live feed of Olivia and Hudson.
“Things needed sorting in the armory. People need my supervision to get things done.” Jacob replied, his voice still calm and collected. That was what Jacob was known for these days, he nearly bursted into anger, he always stayed calm.
“Ah, but I missed you here! So, are things going okay now?” John asked further.
“It better be. But, I came here for something else.” Jacob admitted.
“And what might that be? I’m here if you need me, brother.” John reassured his brother.
“It’s… It’s Abigail, and Matilda” Jacob almost whispered it. He had been very secretive about the two. Few people in the project knew about it, Jacob had been very keen on keeping it that way. It was his wife and daughter respectively.
“What about them?” John asked concerned. He loved his niece and his sister in law, very much in fact.
“It’s just that… I think I have spent too much time training our forces, and not enough time with my daughter… She has grown-” Jacob gestured with his hand as he searched for the word. “-Rebellious.” He finally confessed.
“Well… She is thirteen years old. But, I don’t see the problem. You seem to know how to deal with...” John held an intentional long pause. “- Rebellious types” John smirked as he said it.
Jacob shifted a bit on his feet, and bit his under lip. “Abigail wouldn’t approve of that.” He whispered, almost non audible.
“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear it.” John was overjoyed in that moment. He was a little brat of a brother.
“Abigail wouldn’t approve.” Jacob repeated, this time loud and clear.
“I see.” John was close to laughing at this point. “-So, Mr. Control doesn’t have control over his own daughter?” John asked.
“I may be your brother, but if you want to keep that baby face in good shape, I would suggest you cut it out.” Jacob threatened, and John obliged, but that didn’t stop him from laughing a bit more.
“Have you asked Joseph about it?” John then asked.
“Yes, he suggested that I give her lots of love, and accept her of the woman she will grow in to. But, I don’t know.” Jacob was actually admitting defeat. John couldn’t believe it.
“I’m sure it will blow over. All teenagers act like that. It’s just the puberty doing its things. Try and be there for her, but don’t push her.” John advised.
“Faith said the same thing.” Jacob replied.
“You came to Faith before me?!! I’m hurt.” John put on his sad puppy eyes.
“You don’t have any track record.” Jacob swiftly added.
“Then why did you come to me at all?” John asked.
“Because I wanted your input as well.” Jacob confessed. “I need time to think about it. Thank you, truly.” Jacob said, and gave John a hug. John hadn’t received a hug from Jacob in a long time, and was quite touched to get one. With that, Jacob left again.
As John watched him disappear in to the corridor, he turned his attention from the back of Jacob’s camo jacket and onto the screen before him. He heard the last words of the conversation going on.
“Then that’s the plan. Remember what I said.” It was Olivia, and John was beginning to be pissed that he had missed the conversation. But, he stayed relatively calm. He knew he had everything under control. There was no need to worry.
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“We talked a lot about every character and when is the moment that they realised they’d stepped from a high adventure story into a horror movie. It’s different for every character and some characters never cross that line, either because they never see the world that way or they refuse to. And that speaks to the warmth of these people. They thought they were going to live, most of them until the very end.”
I’ve been fascinated by this concept the writers have talked about a few times, and I’d love to ask them exactly when each character has this moment.
the writers have mentioned how Blanky falls on the extreme end; he never leaves the adventure story, he never gives in, the absolute unit.
they’ve also mentioned that Hickey is another outlier: right from the beginning, even before the beginning, of this story he’s always been in a horror story scrabbling for survival. it shapes his whole worldview.
but the other characters, when do they have this moment? do they ever have it? is it a series of moments?
Fitzjames: I think he holds on to adventure for as long as he can. you can see it in how he clings to rationality, even when it’s painfully obvious there’s a demon bear literally stalking the ships. I don’t know when I would say his realization is but carnival was certainly a blow and I think it’s a slow unwinding from there.
Franklin: “god lies in all realms” or whatever his speech to Collins is. the tragedy of Franklin is he sincerely believed that shit. he believed god was on their side, victorian ingenuity was on their side, technology was on their side, he refuses to acknowledge they’re in any story but a high adventure story and that they’re the heroes of it. it’s why his last fucking moment is his moment of horror.
Crozier: “this place wants us dead”. he just knows what’s up. he’s clear-eyed. he knows this horror story so I’d argue his realization is slightly different: he almost always saw this as a horror story, he just doesn’t realize it’s actually more horrible than he believed. the death of the ship’s boy is where I’d mark Crozier’s revelation moment. his arc is so amazing because while he teeters on the edge of letting the despair of the horror story take him, he pulls back from it.
Collins: one of the most clear cut; he sees a ghost and from then on is a haunted man. Collins lives in a horror story for longer than most of them, but he goes through it alone and it makes me so so so sad.
Irving: he resists the horror story so desperately he cannot even abide other men feeling that way hence his harsh reaction to Magnus and his ghosts. so his moment of realization is quick, shocking, irrefutable, deadly, and comes at the end of a knife.
Little: I love Little because for so much of the show dude just looks TIRED. he’s an everyman. I’d say he’s crossed the line from adventure to horror relatively early on, definitely by episode 5, but tries to cover it up. the foreignness of this land they’re trapped in has him nervous. he’s discomforted by lady silence’s presence, he’s quick to be scared of retaliation for the murder of the inuit family. Little tries his best, but he’s out of his element, and he makes poor decisions because of it. poor guy.
Jopson: [long and drawn out wail of anguish] you know what it is, don’t make me describe it
Stanley: dude goes from zero to 100. oh we’re in a horror story? LET’S MAKE IT EXTRA HORRIFIC.
Goodsir: one of the most complex. he’s incredibly stoic. there’s no single moment for him. Morfin’s death is obviously a moment of intense despair and panic for him; it’s a direct confrontation with the fact that there is nothing he can do for any of them. they’re being poisoned and there’s no trick in the medical kit that can alleviate this. but this moment doesn’t end with despair, it opens the way for a moment of tenderness. Silna comforts him. there’s hope still. later on Hickey’s murder of the inuit family and manipulation of the men’s fears against innocent people, the fact that Silna has to be driven away because of this, Goodsir isn’t the same afterwards. he’s harder. his brisk “good” when Crozier asks him to autopsy Irving. when we next see him, he’s so blunt with Gibson, his seemingly endless compassion has run out. his final moments, the transcendent glimpses of natural beauty, really speak to how much Goodsir has lost but also to how much he hasn’t; he never loses his sense of wonder for the natural world but he’s turned his back on humanity (save for Silna, who we know he remains concerned for until the end).
I’m not even entirely convinced of my own interpretation, I think there are so many possible interpretations for Goodsir. for all of them, really. CLEARLY I HAVE TOO MANY SO MANY THOUGHTS WHAT ARE YOURS?
#the terror amc#the terror#accidentally this turned into an essay#harry goodsir#james fitzjames#francis crozier#i don't have the energy to tag all the icy boys#the terror meta
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Kilius Koplan
I’ve been saving this boy up.
@ancientvacation usual disclaimer that I don’t have a lot to say besides oooh and ahhhh
Alternian OC
Name:Kilius Koplan - Kilius comes from Achilleus, also known as Achilles, one of the great Greek heroes. It also sounds close to ‘Kleos’, a Greek concept of glory. Koplan is from Adam Copeland, the real name of the wrestler Edge, who’s finishing move is The Spear, the same characteristic weapon of Achilleus.
Also indicates he might have a soft spot somewhere…
Strife Specibus:
grapplekind/2xspearkind - The spear is a common weapon for ancient Greek heroes to use. Furthermore, The Spear was the name of Adam ‘Edge’ Copeland’s finisher. He uses two as to be like a pair of beetle pincers. He mainly uses grapplekind as it’s what he’s trained the most in, but aspires to finally use his ancestor’s spears passed down to him, so he always keeps the card on him as a little bit of motivation.
Fetch Modus:Apronmodus - Kilius stows and fetches things from underneath a curtain-like structure, much like how foreign objects are taken from under a wrestling ring. This means that he can use the underside of his kilt as a kind of hammerspace. It’s very silly.
hlkgjkaerhwr yeah it is! I love it so much.
Blood color:He’s an Indigoblood. The hex I use for his text is #0021bc whereas his blood, symbol and blood-coloured garments are a darker shade. I kinda run with the HC that there are set colours for each blood caste, but individual trolls type darker or lighter than those colours as a personal thing.
I think that tracks especially given that Equius used a markedly different text color than his blood color.
Symbol and meaning:Kilius’ symbol has gone through an evolution. The symbol I used for the longest time was the Hercules constellation, mainly because of it being a heroic figure and tying to him nicely. After the EZ came out, I redesigned a lot of aspects of my trolls, most importantly their symbols. As such, I recreated the Hercules symbol using the sign language of the Indigo caste. If I had to give it a name, I’d use Hercinius. The symbol also resembles a Greek pillar, which is neat.
Oh man yeah I love that.
Trolltag: perfectPankrator - A pankrator is just to describe someone who takes part in pankration, a gladiatorial style of combat where physical attacks with the use of punches and kicks are emphasised. Perfect is just to show Kilius’ ego and ‘better than you’ attitude. Instead of the negative words often found in trolltags, Kilius uses a positive one to stand as some kind of paragon to other trolls, fulfilling more ego-wankery.
Quirk:He replaces [hH] with ’]~[’ as to represent his symbol. Kilius’ ego would certainly lend him to shoehorn his symbol in wherever possible. As for his tone of voice he’s actually pretty verbose, but doesn’t use large words all that much. His kind of verbose is just being able to talk for ages and ages. He has a kind of mental rhythm when he speaks and isn’t averse to using spur of the moment rhymes. This is mainly to evoke the kind of promos popular in pro wrestling as well as thematically fit with the poems of the ancient world.
Design:I wanted to get a good fusion of Ancient Greek aesthetics along with modern professional wrestling outfits. So he wears a singlet, elbow and kneepads, and ring boots to represent the former, and over his singlet, a kilt commonly worn by ancient warriors, and atop his head rests his headband. His hair is meant to be a kind of unkempt curly mass, and his missing tooth is a reference to Chris Benoit, who I recommend not googling because it’s a nice day. The face plaster is mainly meant to exhibit a kind of roughboy demeanour.
“Don’t google it” you say, to a person who definitely googled it and now wishes they didn’t and has to pass the warning on to others. (note: it’s not just a minor thing it’s a major thing and will probably take you to a dark place)
Special Abilities (if any):Winning Smile. (Joking.)
Lusus: A rare lusus, the Bipedal Musclebeetle, named Beeteokles. His species have strong fatherly instincts, and Beeteokles in particular is doing his best to teach Kilius in the ways of the Palaestria, combat, and traditions. Which is impressive considering he has no mouth or discernible way of communication other than Beetle skrees and rhythmic flexing. His picture is a little inaccurate, as he should have the head of a Hercules beetle instead. His relationship to Kilius is meant to evoke the strong presence fathers played in Ancient Greek epics, as mentors and goals for their sons.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. I fucking love this and I have an addition because I’m still playing with the idea that indigobloods have hooved lusii so consider keeping everything the same except to change his lower half to a minotaur bottom. Oh my god I love this beetleman holy shit
Personality: Kilius is a pretty great guy to be honest. He doesn’t hold himself to modern-day hemorelations, instead finding solace in working off the ancient values taught to him by his lusus, more or less. He’s open and friendly to most, if not a little much to digest all at once. He often invites people back to his hive, all even before learning their name or where they came from. This is supposed to tie into the Ancient Greek value of ‘Xenia’, where a person is expected to be a good host to visitors, most of all strangers, and for visitors to behave properly when in a host’s home. This also ties into my interpretation of Kilius as a Knight ‘serving’ others in a sense by being such a good host.
However, Kilius may be friendly but he certainly isn’t a pushover. He’s up for a scrap or brawl often, and getting into arguments with him often results in the other party just letting things slide with how bizarre arguing with Kilius can get. He’s a very physical person, often acting on a whim, with enough cunning and battle training to be able to formulate plans under pressure. He’s also kind of a glory-hound, his acting on a whim for some more prestige often bites him in the ass, not that it dissuades him from trying some more.
He can be irritating to be around, as he can seem like he’s not taking things too seriously or genuinely. If met with someone who actively dislikes him and lets him know, Kilius will take it as an opportunity to gussy it up and make some long poetic speech about the fire of their rivalry or such. Going from his poeticism, that’s also a big part of Kilius. He has a flair for the dramatic, developed from both instincts and the theatrical nature of wrestling. He’s very well-read, so long as they’re either ancient epics or professional wrestling annuals.
Any other ideas or such would be appreciated!
I…I actually have one because you went and named him after goddamn Achilles. This dude could be a classical wrestler by day…and a heel by night! He could especially play up being the big, bad indigoblood beating up on the poor, defenseless lowbloods. He’s got the extra strength at hsi advantage and he plays dirty??? How dare he??? It’s a fun little contrast to his at-home personality and may get him some shit even when he’s out of the ring!
Interests: Wrestling, surprisingly. It’s his main hobby, passion and potential career in the fleet if he works hard enough. His passion for the classical world, which I’m not even gonna begin to try and explain for Alternia, is another major interest of his, specifically heroes and their glorious adventures.
Other than his two core themes, Kilius doesn’t really go for much else. Fitness is important to him, though that’s mainly to get better at wrestling, and epic poetry is more of the classical stuff. Some ideas would be helpful, as whilst his themes are strong and handy, I don’t want him to just be the wrestling and classics troll lol.
Hm.
I mean modern wrestling is commonly called “soap opera for men,” (whether the folks who watch wrestling like that comparison varies lol) and to tie back to both the classical version and the modern one how about he’s into nice-smelling soaps, classical opera, and soap operas? Gives him a little more dimension, and gives him something to do around the house besides watch wrestling.
Title: Remember, different verbiage and +/- skews. I have Kilius as a Knight of Hope, in that he passively serves others Hope. This kinda ties into how I see pro-wrestling, but I feel it works for Kilius even in the mindscape that Knights actively exploit.
This is kinda where I’m struggling honestly, to properly put into words why he’s a Knight of Hope. I’ll give it a shot, but I’d like to keep the classpect. That being said, I’m open for insight or suggestions/modifications to help him better fit this title or another similar one.
Kilius is kinda caught in an interesting quandary with his classpect. On the one hand, he has very strong beliefs that he has complete commitment to and uses them as a positive force in his life. On the other hand, as a Knight he’s being disingenuous in some form thanks to the mask he adopts for others. In the weirdest sense, Kilius’ mask is himself, that is, the idealised version of himself that he aspires to be, and presents himself as through his speech (the third person thing is a sort of showing of this, a trait that would be dropped as he goes through the revelations and lessons of his character.)
His main struggle is that he’s not living up to the idealised vision he’s made for himself. His mask is like a professional wrestling gimmick, Kilius the brave and bold, flexgrappler champion and future immortalised in epic tales of valour and etc etc. Some larger than life figure that he keeps stoking. He’s essentially made his mask some kind of Platonic form, the ultimate greatest version of him. This is why that he seems like he has it made from outside perspectives as he’s friendly, has conviction, goals, a sweet hive, etc etc.
Ugh, I’m really struggling with this honestly. So long I’ve mainly focused on the abilities part of his classpect, which is stuff like ‘serving’ others his faith in pro-wrestling conventions that he forces them to obey to them. I have a whole post on that which I’ll link here. Sorry if this kinda meanders, but Kilius is an older character of mine, and also one very close and dear to me, so I love the bugger.
Honestly I feel like the powers you gave him would work well regardless of whether he’s a Knight or Page? There’s a pretty fine line between the two.
I feel like maybe the “heel” storyline drives that home even further? Because now that conflict rears its head in multiple ways, both with his “Kilius the brave and strong” persona and the “Kilius the evil indigoblood” one. They’re both these really hamfisted attempts to shoehorn himself into a role that maybe doesn’t fit him all that well. And with the added interests I mentioned above, maybe those are things he keeps really private because they don’t mesh with either of those personas.
And I think I can make the argument even under the Knight verbiage CD and I use because this is a case where he’s so immersed in a profession that’s Hope personified that he’s feeling choked! It’s difficult to grow when you spend so much time doing something that requires you to suspend disbelief so much.
Land:Back when he was a Rage player, ‘The Land of Quakes and Kayfabe’, but since he’s Hope, I think I had ‘Rings’ as one of his words. The idea being that there were Hope-y wrestling rings around the planet, and upon entering them some shit happens. I’m not sure on this lol.
Hmmm. What about Land of Faces and Rings? Obviously referring to faces in wrestling, but the aesthetic could be that of Majora’s Mask-style makss that grant the wearer the abilities related to them upon donning one.
That’s the consort mythology, of course; it’s not actually real. Until Kilius believes it is.
Lots and lots of tournaments, with the promise that upon completing the necessary fights he will be able to reach his denizen. But that’s nonsense! Wrestling goes on forever and plotlines rarely have a conclusion! Kilius needs to will himself to the denizen if he wants to reach them.
Dream Planet:I think Prospit may be a given. Despite his struggles with his heroic fantasies, he IS very get-go and take-charge generally.
D/Ancestor: Kilius’ dancestor is Turnus Koplan. Whilst Kilius represents the Greek ideal of a hero, cunning, individual, glory-seeking, Turnus represents the Roman ideal a little more, in that he’s direct, professional and looks to the group more. That boy is here. Kilius’ ancestor was a great hero, aptly titled as 'The ]~[eroic’ (I love quirk-y ancestor titles). Upon a fall from grace, and enslavement into the gladiatorial rings, he quickly became known under a new name, 'The Crippler’, another reference to Chris Benoit.
Love this dude.
All in all, Kilius is a very special and sentimental fantroll for me, and one that despite working on a lot of stuff for him, hasn’t had much in the way of deeper personality or narrative arc developed. He’s mainly been used for roleplay, which doesn’t exactly support SBURB arcs. Plus I’m a very improvisational person in those types of settings, meaning I can often just roll with random info or ideas for Kilius without thinking about it. Hope you enjoy this boy!
i did! And tbh I think he’s basically good to go? I can’t even think of any redesign suggestions for him.
Thanks for sending him in. I hope the few extra details I provided can help!
TR
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How to Listen to Hozier: A Guide in Escapism with The Troubadour Hero
@farrahda5hy wrote this days ago and it’s every thought i’ve ever had about this fucking album and i really feel understood
The narrative I am proposing is personal to me, and I do not claim that it is proper or correct way to listen to this album. However, I will be providing commentary on how I compose this specific narrative. These steps are really boiling down how I perceive things so see them as the end all be all. The instructions are comprised on two main factors: one’s beloved and the constructed world that exists in one’s mind.
1. First, identify your beloved. I don’t have a significant other which is why I probably am going to choose Sweet Andy Hozier himself. Also, he’s a neat guy and quite a charmer and activist…etc. This step should be easier for those are in relationships. As reductive as this may sound, it is important that one chose a few words that summarize the relationship with one’s significant other.
2. The self-construction is really only important to listen experience. It’s really where your mind goes to when you’re listening to the album. For those who are taking the beloved to the narrator (Andy as Narrator maybe) approach, I assume this step would be harder or potentially easier as one’s mind is free to run wild as you are not tied down to reality. As a creative writer, I live and thrive in this space.
I am choosing the words: Fluid, Bold, Chaotic, Sarcastic, Overwhelming, and Passionate.
As for this world construction, I usually go back to my hometown within the Appalachian mountains, specifically the Smokey mountains. For me, this place represents a mysticism that I have created for myself. Honestly, it is quite the opposite of the Bog People villas described in the album, but there’s a large number Irish descendants in this area. But like I said, it’s more personal and obviously idealistic. I don’t care for my hometown, but I’m in love with how it made me feel and the bastardized version of it that exists in my head now that somehow blurred into my new city.
Taking these basic elements, I’m forming this new track list organization. Hold on to your hats, it’s going to get fucking wild and possibly a bit fanfic, so as Griffin McElroy says “just fucking play in this space with me.”
Track one: Take Me to Church.
Yes, don’t at me. This song is in fact the first song on the album, but I think it sets the tone for the narrative. Two lines that stick out are “She’s the giggle at a funeral” and “My church offers no absolutes.” Honestly, these lines really stick out to me. Immediately, it identifies the woman in the relationship as other to what is excepted in society. Quite frankly as black woman, I’m kind always in that category, you know. Not to mention the hella gospel tones and such. The second line mentioned out of context is very much a declaration of acceptance which is bomb, but also naive in a way in a new love sense. Because of course within relationships, there are aspects that are fine in the beginning or on some levels but cause problems in the long-run. For me, I identify as the woman who the subject of the song. Honestly, I’m that gal who’s going to say wise shit to you, but will also doubt herself. But I’m a “fuck what the world thinks” person and overcompensate by existing in this “let’s take down the world” ideology.
Track two: Jackie and Wilson
This song is so damn playful, and it’s this feeling of hopefulness and disappointment in a way. Really the entire breakdown of the song throws your head into a loop. There’s this one-sided commitment, and I guess when I get to that part of the song I’m always thinking “yeah, bud, I like you, but shit, this thing can’t last forever right? Don’t tie yourself down to me because woof…buddy, I’m a roadtrip you do not want to go on.” The song is trying to come to terms with a partner who isn’t giving their 150%. Also, for my mental music video, Hozier has his hair down the entire car ride and sunglasses on, and I’m sticking my whole body out the car with an lit cigarette in my left hand while we do donuts in Kroger parking lot.
Track Three: Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene
This song is another one where the breakdown of the song is the most powerful. Really the song speaks for its self. The relationship just is toxic and overwhelming and in need of escape. Every time I listen to this song, I imagine myself in a basement at a drum set. It didn’t really occur to me that it’s the chaotic feeling and the need to escape that I have latch on to.
Track four: Someone New
Forget everything you know about this song, okay. Because this song is literally the “Take Me or Leave Me” moment. Literally until the breakdown of the song, I imagine the beloved singing the verses rather than Sweet Andy. It’s very much a “we’re not working. We’re trying other people.”
Two things I want to highlight: the lyrics of the breakdown. This first part will not make as much sense until I talk about the next song. But Jealous!Hozier is a fucking thing. I find this interesting, but until then, there’s this “I’m level headed and open about my emotions” air about him. But this delightful pang of jealousy adds dimension to what I call the Hozier Troubadour Hero. The female character (or the one I have constructed in my own head) as main vocalist is just as level-headed and falsely self-aware. Then there’s this arrow of “oh yeah we’re doing this thing and seeing other people, but I’m not happy about seeing you with other people.”
The line “Love with every stranger. The stranger the better.” I love this wordplay. But against the line “how pure how sweet in love Aretha that you would pray for him,” it’s fucking taunting and bitter as hell. Really, starting the album of with Take Me to Church reflects this disregard for organized religion, which is no stranger to Hozier, but the beloved seems to still exists in that sphere. But I also want to read in another way that it’s bittersweet to the Hozier!character that this beloved still prays for him although she’s involved with another person. I don’t know. It’s interesting.
Quickly, I want to highlight the other vocal overlay that actually comes between the two lines mentioned. I get this air of confrontation and then the “NO ITS COOL IM HAPPY THAT YOUR HAPPY WITH SOMEONE NEW”. Once again, I imagine this argument taking place in an apartment living room.
Here, I would like to introduce a distinction between the characters. The Hozier character is very much fluid that is very self contained chaos whereas the female character is very much open chaos. As a fire signs, I totally get that. Hozier being a water sign is very fluid in what we stereotypically thing as fluid, but we also don’t always see water as destructive in comparison to fire.
Track Five: From Eden
To this day, I still wonder if this is a love song. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be. But I find this song to be one of my favorites.
I want to flip the imagery of Jackie and Wilson and delve more into the Chaotic!Hozier characterization. Obviously, this song is very upfront with the Garden of Eden serpent allusion. This song exists in the uncertainty of relationship. The “are we or aren’t we” spheres. To sum it up, this is a conversation happening in a car. Oddly, person in the passenger seat (Hozier) is leading the conversation and the beloved as the driver really doesn’t want to have this conversation.
The ending of first verse give us little snippets, and it appears that the beloved flaws are being pointed out or Hozier is anticipating the responses from the driver. But also let’s return back to this serpent imagery. Hozier aligns himself with the serpent in Eden, so the idea of corruption is very highly in this imagined car ride.
When I first heard this song, I got the “bad boy who doesn’t let everyone know he’s a bad boy” vibe.” I really gripped on to this concept; along with other religious allusions, I really don’t know how to objectively look at them. For me, it’s a little “Walk to Remember-ish” where the preachers daughter is in love with the bad boy. I don’t know, but really at the heart of it, the narrative boils down to “I’m going to corrupt this persons core, and I don’t have remorse at all.” Understanding what this concept means on personal level will determine whether it’s a love song or whether it’s an act of selfishness disguised as love.
Track Six: Foreigners God
I’ll admit. I didn’t really get this song after my initial listen to the album. I think for me it’s just too personal. I grew up in a Christian household, going to a very charismatic church. So the line that really sticks out it’s very simple “It’s Foreign to me”. I’ll just leave that there.
It’s really an outsider looking in and not understanding and forming their own opinions. While “Take Me to Church” is very much a “sex in an abandoned church (or whatever) type of jam that highlights the oppressive aspects of organized religion, “Foreigners God” really displays the frustration of separating the comforting parts from all the oppressive aspects.
This scene takes place in the abandoned church, and I want to react in this way of “God is here” in this desolation that some people don’t understand. Going back to that fire fluidity, I just imagine myself dancing in this church with like a song under my breath and releasing all this anger I’ve shared with no one. Then Sweet Andy Hozier is just watching in the door frame in the background. Not even sitting in the pew.
Track Seven: Cherry Wine
I think I’m just punching a window out. Car window. A church window. A bedroom window.
This pivotal point of realization that “hey maybe you’re the one that’s holding you back and lashing out at people isn’t the best.” But the tragedy is there’s still a lack of self awareness. Like you’re angry but you still put blame on other people. Yeah…
Track Eight: Sedated
This song is another one of those songs that I interpret as the point of view of the beloved based on the breakdown of the song, but I still want to look at the Hozier character POV
“Darling, don’t stand there watching won’t you come save me from this. Darling, don’t you join in you’re supposed to drag me away from this.”
That’s desperation. That’s a little toxic in a way. Expecting a person to save you, but yet, forgetting that person may need saving themselves is selfish. What makes Jackie and Wilson so tragic is this naivety. “She’s going to save me call me ‘baby’ run her hands to my hair.” Yeah, that’s sweet and cute, but what are you doing in return. Falling in love with this idealized strong woman, but then denying her the opportunity to be vulnerable is very much the corruption I spoke about in From Eden.
Honestly, the worst part about hiding vulnerability is when it rushes out like a dam breaking or when a fire is no longer contained.
Track Nine: Arsonist’s Lullaby
I call it the pagan ritual version of Foreigners God or when Chaotic!Hozier is at his most powerful and vulnerable. Why? Is it the relinquishing of this vulnerability for his beloved to use as her discretion or is it his acknowledgment of hers and offering to aid her in channeling it? Yes, but it’s also the fire within him, the passion, the chaos, and the darkness that fuels him. He is both talking to the beloved and himself.
For the sake of the conversation, this scene also takes place in the same abandoned church, and Hozier gets up to where he stage used to be; barefoot and hair pulled back. At first, he’s swaying gently, fluid like as flame is first lit with back facing the congregation. He’s like this for a few moments and then he’s twirling around the abandoned stage until he’s almost stomping his feet. Thump. Thump. Thump. Suddenly, everything changes and his hair falls out the ponytail and turns around and the stumps are more violent, yet the dance is just as fluid until he steps down from
stage…the intense eye contact is fucking overwhelming. He just walks out the abandoned church leaving his shoes like some awoken wild child.
Track Ten: My Love will Never Die
Do you like blues? Welp. This song speaks for its fucking self. Do you want Sad!Hozier crooning in a room by himself? Because that’s what he’s doing, babe.
Track Eleven: In the Woods Somewhere
I get a lot of fever dream vibes from this song, so I can only imagine it as something just not real. So I present you with an actual dream I had about Hozier I had once.
Pretty much, I dreamt Hozier was this shapeshifter who turned into a fox that was terrorizing the town in his fox state. It was more a vigilante like thing, but it was tragic because I had to kill the fox out of mercy.
The song also talks about a similar scene. So mercy killing when you’re in love is very much something that hard to describe, but you have to do it to the other person when you love them. I don’t know. So just imagine Hozier shooting up out of dead sleep fever dream.
Track Twelve: Run
Also a ritual dance, but also possibly a fever dream? This song introduces the field/nature imagery to relationship narrative. The metronome in the background mirrors the jerky dancing of the beloved from the Foreigners God portion but the tempo of the drums gives rhythm to the fluidity of the Hozier!Character. Both of these two sounds represent being grounded, and they work in unison. This unison is a first really. Playing that fever dream, the song seems to end abruptly and I think that’s the true awakening of the Hozier!Character physically and emotionally.
The dream itself is the couple dancing in a field together in the afternoon. I could go further with this dream, but I’m going explain it as actual event later.
Track Thirteen: It Will Come Back
The best song on the album, not to mention a song of seduction. It’s an unintentional sexy song. I wish it were a duet or at least have more prominent female background vocals. While seduction isn’t the best term for the overall narrative, what I am trying to say is a song of pleading for so many things: to be let go, to be let in, or to be cast aside to make it easier to move on. Wild Eye, Sleep-Deprived Hozier is walking around barefoot at three am across town to reconcile his feelings, and then he’s just singing and howling outside my house? Of course, I’m going to let him in. “Don’t you hear me howling, babe?” The faded of the last line is so interesting, and it brings me back to Sedated’s line “I keep catching little words, but the meanings thin.” I just occurred to me is that the expression of vulnerability is very metaphorically, but on the literal manifestations are different. The Hozier!Character is very much a “tell me with your words”; the beloved is very much “tell me with your actions. “Don’t you hear me howling, babe” takes on another meaning in which the question is literally “you’ve seen me vulnerable, but did you hear what I actually said. I love you so much that it’s animalistic and consuming the humanity in me.” That’s oddly beautiful.
Track Fourteen: To Be Alone
So I bet you were wondering when I was going to talk more about the location part. Well, here is it. I grew up in the middle of the Bible Belt. Sometimes when you’re not conforming you feel like everyone is looking at you whether they are or not. At on a more concrete level, my hometown used to have a festival called the Fall Festival, and they would have a series of out door concerts of various artists. This event was usually held downtown. Honestly, I’m not to big on crowds, but at the same time, I adore being alone in a crowd or with one person while out in public. To Be Alone captured that vibe very well. Returning the relationship, at this point, the air of ambiguity of relationship still exists; however, the relationship is heading toward stability in my opinion. I just love the image of Chaotic!Hozier dancing in a crowd simultaneously ignoring everyone else while be fully away of the contained space he’s got to be close with his lover. Then just going the fuck home for sex just because the mood allowed it to feel sacred in some way. Maybe it was the dream of the two lovers dancing in the field.
Track Fifteen: In A Week
The only duet on this album! UGH SO DAMN GOOD! A lovely balances of vocals; they are playing off each other. It’s very much stereotypical “we finish each other’s sentences” concept but actualized very well. So maybe the sex didn’t happen after the festival, but that closeness and intimate is still present. Despite being allergic to grass, I like lying in the grass. I also like the macabre. So nothing is out of place, and it’s all intimate joke to describe a seemingly tragic love that is no longer tragic.
Track Sixteen: Like Real People Do
Something tragic about that this song (it’s probably the true story behind it) but also romantic. As the penultimate song in the album, it’s very much the final acceptance of all the flaws, frustrations, and the opposition within. Not to be sexy, this song is the foreplay to the final song. This is the outside conversation on the porch before you invite your lover into the house to stay the night and lead your lover upstairs or to the couch or the floor Whatever floats your passionate boat.
Track Seventeen: Work Song
It’s the only song on the album that doesn’t seem to have baggage behind it. It’s purely romantic. I put this song in opposition to Take Me to Church really. I imagine that’s why I put it at the the end. This song is true acceptance not the fake acceptance in Take Me to Church. The line “Heaven and Hell were words to me” signifies this point. Everything I’ve described throughout this narrative as been about duality and finding where the lines blur for this relationship to be functional. “Work Song” finally rejects that ideology and allows the relationship to heal and flourish. So in this moment, let’s return back to this abandoned church that this couple has made their own sanctuary (face it they are fucking weird) but it’s not broken down or stuffy. It’s homely as they camp out for the night making their bed at the abandoned altar. The couple makes love in the moonlight that peeks in through the shattered window. The whole damn cosmos witness the rebellion that manifests in their love. So yeah, I’m curious to what the narrative of the reverse of this track list. I didn’t have this narrative planned out in my head. It just came organically as I was writing. Honestly if i had written my original idea it would have been more fantasy driven and a lot more Chaotic!Hozier. If you’re curious about that let me know. Also, I will try to do one of the original track list because it’s more of a challenge.
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August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire.
After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as “Michael Jackson’s favorite grinder”, we were in dire need of respite.
Establishing a forward operating base was our first priority. For my part, I can sleep anywhere. My bonfire days in the Frozen North frequently necessitated pitching a $10 K-Mart tent over gravel, then drinking bottom-shelf whiskey until you didn’t realize you were sleeping in a puddle of rainwater and broken glass. That’s not a knack you lose. It’s like riding a bike. The Girl was always more discerning, and became doubly so after our experience in Phoenix with the inept criminal front halfway house hotel. We agreed that she can veto any of the lodgings I book. Sometimes, late at night, I’ll hold a flashlight under my chin and tell her spoOoOoky stories about hostels in Ireland.
She insisted on the airport Super 8. I was hoping to stay in a quaint deep woods motel called “Unsmiling Jed’s Sleepaway”, attached to sister business “Unsmiling Jed’s Discount Plastic Surgery Silo and Chili Kitchen”.
If I can’t protect it, I don’t deserve to have it. That goes double for life.
A friendly foreign woman checked us in at the Super 8, then proceeded into utter bafflement when I asked for a first aid kid. I chewed myself up pretty good climbing Bancroft’s Castle, and I’d spent the last half hour bleeding into an oily dog blanket to avoid ruining my upholstery. I’m pretty sure that’s how plagues start.
There were no band-aids here, or antiseptics, or possibly medicine as a concept. There was a three gallon tub of hand sanitizer. I thanked her for the offer but gently declined.
We went up to the third floor. The hallways were lined with people sitting on the carpet outside their rooms, shouting and smoking cigarettes. The room itself was clean and the air conditioning worked. All my boxes were checked. The bathroom reeked of weed, which some would interpret as a bonus. I scrubbed my wounds raw in the sink, tucked away the precious cargo of wine and peaches, and set out to investigate downtown Manchester.
Streetlight technology has not yet made its way to Manchester, so we spent twenty minutes missing exits in ocean-floor darkness. It looked worryingly like Wilkes-Barre, which is not where one would choose to vacation, were one sane.
Downtown erupted from nowhere like graphic pop-in on a video game running at its lowest resolution. One second you’re in leatherface country, with nothing breaking the abyssal darkness but the occasional half-broken Jiffy Lube sign. The next, you’re on vibrant neon market strip, replete with hipsters and the homeless.
We knew we had hit downtown proper when we passed by the “craft grilled cheese bistro”.
only programmers will understand!!!! like and reblog if u get it
Since I am an adult man, grilled cheese cannot be dinner. Both “gastropubs” we tried, despite their bitchin Greek mythology names, offered generic terrible burgers and a draft list that consisted of Coors Light.
“I’m so hungry,” the Girl told me. “I’m gonna die.”
“We all will,” I assured her. “Soon.”
Yelp claimed there was a brewery five blocks away. We walked off the only lit street, into absolute, encompassing blackness. It would’ve been spooky if I didn’t always kind of hope some Putty Patrol mook would lunge at me from the dark while I’m far away from home, having told no one where I’m going and left no paper trail.
There were no incidents. No one was murdered in self-defense. No one knows what we did last summer. The Stark Brewing Company was in the basement of a grim looking office complex, and it was vacant save for two other wanderers.
We sat at the bar and ordered a flight and an imperial stout. I was pushing for finding an actual restaurant, but the Girl ordered “Penne with vodka sauce”, which was not the right color, flavor, or texture to be anything but penne bolognese. The Girl didn’t seem to mind. I ate a pulled pork sandwich.
The beers were warm, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the beers were, so long as they were beers. And not Coors Light. The brewery themed all of their beers off of dogs, for some reason, which I believe to be the ideal business model. According to the bartenders, the brewery had been open for 25 years, but hadn’t yet received their big boom. I was outraged. The beers were excellent, and would probably be even better if they weren’t room temperature, and the taps were not only named for specific dogs, but also provided pictures.
To say nothing of the bathroom, which was covered in sharpie beer lore.
The bartender and waitresses swore a lot more than you would normally expect in this context. The Girl maintains they were swearing at us. I disagreed.
“They were swearing <i>with</i> us,” I mansplained.
“We weren’t swearing,” she countered.
“But if we HAD been.”
As I’ve grown larger and more sinuous, I’ve tried to cut back on how often I cuss at strangers. Cultural relativism is the understanding that not everyone grew up among the coalcrackers, and good-natured oaths like “how the hell are you” or using the fuck-word as a conversational placeholder, while subjectively soothing, can set off fight-or-flight in the small, soft, and bourgeoisie.
I try to maintain direct proportionality between my barbarism and my well-heeledness. Neither the wait staff nor the other two customers shared my bond, and the middle-aged guy on my right proceeded to tell me how his hometown of Denver, Colorado is the greatest fuckin’ city in America, next to maybe Southern California. Which is not a city.
We talked about our homes and travels for a while, then I got my pulled pork sandwich and they left. The sandwich was slightly warmer than the beer, which beat the alternative.
An armada of children came into the bar.
“Oh, shit,” the woman tending bar said. They were visibly teenagers, and on the wrong side of it. They had that gangly awkwardness you get around fourteen or fifteen, and if they were trying to play it off, they were woefully bad at it. There were also nearly twenty of them. It looked like a field trip.
People in their twenties don’t travel in packs of more than six. It’s hard to transport a throng, unless you have a party bus, and why do you have a party bus when you’re twenty-eight? You’re twenty-eight and party buses have always been sad. Get a job. Also, it’s hard to get that many adults to agree on something.
It can be done. You can say, “Hey, adults, you want to do some drugs?” And in a sufficiently sized crowd, you’ll manage to pull twenty or so who will follow you to your house or whatever. This is called an “afterparty”. It doesn’t go to bars at 9pm.
Have you felt out the social zeitgeist recently? Look at a random handful of current memes and it’ll be pretty clear that most adults consider socialization to be a required burden, like paying emotional taxes. “Going out” is the price of living in a civilized society. You’re not going to scare up twenty people, then put them in a party bus, then take them to an abandoned bar half a mile outside of where the actual nightlife is.
“Hey, we’re just about to close,” the bartender said.
A reedy blonde in a top that seemed to consist mostly of straps screeched, “But your WEBSITE said you were open til ONE!”
Screeched.
The bar fell silent. Well, more silent. The Girl and I traded looks, her horror for my delight.
“Uhhhhhh,” the bartender said, but with excellent elocution, as though that were the word she had deliberately chosen. “Okay.”
They sat the itinerant mall food court in an enormous corner table, whereupon they requested shots.
The waitress who had sworn at/with us the least came back to the bar and said, “You guys said you were from Pennsylvania, right?”
We nodded.
“Can I see one of your licenses quick?”
She compared mine against the obviously fake ID one of the tweens had given her. After a moment she said, “Yeah, you can see, the font is different. And the picture looks like it’s photoshopped.”
“Yeah, no one’s license picture ever looks this good,” the Girl said, studying the fake ID.
“Except mine,” I added. They ignored me. I didn’t take it personally.
The waitresses disappeared into the back. Five minutes later, the only dude working at the place was gendered into being the bad cop. He sulked over to the teens.
“You guys gotta leave,” he said. “We know your ID’s fake. We’re not trying to get fined. You gotta go.”
For maximum accuracy, imagine this said in Toby’s voice from the Office. Shamefaced, the flash mob of children dispersed.
We paid for our room temperature beers and left the poor, foul-mouthed brewery to close at 9:30 on a Friday. The Girl and I accidentally stalked the battalion of teens through the street, but only because we were all moving back toward the only lights in the city, not unlike moths. They turned a corner and vanished, presumably to find an arcade or laser tag or some sort of large carousel.
The Girl and I followed the sounds of some obnoxious bros announcing, “It’s like a fahkin sketchy ally, dewd”.
It was, in fact, the least sketchy alley I’d ever been in. Cat Alley was the best lit venue in all of New Hampshire. It was clean and well-maintained, and it was covered less in graffiti and more in an outdoor art gallery dedicated to cats.
There were more, but they didn’t all warrant a picture.
Portland Pie Co loomed from the endless darkness like a beacon in the night, hearkening back to those days lost in Maine during the Great Lobster Drought of 2017. We split a bourbon barrel ale which did me in. It was bedtime.
On the way back, toward the end of the main drag, a man made of pure light rode by blasting EZ-Listenin from his Tron bicycle, also made of pure light.
I can’t prove he wasn’t Jesus.
Heartened, we returned to the hotel, where no one was smoking or yelling in the hallway anymore. Excellent.
Next stop, Portsmouth.
Love,
The Bastard
Into the Abyss August 11, 2018. Manchester, New Hampshire. After seven hours on the road, pausing only to explore an Old Ones cult site, storm a terrible castle, and eat distressingly dry corned beef at a Greek diner that still advertised one of their menu items as "Michael Jackson's favorite grinder", we were in dire need of respite.
#alley#armada#barbarian#bastard#beer#bistro#bonfire#bourgeoisie#brewery#cat alley#cats#cheddar#children#cigarettes#coors lite#culture#doggo#dogs#downtown#fake id#first aid#forward base#grilled cheese#hipster#hostels#hotel#hungry#jesus#jiffy lube#leatherface
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My Bloody Valentine, what the hell
Okay. I know I'm probably not writing a hot take with this one, but I just needed to get all my tangled up thoughts out in the form of coherent strings of words ("coherent" is debatable as you'll probably find out if you read this entire thing).
So here I was, watching a random commentary video, and this scene from 5x14 My Bloody Valentine was included in it:
Now that. That's a bi flag. We know how much care set designers put into the details of the scenes we see. This is an episode centered around love. The cupid here talks about "Love", as in, the broad term. The "all-encompassing" term, if you will. He also says he "loves love", which I personally interpret as "in all its shapes and forms", and I don't believe that interpretation of what the cupid is saying is that far-fetched, after all, he kind of is Love (with a capital L). So what does that scene mean?
Let's find out.
First of all, I just feel like I should mention that I think pansexuality would be a better way to "represent" that sort of sentiment around what Love is, but if I'm not mistaken, the pansexual flag was created after this episode aired, and even if the word "pansexual" has existed for a pretty long time in various studies and areas (usually in psychology, if I understand correctly?), and has been used in LGBTQ+ spaces for a while too, it's still not as "commonly known" in the day-to-day life of cishet people, at least not in the same way that being bi is.
That being said, here's one more little nugget before I do a quick analysis of the scene. The idea of being bi is probably the closest thing that any not-very-informed-but-supportive-ish cishet person could think of if they wanted to relate the concept of "love for the sheer sake of love, having love for anyone, love of the masses" to actual characters and how they're able to love their peers (or more accurately, which peers). It's not so surprising to me that this would be the flag chosen by set designers when trying to pass on the message of "this interaction is about love as a general concept, this cupid is love, this cupid loves everyone, and will bless any couple, and yeah in that scene two out of the three characters (other than the cupid himself) stand in front of that light, no reason haha". It makes sense.
Now, onto the actual substance of this.
First of all, because it's funny, Dean why are you literally staring at this cupid's dick, honestly, what the fuck, Sam is averting his eyes (good call), Cas looks like he's only interested in analyzing the cupid's face (more on that later) and nothing else, why are you staring downwards why why why and why (hello, jacting choices). Second of all, because it's funny too, why do you look slightly flustered, in an oh-god-this-is-not-a-drill-shit-oh-god-fuck-embarrassed way? I mean Sam looks like he's been to hell and back, but not flustered.
It's also specifically interesting to see both Cas and Dean being the ones standing together in front of that light. It happens just a little while before, right here:
They're. Staring at a cupid, whose job it is to bless couples, who's Love incarnate, he hugged these two idiots first before getting to Sam, which means something and I'm not exactly sure what but, if you still have braincells (unlike me) please tell me what you conclude of those facts compiled together.
In this particular scene, I don't think the flag is actually a pointer to specific characters being bi, I think it's more of a broad "yeah these guys love a little different" kind of thing. For example, we see Cas in front of that light a lot.
This is season 5, he's barely starting to understand what emotions are, but he's already faithful to Dean and his cause, he's beginning to get what liking things, what caring means. He doesn't figure it all out until way later (in my personal opinion, that is. And I mean... 15x18 anyone?) no, at that point he's driven by things like want, need, yeah, I'll say it, lust, or simple candid curiosity. But that ties into the idea that right now, in that episode, Cas' understanding of "Love" is very broad. He doesn't understand details yet, the only detail he knows is Dean vs the World, and all he gets about that is "the world matters to Dean, there's probably a reason for that, if I follow him around enough I'll probably discover it, and I trust him enough to lead me there". He's still an angel, fairly through and through. He's curious, though.
Refer back to that previous gif, Cas is watching with acute interest what that cupid is doing. Prior to this scene, he's known the "mission" that cupids uphold for thousands of years, but I doubt he's ever really looked at it with the help of the lens of actual humans (read: Dean). He's interested, this cupid's job is to create love, and that seems to be something inherently tied to what makes his charge... himself. That much he knows. Again, probably not in detail, probably not that precisely, but he's got a sense that this cupid represents something he doesn't know and hasn't felt before, yet something Dean and Sam are accustomed to, and driven by. So yeah, he's curious.
Now here's the thing. We see Dean standing in front of that light, both alone, with the cupid, and with Cas. On several occasions.
(something something something bi flag in the background something something something character centered around love something something something the word "dick" something something something what the fuck CW)
We see the cupid standing in front of the light (scroll back up), and we see Cas in front of the light, with the cupid, alone, and with Dean. What about Sam?
...Yeah, no. I replayed that scene several times and I didn't find one instance where we see Sam even remotely lighted by that flag. And when I say remotely, I mean like this:
The light being somewhat noticeable in the background. Even when we see Sam after he moves a bit, like so:
The light is nowhere to be seen. That's after the cupid's left too, so it makes sense the flag wouldn't be relevant anymore: the entity that it represents isn't there to give it meaning anymore. I mean, during that entire scene Sam's a bit (gross understatement, I know) of a background character, but that's simply because he's not the main focus of what the cupid and the flag mean.
Dean though. Dean's a focus alright. No one can ever convince me otherwise, he's bi. That's just a fact at this point. But that's not all the flag and the cupid mean when relating to him here. He's beginning to form a type of bond with Cas, albeit small. He's starting to open up a door that he's never really noticed before: the one that lets people other than blood relatives (or close runner-ups like Bobby) in. And he's facing that head on, like how he's facing the cupid. Both he and Cas do that actually, in their own way. They're looking straight into the eyes of the unknown (Cas literally looks into the eyes of the cupid): for Cas it's this strange foreign thing called emotion, and for Dean it's letting a known emotion be directed at someone new. They're the ones that talk to the cupid, not Sam, because they have things to be curious or apprehensive about, in the context of love (or different love).
They stand in the highlight of that flag, because they're the ones discovering new things (hello, 10x16 speech, yes I'm relating a random scene with a funny light to a speech 5 seasons later, leave me be, I'm insane) and not Sam, who's for one: human, so he already knows what love is, and two: way more in touch with his feelings than his brother. Basically, the concept of Love being something strange, unknown, new, different, scary, worth punching it in the face for, deserving of focused study, take your pick, doesn't really apply to him.
How could I relate this to destiel you ask? Very easily, I say. This, theydies and gentlethems, is a representation of the first step both Cas and Dean take towards each other. A toe in the waters of a frightening and captivating new thing. And again, they face it in a really direct manner.
That is... Right up until the cupid mentions John and Mary. That's when it goes downhill and we understand that whatever Dean and Cas have going on is about to take years of work and a million steps still need to be taken.
Exhibit a:
Look at Cas' face, when the cupid mentions the Big Plan. He starts by studying the cupid (again, curiosity), then looks at Dean, then Dean briefly looks back (perhaps back at Cas but that's debatable), and that's when Cas looks down, embarrassed. I read that as: "Ah yes, as interesting of a concept this cupid is, as fascinating as these two humans' perspective on his mission is, it's still dictated by Heaven, and they're not going to like that. I'm still dictated by Heaven (as I should (???)) and... He's not going to like that. (???)".
Annnnd then Dean punches the cupid in the face, which... Good point, Cas, he indeed doesn't "like that".
So what are those steps highlighted by the ending of that scene? Well, Cas is an angel. Dean is clueless about so many things. He doesn't have faith. Cas isn't exactly free. It's just always about the plan and the mission, whatever comes up in their tumultuous adventures together, it always brings them right back to the core of why there's still such a long way to go: who they are.
All in all, that scene is just. Imagery there, imagery here, reference after reference, big red arrows (yes, I'm using "arrows" in the context of a cupid episode, I fully intend this sentence to have a double meaning) pointing at Dean and at Cas and at them both together. It's not necessarily a direct reference at either of them being bi, although for obvious reasons that's not exactly off the table either, it's sort of a piece of foreshadowing for what's to come, both in that season itself, and the rest of their relationship (here I use "relationship" as a term meaning something like "friendship-that-evolves-into-something-more-later-on").
In short, I'd like to conclude (you can use that as a TL;DR) by quoting my brain when I first saw that flag and connected a couple dots:
"lol bi".
#well damn that was long.#if you've read it all holy shit! you're just as insane as i am for writing it! haha!#if not more!#this isn't a personal attack though! it's ok to be insane!#join me in my destiel related meta bubble!#anyways.#i do think that there's a bunch of double meanings to both the lighting and the cupid#it's a big mess to untangle#and again i fully realize im probably not the first to notice this#as i said i just wanted to put my thoughts into sentences so i could go back to lying on the floor thinking about Them#and then go back to writing my damn fic#destiel#deancas#dean#cas#sam#endverse#spn#supernatural#spn meta#meta
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