“ El complejo del aguayo consiste en que esa mujer que has amado desde niña, que la has olido y la has creído tu mamá, a los siete años tu familia te enseña a despreciarla. Y el dolor que te produce eso es imperdonable. [...] Es muy doloroso cuando te preguntas de niña ¿por qué no la puedo querer? ”
“ The aguayo complex consists in the fact that the woman you have loved since you were a child, that you have smelled her and thought she was your mother, at the age of seven your family teaches you to despise her. And the pain that this causes you is unforgivable [...] It is very painful when you ask yourself as a child. ´Why can’t I love her?´ ”
Silvia Rivera Cusicanqui
I wanted to share with you this sociological concept from a bolivian academic that blew my mind since the first time I read her. Although it describes a microsocial aspect of how colonialism is experienced in Bolivia through the domestic bonds, it has been ( and keeps being) a great inspiration for me to imagine the social dynamics in mycenaean greece slavery for my Troy fic.
The relationship I’m developing for the mycenaean princess and her trojan slave is a resolution of the aguayo complex that takes the route of resistance. From my understanding of the theorizations I have read, the expected outcome of this complex ( a parallel to the societal ruling cultural aspect of the Oedipus complex ) is the biological family succeeding on imposing classist (and racist, for the bolivian context) hate through the figure of the kid’s caretaker. Wet nurses in the old times and workers of domestic services in current times are the targets,through the despective attitudes of the family towards them the privileged kids are supposed to learn the prejudices that societal expectations assign to them to reproduce their role in colonial society later as adults.
The painful experience the author describes regarding this comes from the fact that kids are trained to despise half of their cultural inheritance ( because in their bonds with the wet nurse/ babysitter/housekeeper, etc who raised them, they acquire her culture along with their parents’) and, by extension, half of themselves. It explores inter class cultural mixing from a really interesting angle that is still relevant to look at in any stratified society.
The family dynamics I’m building in the fic are a reflection of all of this, I’m doing the reverse cultural journey and taking the latin american concept to a mycenaean greek context that is part of greek mythology. The author herself, although she points out the aguayo complex is an eternal struggle in an analogical way to how the oedipus one is never fully resolved in freudian theory, has chosen the way of resistance and develops a beautifully crafted exhortation to embrace cultural mixing and bilingualism.
Now speaking about the movie, Troy (2004) has a strong component of anti imperialist criticism in the way it handles the trojan war. Greeks and Trojans are presented as antagonistic societies with kings that are complete opposites and hold on to different cultural values. I know in reality they weren’t that much different, but the plot of the film builds them as opposite powers in a semi Cold War situation( semi, because previous greeks attacks are mentioned by Andromache in a director’s cut scene) until Helen flees with Paris.
For this precuel fic I loved the idea of making my invented mycenaean princess be a mixed translator that makes both cultures her own via her own resolution of this societal-cultural-psychological complex in her relationship with the slave woman who raised her. For so, she is not a mere rejector of societal rules for the sake of making her a more modern character in tone with our views. There is a complex and understandable reason for her antagonism with Agamemnon.
She is not an unicorn person who magically aligns with our views because this is a reader insert fic and it has an identification factor, she is a twisted product of the form the aguayo complex presents in her own society.
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Yall need to interact with fanfiction author's more.
So. After the ddos attack on ao3.
I was encouraged to write more comments and make my love known to fanfic writers.
I dont really like commenting. Because im a bit shy and soooo lazy.
Now though. I am writing more comments. And dude. This is so heartwarming. Ya'll need to treat writers better. They are doing the lord's work.
Take for an example, couple of days prior, i was searching for something interesting to read, and found an oneshot quite compelling.
I read it. At the end of it, i was blown away by how good it was. It promised me something and it went beyond my expectations. But then i saw a crime, zero fucking comments!
At that moment, i wasn't feeling up to writing a comment. Because, normally i like to write huge paragraphs. But because im lazy i decided to be brief.
Next day, the author answered that the comment lift their mood for the whole day.
That warmed my heart.
Duuuuuuuude! Write comments! Suport the writers of the fics you like! No need to be something super elaborate. Just give your thoughts. Freak out. Ramble. Ask something. Make theories. Compliment. Make a joke about how you wished to give kudos every chapter but ao3 sucks(not true bby) and won't let you.
Truly. Just. Comment. It can make someone's day. And that is part of the apeal of writing fics. Interacting with people.
Just give love to fanfic writers yall. They deserve this and so much more.
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Steve startles awake, disoriented and filled with a slight bout of panic — as always when he takes a nap that turns into five hours of deep sleep and catapults him right into the next dimension for a while there.
Heart racing, he blinks his dark bedroom into existence, and it takes him a while to realise where he is and what woke him up.
And then the landline phone on his nightstand rings again, and he exhales deeply before reaching for it with clumsy, sluggish movements.
“‘Ello?”
“Steve,” comes Eddie’s sing-song voice from the other end, washing over Steve in a soothing way that leaves him falling back into the pillows. He clutches the phone to his ear as he closes his eyes, the smile already forming at how happy Eddie sounds. He rarely sings Steve’s name like that. He should do it more often.
“Hi there.” His voice sounds like shit. Like he just took a — Jesus Christ, has it really been four hours? Well. He sounds exactly like someone who took a four-hour nap after a shit day at work would sound like.
There’s fumbling on the other end, but it stops suddenly. “Did I wake you? Shit man, I thought it was past nap time.”
“I don’t have nap time,” Steve grumbles, actually pouting at Eddie’s words and realising only a second too late how ridiculous he sounds.
“Sure, man, whatever you say. We all know you’re actually just a life-sized toddler.”
Steve sputters, sitting up against his headboard as he gradually wakes up. “Hey! Also, I don’t think you actually understand what life-sized means.”
“Yes, I do.”
Steve shakes his head at this ridiculous, ridiculous man. “What exactly do you think a non-life-sized toddler looks like, Eduardissimo?”
“Like Dustin.”
The answer is so quick and deadpan, Steve cannot contain the laugh that bursts out of him, waking him up quicker and gentler than anything else in the world could have, and he revels in the sound of Eddie joining him. He must look so smug right now, and so damn proud of himself. Steve wants to see him. Wants to kiss that smile right from his lips and replace it with something a lot more genuine.
“You’re an asshole,” he says instead, pulling his blanket further around him as he lifts his knees to sit more comfortably.
Eddie hums, still teasing somehow with just that noise, and Steve just can’t stop smiling. “You like me so much, Harrington.”
“Hmm,” he mirrors Eddie’s hum, but even he can hear the smile on his face. “Jury’s still out on that one, actually.”
“Any tendencies yet on the verdict?”
“Nope, they can’t decide.”
Eddie snorts at that, and Steve has no idea how that can sound so sweet. But it does. He buries his smile in his knees for a bit, the blanket hot around his burning cheeks. He’s hopeless.
“Well, let me know as soon as they do, yeah?”
“Will do,” he laughs, ruining all his attempts to sound solemn. “So what’s up? Why’d you call?”
“Oh!” And suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped and Eddie doesn’t sound teasing and smug anymore, but instead just fucking giddy! “I have a bed now!”
Steve smiles at it. At that voice, that tone, that infectious emotion. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!” More fumbling on the other end, and Steve can only imagine that Eddie is rolling around in his newly acquired bed.
Who’s the life-sized toddler now, hm?
“No more sleeping on the floor for this Munson boy, nuh-uh, my good sir! We are in possession of a bed now. A wooden bed, no fancy headboard or anything, just…”
“Just a bed,” Steve says, feeling like he’s about to burst into a million little particles of fondness and affection and the never-ending need to kiss Eddie. To hold him. To touch him in any way he can. “That’s great, Edsie.”
“It is, Stevesie.”
“Man, I hate you so much,” Steve squints at the ceiling and laughs, actually kicking his feet, the minute breeze providing a little relief for the heat in his face.
And Eddie has no business to sound so smug when he says, “Yeah, you do.”
A pause then, and it feels loaded even through the phone. Steve clutches it closer to his face, hoping stupidly that Eddie can feel it.
“You should come hate me in my new bed.”
Steve’s breath hitches, and his brain shuts off for a hot second there. Before he can overthink this, he decides to just… play along. And listen to what his heart has been telling him for months now.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, breathless still, but his whole body tingles with just these two words. With the possibility they bring. The offer that they are. The question. The everything that’s stored in them.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, and he sounds just as breathless. “I mean, if— If you want to?”
“I do.” Steve swallows. “Right, uh— Right now?”
“Whenever.” And it sounds more like an As soon as possible.
“Okay,” Steve breathes, scrambling out of bed as quickly as possible, pulling off his shirt with the phone still pressed to his ear, letting out an embarrassing noise as it gets tangled in a mess of cord and fabric. He scrambles to free it, almost dropping it in the process. “I’ll be there in thirty.”
“To come look at my new bed?”
“Sure.”
On the other end, Eddie laughs again, but he still sounds just as breathless as Steve does. Just as excited. As fragile. Just as many fucking things.
“Alright,” Eddie murmurs, though Steve can still hear the smile. “I’ll see you then.”
And then he hangs up before either of them can get lost in their own heads about this sudden certainty of change. Steve is grateful for the steady noise of the dial tone reminding him that this is happening. But that nothing has to happen.
It’s a nice bed, he finds hours later, fingers combing through Eddie’s hair who’s cuddling him half asleep. It’s the best fucking bed he’s ever seen, if only because it led to this.
🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 (lmk if you want on or off)
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Some thoughts on Lucifer's mental health, relationships, and role as king of hell!
Lucifer’s perception of himself as the king of hell is really interesting to me because he’s very blase about it in canon while totally using it when it suits him.
I think it’s really telling that the first time he actually brings it up himself is when it’s something he can leverage to help Charlie out. He reads to me like someone who objectively knows that he’s the hottest shit in town, but also just doesn’t really think that it matters most of the time because it's not relevant to his personal problems. Being Lucifer Morningstar did not allow him to achieve his goals in petitioning heaven. Being the most powerful person in hell didn’t even un-fuck his family life!
...Except for when suddenly it might in fact help un-fuck his relationship with his daughter.
It's the main thing he can desperately and dramatically showcase as a worthwhile reason for Charlie to maintain a relationship with him, because he as a person is depressed, half-functional, and barely has enough spoons to pay attention to a conversation he's having with her while he's actively having it, nevermind remembering their last one.
He wants to! And it doesn't start with his song at the hotel! It starts with him answering the phone, heavily fumbling actually connecting with Charlie despite clearly desperately wanting to, and then realizing she's asking him for something and promptly choking on his tea before excitedly telling her, "Yeah! Of course! Anything within my power is yours for the asking, you just name it." He knows that there is a great deal 'within his power,' and he's happy and relieved that he can offer her that!
Lilith has been gone for years but he's still wearing his wedding ring. His walls are still covered in family portraits. He's just been sitting in his room making thousands of rubber ducks he thinks suck instead of ruling hell, because his daughter liked that one duck he made one time.
Charlie needed him to support her in her mission, but damn did Lucifer also need Charlie to get him out and moving and actually doing things again.
Anyway, someone get this man on an SSRI.
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