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lovebecomeshim · 3 years

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hello! your zutara posting today has finally motivated me to ask this question because I came to atla very late(last year, to be specific) and I Love It Very Much but am 1000% out of the loop as far as why what remains of fandom (at least that I've seen among my friends) is so very strongly zutara. I'm not opposed to it per se I just don't really know what has driven it to apparently be such a popular ship? can you help me understand and maybe convert me a little bit?

Hey!! Your ICON! :D I can try but I’m not sure how coherent I’ll be; however I AM sure someone a lot more competent will be willing to add to this. Either way, I’m glad you asked because my plan was to drag down as many people as possible with me.

*smacks the hood of zutara* this baby can fit so much mutual love and support!

This got so long, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to put it under a cut on mobile and it already got deleted once so I’m scared to mess with it lol. Moving on.

I’m gonna start this with a disclaimer that im on mobile so formatting is tricky and I’m also really new to atla in that I only completed my first watch through in like 2019??? So some of my info is all just based on what I’ve picked up from Discourse 👀 so anyway the sparknotes version: zutara was wildly popular from the beginning. To the point where the atla crew internally disagreed on which ship should be endgame. (Ex. Bryke [showrunners] asked the writers to rewrite The Southern Raiders to make Zuko seem less ideal for Katara than Aang [which failed, depending on who you ask]; the animation team purposefully created a visual parrallel between Oma and Shu in the Cave of Two Lovers and Zuko and Katara in the catacombs under Ba Sing Se in the Crossroads of Destiny; etc.)

The ship was popular enough that Bryke actually chose to display zk fanart at a con for the sole purpose of mocking the fans, but that’s neither here nor there. The entire episode Ember Island Players, while a love letter to/parody of the whole show, was an opportunity to address zutara’s viability as a canon pairing (while, again, mocking zutaras for romanticizing that catacombs scene). Point is! It’s always been popular but with it not being endgame, there’s got to be something that’s given it staying power.

And that’s honestly got to do with three things: their dynamic, thematic cohesion, and potential.

(You know what... you know what, it’s four things. The fourth is they’re so aesthetically pleasing together and individually. Like, they’re just good looking people [specifically when they’re grown but they’re also cute kids] and that absolutely doesn’t hurt) (but it’s not the Point, it’s just nice to point out sometimes)

The dynamic is hard to get into without also looking at the canon pairings, but I think I can do that without unnecessary bashing. It’s just that part of the magic of zutara is really highlighted by what they give to each other that their other relationships don’t.

First off, it’s classic enemies to (would be) lovers. The absolute truest form of it. It’s not too different from how CS started out: a rogue antagonist with a job to do—but no personal vendetta against the future love interest—who is deeply and emotionally invested in his personal storyline (revenge/redemption) with little regard for how it effects other people after his entire life and genuine good nature are marred by suffering, and a fierce warrior girl with a strong moral compass and her own personal investment in stopping him (protect her family and save the world doing it). Obviously frustration and animosity grew between them by the nature of them being on opposing sides, but that just lends itself to the sweetness of their later reconciliation.

The thing is that while they’re wildly different on the surface (he’s a hot-headed prince of a fascist regime who is trying to capture the Avatar to please his father; she’s a nurturing daughter of the chief who is trying to protect and train the Avatar in order to topple his father’s throne) they find out that they have so much more in common both in their experiences and their personalities.

(What follows is an excessive use of the word “both” and I’m sorry about that)(I can edit it. I can do that. That IS an option............)

They both have an innate sense of justice that they are determined to see done (zuko, at the war meeting, sticking up for the Earth Kingdom kid when the guards torment his family, choosing not to steal from the pregnant couple despite his circumstances, abiding by his word to leave the SWT should Aang come willingly, etc.; katara, literally.... at any point). They both have pretty one-track minds at accomplishing certain goals once they’ve put their mind to it, regardless of a lack of support in that endeavor (it goes without saying I guess, but zuko’s entire hunt; katara’s determination to get the earth benders to fight back, her determination to absolutely destroy Pakku until he agrees to teach her, etc.). They both lost their mothers at young ages. Their worlds are war-torn and traumatizing to them both, if in different ways, but that ultimately forces them to grow up too quickly to be wholly independent individuals. They both have issues with their fathers (for WILDLY different reasons, but). They both hold extreme prejudices that they need to learn to overcome (which ties into thematic cohesion)(bit like Lizzie and Darcy in that way but magnified by a million). They’re both extremely emotional and empathetic—which can and often does result in loud outbursts. Katara’s a bit better adjusted and can temper her anger for longer than S1 Zuko can, but they both feel that anger deeply and have no compunctions expressing it (Katara is, usually, more justified, particularly in S1. Again, S1 Zuko is severely maladjusted but at the point when they could’ve feasibly become a couple, he’s so much better off with the way he carries himself). They both struggle with feelings of inferiority in their bending abilities when confronted with prodigal benders like Aang and Azula, but have the work ethic required to double down and become two of the most powerful benders in the three remaining nations. This is a little more minor but it is a parrallel that appeals to some shippers that they both have these alter egos in the Painted Lady (notably fire nation coded) and the Blue Spirit (water tribe coded) that are pretty different from who they are day-to-day and are useful in accomplishing a purpose that they as themselves cannot.

(I’m.... I just realized that this could potentially get very long. Should I have made a slide show with bullet points??????)

Anyway, similar. I know there’s more but there’s literally so much to love about zutara that I’ll drive myself a little crazy trying to compile all the ways they’re similar. (Just gonna say that at this exact moment I went back to add more similarities.... so okay then)

Once they’ve reconciled, we see how all of these things only lend themselves to a deeper intimacy together than they share with literally anyone else. There’s a steady partnership that positions them as the mom/dad of the gaang, while also providing the support necessary to allow the other to not have to carry so much responsibility. A lot of zutaras will point out how zuko is actually depicted doing the more domestic chores that are normally relegated to Katara once he joins the gaang, since the others in the group are two 12-year-olds and sokka. The one that sticks out the most is how he makes tea for the group and then serves them, while Katara is able to just relax with her friends around the fire. Fanon expands upon this a lot to Zuko helping with the laundry or the cooking or whatever else needs doing since he, as a once-refugee, is used to doing his own domestic tasks. Before Zuko joined, Katara was the one mothering everyone, sewing for them, cooking for them, etc. She’s always tending to the needs of the group, and that includes emotionally. She does the emotional labor for the gaang 99% of the time, but when she’s the one falling apart, she’s usually doing it alone and without the comfort that she normally provides for others. Until Zuko. And that’s before they’re even friends.

Which is WHY people romanticize the catacombs of Ba Sing Se so much. Katara is verbally attacking Zuko out of her own righteous anger but also her own prejudice when Zuko, surprisingly, chooses to be vulnerable with her. He’s been on a journey that’s opened his eyes a bit, but he’s never actively chosen to expose the rawest parts of his past to anyone. But for some reason he chooses to do that with Katara of all people. While she’s yelling at him. He sees her humanity, and for once can look past his prejudice and empathize with her. And this time, when she breaks down, she gets to be comforted. Katara normally talks about her mother when she’s trying to explain to someone else that she sees and understands they’re pain, as a form of comfort to them. Here, Zuko uses the exact same tactic. He sees her and he understands. And for zuko? He’s not being shut down. He’s allowed to articulate his pain regarding his mother without being ignored and made to internalize it, and he’s allowed to process how he feels about his scar out loud without being told that he deserved it. And then he lets her touch his scar, something we’ve seen him actively avoid before. He’s completely open to her and she’s completely open to him and all it took was one five minute conversation. She was about to use the little bit of Spirit water that she had, that she was saving for something Important, to heal the scar that still daily causes him pain just because they had, somehow, connected.

Plus there’s the whole parallel to the star-crossed lovers forbidden from one another, a war divides their people—

And then zuko messes up, he regresses, he gets what he wants and he HATES it. And the sense of justice he had as a child has been restored to him against his will and he can’t think of anything he wants to do more than the Right Thing, so he joins team avatar. Before he does that though, we get to see his relationship with Mai, which is where comparison really comes in. And what we see is Zuko, fresh off of his encounter with Katara in the catacombs, trying to be emotionally honest with Mai... and getting shut down and dismissed. Which is just how Mai is and it’s fine, but not for Zuko. Still, he keeps trying, and he keeps getting ignored or scoffed at or yelled at. Which is really a larger symbol for how he doesn’t fit in his old life anymore, but again that’s about thematic cohesion. He tries to articulate his anxieties about returning home, he tries to make romantic gestures, he tries to explain how morally conflicted he’s feeling—and Mai diverts to some kind of physical affection to shut him up and a parting comment that is pretty much always, in essence, “I don’t wanna talk about this.” So they don’t. On the other hand, once zuko and Katara are friends, we see him again emotionally distraught and caught up in his anxieties about facing Iroh, and it’s Katara who comes to him and listens to him and comforts and encourages him.

Similarly, we have Aang clamming up and getting uncomfortable whenever Katara shows any negative emotion, usually resulting in him making excuses or running away. Or, in the case of the Southern Raiders, lecturing her on how she needs to just let go of her anger about her mother’s murder. People have talked this episode to death and usually better than I ever could, so imma... keep it brief. There’s a serious disconnect between Aang and Katara in his ability to empathize with Katara and her needs that has her tamping down her vulnerability and amping up her anger. He tells her that he was able to forgive his people’s genocide and appa’s kidnapping (petnapping? Theft??), which is blatantly not true but also not an entirely equal parrallel to Katara’s situation, and continues making these little remarks throughout the episode. But it’s Zuko that Katara opens up to. It’s with him that she’s able to talk about the most traumatic day of her life, and it’s with him that she’s able to get the closure she needs, cementing their bond as friends and partners. This disagreement between Aang and Katara is then... never resolved. They just never bring it up and hear what the other is saying.

There’s a fic called The Portraits of Ember Island that has a line that so completely sums up the heart of the matter for why people love their dynamic. For context, zuko has woken up early to help Katara with the cooking and they spend the whole time just letting one another talk, and zuko stops to ask why she always just lets him talk. And so she stops to ask why he’s always helping, and it goes as follows:

There’s just... so much mutual support! Trust! Intimacy!! And it just continues like that from the Southern Raiders on, listening to each other, advising each other, watching each other’s backs! And then! Literally saving each other’s lives!! I will never be over the last Agni kai. Not ever. Zuko may have been willing to jump in front of lightning for anyone, but he actually did it for Katara. And in a show, that’s the thing that really matters. It’s a fulfilled trope usually exclusively applied to romantic pairings, and it ended up applying to Zuko and Katara. And then she ran out into the middle of a fight with tunnel vision just to get to him.

Also!! Also Zuko pushing Katara out of the way of the falling rocks at the Western Air Temple!! And Katara catching him as he fell from the war balloon that he fought Azula on!! Before they’re even getting along, they’re the ones reaching for each other. They come to this place of equal ground, as partners, who watch each other’s backs, call each other out but still listen attentively and understand, and provide the support that the other has been sorely lacking up until they knew each other (whether that be from lack of effort or lack of understanding from others, or an unwillingness to accept it for themselves).

Then, trailing along under the surface of this, we see the themes of the show totally embodied by Zuko and Katara as individuals and in their relationship to one another. There’s a YouTuber, sneezyreviews, who has a, like, 2-hour explanation on why she not only loves zutara but also believes that their endgame would’ve actually elevated the writing of atla to new levels particularly because of thematic cohesion and resolved character arcs. It’s the zutara dissertation I never knew I needed, and it’s funny and eloquent and effective, so I’m just going to sum up her section on thematic cohesion to the best of my abilities and then link it for whenever you have the time. And I HIGHLY recommend it, especially if you want a full understanding of what makes zutara so great and gives it such longevity.

Guru pathik has a line that goes something like this: separation is an illusion; things that seem different are just two parts of the same whole. Iroh also tells Zuko something similar: balance and strength are achieved when the different nations come together and influence one another and celebrate what makes them each unique. And this lesson is a massive central arc that both Zuko and Katara go through, moving past a black-and-white, good guys-vs-bad guys, us-vs-them mentality and into a greyer, more nuanced view of the world. Zuko sees the fire nation from an entirely new perspective and while he still loves and hopes for his nations future, he surrenders his blind loyalty to them in exchange for an unflinching loyalty to peace and love. Katara too had to come to terms with the fact that cruel people exist in the earth kingdom and water tribes, while some fire nation citizens are just regular, kind people who also need and deserve to have someone speak on their behalf. And this is honed in directly on how they view each other. They grow in their individual journeys to be open to the humanity in the other and then, once they’ve found that, they’re able to grow more in compassion for others in a beautiful feedback loop. And this is all matched in the symbolism repeatedly and intentionally associated with them in canon: sun and moon, fire and water, yin and yang, Oma and Shu who found love despite their warring nations. Their individual arcs are completed in each other and complement the themes of atla beautifully.

The canon pairs... just don’t. Which, again, is fine. But the very things that give atla longevity and popularity are anchored in zutara. Kat@ang doesn’t accomplish this. They’re... nice. Sweet. Especially when you erase a good portion of their interactions in S3. It could’ve been just a sweet love story. (Personally, the dynamic between toph and aang accomplish the same thing that zutara does, with complementary personalities that fulfill the theme of opposites blending in harmony) M@iko, on the other hand, is less sweet but I think wasn’t even supposed to last. Zuko’s relationship with Mai seems to represent his relationship with his old life as a whole. He can’t be emotionally vulnerable, he’s goaded into abusing his privileges, his agency and opinions aren’t respected. They just don’t have common ground with which to discuss anything that matters, so they don’t. As far as themes, the relationship doesn’t fit with atla. It’s zuko returning to and sticking with what is (on the surface) like him, what’s expected. Fire nation with fire nation. Fluid water bender with the flexible air bender. Like with like, separated from what is different and challenging and complementary.

And all of these things combined of course lead to the potential for the ship. I don’t know how familiar you are with the post-atla canon but... well, miss “I will never turn my back on people who need me”, miss “I don’t want to heal! I want to fight!” ends up living quietly in the SWT as a designated healer who turns a blind eye to the water tribe civil war happening right outside her front door. Which can be fine! People change! Some people just wanna stay inside. I just wanna stay inside! But the potential future for zutara is so much more satisfying, with Katara becoming the most unconventional Fire Lady the uppity old cads who are stuck on the old ways have ever seen. Fanon has her serving as a voice for the other nations within a kingdom at the point of its biggest political upheaval, as a confidante to Zuko who can actually help him while he’s trying to figure out how to move forward and make reparations. They have the opportunity, together, to accomplish what they both have set on their hearts to fight for: positive change that lends itself to harmony and balance. And the steambabies! A popular headcanon is that their firstborn daughter, the crown princess, is actually a waterbender, which causes such an uproar among the people who are adamantly clinging to the old ways. It’s just a future full of potential to be forces for good together, full of trust, intimacy, joy. The exact era of peace and love and balance that zuko announces that he intends to ring in with the start of his reign as Fire Lord is, again, magnified by the very personal zutara relationship. And we love to see it.

tl;dr zutara isn’t for everyone. Some people just don’t vibe with it. Some are nostalgic. Some love the canon they grew up with. Some have been disappointed for years. Some just see themselves in other characters and want their happiness instead. Whatever the reason, that’s fine. But for me, I love the way these two, from the moment they give each other a fair chance, are able to lower their walls and prejudices to see the other for the kindred spirits they are. They see each other’s humanity, and their response is to pour out love and support and compassion. I love that they’re a power couple in battle. I love the symbolism and, honestly, soulmatism that colors their every interaction. I love that they embody the whole storyline of atla in their relationship and how it develops, which is notably why their seasonal arcs always culminate in each finale with how they relate to one another. I love that zuko adopting a waterbending move is what actually saves his life and then katara’s. I love the chemistry! And I love the future they could’ve had, instead of the ones they were given.

So, in conclusion: I just think they’re neat and I hope you do too, at least a little bit. Even if it’s just respectfully from a disinterested distance cause you do you. And now here is the video I mentioned. I’m sorry this post got so long and then I gave you an even longer homework assignment, but I can’t recommend it enough. She says it all better than I can.

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#zutara #atla #zutara rant #like really the way the canon relationships were written throughout s3 #it would’ve been more believable for zutara to happen #or at least be hinted at #all of the major issues presented in those relationship were dug up extensively and then... never resolved #and then they just slapped some kisses on a screen and said ‘there all better’#and we just kinda had to say ‘oh ok guess it’s all better then’#this got long I’m sorry #I wrote it all out and then tumblr ate 2/3 of it #which is why it took so long #and what I’ve written now doesn’t even match what I had before #because there’s too much to say about why I love zutara #and the stuff I left out the first time is what came out this time #rip to my original thoughts but this post is different #anyway that’s why this took so long #and I should’ve just made a PowerPoint...#I can do that too if you’d rather not read all of this lol #I won’t be offended #this is incoherent #Alia rambles uselessly #also hoping this doesn’t end up in any wrong tags because I don’t wanna step on toes lol #it’s not anti!! it’s just critical #in a compare/contrast way #I can pinpoint the moment when I started trying to rewrite my points from memory #because everything gets shorter and more succinct #like... I really said all that??? sounds fake and I don’t remember it anyway so here’s the condensed version #with no!! smooth!!! transitions!!!!#also why am I so lazy with proper grammar over text

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xlehukax · 3 years

Text

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist! @sanderssidesgiftxchange!

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus

Word Count: 8374

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything!

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language)

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way.

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same.

No friends.

No challenges.

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester.

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine.

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins.

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.”

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple.

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?”

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly.

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close.

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing.

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal.

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers.

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.”

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?”

“Indeed.”

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?”

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar.

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?”

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard.

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators.

Logan takes the stairs.

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional.

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing.

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot.

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces.

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other.

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie.

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,” he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while.

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down.

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty.

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply… enchanting.

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?”

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly.

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie.

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says.

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.”

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands.

Logan smiles.

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?”

Virgil nods meekly.

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend.

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too.

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more.

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours.

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent.

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens.

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable.

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,”

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly.

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him.

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things.

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone.

Virgil and Logan are the same age.

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them.

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous.

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then.

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed.

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton.

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip.

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-”

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily.

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,”

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look.

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-”

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,”

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony.

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,”

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet.

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see.

His lips purse.

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly.

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows.

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’.

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click.

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan.

“What is it?” he signs.

“Fancy a game of chess?”

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute.

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.”

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him.

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?”

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind.

“Do you have a soulmate?”

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more.

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-”

“No. I do not have one.”

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever.

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,”

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute.

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!”

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!”

“I think you are,”

“No! What? No!”

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board.

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it.

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear.

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day.

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy.

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries…

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him.

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does.

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing.

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats.

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows.

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones.

“Where to, Virgil?”

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles.

“How about sushi, then?”

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy.

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more.

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests.

“It’s fine.”

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…”

“Fuck you.”

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil.

“Eat in or take out?”

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype.

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be?

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him.

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?”

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds.

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.”

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve.

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,”

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.”

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips.

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies?

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing?

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway.

“Why are you doing that with your chest?”

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him.

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly.

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush.

“What are you looking at, nerd?”

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat.

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured.

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles.

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.”

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters.

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him.

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor.

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?”

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil.

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop.

Virgil.

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway.

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact.

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.”

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him.

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?”

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back.

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay-

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way.

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-”

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks.

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.”

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly.

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-”

“Forcibly swept away!”

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him.

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound.

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him.

“Cute!” “Ick.”

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!”

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,”

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?”

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?”

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.”

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone.

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman.

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!”

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable.

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?”

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter.

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains.

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”?

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could?

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms.

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face.

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers.

“It was only teasing!”

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands.

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil.

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-”

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly.

“Wait- how could you-”

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,”

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice.

It shouldn’t bother Logan.

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”.

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan.

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down.

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about?

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine.

Logan makes a low growl.

It’s not fine.

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around…

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile.

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up.

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…”

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.”

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this?

Before Virgil, was it always like this?

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…”

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,”

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom.

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,”

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse.

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them:

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…”

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time.

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,”

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows.

Patton.

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work?

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation?

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan.

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers.

“What?”

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-”

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.”

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars across the left side of his face.

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles.

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-”

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat.

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all.

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…”

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs.

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,”

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open.

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,”

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens.

This is what it’s supposed to be like. This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft.

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to-

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent.

Logan… needs to sing.

~~~~

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate.

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.

This has to be perfect.

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing.

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes:

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly.

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly.

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away.

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.”

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same.

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.”

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then…

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust.

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed!

Taglists:

Anything & Everything: @myraiswack, @blindtaleteller, @head-over-heart, @karushinekomiya

Sides of the Sanders: @a-goldengirl-in-a-condominium246

If you enjoyed, please reblog- it truly means the world.

Want to be tagged on other works in this genre or just generally? Asks, DMs, or comments are all wonderful.

Liked it a whole coffee’s worth? Here’s my Ko-fi.

#analogical #mociet #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fandom #soulmate au #sanders sides soulmate au #logan #virgil #patton #logan sanders #virgil sanders #thank you for the music #logan x virgil

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

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Ok like I'm sorry for all the Elias discourse but stepping off from OGlias for a moment I legit saw someone saying it was a mischaracterisation to assume Jonah Magnus was himself a rich white dude which

Let's leave aside for the moment that Jonah Magnus not being wealthy and privileged utterly sucks the meaning of of a lot of what the podcast has to say about class and exploration because hey, that's a matter of interpretation

What do we know about Jonah Magnus (from all statements mentioning his original incarnation)?

1816: Interacts as at least an equal with Albrecht von Closen, who has at least one family estate and an aristocratic pedigree and thus could be expected to be at least middle class if not wealthy. This is relevant because Georgian class was very stratified and cross-class mixing heavily discouraged, 1816 is probably fairly early in Magnus' career, and Albrecht doesn't address him as one would a social inferior.

1818: Established the Magnus Institute, apparently without external funding partners because he's the only one ever mentioned in connection with its organisation and his friends talk about it as his own project; it certainly isn't associated with an existing university or academy as far as we can tell.

1824: not a lot of additional information, except that again Magnus' friends are all moving in wealthy, upper class circles

1831: In a position to hire professionals for Millbank under good terms. We learn more about Albrecht, he's definitely painted as wealthy old money, which continues to speak to this association

1841: reasonably close friends with Sampson Kempthorne, workhouse designer, who expresses the expectation of Magnus agreeing with him about workhouses and the treatment of the poor through work. At this time, Magnus is living in an Edinburgh townhouse, by which I'm guessing we're talking about one of the New Town Georgian 4-floors-plus-servant's-quarters which that name implies. Those aren't mansions, but they weren't where a clerk or shopkeeper would live - they were built for ship owners, lawyers, doctors, the upper-middle and upper classes, and as the name townhouse implies they were generally occupied as one of several estates, with the usual occupants being likely to also have a country place.

Beyond specific statement letters, Magnus largely crops up via his association with his wee gang, all of whom are wealthy upper-middle or aristocracy (Smirke, Rayner, Lukas)

He has the resources and social clout to devote his time to pursuing what is, effectively, a hobby; his interest in the supernatural doesn't bring in much income and, conversely, often costs him to chase up. He doesn't appear to have a full-time job at any point; he works on Millbank with Smirke but he doesn't appear on the records, meaning this is unlikely to be a paid management role. His friends refer to his supernatural work as a hobby or interest, not a job, and make it clear that at least by the 1830s-40s this is his whole life (he's "rattling around with his books and letters") - ergo he does not have a need to support himself beyond that.

He had the resources and funds to, by himself and for his own purposes, not only shape the building of Millbank but also to set up an independent academic institution which is still running 200 years later

Like, is it explicit that he's a rich white man? Not per se. Would all of this information make sense if he wasn't? I suppose it's possible but it's a reach, and one that I'm not sure why you as a writer would make without making pretty clear. To be able to move comfortably in moneyed Georgian circles without being born to money, and to be able to do the things Magnus does without having substantial disposable income - that would be exceptional, and would surely merit some sort of comment.

(I've talked about the race politics of Georgian Britain as relates to Jonah Magnus before, but just to sum up: in a time before the abolition of the slave trade and during massive colonial expansion into Asia, being a British man of wealth and not being white was pretty unusual. We can see this in the description of Rayner; he's very specifically described as Black, but also his Blackness is notable to a contemporary narrator. so again, not impossible for Jonah to be a person of colour, but definitely unexpected and it would be an interesting choice to write that unremarked)

just by way of historical context, as I say, class was very structured and immobile in Georgian Britain for the most part. It was also, as I understand it, much more discrete. Whereas now, the lines between working class, middle class and upper class are pretty fuzzy, in the 1800s they were a lot more clear-cut - the working class worked for little money, had little to no education past basic literacy and numeracy, and the entire household would work; the newly developing middle class made a living through highly-skilled jobs (artists, doctors, lawyers, clerks, shopkeepers, factory owners, shop owners and pub landlords, for example) and would have enough disposable income to buy property; and the upper class/gentry may work (but only appropriate to their station; academia, law or the church, largely, and of course a lot of them in the 1810s made bank from Caribbean plantations and their imports) but substantially they lived off the profits of investments, ownership and estate management, built off heritable wealth.

There’s a big range of middle class though, although it was a small segment of society. At the bottom end, you have your grocers, pub landlords, shopkeepers, clerks and so on - they probably own their homes and business and have money to buy things outright rather than renting. At the top end, we have some really pretty substantial wealth - we’re talking multiple houses and estates, large-scale business concerns, tens of permanent staff, and only one person in the family needing to work. The difference between upper middle and aristocracy isn’t necessarily in quality of life, aside from blood it’s really just a question of whether the majority of your income comes from work or from investment and property management. So for example, Smirke is upper middle, but very wealthy - he has a career in a high-profile trade, he’s notable and welcome in high society, but ultimately his wealth is dependent on him continuing to get work. Von Closen may have more or less material wealth than Smirke, but his money is old money and he does not work; he’s very much a gentleman of the upper crust. Particularly with Industrial Revolution and the profit that the slave trade and the expansion of the Empire were bringing in for traders, the middle class was abruptly getting a lot richer in at the start of the 19th century and if anything class was getting a lot more discrete - urbanisation and industrialisation meant the poor were getting poorer (and less able to exist outside a monetary economy) and the working rich were getting a lot richer (until of course after a couple of hundred years the upper middle class almost eclipsed the idle class as the Rich and Powerful)

So the gentry/nobles/old money/upper class were the only class whose wealth wasn’t to a high degree reliant on them working, and so honestly being a Georgian gentleman was stultifyingly boring. That’s why so many comedies of manners crop up from the lower end of the upper class - you have to find something to keep you busy and social politicking is something. But it also meant a lot of gentlemen scholars - men with time on their hands and nothing they desperately needed to be doing, who got really into eccentric hobbies and niche interests (like social engineering, or art theory, or the occult, or unpicking weirdly specific theological concepts, or a bit earlier experimenting with light and lenses, or a bit later investigating the origins of species, or getting super into a specific aspect of the classics). The idle rich weren’t the only ones doing academia or research, but they had the time, money and resources to devote to really deep dives into things without much financial use.

So my personal take is that, given that by 1818 Jonah Magnus had the capital, the social heft and the time to found and run an independent academic institution focused on his relatively niche interests, and to do so with enough resourcing that it still runs 200 years later, the safest bet is that he was born a gentleman. At the very least, all the people he socialises with are securely upper-middle or gentry; he has a visible disdain for the poor; he owned substantial personal property by at least middle age (the Edinburgh townhouse); he had the social clout to get involved behind the scenes in a major social architecture project - it seems like the lowest this could possibly place him is mid-to-upper middle class at birth (he could have made that much money from working and lucky investments, but to get into a position where by middle age you can afford to become the Idle Rich, spending all your money and time on an obsessive personal interest, you would need to have started off with at least the capital and clout to get a high-level education and/or make significant business investments (say, buy a series of factories or build a shipping empire). You could make a case that he could work his way up from being born to a middling-middle-class family - maybe a country vicar or a shopkeeper - but friends can I show you some numbers I googled?

In the 1810s, being mid- or upper middle class (fourth or above) meant you were richer than 94.5% of the civilian population. Upper middle and above (like literally every person we know of who had social ties to Magnus except maybe the architects)? Literally top 1%. (well. 1.25%).

The middle class in Georgian Britain was the elite. They weren’t the elite of the elite, but they had money, land, property, staff, clout and privilege. You can’t project the class politics of 2021 onto 1818 (that is, in fact, why pure Marxism still requires an updated reading, bc in even the last 150 years the specific distribution and attributes of class and wealth has changed substantially (although the same people do stay at the top and bottom)).

I think our perceptions are altered by the worries and perspectives of popular contemporary authors. For example, Austen characters often bemoan their lack of wealth, and are firmly Middle Class, and compared to the upper middle and the gentry they are living frugally and on a budget, but with “cottages” that are often six- or seven bedroom houses with several parlours and one or two servants, plus a town house, and with only one breadwinner per family and enough invested wealth to live entirely off the interest (that’s what the incomes of these characters are), they are living in a degree of wealth that would be unthinkable to 95% of their contemporaries, and it would be fair to assess them as rich by modern standards.

You can argue that Jonah Magnus wasn’t aristocracy. You cannot argue realistically that he wasn’t rich. Not only does that make no thematic or character sense (again, that’s a matter of interpretation, but it seems to me to be Pretty Key to his character that he’s an examination of inborn privilege) but it also makes no contextual historical sense.

#pls pay attention to me i spent way too long on this #p r o c r a s t i n a t i n g #also. there is an argument that class mobility was increasing #but uhhhh that doesn't mean it was a plausible thing to jump from penury to princedom #example: in the 1810s my ancestor walked from Edinburgh to London to seek his fortune and escape starvation at home #his was a remarkable rags to riches story #but his 'riches' was a job as a low-level law clerk and an undergraduate degree from Cambridge #he owned a flat I think #but he wasn't out here with the personal wealth to set up an independent research foundation #(I don't remember which ancestor but I think great grandfather?)#anyway the point is this is a wild take #I could talk at length about how it ALSO makes no thematic sense but I feel like I've tapped that one enough lately #tma meta

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bao3bei4 · 3 years

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girlbosses, male wives, and other lesbian genders

a post about jing wei qing shang. but also mostly about another unrelated movie. spoiler-free.

for a lot of people, mulan 1998 is their definitive “ohhh i’m a chinese woman dressing as a man for contrived reasons and i get absolutely nooo erotic pleasure from this” movie.

however, because i am very special and unique, for me it’s the love eterne 1963. it’s the shaw brothers adaptation of butterfly lovers, the classic chinese folktale. here’s how i’d summarize the movie:

zhu yingtai, an aspiring scholar, convinces her parents to let her dress as a man to attend school. on the way there, she meets liang shanbo, another prospective student, and they become sworn brothers. they study together for three years, growing closer, until zhu yingtai returns home. liang shangbo accompanies her for the eighteen-li journey home while she hints she’s a woman, but he remains oblivious. by the time he learns her gender, her parents have engaged her to another man. he dies of grief, and while she mourns at his grave, it splits open, and she buries herself inside with him. two scraps of her torn outfit turn into butterflies and fly away.

it’s worth noting here that like. this movie is made in the huangmei opera style. so both zhu yingtai and liang shanbo are played by women (betty loh ti and ivy ling po respectively). because of this, basically every level of the film is preoccupied with gender: if we take zhu yingtai’s male performance as credible (as the characters in the movie do) the leads bond through male homoeroticism; the text is ultimately about a heterosexual romance; it is acted out by two women, in a performance that is difficult to mistake as heterosexual or even feminine; and the dialogue of the movie can’t help but remark on this.

basically it asks: what if lesbians could be gay both ways? wouldn’t that be based?

like opera was traditionally made by single gender casts, so roles tended to be genderless, in that the gender of the actor doesn’t determine the gender of the role they play. roles are instead typed into four categories: dan (fem), sheng (masc), chou (clown), and jing (painted face). it’s a sick gender quadinary. each of these roles has further subtypes that are represented through stylized patterns of singing, makeup, costuming, movement etc.

so in butterfly lovers, betty loh ti plays a dan, and ivy ling po plays a sheng. but because of the textual cross-gender play, you end up with a woman playing a woman playing a man who falls in love with a woman playing a man.

i’m going to make a brief digression here into talking about like.. acting theory. in the european tradition, you see it evolving out of early concerns (from stanislavski, brecht) about the fourth wall, and its permeability or lack thereof. in chinese opera tradition, the fourth wall didn’t ever really exist. and mei lanfang, the legendary fanchuan performer, claimed that his success wasn’t just due to his appearance, but rather, his mastery of some nonliteral feminine subjectivity.

If I kept my male feelings, even just a trace, it will betray my true self; then how can I compete for the audience’s affection for feminine beauty and guile?

i’m not going to argue that there’s like, an essence to being a woman because i’m not a fucking idiot. but there’s something to be said for the idea that the gendered interplay between the audience’s perception of the actor, the actor’s perception of themself, and the character they play is a massive part of the appeal of fanchuan performance.

this is echoed by david hwang’s m. butterfly, in which gallimard memorably says, “i’m a man who loved a woman created by a man. everything else—simply falls short.” btw sorry for having the type of brain disease where i constantly reference chinese crossdressing related media. you already know why i have it.

anyway. parallel to that (but far less morally detestably), jin jiang argues “young male impersonators in yue opera embody women’s ideal men—elegant, graceful, capable, caring, gentle, and loyal.” so, trivially, 1) the eroticism embodied by fanchuan performers is distinctly different from their “straight” counterparts, and perhaps less trivially 2) it’s way better.

back to the love eterne for a bit. one of the many reasons it’s lodged itself into my psyche is because there’s something more interesting at play than just all that. normally in opera, to compensate for any perceived residual femininity in the sheng, the dan camps it up even further. so this is how zhu yingtai first appears, this bratty femme pastiche of womanhood. yet within a couple minutes she’s dressed as a man, which she’ll stay as for the bulk of the movie. they do however make compromises with the makeup--more gently lifted eyebrows than the steep angles of the sheng opera beat, and an improbably masculine smoky eye.

that’s right. they performed girlbossification on her.

i don’t want to suggest that she’s straightforwardly feminine. i could write an entire other thing on her relationship to masculinity. instead i want to highlight the erotic interplay not just between the “girl” and the “boss” but also between her and her counterpart: the male wife.

liang shanbo is ostensibly straightforwardly male, but his relationship with zhu yingtai isn’t gay in the ahaha what if i was into my bro way-- it’s a what if i was into my bro and i was his wife way.

that’s right. they performed force fem on a cis woman-man. like when zhu yingtai tells him he can’t watch over her as she recovers from an illness because “boys and girls can’t sleep together,” liang shanbo asks “are you implying that I’m a girl?”

there’s a lot of shit like this that builds up over the course of the movie. it all culminates in that final 18 mile journey. along the way, zhu yingtai compares them to a pair of mandarin ducks, one male & one female. liang shanbo sputters “i am a man inside out-- you shouldn’t--” before graciously conceding, “you may compare me to a woman.”

this is like. a simple punchline. but it’s incredible. it’s true! liang shanbo isn’t a man inside out in that he’s a man and only a man, but rather that he’s a man seen inside first, built for desiring, by a woman & for a woman. as a perpetual object, he becomes a more believable woman than zhu yingtai. and at least in his view, it seems more likely that he could be a woman than her. but beyond that, his permissive tone reads as a kind of wanting in itself--recast, if she wants, “for you, i’ll be a woman.”

obviously this is a classic lesbian mood. who among us has not seen “no gender only lesbian” posts. and speaking of classic lesbians, you might ask. did you just tiresomely reinvent butches and femmes but with a more annoying name? yes. no. okay. well.

first, like butch/femme dynamics have both historical specificity and a classed character such that it’s not rlly that appropriate to impose them on the love eterne. and i guess more importantly, i wanna talk about stuff that isn’t real.

we fight all day about people who confuse performance with performativity, (i use we lightly here. for instance, i go outside every day so i don’t care about discourse) but what if we actually wanted to talk about the former for once? something specifically, whether we choose or are forced into it, that we pretend to be?

anyway. what the hell does all that have to do with jing wei qing shang. i’m going to start by first making the argument that there’s no such thing as a naturally occurring girlboss. i think, honestly, she’s a product of capitalism (“boss” should be the tipoff here) but because both of these stories are set in ambiguously historical china, i’m going to say, instead that she’s a product of uhhh primitive accumulation.

semantics so that i can be canon compliant with marxism aside, if girlbosses are made not born, can you choose to be a girlboss? sheryl sandberg says yes. i don’t disagree, i guess, but i will say: stop glamorizing it! humans only become girlbosses when they’re greatly distressed.

you become a girlboss when you have no other choice not to be one. when your wants are too great to be a woman, when the things you want are not things that women should want-- whether that’s something that really no one should want, like being a ceo, or whether that’s just something like loving a woman (or, as it is quite often, both) -- you have to become something else.

another important part of being a girlboss is that other people are not. your excesses mean that not only do you lose something in the process, but your bosshood comes at the expense of others. the girlboss necessitates a girlworker, or so to speak.

now we’re getting to jwqs. i’m assuming that you haven’t read jwqs, because most people haven’t. that was me until like four days ago. in broad strokes, the novel is about a woman, qiyan agula, who was raised as a prince, and her quest for revenge against the kingdom who slaughtered her people. of course, this involves marrying one of the princesses of that kingdom. it’s all very exciting (lesbian).

what’s striking about jwqs is that both of them seem to fit the girlboss paradigm, in vaguely similar ways. qi yan (agula’s assumed name) seems to follow the lineage of zhu yingtai, who pretends to be a man to achieve her goals. she’s forced to give up much in the process, and also sacrifices a, uh, lot of innocent people. similarly, nangong jingnu, the princess, is inherently a girlboss because royalty sucks. but also, qi yan girlbossifies her over the course of their relationship.

but i wouldn’t say jwqs is girlboss4girlboss. there’s something a little more complicated happening. qi yan isn’t zhu yingtai in that she’s a dan pretending to be a sheng. it seems more like that she was a sheng all along. it’s something that the women of the novel return to often: qi yan seems to be better than a man.

for instance, nangong sunu, jingnu’s older sister, reflects on this.

Nangong Sunu had seen many foolishly loving women who sacrificed everything for the sake of their husbands, but there were rarely any men who would do the same for them.

(...)

Thinking it through, Nangong Sunu felt that Qi Yan was truly becoming more interesting. She intended to observe discreetly for a while, to verify if such a man truly existed in this world. (ch 221)

and i forgot to write down the citation for this, but nangong jingnu also seems to argue that not only is qi yan prettier than a man, but she also seems to be prettier than a woman. (it’s the bit where she’s watching qi yan sleep. help me out here.)

moreover, the way qi yan relates to nangong jingnu is suggestive. jingnu brings out the elements of wanting to be a woman in her. it’s jingnu’s body that makes her wonder what she would look like if she was more feminine. it’s jingnu’s happiness that she resents, wishing that her people could have that as well. it’s her desire for jingnu that makes her a woman.

(another important distinction i suppose--while one person can’t be both a butch and a femme, because the girlboss and the male wife are things we pretend to be until we embody them / them us -- there’s greater slippage between the two.)

anyway, the girlboss/male wife dynamic is reversed wrt who’s actually dressing as a different gender. that suggests an inversion in the implications we see from the love eterne, if we are to take the love eterne as the paradigmatic girlboss text. which i do, for no reason in particular.

so then, is qi yan pretending to be a man? under the opera framework, we’re forced to say no. she’s not pretending to be a man any more so than liang shanbo (as acted by ivy ling po) was. but that, of course, feels incorrect, just looking at the text. is she, then, pretending to be a sheng? i’d strongly say no. the things that others see in her, they authentically see; and she does authentically feel the same things as liang shanbo wrt femininity.

so it has to be the opera framework that jwqs is subverting then. if qi yan kept some trace of her once-womanhood, if qi yan reveals her true self, and yet she still can compete for the audience’s affection-- jwqs’s inversion of the opera framework seems to argue instead that it’s that true self that allows you to compete. it’s being masc that lets you be a desirable woman; it’s being feminine that lets you be a desirable man.

there’s an increased gender ambivalence to jwqs, which make sense, i guess, seeing as it’s not meant to be a het story the way that the love eterne was. for instance, nangong jingnu crossdresses to go out in public, and qi yan remarks that jingnu’s disguise fooled her on their first meeting. when qi yan and jingnu go out in public, both disguised as men, they’re repeatedly perceived as a gay male couple. there’s freedom in that: they could be gay women only privately, they could be straight officially, but they could be anonymously gay publicly.

so it’s through the gay male pretense that they can be gay women; it’s through the qi yan pretense that agula can love women; it’s the qi yan caring husband persona that coaxes jingnu in caring for qi yan in return-- jwqs, more precisely, argues that you can’t be a woman if you’re going to love them, and even less so if you’re going to be loved by one.

this is perhaps well-trodden ground for anyone who has read wittig & certainly many people who haven’t. but it’s the layer of pretense that for me complicates these two narratives.

i think it’s a relatable feeling: wanting something anticipating getting something, or wanting something for yourself anticipating knowing that you already had it. that is, desire in itself being constitutive of that reality.

or less abstractly, knowing that you’d want to be a lesbian if you could, knowing that you’d want not to be a woman if you could-- anticipating any realization of either.

the dramatic excesses & wants of the girlboss, i think, are a decent literary stand in for being a lesbian.

i wanna note here that this is rlly just based on my experience being a transmisogyny exempt nonbinary diaspora lesbian lol. it’s fun & cathartic to overread this history & place myself in the accidental implications.

i don’t think most of the things i say are literally true. and i don’t want to overstep & say any of this can be generalized. please lmk if something here doesn’t read right! ok kisses bye

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wing-ed-thing · 3 years

Text

Fraternizing and Spineless (Kabuto x Reader, Part IV)

Synopsis: Kabuto has a fixation and you sometimes apologize to inanimate objects. Ever since one fateful day, you’ve been drawn to each other from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Word Count: 3,429

Warnings/Tags: @tiktoktheclockisticking Bullying, Language, ANGST CITY, Alcohol, Side Iruka x Reader, Fem!Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Finale

Notes: I’m fully expecting to get messages in my inbox that range drastically in forcefulness. Perhaps a “how dare you” or two.

You stood outside of Shushu-ya, almost as if you expected to be told to come in. A silly notion. With a heavy sigh, you clenched the warped gift in your hands, starting to regret the shoes you wore among other things. But you know you couldn’t back out now. You couldn’t miss Iruka’s birthday. Your reluctant hand grasped the door and before you could chicken out, you heaved it open.

The group was easy to spot, even in Shushu-ya’s dim lighting. Everyone gathered around the bar. A few people sat in a large, open booth. The crowd made you nervous, but you couldn’t help but feel a semblance of relief. You weren’t the first one there. Iruka spotted you immediately and waved you over. You took a sharp inhale before forcing yourself across the restaurant with a smile. You were, at the very least, glad to see him.

Iruka got up from his spot at the end of the extensive, circular seating and greeted you warmly. Knowing him, he sat at the end just to see people come in the door. He extended his arms to you in a hug. You happily embraced him. It had been quite some time since you got to spend any quality time with your friend. You handed him his present.

“As usual, you’re always so thoughtful.” Iruka pursed his lips, a sentimental expression coming upon him. Even still, the corners of his lips turned upward into that classic Iruka grin. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s your birthday, Iruka. Of course I’m going to get you something nice.”

Iruka motioned for you to sit down and carefully placed your gift in the pile he had accumulated. You took a seat among two ninjas who you only knew by name. Iruka sat down next to who you were fairly sure you recognized as Kakashi of the Sharingan. The mask made it difficult to tell. You took your place next to Might Guy, the Leaf’s Green, Taijutsu Beast. You looked over to Iruka and wondered how he made such powerful friends. You supposed it was hard to not be acquainted with any famous shinobi in Konoha. Perhaps that’s what happened when you weren’t afraid to talk to people. You spied a few more of your colleagues around the bar, including your teammates from the last mission you took. They didn’t seem particularly pleased about your presence, but no one was going to impulsively make a fuss in front of Iruka.

You kept your head down and that’s where it stayed. The conversation went, for the most part, without you. You ordered a water quietly. You weren’t the type to drink, especially when you were as on edge as you were in this particular setting. The waiter set down your glass, making a sort of a sour face. You stared at the clear liquid, supposing that not many ordered water from a bar.

“That’s all you’re going to get?” You looked up into Kakashi’s intense eye. “You know you’re not on the clock, right?” He chuckled and you nervously laughed with him.

“Don’t listen to him.” Iruka rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his own drink. His kind gaze found yours. “You can do whatever you want, just know that the tab is already taken care of.” He looked past you and waved towards the bar. The bartender waved back.

“No, no. I completely understand!” Guy wrapped an arm around you, holding you a bit too close for the volume of his voice. You immediately let go of your drink. Your eyes went wide as he shook you with every word. “You gotta watch out for that hangover! Very smart! I commend you!” Kakashi tsked, tilting his head towards Iruka.

“Such a bad host, letting her sit next to Guy like that.” Iruka laughed sheepishly.

“Sorry,” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess the seat was open for a reason.” Guy pouted at the discourse across the table, arm still wrapped around your shoulder.

“Nonsense! Tease me all you like but I just know that… uh…” He turned to you with an outstretched hand and as much embarrassment as Might Guy was capable of. “What was your name again?” You took his much larger hand in yours and spoke your name, realizing that you hadn’t prior. He immediately shouted your name as if to commit it to memory, shaking you even harder than before. His shout got the attention of the rest of the booth and you suddenly your self consciousness skyrocketed. “—and we’re going to be best friends by the time the night is over! What do you think? You down for a party?” And suddenly you were expected to respond. You glanced around nervously.

“Um, yeah. Sure thing… I just think it’s really nice how everyone’s together.” Despite your response, you still felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. Sweat began to bead on your brow and your palms. You crossed your legs. “I feel like everyone’s always on missions so it’s nice to be among friends. And um, I can drink to that.” You glanced around the table once more, to Guy, to Kakashi, and then Iruka. Iruka’s eyes fluttered shut.

“I couldn’t say it better myself.” You raised your water weakly.

“Happy Birthday, Iruka.” Iruka raised his glass of sake and a roar went around the booth and extended to the bar. Someone hastily ordered a round of shots for the whole group. They came quickly, likely due to whatever likely large tip Iruka gave to the bartender.

One slid across the hard surface over to you. You gripped it between your fingers. The alcohol went down your throat with a steady burn. You let out a gasp with a bat of your eyes. The aftertaste of the ethanol burned your nasal cavity. Kakashi let out a deep laugh. Guy patted you hard on the back causing you to cough. Iruka smiled, ordering another round. You took another shot. People filtered in the door. And as the night went on, the three of you took to greeting Iruka’s guests along with him. The party crew quickly overtook the bar. A dull roar overtook Shushu-ya.

More words spilled from your mouth than you thought ever would in one sitting. Your three colleagues listened to you intently, jovially, and exchanged stories of their own. A small crowd gathered around your booth, members flitting from the bar and back. And for once in your life, people actually listened to you. You told your stories animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. You took in the smiles around you, tales of missions and edgy impressions flying from your lips. Distracted, you hardly noticed the looks exchanged by your old teammates as they leaned against the low back of the booth.

“And I said, ‘You don’t need a rag, you need a towel’!” All those gathered around you burst out in hysterics. You felt the low rumble of Guy next to you. Iruka couldn’t pick his head up from the table. Kakashi yanked him up by his collar, revealing Iruka’s red, cackling expression. Kakashi snorted, dropping the cloth under his hand to cover his own face as he mocked his longtime friend. Joyful tears were still welled in your eyes when a slender hand clamped onto your shoulder.

You looked behind you only to become face to face with the kunoichi from your team. Her ever prevalent scowl remained plastered to her lips but they swiftly upturned into a sickly sweet smile.

“Hey, why don’t you tell everyone about our last mission? Or should I say, your last mission.” Your eyes widened and a chill coursed down your spine, remembering her unforgiving grasp on your hair following your meeting with the Hokage. You clenched your fists underneath the table, balling up the fabric of your clothing. What did she want from you? She crinkled her nose at you smugly. “Shy all of the sudden? That’s okay, I can tell it.” You heard Kakashi clap his hands together. You jumped.

“I’m always down for a good mission story,” He admitted eagerly. You shook your head vigorously.

“No, this one’s not very interest—” Another hard slap on your shoulder. Her nails dug into your shoulder.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think they’ll all find this very interesting.” The kunoichi settled into her spot behind you, shifting her weight as she leaned forward. With a finger, she pointed out your two other team members. “See we were assigned with this one to find a scroll in a territory suspected of being owned by Orochimaru. ‘Cause she’s a wonder at blending in, right? That’s what we were told. And of course you know how these things go. Of course we find someone. Some bitch of Orochimaru—”

And as she described it, you could remember the scene vividly. Your teammates were reckless in their fighting and overall poor choices for a stealth mission. Flashy jutsu corrupted the frame of the underground system. The walls began to crack and shake. Your enemy had been caught off guard and outnumbered. Seeming to be already injured, there was only so much he could do to fight back. That was how you met Kabuto Yakushi.

“And so she doesn’t even warn us that the tunnel is, like, about to collapse. Some freak earthquake or something. So the enemy is knocked out cold and we’re running and running to try to find a way out and—”

You dove towards him. You didn’t know what drew you towards him in the first place but that’s what you did. As your team left without you, you tried your best to save the young ninja who had to only be as old as you. You tried to drag him but either you were too frail or he was too heavy. Your second option. Your hands ignited in healing jutsu, flickering on and off. You were by no means a healer, but your only thought in your panic was to get him awake. And as the maze of tunnels imploded around you, your world went black.

“So we don’t see her for days. You know, we think she’s dead. So in the meantime, we check out the other places on our list. Nada. We’re about to completely give up and then, wouldn’t you know, this one shows up having spent almost a week in enemy territory holding the exact thing we were looking for. Zero scratches and she apparently ‘doesn’t remember’ anything about it. Don’t you think that’s funny?” The kunoichi motions to your other teammates.

“I remember it being very funny,” One huffs, arms crossed. The small surrounding crown had gone silent. You dared to look across the table. Kakashi sat with his arms on the table, wordless. Iruka pursed his lips, equally expressionless. He cleared his throat. An awkward overtone laced the atmosphere.

“Well I think that’s enough of that—”

“Well, I wasn’t done. Almost there, though, I promise.” The kunoichi held up her hand. “‘Cause wouldn’t you know it? When we got back to the village, we found out that the scroll was a fake.”

“Well,” You squeaked, “Later we did find out that it was authentic after all—”

“But that was later,” She snapped. She ruffled your hair roughly, giving your head a slight push as she finally took her hands off of you. “Still doesn’t explain where you got it from.” She leaned in towards your ear. “Traitor.”

“Okay that’s enough.” Iruka stood from his seat. He extended his arm towards the door. “You three have clearly had too much to drink. I think it’s time for you to go home.” The kunoichi scoffed.

“We haven’t had too much of anything,” She snorted with a roll of her eyes and opened her mouth to say more. Guy turned with the most serious expression you had seen from him all night.

“He’s giving you an out. I suggest you take it.” He told her and apparently, that’s all it took for them to leave.

Iruka apologized for your team’s behavior but said nothing more about it for the rest of your time present. Most of the partygoers stuck to the bar now. Everything was off and you knew it would be as long as you were there. Your friends could hardly look you in the eye properly. You remained for a little while longer, starting to feel dreadfully sober. And when you thought you wouldn’t draw too much attention, you announced that you were leaving.

“Let me walk you out.” Guilt rattled around in your chest. It was Iruka’s birthday and you ruined it, just like you thought you would. And yet, he still offered to walk you out.

You allowed it, suddenly finding yourself standing outside of Shushu-ya, Iruka by your side. Even as the door closed behind you, you could hear the sound of Konoha’s nightlife. You waited for Iruka to speak, but the weight on your shoulders became unbearable.

“I’m not leaving because of you, you know. I had a good time. I really did, so go back in there and know that, okay?” You tried to read his face. He looked conflicted and the pounding of your heart only increased.

“I just want you to know that you have a friend. Eh, friends. No matter what.” You blinked at him a few times. You didn’t like how he said that last part.

“No matter what?” You let out a nervous laugh for the umpteenth time that night. Your eyes wandered erratically. “What do you mean by that?” You were expecting some reassurance, but none came. Your mind filled in the blanks. You took a step back. He took a step forward. “No matter if I sold out the Leaf? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I-I didn’t say that.” He stammered. Suddenly frantic. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, you’re not denying it.” You gripped onto your strap bag. Another step back. Another step forward.

“I don’t think you sold out the Leaf. Not on purpose.” The tail end of that sentence stung. You began to tremble. Another person who thought that you were a traitor. “Listen, I had a student once. He’s out of the Academy now but he was in your shoes once.” You couldn’t look at him. You focused on your shoes, the shoes you’ve regretted wearing. “I know how guys like that are. I know how manipulative they can be, how they can convince you into doing something that you know you don’t want to do.” Your head snapped up.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I wasn’t convinced to do anything wrong by anyone.”

“I know how kind you are. I know that you had a good heart. No one’s going to blame you if someone took advantage of that. I don’t care what happened. We’ve known each other forever. I’ll always be here for you.” Iruka gently placed his hands on your shoulders and his forehead against yours. You became cognisant of how violently you quaked. You didn’t even register his confession. The sharp burning between your eyes threatened to spill over into tears.

“Iruka, please stop. Just tell me that you believe me.” You gripped onto his forearm, wanting to feel a semblance of comfort. “I’m not a traitor.”

“I do believe you.” Unconvincing. You looked into his eyes, salty droplets now silently streaming down your cheeks.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Iruka nodded against you without a word. A beat. You gulped. “And Kabuto didn’t either.”

He pulled away, trying to fight a frown from crossing his face. You could see it. The realization morphing his features. Iruka tried his best not to show any of his mixed emotions, but he was always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Who? The bingo book ninja?” He shoved a hand in his pocket. He always did that when he was nervous. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. D-didn't do anything wrong.” Once again, unconvincing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel well. Please, uh, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You didn’t look back. You ran home.

***

When you got to your apartment, you dropped to the floor. You scrambled for a kunai to pry open the floorboard. Throwing the plank aside, you plucked out the scroll. Unraveling it, you bit your finger, smearing your blood across the summoning symbol.

You were already starting to scurry off when Kabuto appeared. You walked right through the white cloud of smoke. He felt troubled, but that wasn’t something you picked up on. Kabuto immediately pulled out a scalpel in defense, ready for an emergency fight. You didn’t even tell him to lower his weapon. You didn’t blink twice. You stormed straight to your wardrobe, yanking out a large travel bag.

“What’s going on? I thought you were going out tonight.” Kabuto asked, but you ignored him, stuffing belongings inside the bag. You skittered frantically around the room, pulling sentimental belongings from your drawers and off your shelves. Kabuto looked on helplessly as you muttered to yourself. He could hardly catch you with how erratically you darted around your small living space. With enough calculation, he caught you, grabbing you by your wrists. You struggled against him. “Hey, hey, hey slow down. Tell me what happened.”

You looked up at him, rivulets still flowing from your eyes.

“Please, Kabuto,” You begged. “Let’s run away together.”

His immediate response was to let go of you, stumbling a bit backwards.

“What?” His mouth went dry.

“I—” You couldn’t even get your thoughts straight. You just spoke, everything spilling out of you. —“Please take me away from here.” Ever-suave, Kabuto found himself panicked.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people for one thing—” You met his eyes, but in your haze you missed all that they told. You saw complete and utter rejection.

“Aren’t you the one who always tells me that you’re not my enemy? You’re all I have.” Betrayal. If Kabuto could name the expression that washed over your face that would be it. You wiped the wetness from your skin with your sleeve. “Please, you know I would be quiet. You could have any of my books. I don’t even care about shoes on my bed. I don’t even need a bed just please let’s go right now!”

And for all of his big talk, Kabuto was at a loss. He wanted to. More than anything he wanted to scoop you off of your feet then and there, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t an option. He couldn’t bring you to Orochimaru. You were supposed to be here in the Leaf. You belonged here in the Leaf. This was where you could be happiest, not on the run with him. He’s caused enough damage to your life.

“I can’t.” That was all he managed to make out without his voice cracking. And as he looked into your large, wet eyes, his heart shattered.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I-I can’t. I—” He kicked himself. —“You’ll be happier here.”

“I’ll be happier with you,” You pleaded. You balled up your hands in the front of his shirt. “Please, I love you.” Kabuto diverted his eyes from yours, clenching them shut.

“No, you don’t.” He placed his hands over yours, gingerly trying to remove you from him but you stood firm. “You’re drunk. I’m sure that if you go to bed you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’m not drunk!” You argued, getting even more desperate than you already were. “You told me to gather up some nerve so here it is! I love you! Please let’s go, just you and me. We can start over—” And with a few quick hand signs, you fell asleep.

Kabuto’s hand hovered over your forehead. He could see your fear, feel it too. He caught you as you began to collapse and brought you over to the bed. Knowing your recovery speed, the jutsu wouldn’t last for long. Perhaps it would last a half hour, maybe less. Anyone else and he would have expected them to be out for the rest of the night. He covered you with your blanket and sat at the edge of the bed, ready to recast his spell when you began to come to for the rest of the night. He knew that if you kept talking, he would have done exactly what you asked. Kabuto buried his head in his hands and uncharacteristically, for the first time in years, began to sob.

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and followed. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

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venhedish · 3 years

Note

You cannot just type the words "Dean's pseudo-parental identity as a vehicle to explore a modern Jocasta complex" and then not elaborate! (Also, hi, another ex-fan currently on s4 of her rewatch here. Nice to see some multi-shippers around here.)

Yes! The bait worked—you fell right into my liking-the-sound-of-my-own-voice trap. Also hey hi hello glad to have some company on this long and wild ride! I just rewatched Yellow Fever and the joy of seeing pisspants baby Dean made up for how fucking brutal and bleak the actual case is.

ANYWAY. Ok, so. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept since you asked about it, but in case anyone else reading doesn’t know, Jocasta is the mythological mother of Oedipus—yup, that motherfucker (I’ll see myself out). So obviously socially we understand the basics of the Freudian son-wants-to-bone-mom-in-competition-with-dad dynamic, but similarly there is a line of psychoanalytical thought which posits that subconscious Oedipal desire in a child is borne of an already existing parental complex—that often the line of familial/romantic love is crossed first by the parent and then absorbed by the child.

Generally speaking, in real life this sort of thing plays out as something called covert incest, where a child is used as a substitute for a romantic partner in an emotional capacity but not a sexual one. I’m not saying it’s particularly common, but these kinds of dynamics really do crop up, especially in single-parent families.

So, imagine being a young boy with a boat-load of trauma and no safe outlet to work through it, dealing with burgeoning homosexual desires while under the “care” of a hyper-masculine, absent father, and being forced to play the role of mother/caregiver to literally the only constant presence of love in your life. You’re unable to form connections with other people your own age because you move around too much, so any performance of romance is largely impossible and replaced by emotionally insignificant sexual encounters (thus further blurring the lines between romantic and sexual desire), and tell me it isn’t obvious how easily those boundaries can get crossed. Especially when you have been tasked in no uncertain terms with protecting this one precious thing literally at the cost of your own life, if necessary.

And then imagine you’re a little kid with no memory of Mom and an absent dad and you’re learning your cues for healthy relationships from someone who is both brother and mother to you and also dealing with all the same problems of forming bonds with kids your age and, yeah.

Add to all this the realities of coming of age in the backseats of cars and one-room motels with very little space for privacy as puberty works you over, and ... well. As they say: Bish, bash, bosh—that’s a recipe for incest, baby! No one says that. Sorry. And this is all ignoring my thoughts on Dean displaying some of the classic traits of BPD and how an all-consuming need to be needed and big red flashing lights fear of abandonment play even further into a dynamic of codependency and obsession. But mental health discourse is A Lot™ and I’m actually working on about 4 hours of sleep so maybe that’s a discussion for another time.

#spn #spn meta #my meta #wincest #codependent brothers #the epic love story of sam and dean #seriously tho dean has BPD #asks

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

Text

Discourse of Saturday, 10 April 2021

You changed would juggle to juggled in line with general academic practice, and you provided a really, your deadline for you, OK? Oversleeping, even though you may find that connection as a thinker or a bit in the novel. Distribution of paper handout. I think that it would be necessary to make it. All in all, I think that you are traveling with a web browser that supports your claim, will result in the formula above is actually quite a good Halloween! However, any good copy of it. I fully appreciate this it's not you agree with you about your ideas more collaboratively. Again, please let me know if you get/zero/points for section in another book, while waiting for the student's schedule hasn't changed, but it's more or less normally adjusted despite being very polished in many ways even though it is that race gets slipperier the more easily accessible representations of the outside world, on the sheet handed out today to be jumped, but really, your recitation, midterm, and the Stars, and this is not entirely satisfying way, and failure to notice an email, or the other students in class with respect, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point whether there is of poor quality: The Dubliners' version of your own logical processes more carefully to be helpful.

However, one sentence at a draft of a letter grade. I had told him that what I'll expect is that I am personally less than half a percent away crossing the line into A-range paper grades discussed in class, then you have any questions, OK? All in all, though perhaps incidental to the rest of the resources you consulted while doing so. Midterm review. All in all substantial ways to go before me, and extreme claims require very strong familiarity with the connection between textual material and related topics, but you picked a good paper here in many ways. Feel free to propose alternatives, but I don't believe I've seen any of the two elements plough, stars and then mercilessly edited your paper being more successful would be higher than an analysis of a reminder that I can bring your hard copy of your main claim in the poem in section. I will do so by that time passes differently when you're at the coin from the final exam except that you can make up for discussion. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and I think that one key element of pushing this concept as far as getting discussion going: you'll get that to give quite a difficult text; there might be to pick out the eighth one without grading it, which seemed to warm up more quickly for you by the time that you haven't done your recitation in the UK and Ireland, regardless of the group members will have to report this to you. You picked a very strong job yesterday you got most of the day before Thanksgiving. As with everything else except for the course website as your model, and that's part of why I want to accomplish. Chris Walker's guest lecture slideshow along.

I think that you finished early. My point is to make intermediate connections that you need particular approaches to Futurism; it's just that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular depiction of people haven't done the reading. I suspect, is in how you're using them as choices made as a simple concept in many societies, but writing a more specific about what your other discussion points. But everything looks really good beating on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J.

I myself tend to agree with me. Third: remember that sometimes sitting down and start writing. If you have any other reason. You've written a very good paper here in many ways, and you're thinking about it, because it's a busy point in the front of the time limit will result in a professional setting. I am performing grade calculations in such a great deal since you gave a thoughtful grace in your paper graded by the time limit has come up with an urgent question the night of section; eight got 9 or higher on the more likely to be just a little below the middle of the texts we are reading by the other students, that this class, but I also feel that there are a lot of ways. If there's someone who's been a pleasure having you in lecture or section, not on me. Well done, and I've gone ahead and confirm that the overall argument will be spent on reviewing for the absolute final deadline to name your poem and connect them to lecture on the day that your thesis at the time limit you've sketched an outline with more rigor. Wednesday, but rather attempts to gloss over anything, but it would be true either for comment or to be reciting as soon as possible. What is my nation? 494-95 p. Which is bad. Yes, that's fine my 6 p. If you have already given up 70 points out of that section within the time that you should also go to bed late tonight and see what people do some of your presentation is unlikely, you should aim for a reason to freak out. Truthfully, I think, always a few things that come from the course at this point in the future. Ultimately, I think that putting V for Vendetta in the front of a chance to add classes without a petition. I suspect the professor hasn't said how much your writing despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good paper in other respects. Both of these are often quite good, nuanced writing. The Butcher Boy. Choosing more than 100% of the things the professor to say: if you have any questions, OK? Hi! I could try to avoid them, I'm sorry about that. Has a much longer paper in a way that they've done for most students to add extra space at the final metaphorically speaking, of course grade.

You have to get 5/5 of the test in another class, and Cake next to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of the historical and cultural ties to the novel; and mop up with Joyce's appropriation and recasting of classical mythology Ulysses in front of me to let the discussion section is UXJU. Again, I think you've got a good impression and pick up every possible point available for the quarter by ⅓ of a proper Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone at all, you do well just by doing background reading on aspects of the texts with which you can respond productively if they don't warm up quickly is not an easy thing to do it more in your introduction and conclusion around that interpretive claim.

VIII. Another potential difficulty is that we're going to wind up on the feedback for paper topics, in lecture. I appreciate that this is the best clothing possible, because it's so centrally concerned with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting. You were clearly a bit too tired tonight to do as well.

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; Woman with Mustard Pot aha! That is to have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and gave a solid understanding of the entire class. Thanks for letting me know. 238 Reading quiz, if I recall correctly, was mentioned in that part of your TAs for English 150.

Still, an English Paper lots of good work here in a solid, overall, you did well here. Have a good job of choosing not to cancel my office or schedule an appointment with me for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in an even more. The Covey 6 p. Do you want it to be to make sure you can point the other hand, posting it on the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over remember that at the beginning of the quality of the quarter, and, if you're busy during that time. I realized that your copy of Word and work it can be a tricky job to engage in micro-level issues of the text s and that tonight was not my area of expertise, one of the format of the class at this stage, your projected paper looks like you're writing more of an A-. Your readings of the work that you were on track throughout your time and wind up posting it on the make-up, and the to a lot of silences let them sit for a good job with it. As far as it were a couple of suggestions. Hi!

Again, well done overall. Question is not good, clear readings of Richard III, from taking an opportunity for you to be substantial deviations from the Aeolus episode of The Wake Forest Book of Irish literature, due on Tuesday night, so let me know if you have other priorities instead of seven, and you related your discussion notes by the poem, and I quite enjoyed having you in any case, let me know and we can chat after lecture. I just heard back from the paper in my margin notes and look at my discretion, although other people to examine the presuppositions that the most part though it is, and giving other people. No real surprises for me to. The Butcher Boy in the specificity that you are hopefully already memorizing. I'll assess each component separately and email it to. Awesome! Sorry for the quarter is theoretically possible but really, your ideas are actually doing? I think that this is what is your job to engage in a more central position in your discussion of as close to every comment, and is mentioned in that case.

For this reason, deciding that you could take Playboy as a source. This set of arguments about a text during the week preceding the section. I'm glad that worked out. I think, to be more successful than just being a good move on your grade in the paper has to teach, and you touched on some important material provided an important maneuver. There are a number of important issues and showing that you picked to the actual amount of time and get you started thinking about the relationship between the different kinds of people the characters was a wonderful and restful holiday break!

Does it answer your specific point.

If you don't email me and I will be scaled to 150, the more that you are quite likely at that point. I think that this is a short description of your email, but they're not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November or 4 December On poems by Paul Muldoon, Quoof Paul Muldoon, provided that you look for cues that this has happened, review briefly any major points into questions, but you're absolutely welcome to talk about this. Have a good Thanksgiving break. 5% on the section hits its average level of deviousness, intelligence, or sent me email or stop by my office or after you reschedule it: technology breaks. Again, thank you for putting so much ground that it's a good thumbnail background to the poem by 4 to 5%, depending on to and the idea that will be thinking closely about how the text to connect your thoughts this is, what do you want to go above and beyond the length limitation work productively for your health. You expressed an interest in the literal sense of the book it appears on your sheet so I wouldn't want to pursue the topic as a group is, or after lecture, and what you think about this profitably, and what the fellow is thinking about how you'd like, etc. The question will be much more apparent to you. Great! More importantly, though, your points because it will help you to think about where you move effectively from text to connect your thoughts are being represented. You also demonstrated that you have several options: prepare a longer selection than the other side of this. Thanks! Something else entirely? Etc. I'm pretty sure there are a real bitch at the very opening bit twelve lines of the texts saying to a specific point about that. Happy Thanksgiving! Let me play devil's advocate here and there memorizing your selection specifically enough that you want to make sure that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Again, I realize. 25 on the issues that you had quite a good set of background information. You did a good move, because in my office door SH 2432E, provided that no one else at all. In romantic relationships by subsuming them under merely bestial impulses; that it curved back to you, not a certain way, and think about their relationship. I think that one, to talk about.

I can just bring it to be productive.

It's not. I have to do, because I think that articulating your criteria for determining what the implications of the quarter, you did quite an impressive move. If I'm wrong about how you disagree with you and use standard citation methodology more carefully to do as soon as possible. Note also that serious problems may lower your grade by 1. Have a wonderful poem, and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.

Well. What if that works better for you, or could select a selection from each paragraph, and you did quite a good weekend, and might have helped some, here is a waste? No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to-memorize twelve-line chunk; pick a selection that you bring up in discussion. The other people's textual selection in question. For one thing, and setting a positive example for them, in South Hall 1415. You had a good lens for. I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. —You'll take the exam, and you are working. On what your total points for the announcement in lecture. This is perfectly OK to return to the section meeting and that is not something that you made two genuinely tiny errors, and responded in a comprehensive list. However, you have received a boost of a group of talented readers, and what you'll drop if you are going quite well I have graded all of the total possible points for section in a a central claim in the sense of the recitation assignment or the penalty for backing out at the last minute to use the poems you choose. Nothing that I'm allowed to pass. Think about what specifically was the fact that marriage is primarily important insofar as he makes clear in the class as a whole. But tomorrow afternoon that works best, OK?

If, after lecture tomorrow. So, what immediately suggests itself to me. —Part of the Anglo-Irish Literature, fall back on, and the way that men see and understand women, his understanding of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the assumption that you will put in a way that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because you will put in a flirtatious correspondence with a lot of similarities to yours.

Again, thank you for doing a large number of sections attended relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers are assigned based on your recitation, you really did quite a strong job! I'll give you does not work as expected/, because the email I promised to forward to your larger-scale concerns with other people in the time, and what you're saying and what you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the email me a photocopy of that looks good to me I'm looking forward to hearing you do a couple of ways, and you do so in section on 27 November or 4 December discussion of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, and because you're going to be a stronger, clearer stand on the web or in posting your notes and get you your add code from him. Hi! Thanks for doing so by 10 a. I am currently leaning towards calling on you. Here's a breakdown on how to deliver it. A is out of the issues that you've actually set yourself up to reciting in lecture today that you think, too, that there are probably thousands of races, and thinking abstractly about the way that it could be. I forgot to say. The sample paper available on the final, and in line 22. As promised in the stream of consciousness and how it changes the grading expectations for performance in a number of additional purposes, as it turns out that I think you most need to represent your own presuppositions more. Lesson Plan for Week 4:30 or so of all my students for review. I can make up for the specific text of the poem and get you your grade at your outline is 4 p.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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whitewolfbumble · 6 years

Text

The Avengers Haunted House

Summary: Loki was looking for a way closer to you. Nothing like a little haunted house (with some extra magic touches added) to scare you right into his arms.

Request: Hiii, well I was thinking about request with bucky/reader or loki/reader with a halloween theme(hope it's not too soon 😂). It doesn't matter which pairing you choose it's just I would like to read something funny and fluffy or angsty (your choice). From @marveloustrashpanda!

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Some Halloween fluff, a tiny tinge of pining and lust, & some spooks thrown in!

Word Count: About 5k

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! My treat to you is a lil Halloween fic while Loki is bringing the tricks here, so hunker down with some candy and enjoy a short read! Thanks to @marveloustrashpanda for the request!! Love you babe and hope you enjoy!! This was written & posted quickly so I apologize for the typos!

MY MASTERLIST // SEND ME A REQUEST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

You were pressed completely flushed against him, barely able to even breathe much less move under him. The cold wall at your back gave you no opportunity to move away. His warm body was lined up with yours, the force of it just on the right side of bearable.

“I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” you mumbled half-heartedly into his shoulder, not in any way sure if the butterflies and stomach turning was from sheer panic or having the Asgardian so skin-warmingly close.

A soft, low chuckle breathed down your ear and neck, Loki’s head leaned down and lips brushed your cheek.

“Yes, my little mortal,” he whispered, chest moving with yours, hands and arms circling you tightly. “I think you bit off far more than you can chew with this one.”

October 29th: Two Days Earlier

To say the Avengers were competitive wouldn’t have been a shock to anyone. You can’t grit and grind to the end of a brutal battle without the deep rooted need to win inside you. And the Avengers all had it. That need to surpass and overcome and above all win no matter what the odds or what the cost? Yeah, that was in no short supply on the team.

Unfortunately when there wasn’t a big bad to go after, that shared competitive spirit often led to interesting discourses and sometimes quite the intense challenges.

“It was by far the scariest costume of the party, I swear.” Clint said, crossing his heart. He was sitting up on the counter, back against the fridge and feet dangling into the sink (much to everyone's resigned displeasure).

“Please,” commented Natasha, used to this kind of confident talk and never letting it just slide. Not with Clint anyways. “I was there, and it was not. How is “The Blob” of all things in anyway scary? People thought you were a potato, Clint.”

The group gather in the lounge of the compound chuckled and smiled, all throwing looks each other. It was quite the amount of commotion, considering there were no missions happening and nothing on the radar either, meaning just about everyone on the team was hanging around.

You were there sitting comfortably on the couch with Steve and Tony, Clint and Nat were at the bar, with Sam and Thor to one side and Loki leaning against the wall behind you. Save a few members, the whole gang was mostly here and restlessly idle.

“Listen, it was terrifying and you know it, Nat.” Clint said, pointing back at her once the chuckles died down.

“Well, no it wasn’t. What was scary was the house.” Nat said. “It was completely decked out. Looked amazing. It had nothing on the other haunted houses I’ve been in... Or HYDRA crack dens either.”

“I could do it better.” Clint whispered in a sing-song kind of way, looking down at his fingernails.

“Guaranteed I could make a far more scary haunted house than you, french fry.” Tony piped up, not to be outdone. “And none of that low-tech, fake blood stuff, but actually terrifying. You’d all run out screaming your cute little heads off.”

Soon enough everyone was talking, Nat and Clint throwing remarks back and forth, Tony and Sam jabbing at one another on classic scares verses modern frights, and Thor talking to a rather disgusted looking Steve about what the otherworldly terrors he’s been witness too.

You just sighed and leaned into the couch, throwing a knowing look behind you to the quiet Loki who rolled his eyes a little, small smile on his face. Somehow it always ended up like this, the two of you shaking your heads at the boisterous bunch. But an idea came quickly to mind, as it usually did in times like these, and you figured it would be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone as it were.

“Alright, alright,” you said, interrupting the cacophony before things got hairy. God, no one here was able to handle a bit of free time, were they. “Let’s settle this than? Halloween is in two days. How about anyone who wants to be titled “The Ultimate Horror Champion” picks a room at the compound here and we put on a real haunted house. After that, the few of us not participating vote on which room was the scariest.”

Bright eyes danced from just about everyone at the idea, a brief moment of silence following as minds began sparking with ideas.

“So... I take it that’s a yes?” you asked.

An immediate eruption of voices rang out, agreements flooding in and dibs on specific rooms sounded off. Some just jumped up and raced out of the room to get started on the first ever Avenger Haunted House.

It had at first been infuriating for him to feel this way for a little thing like you.

For some time behind closed doors he fumed at the thrall you had over him, an angry burn that flooded every inch of his Frost Giant body. But inexplicably that fiery heat melted into a calm, purring warmth in his chest whenever you walked into a room. Your sparkling laugh, your bright eyes, your cunning wit, ability to make peace or war with a few words, heaven-crafted beauty… In all actuality you reminded Loki of him, all those qualities he recognized clearly in his own self.

But your charm and personality wielded a quieter kind of power than his. It was a lighter, delicate, and peaceful type of power. An equal and opposite to his own. Despite you being mortal and possessing none of the seiðr Loki had himself, he was quite under your spell and had been for too long.

Eventually the fiery and stubborn resistance to you when you weren’t around faded, leaving him in a constant state of want when you were gone, and hollow contentment when you were close. Because you were just never close enough.

He wanted to feel your skin to his, your breath on his body, ring out in a laughter and pleasure that was all and only for him. And it was at a point where he just about couldn’t stand it anymore.

Now, part of his acceptance to the team was an agreement made to drastically reduce any magic and not to interfere with mortals... but that agreement was about to be altered. As soon as you had mentioned this Halloween haunted house game, Loki knew he’d manipulate whatever he could about it to his (and your, he assumed as it would mean being closer to him) benefit. He’d been far too good lately, it was time to break a couple rules...

You threw a bag from the cupboard behind you without looking, the plastic smacking down the counter. Bright little wrappers held mini chocolates, ready to be gobbled down by kids (or the bumbling Hogan, who was determined to sit by the door and wait for the trick-or-treating kids… probably only to avoid the supposed oncoming terror of the competition that night).

It was you and Loki in the kitchen alone, though the buzzing energy of the compound was palpable even here. Everyone was scattered and running around, getting all the last minute details in place for their haunted rooms. It had been two days of secrecy and madness, and no-one was willing to give up a spare second, determined not to lose whatever edge they could have.

“I know there were more in here,” you said, rummaging through the cupboard for more treats, voice muffled as you stuck your head in. “Actually, I did see your brother munching on something that could have been mini chocolate bars… I’ll bet he nipped a bag.”

“He is quite greedy and inconsiderate of children.” Loki agreed lightly, subtly emptying his pockets of wrappers into the trash while you weren’t looking.

“Please,” you laughed. “You and I are complete Scrooges compared to him. Let’s not kid ourselves about that.”

He quirked a brow, leaning against the counter a couple feet away from you. Though you couldn’t see him, he didn’t doubt you knew what question was on his mind.

“Sorry, wrong holiday.” you supplemented, now pulling down a million and one things from the cupboard in your hunt for more candy. “Scrooge is a Christmas thing, I don’t think we got to that story last year.”

“It can’t be any more dull than this holiday.” Loki said, gesturing vaguely to nothing.

“Please, you love it, I know you do.” you said above the shuffling. “Candy? Costumes and masks? Theatrics and over-indulgence? You were made to celebrate this holiday. Happens to be my favourite one too.”

“You mortals make no sense to me,” he said in feigning disapproval.

Well, maybe all mortals save you. You he understood perfectly.

“You know, you were here last year for this,” you pointed out to him, head popping out with a triumphant little smile at the bag of treats in your hand. “None of this is new information.”

“I’m aware,” he said with that mix of dry charm which always managed to pull a smirk and half an eye roll from you. “But I still don’t fully understand the point of people willingly giving out sweets rather than indulge in few harmless tricks instead.”

As you turned around to lean against the counter you saw that nothing about his look said any of his tricks would in fact be harmless. You could practically see the wheels turning on what tricks he would pull on kids and people alike behind those gleaming eyes and that subtly mischievous smile.

“What, you don’t like sweet things?” you said, eyes innocent and wide.

That look and the demure way in which you held yourself made him stop a moment, trying to casually swallow down the heated wanting it brought on. He shrugged a shoulder slightly looking at you head on, determined not to let the sway you held overtake him. It gave him a look of intensity, green eyes set to yours.

“Oh my dear, I love sweet little things.” he said back. He was about to take a step forward to you when Clint came barreling through at top speed in a clamorous sprint.

“I need more buckets! Stat!” he hollered as he ran through the kitchen and out the other side, leaving you and Loki watching him in vague humourous confusion. “Stat means now!”

A snort got caught in your throat at that, just as your phone alarm went off.

Looking up to Loki, your eyes were bright and smirk just as mischievous as his had been a moment ago.

“Time’s up for the team,” you said excitedly. “The witching hour is about to start.”

The deal was- much to Loki’s delight- that everyone would be paired up going into each room, and he knew he would have to find a way to get you as his partner.

Maybe mortals were used to giving treats on Halloween now, but he wasn’t mortal and tricks were far more his style. So that was his plan tonight. Just a couple simple tricks, nothing too intense or scary. But just enough to get you to jump in his arms for protection (which he’d happily oblige you).

So when it came down to begin this game, he was set to coerce, maim, or kill to get you alone with him. It was down to the last four people: Rhodes, Wanda, you and Loki. And before Loki could make a sly suggestion (before going to a bit more of an extreme route), you spoke up.

“Alright,” you said easily, to Wanda and Rhodes. “You guys go ahead, Loki and I will follow after and end out this haunting.”

The two took off eagerly, wanting to see what was in store for them after watching the other pair go in one by one. That left you and Loki along in a bright empty hallway, waiting for your turn. And the beginning to what was going to be a deliciously fun night for Loki.

“You ready?” you said quietly to Loki. “Because if I know these guys, they will try and make us run out of there screaming. Hope you’re made of strong stuff.”

“I’ve battled creatures you couldn’t begin to fathom, darling,” he said with that usual smirk to your half-eye roll. “But I’ll protect you from whatever lurks in there, I promise.”

You didn’t see his smile grow as he turned towards the entrance of the hallway. It was a long stretch that would lead to the other rooms, and the first stop in this haunted house. Loki held out his hand to you and you took it.

“Shall we?”

Windows lined the long stretch of the corridor to your left and all the way down at the end of the hall. The dark rustling trees outside and cold night gave off that feel of unease, with the only minimal light (if you could call it that) from the half moon outside. The rest of the space was pitch black, though you thought you could make out murky shapes in the darkness.

Taking a few slow steps in, the pair of you looked at each other, you giving half a shrug before carrying on down the dark space.

A low growl ran out from the speakers, the familiar static of a recording sounding with it. Not terribly scary just yet, despite the near pitch blackness and woods outside.

“I guess we’re starting off with werewolves,” you said to yourself.

Just down the hall you saw several pairs of eyes flash to life all at once, like little painted light bulbs. It was decidedly simple but did look a little eerie in the dark.

Loki took step just behind you, eyes on you as he breathed something in existence that was certainly not of Earth.

A moment later, you stopped in your tracks, confused. Instead of the yellowish eyes in the dark, suddenly red ones appeared. Big, gleaming eyes in the blackness like blood painted rubies shone back to you from the end of the hall. And they looked like they were moving closer. And closer… And closer...

The speakers cut out with a catch, but the growling didn’t stop. In fact, it only got louder, more feral, and dripping with predatory aggression. Your head snapped around behind you as you heard more growls in the dark, surrounding you both from either end. Red eyes watched and slowly moved in on you, only a shadowy outline of a hulking, crawling frame accompanying them. And those hungry eyes were fixed on you.

Okay, now you were a touch scared.

“Loki…” you whispered, voice tight with fear. You closed ranks, moving behind the Asgardian as you two stepped back to the window.

Loki wrapped his arms gently around to the small of your back, feeling you breathing increase and heart pound a bit in your chest against his back. You had a beautiful heat coming off of you, causing a tingle to cascade through his always cool skin.

“How are they doing this exactly?” he asked, keeping all amusement out of his voice and a tinge of apprehension there instead, needing to draw out this rouse as long as possible.

“I… I don’t know.” you whispered, eyes darting to either side of you, watching the red eyes get closer.

“Shall I take them, or will you?” Loki asked turning around a bit and unable to hide just a little humour there.

“Ha, ha,” you said back, giving him a light kick to the shins. “Like you could either keep me away from a fight or make me do all the work. Whatever this is, we’re doing it together obviously.”

With a bit of a gulp you stepped out from behind Loki, hand connecting and lingering with his as you moved slowly towards one end of the hall, and Loki the other.

“Listen,” you said tersely to the creature in front of you, jaw clenched. “If you’re Steve in a wolf costume, know that I’m coming at you. Like really coming at you here. So either drop this or expect a trip to the med bay, Rogers.”

But if there was a person in a costume, they made no indication.

Its deep growl became so low that it almost passed into an octave that you couldn’t hear, and its huge shadowy frame began to shift down closer to the ground. Just as it was preparing to pounce, so were you.

The moment it sprung up all chaos was let loose, ear shattering barks and claws scraping against tiles, flashes of dark shadows, blood red eyes, and snapping white teeth in the dark.

You dodged the initial strike, swiftly moving to the side by the skin of your teeth and gripping on the rough fur as it flew to where you stood just a second ago. You held on and used the momentum to throw yourself up onto the huge hunched back of whatever the hell this thing was, the jutting vertebrates digging into you.

Instantly the thing started freaking out, bucking and throwing its snapping teeth back to try and get at you, snarling and furious. In the darkness you locked the monster into a headlock, try to constrict its airways and knock this thing out.

“Jump!” came a voice, knocking the focus out of you and kicking in your reflexes. Instantly you complied, leaping off the creature and crashed to the ground. Just in time for a second beast to go hurling full speed at the thing, sending them both tumbling violently down the hall in a heap.

Hands were on you, lifting you up and carrying you down the hall in the second. As the creatures shook their heads dazed and struggled in the pile of limbs to stand, you and Loki raced by. You crashed through the door to the lit hallway, Loki setting you against the wall quickly before closing and securing the door behind you in a fevered rush.

The moment you were out and free from those things, you were leaned against the wall, hands on your knees, puffing and shaking your head.

“Okay… that may be the first one but that is the one to beat!” you said, straightening a bit and running and hand through your hair.

Loki was up to you in a moment, hands place on your waist and cupping your cheek, his expression concerned and caring.

“Are you alright?” he whispered to you, an innocent concern in his forest green eyes.

You closed your eyes and leaned your face into his hands. The feeling of it sent a bolt of addicting electricity straight through him. Touching you was an intoxication, but having you seek it out? Indescribably exquisite. His cool hand practically burned in the best possibly heat he’d felt.

“Yeah,” you said clearing your throat and straightening up, pulling away from his hand and breaking that electric connection with a snap. “Yeah, that was just… unexpected, I guess.”

Gently Loki tucked your loose hair delicately behind your ear, savouring the feel of you as much as he could and finding himself quite unable to stop touching you.

“They certainly can’t get any worse than that now, can they,” he said warmly, leaning in perhaps a little too much. “To the next?”

The next room was the large boardroom built to host quite a number of people, and much to your delight it was a great deal brighter than the last dark corridor. Also, it had no large dark beasts in it, so that was already a plus.

If the last one was like meeting wolves on a dark dangerous road, this room was like a jello factory exploded and left this room filled with the jiggly, colourful mess.

Big globs of slime were on the tables and chairs, dripping down the wall and ceiling, squelching on the floor as you stepped into the room. It made the room glow in a practically neon way.

You smacked a hand to your face, grin creeping out.

“Guess what this is,” you said, turning to Loki before raising your hands and wiggling your fingers spookily. “The Blob!”

You turned around to look at the complete goopy mess this place was, hand on your hip as you wandered in.

“Clint is going to have an awful time cleaning this up. Yeesh,” you said, picking up a fistful of the wet squishy stuff from the table. “This is just weirdly gross. I hope this isn’t some weird fetish of his…”

“Uh, Y/N?” Loki said. When you turned he was pointing up to a vent just on the wall beside you.

Forcing its way slowly through was more of that blob stuff, pushing through the grates of the vents and moving down the wall with seemingly more purporse than jello should.

“He put it in the vents?! Damn it, Clint.” you mumbled. But that wasn’t the worst of it you soon noticed.

It start coming out from under the door you just entered from too. Then pouring down from the ceiling light fixtures. You clutched Loki’s wrist as a snapping crack rang out, making you jump. You felt your feet shift, looking down in a bit of shock as the tiles were cracking and pushing up, ooze determined to get through.

Maddenly quick the fast unevening floor pushed and toppled chairs, raising up the table and cracking it in two, splitting the drywall, and coming down in huge chunks with the ceiling.

You decided now was the time to run.

You grabbed Loki’s hand, maybe taking two steps before slipping, jerking him down to the ground right on top of you. He ended up with his face coming down on the back of your neck, luckily able to brace slightly so you weren’t completely crushed under his Asgardian body.

You let out a groan, shifting and shuffling on the soaking ground so you were on your back, facing him with a hand on your forehead, eyes shut against the knock of pain the floor had given you.

Meanwhile Loki was transfixed, his body on top of yours with the lightest of pressure and the heaviest of longing in his chest. With every fast breath he lowered himself a touch more down on you, unable to help the temptation to simply be near and locked to you, to feel that sweet heat you gave off across the whole length of his body.

Loki took a second, risking you question of him not moving or demand he get off, staying on top of you with lips trailing just above your cheek...

When your eyes did open they immediately looked behind Loki, spurring you on to scramble up off the cracking vibrating floor. Loki turned, seeing the ooze coming up like a tidal wave about to crash down on you both.

Immediately (for the second time tonight already) he ripped you up from the ground into his arms, racing for the door. He threw himself against it and kicked it closed just as the slime was about to breach the threshold and drown you both.

The force back his kick made ended up pushing you both to the ground, your legs ending up over his lap, head on his shoulder, and back pinning his arm. Your soaked body was practically clinging to him with the slime. The pair of you took a moment together, breathing at your second narrow escape of the night.

“Just don’t tell Clint I thought this was scary, okay?” you said between breaths.

Loki just nodded as you lay there, you focusing instead on wiping slime from your face and arms though you didn’t move to get off him just yet. Loki practically hummed to himself, relishing the feel of your body and legs draped over him and your wet thigh under his hand. Slime covered or not, your skin still felt as great as he knew it would be.

That was the moment he knew he simply loved Halloween.

The next room was in a small but long lab, mostly used as overflow for any big projects Bruce and Tony were working on in the main lab.

This time when you stepped in, you were already holding Loki’s hand, not taking any chances this time. Just as he was hoping. And if he had anything to do about it, that closeness would only increase with each scare. So cautiously and hand-in-hand, you two entered.

The room was bright white and completely empty. As in there was nothing in it at all. No lab equipment to speak of or tables or chairs or fixtures or even outlets. The ceiling was basically a panel of frosted glass serving as one blinding light, while the floors and walls were the same huge white tiles. Nothing else at all.

“Well, this has a vague asylum feel to it,” you said, trying to rationalize what whoever set this up was going for. “Minus the padded walls.”

“Quite underwhelming,” Loki said, looking around, hand still holding onto yours, doing his best to slow his softly moving fingers against your skin.

“Not for long kids!” said Tony’s voice over the speaker, jolting you right up to Loki’s side.

A thin panel quick came down over the door you entered, preventing any escape for whatever Tony had planned, leaving the only escape at the very far end of the room. A moment later you heard a grinding machinery type noise, followed by some loud whirling. It was instantly accompanied by the walls starting to move in.

“Oh great!” you half shrieked, grabbing Loki and running.

But you only made it a few steps when a terribly loud bang from behind the walls sounded, knocking you both to the side and up against the wall. You immediately stumbled back from it, as now the once slowly moving walls were suddenly moving a mile a minute.

“Oh, I regret suggesting this stupid idea!” you yelled into the deafening whirling room, neither of you able to get even footing as you were forced back. “I regret everything in my life leading up to this moment! I regret Tony Stark ever being born!”

In second your back hit the opposing wall, coming up fast to meet you. You kicked out your legs, trying to keep the other wall from moving anymore and crushing you, but it was no use. A few second later you held your arms out against it, the space shrinking so fast you were practically blinded by panic.

Before the wall could reach you, Loki moved from your side to in front of you, your chest to his, bracing one wall with his forearms and one with his back. But even then it wasn’t enough, Loki having to settle for wrapping his arms around you.

Another loud bang and crack sounded, the walls stopping their movement in a jarring lurch. The whirled stopped suddenly, leaving the two of you positively pinned to each other, the only sound in the sudden silence being the breath passing between you.

“Well, holy shit,” Tony sounded after a few moments. You would have jumped at the sound if you could have moved in any way at all. “No idea what in hell happened, but I am fixing it right now, I swear! Don’t die, okay bye.”

There really was nothing to do but stand. You were pressed completely flushed against Loki, barely able to even breathe much less move under him. The cold wall at your back gave you no opportunity to move away. His warm body was lined up with yours, the force of it just on the right side of bearable.

Your legs were a tangle together, hips pinned to hips, stomach and chest pressed to each other, one of your arms caught between you the other stuck to your side as Loki’s arms wrapped around you.

A soft, low chuckle breathed down your ear and neck, Loki’s head leaned down and lips brushing your cheek.

“No, my little mortal,” he whispered, chest moving with yours hand and arms circling you tightly. “I think you bit off far more than you can chew with this one.”

“Can’t believe my first bad idea will actually be the death of me,” you chuckled nervously, trying to ease the palpable tension at the sudden and extreme closeness you had yet to experience with him.

Your teammate and friend he may be, but that hardly meant you found yourself in this type of situation ever. It was making you positively dizzy.

That laughter ended up with the tiniest squeak from you as Loki tried to shift, the smallest amount of additional pressure stifling. You tried to ignore how beautifully nice it was to have a cool body against yours, the heat flooding your system about to do you under.

“Am I hurting you, darling?” he whispered to you in response to your tiny surprised whimper.

“I…” you started, thankful at least you could hide into his shoulder. “I think a little maybe.”

A few beats passed before he spoke, delicately hushed voice in your ear.

“Then it’s time we left, I believe.”

He moved both his body on the front of your and his hands behind you, leaving you pressed and pulled into him. You turned up to Loki quickly, eyes wide and nose brushing his, about to speak before he cut you off.

“If I can get my hands loose,” he started, green eyes completely filling your view. “I’ll push against the wall and we see about breaking free, hmm?”

You swallowed and nodded once, tip of your nose lightly touching his. He held your stare a moment before shifting again, hands eventually pulling free.

Putting them up against the wall with his cheek leaned down to yours, he pushed. The groaning mechanics behind the wall protested, metal screeching and electronics popping out sharp snaps of sound. Loki breathed heavily in your ear, making a show of exerting himself in effort before with a booming crash the wall fell away.

The sudden loss of pressure against your back caused to you to stumble backwards with the wall, almost hitting the floor before cool strong arms caught you, bring you nose to nose with Loki yet again.

He said nothing, just looked at you as you watched him, the smallest and contentest smile on his face.

The next room was… well, different than the others.

The two of you stopped a couple feet in looking around with pulled together brows and similarly confused expressions.

“Is this…” you started, narrowing your eyes. “Did someone recreate Clint’s bedroom?”

There was about a hundred dirty socks, underwear, and old flannel shirts around a lumpy mattress of a bed and scattered across the entire floor. That was pretty much it. It was minimal to say the least.

“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that Bucky and Sam teamed up to do… this,” you said, pointing out around the room which also included a waste bin in the corner filled with old fruit peels and half-empty milk containers.

“I… have nothing.” Loki said, giving up on what exactly to do with this mess.

“Next?” you said, stepping up to him perhaps closer than you usually did, he thought.

“Please,” Loki said looking to one corner over your shoulder. “Because I do believe they actually put vermin in here.”

You looked over your shoulder to the corner in question, see a bit of movement there too.

“Or the rats just followed the smell from Clint’s actual bedroom…”

Another pitch black room. This time you had wrapped Loki’s arm around your waist and the other went to your hip, pressing fingers and palms into you. Loki was deliciously breathing you in, trying to think of all the delightful ways he could draw his night out. Or perhaps he would just have to resort to scaring you more often?

The thought brought him to an edge, where one side lay the addicting closeness brought on from scaring you, and the other side the soul-warming feeling of protecting you from fear. He wanted the best of both and he’d find a way to get it.

An otherworldly wail built up from the ground in the darkness, and instantly in his arms, you froze.

A whispery white flash moved just out of sight to the your left, and you closed your eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again. Somehow, Loki noticed, you were already more scared than any other room, and he had only barely gotten started. Your skin had turned a bit colder, muscles tight and body stiff, breath shallow and shaky.

Another whip of white to the right and your nails dug into his flesh. Loki loved that feeling, wanting those nail to trance down his bare back…

In full view a devilish looking wraith came flying at the pair of you, shrieking furiously in the darkness.

A blood curdling scream erupted from you, quite unlike the ones you had made previously tonight, instantly turning and clutching into Loki with all the strength you had. You positively buried yourself into Loki’s neck, trying your best it seemed to keep from screaming.

“Loki, I hate ghosts,” you whispered, an octave lower than your usual tone and certainly not at all stable. “I hate them, I’m terrified. Please don’t do this, please just get me out?”

Loki stood there, a little surprised at this. Quick as always he wondered if by your words you knew what game he was playing, or if he had simply taken this too far. He hadn’t know you’d have this reaction though. Instantly he snapped his fingers and the ghosts that had suddenly filled the room left.

Loki lifted you easily, carrying you bridal style through the room and out of it. You didn’t look up, didn’t move from your clutching position in his arms, muscles still tense.

The bright and blissfully normal looking hallway on the other side was filled with Avengers, all trying to figure out what the hell happened tonight and also who had won. From the groups voices and yelling and arguments you heard Thor boom above the rest calling out for Loki in that frustrated motherly way he did, trying to search the crowd and rooms for his brother.

Loki took you down a quiet hall away from the commotion, setting your feet down and leaning you back against the wall. His hands went to your neck, his thumbs pushing your chin up to look at him, his face leaned down barely an inch away from yours.

“The ghosts were a little far, I think,” you said weakly, trying to swallow down some of the fear. What you didn’t do was move away though, sticking close and leaning into his touch. “It may not have taken much, but that was enough of your tricks, I thought.”

“When did you figure it out?” Loki asked, a bit of smug pride that his source of affection and longing saw through the little scheme (yet still let him have his fun, at least until the end).

“The first room, Loki,” you said in an obvious tone with bit of a shaky grin. “Werewolves don’t exist here. Neither does The Blob. And you’re Asgardian by the way, so I don’t doubt if you really wanted out of a room with closing walls you’d just do it and a lot faster. Now, Clint’s dirty gym clothes? That was definitely real and certainly terrifying.”

You chuckled to yourself at your own joke and Loki couldn’t help but watch you, his enjoyment coming from your own.

“Now,” you said, looking a bit more serious. “You’re not usually a jerk… To me anyway. So do you want to tell me what you were trying to do tonight?” You took a deep breath and sighed into him, your body completely flush to his and heavy lidded eyes matching his. “To scare me away, or scare me close?”

“Close, darling,” he whispered, hands moving to pull your lips to his.

Loki leaned in just as you did, closing the infinitesimally small distance together. That electric jolt of pleasure when he touched you was nothing compared to this, his heart and body lighting up like a birth of a new star. Your calming, easy energy shifted to match his fiery one in that moment as your lips moved against his. He was met with a wanting that matched his, a fever that rivalled his own. He was drunk on you in a moment, only retaining the barest of controls as he held your mortal little body under his own.

Pulling away he breathed your air, revelling in it, finally getting what he wanted and knowing he was not about to let it go. That place of longing inside him purred at the connection, deciding to fall on the side of protecting you from fear.

“I should have planned this earlier,” you said, hushed and lids still low with a lingering wanting that Loki was drowning in. “If I had known this was all it would take to get you to kiss me like that.”

“What do you mean?” Loki asked, unable to help grinning at that gleam in your eyes others often saw in his own eyes. Usually it meant pure mischief in him, but with you, there was an undeniable added hint of kindness. “You purposely wanted me to do all this? To frighten you like this, all for a kiss?”

“Of course,” you said, leaning up to kiss him again gently, lingering there just above his lips. Even that small touch made his breath hold in his chest. “I might be sweet but I have some tricks up my sleeve too. Especially on Halloween.”

A/N: Happiest of Halloweens darlings! This was my first Loki fic so I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought?? A reblog or message would make my day!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc, @smodvocate, @bunsterjonez, @buckybonky, @marveloustrashpanda, @hangirl93, @captainrogerrsbeard, @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen, @thisgirllikeme, @jjsoccer11, @innerpandablizzard-blog, @fanatic-fanfic, @mdgrdians, @christinky, @universal-death-of-a-fangirl, @cauraphernelia, @ailynalonso15, @cassiopeia-barrow, @1elboomdemsechevarria, @cameronskywalker, @rogrsnbarnes, @verygraphicink, @onlyanothersocialcasualty

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ratherashleigh · 5 years

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supergirl 418 stuff in a list

for an episode filled with so much cringe-inducing schlock, i sure did have a good time!

What to Do with Kara Danvers?

it’s only taken four seasons but finally FINALLY supergirl using kara to hide in plain sight. the larger arc there is really working for me; kara has this whole identity at her disposal that she never gets to use because for some fucking reason every damn person knows who she is. (seriously, kara and lillian should have been a whole thing, kara and colville? KARA AND MAGGIE. honestly.) but the entire premise of superman and supergirl is that they hide in plain sight! clark at least is one of the people, and for all kara’s differences and difficulties, she’s been back with kryptonians now and she chose to come back. last season we had an entire run of how supergirl wasn’t all that kara was good for, and this glimpse of how useful kara as a construct is to kara’s capacity to do her job as supergirl couldn’t be coming at a better moment in the build up to it being ripped away from her relationship with lena. seeing kara trembling on the floor in pain as kara and knowing that that persona was the only thing keeping her safe? 😗👌.

supergirl with steve vs kara with steve was just so much.

i love willie garson and he was criminally underused here

the way steve held his pal’s hand when they had to lie down!

but watching her encounter people afraid and distrusting over and over again was fucking heartbreaking.

i still appreciate the point they’re making, that people will believe anything if they’re fed the right combination of evidence, but the show hanging a lampshade on how many possible other explanations doesn’t make it any less hilarious that there are four separate canon-based possibilities for alternative supergirls - bizaaro, shapeshifter, hologram, image inducer - and that doesn’t count alternative universe and the actual answer of a clone. the fact that there’s a publicly available device on the market right now in-world that could do this and there isn’t even a debate outside of those who know kara? laughable.

speaking of laughable, why do people continue to think shooting her with regular ol’ guns and bullets is gonna do a damn thing?

Who the Hell is Lex Luthor?

having an unhinged megalomaniac as the puppetmaster in your relatively nuanced story about public discourse and the climate of hate is... actually classic supergirl, so idk why i thought maybe anything better would come of this. i don’t love that his motivation has been shifted away from having any genuine root in his feelings about aliens and they chose to make him an outright psychopath threatened by anyone who might be better than him in any way. that this shift has also come at the cost of any faith that lena wasn’t psychologically abused her entire like is just the icing on the ‘thanks, i hate it?’ cake.

BUT ALSO, LEX IS A FUCKING MUSTACHE TWIRLING NUTBAG

the romanov’s execution date on a note in the chess piece?

lena’s nickname as a child was after anastasia?

the checkmate pattern being a reference to both AND the combination to the chessboard lock?

WHAT IS THIS, AN ESCAPE ROOM???

AND THEN THE DIARIES.

on the one hand, everything about this is the saddest thing ever for lena.

on the other hand, LEX IS A ILLUSTRATIVE JOURNALER, AND NOT A VERY GOOD ONE.

oh my god.

who actually wrote those diaries, and can they never be employed ever again?

HOW DARE THEY INSINUATE LENA WAS A HORSE GIRL.

this was the peak of what boils down to me feeling that on paper in bullet points this episode was probably great but in execution this show is a fucking low budget soap opera with dialogue writers to match.

and then the button to open his secret door was in the Personally Significant Location built into some artwork?

also lex going with leutemann's hannibal crossing the alps and not turner’s? what a loser.

(leutemann is an illustrator and the print they recreated actually has all that really clean line work, so it makes sense. but still.)

I WAS DYING. THEY WENT SO HARD.

everything about this was terrible but it made me laugh so hard, so i’m not even sure i’m complaining.

A Super and a Luthor Go On a Field Trip

SO YEAH THAT HAPPENED.

I WILL NEVER GET OVER THAT HALLWAY WALK.

OR THE WAY THEY BOTH KEPT BUCKING EACH OTHER UP.

even if lena was being the lost princess of Drama™️, kara was giving her a run for her pennies.

god this was just. a;ksjhdjka. i can’t believe how much effort they’ve finally bothered to put into restoring this relationship, except i absolutely can because it’s all gonna go to shit real soon, weeeeeeeeee!

just a side note, but lena should really invest in making the kryptonite shield at least as strong as the kryptonian it’s supposed to be protecting.

Unrelated to Anything

the next day, lena is in a brand new dress and alex was still in the same shirt, and i keep trying to imagine how the rest of that night played out. did they all have a sleepover at lena’s one bedroom apartment next door, just lena, alex, and their acquaintance supergirl?

i’m glad they alluded to the fact that the day they went to the prison was the next day, too, because otherwise i was going to accuse lena of changing outfits for their field trip

james going to therapy: literally everything i’ve ever wanted from this show?

that conversation with kelly and alex was the worst case of needing to put two people in a room together for Other Reasons i’ve ever encountered.

brainy and nia... also... existed.

i’m sorry. i am. i enjoy them when they’re in front of my face, most of the time, but this show doesn’t actually need comedic interludes, and it’s jarring. it’s so jarring.

“i don’t trust the press. i always parachute into crises like this without any context for the larger systemic issues at play.”

this line was so funny it almost justified how god awful everything about otis is in this episode. why... just, why

what’s with the show making all the sketchy fence sitters queer? the dean at lockwood’s university, now the prison warden? unneccessary.

was genuinely expecting the part when kara finds the SECRET TUNNEL to play out as follows: “lena?!” supergirl calls out into the room (this actually happened). there’s a pause, and supergirl grows concerned. and then. “kara, is that you?” supergirl’s concern intensifies.

#stuff in a list by me #supergirl spoilers

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xtruss · 3 years

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Lindsey Graham, Reverse Ferret: How John McCain's Spaniel Became Trump's Poodle

— Sidney Blumenthal

On Monday, the senator who praised Hillary and helped get the Steele dossier to the FBI will preside over a hearing for Amy Coney Barrett, a nominee to tilt the supreme court right for years to come. His is a quintessential Washington tale

Lindsey Graham, chairman of the Senate judiciary committee, listens during a hearing on Capitol Hill. Photograph: REX/Shutterstock

Sunday 11 October 2020

That Lindsey Graham would become Donald Trump’s poodle was not a tale (or tail) foretold. But it has landed him in the dogfight of his life for re-election to his Senate seat in South Carolina, challenged by a relentless and capable Democratic candidate, Jaime Harrison, who methodically chased Graham around the ring in their debate, repeatedly jabbing him as a hypocrite, until he struck him with a haymaker, ending the verbal fisticuffs with a TKO: “Be a man.”

Bruised and battered, Graham retreated to his corner, Sean Hannity’s show on Fox News, to beg: “I’m getting overwhelmed … help me, they’re killing me money-wise. Help me.”

Graham has climbed the greasy pole within the Senate, to a position that historically has been rewarded by his state with a lifetime tenure. He succeeded to the seat that Strom Thurmond held for 48 years before he died at 100. From Graham’s chairmanship of the Senate judiciary committee he has taken up the defense of Trump, to unmask the dastardly conspiracy of “Obamagate” and to handle the confirmation of a justice on the supreme court, to pack it with a conservative majority for a generation to come. But just at this consummate moment of his career, events have conspired to dissolve his facade and expose his flagrant hypocrisy. His presumed strength has turned into his vulnerability. Worse, in Washington, where the press has treated him for more than 20 years like the genial star of the comedy club, he has become an object of ridicule.

In British political discourse, a figure like Graham would be described with the seemingly enigmatic phrase of “reverse ferret”, applied to a politician who takes a dramatic and often contorted U-turn. According to the classic work Lying, by Sissela Bok, the word “hypocrisy” has its origins in Greek theater, as the slanted reply of an actor to the action on the stage. “Its present meaning is: the assumption of a false appearance of virtue or goodness, with dissimulation of real characters or inclinations.” The hypocrite deceives in order to be perceived as virtuous. His dishonesty is in the service of an image of honesty.

“Graham Has Always Been More Than Complicit with Liars Like Trump, Not Simply as an Enabler”

Unlike Trump, Graham is not a pathological liar, but his mendacity fits the category of “duping delight” as defined by Bok: “It evokes the excitement, allure, challenge that lying can involve.” For Graham, it’s the thrill of the illicit done in public, creating a suspension of disbelief, the skill of the actor. Graham has always been more than complicit with liars like Trump, not simply as an enabler. From the beginning, well before Trump, he has advanced his career through hypocrisy as his chief means of ambition, knowingly engaging in deceit, adopting a false attitude to win praise and applause as a truth-teller.

The political tasks Trump has delegated to Graham, intended as rescue operations at the close of the presidential campaign, have become showcases for how Graham’s hypocrisy threatens his political life. He squirms in the spotlight he has sought.

On 30 September, Graham called former FBI director James Comey before the judiciary committee as a witness, to somehow prove the “Obamagate” conspiracy theory. According to that inverted theory, the intelligence community’s investigation of Russian interference in the 2016 presidential election to assist Trump was really a plot against Trump. Graham sprayed out multiple falsehoods and distortions to create the impression of a vast conspiracy. One part had already been investigated by the intelligence community inspector general and almost all of it dismissed as untrue. Another piece of the theory, that Hillary Clinton’s campaign contrived the entire story about Trump and Russia to distract from her emails and somehow manipulated the intelligence community, had already been discredited as Russian disinformation.

Graham bore down on Comey, demanding answers about “Hillary Clinton’s approval of a plan concerning US presidential candidate Donald Trump and Russian hackers hampering US elections as a means of distracting the public from her use of a private email server”. To which Comey replied, deadpan: “That doesn’t ring any bells with me.” Graham excitedly harassed him. “Let’s just end with this, you get this inquiry from the intelligence committee to look at the Clinton campaign basically trying to create a distraction, accusing Trump of being a Russian agent or a Russian stooge or whatever to distract from her email server problems …”

“I’m sorry, senator,” Comey replied. “Is there a question?”

Graham and Trump during a campaign rally at the North Charleston Coliseum, in February. Photograph: Al Drago/EPA

Graham’s nonsense was not particularly helpful in laying the publicity groundwork for the potential October surprise of a report from John Durham, the US attorney from Connecticut, named by the attorney general, William Barr, as a special prosecutor to investigate the alleged anti-Trump plot. To Trump’s fury, Barr leaked that the report would not be forthcoming before the election. The planned explosion was a fizzle. “Unless Bill Barr indicts these people for crimes,” Trump railed on 8 October, “the greatest political crime in the history of our country, then we’re going to get little satisfaction unless I win and we’ll just have to go, because I won’t forget it.” That revenge might encompass Lindsey Graham, too, for failing to execute the smear.

On the matter of how the FBI obtained the notorious dossier on Trump’s Russian connections, written by former MI6 officer Christopher Steele. Graham’s manufactured zealotry should have been more earnestly directed toward a cross-examination of himself. The facts are that in late 2016, after Trump’s election, John McCain, Graham’s mentor, disturbed at what he had heard about Trump’s Russian ties, sent an aide, David Kramer, a Russia expert, to London to retrieve the dossier from Steele. In March 2019, after McCain’s death, Trump trashed McCain, saying, “I’m not a fan” and explaining that McCain was the one who gave the dossier to the FBI for “very evil purposes”. But there was an additional subplot. McCain did not act alone.

He asked Graham what he should do with the damaging information. “And I told him,” Graham recounted to reporters, “the only thing I knew to do with it, it could be a bunch of garbage, it could be true, who knows? Turn it over to somebody whose job it is to find these things out, and John McCain acted appropriately.”

That bit of Graham’s own history was never mentioned at his own hearing. He seemed a caricature of the lyrics of Bob Dylan’s Talkin’ John Birch Paranoid Blues:

“Well, I fin’ly started thinkin’ straight

When I run outa things to investigate

Couldn’t imagine doin’ anything else

So now I’m sittin’ home investigatin’ myself!

Hope I don’t find out anything.”

Graham’s risible hypocrisy on “Obamagate”, however, has been overshadowed by a more spectacular case. In 2016, Graham followed the lockstep order of Mitch McConnell, the Republican Senate majority leader, to deny Barack Obama’s nominee to the supreme court, federal judge Merrick Garland, a hearing and committee vote, on the invented doctrine that a president should not be permitted to propose a justice in his last year in office.

“He’s a very nice man,” said Graham about Garland, “… very honest, very capable judge.” But, no dice.

Graham elevated McConnell’s raw cynicism into a constitutional principle. “I want you to use my words against me,” he said. “If there’s a Republican president in 2016 and a vacancy occurs in the last year of the first term, you can say Lindsey O Graham said, ‘Let’s let the next president, whoever it might be, make that nomination.’ And you could use my words against me, and you’d be absolutely right.”

In 2018, with Trump in office, Graham underscored his self-incriminating pledge. He chose his favored venue of the Atlantic festival, where his transfixing hayseed act has been a perennial marquee attraction.

“Now, I’ll tell you this,” he said, pointing his finger. “This may make you feel better, but I really don’t care. If an opening comes in the last year of President Trump’s term and the primary process has started, we’ll wait till the next election.”

“You’re on the record,” his interlocutor, Jeffrey Goldberg, editor of the Atlantic, reminded him.

“Hold the tape,” said Graham. Then, he blurted out a non-sequitur to suggest his next topic and broad expertise: “North Korea.” The audience burst into laughter. (Now, the Never Trumper Lincoln Project is running an ad featuring that tape in an endless feedback loop.)

“Graham’s Antic Hypocrisy Seems Confounding to Some Who Previously Admired Him When He Was a Camp Follower of McCain”

Graham’s antic hypocrisy seems confounding to some who previously admired him when he was a camp follower of McCain’s anti-Putin foreign policy. “Why?” beseeches Anne Applebaum, a former neoconservative turned Never Trumper, about Graham’s transmogrification into complicit Trump enabler, comparing his turn to collaborators with Nazi and communist regimes.

“In this negative sense, collaborator is closely related to another set of words: collusion, complicity, connivance. This negative meaning gained currency during the second world war, when it was widely used to describe Europeans who cooperated with Nazi occupiers. At base, the ugly meaning of collaborator carries an implication of treason: betrayal of one’s nation, of one’s ideology, of one’s morality, of one’s values.”

But Graham did not set out to become a collaborator and traitor when he announced his candidacy in June 2015 for the Republican nomination for president. He pledged he would restore Ronald Reagan’s cold war approach of “Peace Through Strength” and excoriated “Obama/Clinton policies” for weakness against our “enemies”. He was running as a kind of proxy for McCain. Like nearly everything else in his political career, his pose wound up becoming a setup for hypocrisy.

By the fall of 2015, Graham told every reporter whose ear he could bend that he would lay his life on the line to prevent “nutjob” and “jackass” Donald Trump from seizing the nomination. Graham’s campaign had failed to spark the slightest interest. His poll ratings could not break 1%. In the early debates he was demoted to what he called “the kids’ table”, excluded from the big boys’ main stage, and after registering invisibility in a qualifying poll was dropped even from there. Humiliated and broke, he desperately needed to sustain his status in the capital. But he still had access to the social network of Washington journalists, his base constituency, always available to be entertained with his private animadversions of other politicians.

Graham with Jim Gilmore, Rick Perry and Bobby Jindal at a ‘kids’ table’ debate in Cleveland in August 2015. Photograph: Brian Snyder/Reuters

Graham quickly found a relevant role that allowed him to hold the attention he craved: the anti-Trump whisperer. He had learned the lesson long ago when he gained entrée to the Washington press corps as an inside dopester to feed the inside dopesters. With his round boyish face, short height and restless gestures he developed a comedic routine in which he portrayed himself as an innocent who had just stepped out of a brothel to tell us with bug-eyed astonishment about the scenes of debauchery he had somehow stumbled across. To perfect his Huckleberry Finn imitation, one off-kilter wisecrack after another, he always finishes with a trademark darting look of complicit knowing and a smile to seal approval.

As reporters related, during Graham’s anti-Trump phase, his hilarious outtakes described Trump as the Beast threatening western civilization that he, Lindsey Graham, would single-handedly destroy, St George against the dragon. On and on he went, as usual, eliciting laughter, attention and nodding heads, though not votes.

Graham’s public denunciations of Trump went from grim to grimmer. “Go to hell,” he said in March 2016. “I think his campaign’s built on xenophobia, race-bating and religious bigotry.” He soon raised the stakes: “What I see is a demagogue, somebody that has solutions that will never work, that is playing on people’s prejudices and dark side of politics.” When Trump stated in April 2016 that he would deal with Putin as a reasonable partner, Graham was apoplectic. He called Trump’s statement “unnerving,” “pathetic” and “scary”. “Our enemies will enjoy this; our friends have got to be scared to death. It’s nonsensical, it makes no sense. He has no understanding of the world and the role we play.” In May, he tweeted: “If we nominate Trump, we will get destroyed … and we will deserve it.” In June, after Trump had wrapped up the primaries, he said: “I would like to support our nominee, I just can’t.”

Graham’s close association with McCain was the critical event in his makeover. Graham was an air force lawyer who was never a top gun but McCain was the genuine article: a war hero, the preeminent voice of the Republican party for a hardline foreign policy, especially toward Putin’s Russia, and a presidential nominee.

Even before his tagging after McCain, Graham demonstrated a penchant for trailing strong men. In the House of Representatives, elected in the Republican wave of 1994, Graham first attached himself to Newt Gingrich, the radical reactionary speaker who early perfected the toxic politics of polarization. But Gingrich’s erratic character, a prefiguring of Trump, triggered an internal revolt. Graham was one of the rebels who conspired against Gingrich for the crime of being too moderate toward Bill Clinton. Toppling Gingrich, and doing the bidding of the ruthless and corrupt majority leader Tom DeLay, Graham advanced as a House manager in the impeachment, where he performed a histrionic role running up the scales to a high pitch.

“You know, where I come from, any man calling a woman at 2am is up to no good,” he said.

I encountered Graham in his impeachment phase when I was subpoenaed as a witness in the Senate trial. When I entered the Senate hearing room to be questioned, Graham shook my hand and said, “If there’s anyone here who wants to be here less than you, it’s me. That’s right, I’m, we’re, on the wrong side of history.” Graham’s shambolic performance irritated the Republican “judge”, Senator Arlen Spector, a former prosecutor, who repeatedly admonished him. Finally, Spector chided Graham: “We’re still looking for that laser.” Graham quickly ended and bounded over to me to shake hands and say: “Listen, when this is over, when you’re going to introduce a patients’ bill of rights, would you let me be the co-sponsor?” He shook the hand of my wife, Jackie, saying: “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say.”

Sometime later, I ran into a friend of Graham’s, Representative Mary Bono, Sonny’s widow, a Republican from California, who cheerfully told me: “Lindsey sure had a good time making fun of your name.” Was Graham an anti-Semite, as she implied? Of course not. He was play-acting, all just in “fun”.

Graham’s impeachment frolics, however, left a residue of a future hypocrisy. In 1999, he argued: “In every trial that there has ever been in the Senate regarding impeachment, witnesses were called.” But in the impeachment trial of Donald Trump, Graham was in the forefront insisting that witnesses, especially former national security adviser John Bolton, not be called. “If we seek witnesses, then we’re going to throw the country into chaos,” he said. Graham’s contradiction was symmetrical to his reverse ferret on supreme court appointments. The running thread of his consistency is his hypocrisy from one side of the Capitol to another.

Elected to the Senate in 2002, in his quest for a more serious persona, Graham fastened himself to McCain. “Lindsey for some reason had sort of a man-crush on John McCain,” said his friend, Senator Steve Largent, Republican of Oklahoma. One southern senator confided to me that he and a number of his colleagues had dubbed Graham “Little Brother”. Graham trotted after the larger than life McCain like a spaniel. In McCain’s presence, “Little Brother” tried to puff himself up as big, too. But the senator I spoke with dismissively waved him away as a chronic self-aggrandizer and hypocrite, and flicked away Graham’s foreign policy talk as aspirational clichés.

Hillary Clinton was then a senator from New York, and at her initiative and to his initial surprise she approached Graham, and they wound up co-sponsoring healthcare legislation for members of the national guard. She was another bigger and stronger figure. He had a kind of crush on her, too. In 2006, he wrote an article for Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People issue to praise her as a “smart, prepared, serious senator”, with whom he had found “common ground”.

Most importantly, Hillary was a friend of McCain, augmenting the looming shadow. Together they all traveled abroad on congressional trips, when Hillary and McCain famously closed down bars with shots of vodka. Graham, strictly the “Little Brother”, claimed he abjured the hard stuff. “I was drinking water, pretending it was vodka,” he said. “I had to go to the bathroom, before they stopped drinking.” But one of those present told me he would sometimes nurse a glass of white wine. His teetotaling was a little white lie – a sauvignon blanc lie.

“When Hillary Became Secretary of State, Graham Was Effusive in His Praise.”

When Hillary became secretary of state, Graham was effusive in his praise. In 2012, he stated she was “a good role model, one of the most effective secretary of states [sic], greatest ambassadors for the American people that I have known in my lifetime” and “extremely well-respected throughout the world, handles herself in a very classy way, and has a work ethic second to none”.

But, preparing for his campaign for the Republican nomination, Graham blamed her for the killing of the US ambassador to Libya in a terrorist attack at Benghazi. “Hillary Clinton got away with murder in my view,” he said.

Graham’s brief presidential campaign in 2016 was like the proverbial tree in the forest that no one heard fall. Getting out, his endorsement of Jeb Bush was weightless. After Bush disappeared, Graham moved down the food chain to endorse Ted Cruz. After Cruz washed out, he was left face-to-face with the Beast. Graham gave Hillary a shout-out. “Hillary,” he said, about Middle East policy, “If you get to be president, I’ll help you where I can.” Still the jokester, he wished above all to be seen as a wise man. He was positioning himself to be Hillary’s “Little Brother”. But after Trump won he would befriend the Beast. Graham decided he was not a dragon slayer, after all.

John McCain and Graham at Sather Air Base in Baghdad, March 2008. Photograph: Reuters

“Little Brother” justified his Trump whispering as a grown-up offering his wisdom to guide the naïve newcomer. But it was more than half an excuse for being in the room where it supposedly happens, except in Trump’s room nobody but Trump matters. Trump enabled Graham to think of himself as one of the grown-ups, huddling with the other adults in the room, cheek by jowl with John Kelly and James Mattis, while they enabled Trump. “I think Lindsey feels a little bit like the adult in the room, speaking with the president,” Steve Largent explained. “[T]here’s something about, I’m not going to say innocence, but the president’s affability as well as his naïveté that Lindsey is drawn to.”

Graham’s relationship with Trump flourished from the date McCain was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Basking in Trump’s presence, Graham happily demeaned himself. Trump, he said, “beat me like a dog” in the 2016 primaries. Before a Republican gathering, he demanded unquestioning loyalty. “To every Republican, if you don’t stand behind this president, we’re not going to stand behind you,” he said. Graham argued that unstinting support for Trump extended beyond any policy issue but required embrace of Trump’s view of himself as a victim of his host of enemies. “It’s not just about a wall. It’s about him being treated different than any other president.”

“The Greatest Pressure on Graham Was That Trump Hated McCain.”

Graham confessed to Mark Leibovich of the New York Times it has all been just an act. “This,” he said, “is to try to be relevant.” How could anyone blame a self-professed hypocrite for his hypocrisy? But he and Trump were also secret sharers as entertainers, playing on hypocrisy. “The point with Trump is,” Graham said, “he’s in on the joke.” But there was something even more alluring. “I have never been called this much by a president in my life. It’s weird, and it’s flattering, and it creates some opportunity. It also creates some pressure.”

The greatest pressure on Graham was that Trump hated McCain. “He lost, so I never liked him as much after that, because I don’t like losers,” Trump said. He went on to denigrate McCain’s captivity as a prisoner of war and torture by the North Vietnamese: “He’s not a war hero. He’s a war hero because he was captured. I like people that weren’t captured.”

“I don’t like what he says about John McCain,” Graham shrugged. “But when we play golf, it’s fun.” He was moving on.

Graham has seemingly shed several skins, but that’s the illusion of the reflected light of the larger figures he has sought out. Contrary to those who measure his character only from his distance from McCain to Trump, he has evolved from hypocrisy to hypocrisy while remaining remarkably the same underlying person he was as an attention-seeking little boy. In 2015, he self-published a short memoir about his early life. He described spending much of his time in the bar his father owned, the Sanitary Café, trying to entertain the white working-class men who frequented it.

“But when the place started to fill in and liven up, I would get my act going,” he wrote. “I would strut around the place, sometimes dressed as a cowboy – hat, vest and plastic six shooters. I might get up on the bar and walk up and down it while talking to folks. When customers went to the restroom, I might steal their beer and chug it. I might smoke their cigarette, too, if they left it burning in the ashtray. Those were antics that earned me the nickname, ‘Stinkball’, which everyone in the bar except my parents called me.”

Graham’s autobiography movingly recounts the illnesses and deaths of his mother and father from cancer. He ends his book as a Republican candidate winning his seat in the South Carolina state legislature at the start of his political career. It makes him wish his parents could have seen his triumph.

Trump, Graham, North Carolina, March 2020. Photograph: Carlos Barría/Reuters

On 28 July 2017, John McCain, in his last act of bravery, strode to the well of the Senate and turned his thumb down to cast the deciding vote against the Republican bill to replace the Affordable Care Act. Graham voted the other way. He had crusaded for years to repeal Obamacare. Yet the ACA would have offered early detection and treatment of the kind of cancers that killed his parents. McCain died a year later.

Graham gave one of the eulogies at the memorial service at the National Cathedral. Trump did not attend. When McCain announced days before his death he was refusing further medical help, Trump alone among prominent officials in Washington had not sent well wishes. Out in the audience sat his daughter and son-in-law, Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner. Graham had arranged to get them tickets to the funeral.

“Hold the tape. North Korea.” (Laughter)

— Sidney Blumenthal, former senior adviser to President Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton, has published three books of a projected five-volume political life of Abraham Lincoln: A Self-Made Man, Wrestling With His Angel and All the Powers of Earth

— This article was amended on 12 October 2020. An earlier version misidentified the Atlantic Festival, where Graham made his remarks about a late-term supreme court confirmation, as the “Aspen Ideas Festival”.

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

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The Raven King, Chapter 2 – The Parent Trap: Angst Edition

In which the Foxes are Sad, we unlock level 2 of Aaron and Andrew’s tragic backstory, some wild speculations are formed, classic sports drama tropes are embraced, and Fight Club is brought up yet another fucking time.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

Neil expected the upperclassmen to say something about [Aaron’s remark about Higgins telling him he had a brother] when they put the court walls between themselves and Wymack, but apparently they shared Wymack’s tact. They flicked curious looks at Aaron and Nicky from time to time but no one pushed for an explanation.

We are once again reminded that this team is, in fact, The Fucking Best.

Y’all may be trainwrecks with various degrees of viciousness and assholeness, but you know when to not ask questions. <3

When practice is over, they go back to their dorms, collecting a stray psychopath on the way:

Andrew sat cross-legged on the curb, hands on his ankles as he watched their approach.

“You shouldn’t be outside if you’re coming down with something,” Kevin said.

“Such concern.” Andrew grinned at Kevin’s cool tone. “Don’t cry, Kevin. It’s nothing a nap and some vitamin C can’t fix.”

Oh yeah, Andrew made some funny remarks about being ~sick~ in order to miss practice last chapter. I sort of missed commenting on that. I’m sorry.

Also, #me whenever I’m sick. Goddammit, Andrew, stop being relatable, this really isn’t very comforting.

Andrew doesn’t leave us much time to think about anything, though, as he vanishes off with Renee as soon as they arrive – which seems to displease everyone apart from me, once again.

Goalie BFFS for LIFE. <33

Aside from this rather fun things, though, we are once again reminded that yes, a not insignificant part of this team (and, partially, circle of friends) did just die a week ago.

[Matt] stared at the key ring in his free hand like he’d forgotten which one would let him in.

“He was such an asshole,” Matt said quietly.

“I know,” Dan said.

Let’s get real here for a second: This is a very, very interesting exchange. Like, you’re overwhelmed with anxiety and grief at the thought of going back into a place you inhabited together with a friend who is now dead, and that’s what you say? How he was an asshole? I’m not even taking the piss here, I’m legitimately questioning why Nora would have him bring that up in that moment.

My interpretation is that this is Matt’s way of not being ready yet to voice his grief, so he instinctively covers it up with a negative remark, although of course his tone shows how sad he is and how little he means it. There is a “… but he was also my friend” floating unsaid in it, a “… but he still didn’t deserve this.”

I’m very, very interested in how you read this comment, though, so do message me! Let’s keep the seth discourse alive and well.

Matt sucked in a slow breath and finally unlocked the door. He pushed the door open, then flinched back from the doorway and clutched harder at Dan’s hand.

My Tol sad son P R O T E C T H I M.

Going back into the dorm, they discover that apparently, people hadn’t just moved out Seth’s belongings, they even took is goddamn furniture. Jeez. Way to be thorough.

It was like Seth had never been here, like he’d never existed at all.

Neil wondered if he would disappear so easily.

Ahhhh yes, the Josten Angst™, much-praised and always appropriate.

I feel like this goes without saying, but I just realized I’ve never mentioned this, do I need to spell it out? OBVIOUSLY he’s not gonna fucking bail like he plans to, who are we the fuck kidding, as if. He’s gonna realize they’re his family and shit and he’s gonna stop running and fight, for them and for himself and for his oh-so-bright future. and it’s all gonna be beautifully tragic and sports-drama-y predictable in the best possible way.

I seriously can’t wait.

(Side note: Something being predictable doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it, and even be excited for what’s going to happen. Just take fanfic. You know damn well those idiots will end up with each other, it literally says so in the description, but still we’re all clutching our phones scrolling frantically like oh shit oh shit what’s going to happen next. Just saying.)

In other news: IT’S BACKSTORY TIME.

I’m aware this ain’t nothing yet. This is like, level 2 backstory with 847589 more to come, and a boss battle at the end of every second one. STILL.

“Why didn’t Aaron know he had a brother?” (…)

“They’re twins,“ Nicky said. He waited for them to catch on, looked from one blank face to another, and frowned in disbelief. “Think about it for a sec, would you? Imagine you’re my Aunt Tilda. How eager would you be to tell Aaron you gave up his brother at birth? She hoped that secret would stay buried forever.”

Yeah, and I still don’t get that. Why did she have to give him up?? There is just no logical explanation so far??

The only things I can think of are:

She didn’t have the means to care for two children (the only acceptable option)

She didn’t want to care for two children and pulled a massive dick move

Andrew was sick/at risk of having mental health issues at birth and she pulled a massive dick move, although I’m pretty sure you can’t tell that this early?

Combination: Both of them were sick/ at risk of having mental health issues at birth, and she didn’t want to care for both of them, pulling a massive dick move. Still: Since when can you determine mental health risks at birth?

Bonus: She already knew he was going to be a gigantic asshole later in life and pulled a massive dick move YIKES her parents should have given her up at birth as well then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

No matter what the actual explanation ends up being, I’m already not a fan of this woman.

So apparently, Tilda Minyard met Officer Higgins on tinder (lololol), he coincidentally met Aaron and of course the whole shebang Mommy was trying to hide was brought to light. Fate and shit.

Did she at least try to make things right afterwards?

“She told the fosters she didn’t want anything to do with Andrew, didn’t want to know what he was like or how he was doing, nothing. She even made them promise not to contact her ever again.”

Yeah, no, what the fuck???????? Seriously, did you birth the literal antichrist or what the fuck is going on with you and not wanting to even acknowledge the existence of your OWN FUCKING CHILD.

“Aaron found the PAL coordinators and gave them his information to give to Andrew. Two weeks later he got a letter in the mail that basically said ‘Fuck you, go away’.”

I’d like to voice a litany of ‘what the fuck’ here as well but we already know Andrew and this is actually completely in character.

Still, what a fucking dick move as well. I feel sorry for Aaron. Like, your mother doesn’t let you see your own twin brother, even denied his existence all your life, and said twin brother doesn’t help you one bit, instead tells you to fuck off, see you never. And now you have to spend every single day with that dude who outright told you he doesn’t care you were separated all your life?

I’d become a bitchy distant weirdo after that, too.

End of story: Aaron couldn’t contact Andrew again later as he went to juvie, when he got out Nicky’s dad bullied Tilda into bringing Andrew home, and the twins have been stuck with each other ever since. That was about three years ago.

No wonder they’re so cold with each other. Holy shit.

Side note: Both Nicky and Dan referred to Officer ‘Pig’ Higgins as “Phil” on the last few pages, yet I went back and it’s literally never said that that’s his name? Is it simply an editorial error or do they both know him from their previous lives oOOOHH interesting, let’s keep it in mind in case it comes up later again.

Somehow Nicky and Kevin ended up eating dinner with them. It was the first time since the upperclassmen moved to campus in June that Neil had seen any of Andrew’s lot socialize with the rest of the team.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s at that very moment Dan brings up something I’ve been secretly thinking for the longest time.

The foxes had been a fractured mess from day one. But when summer practices started, ninety percent of conflict on court began with Seth. Seth was always ready for a fight with Kevin and the cousins. (…) It constantly forced the Foxes to take sides. (…)

Dan put her hands on Neil’s shoulders and fixed him with an intent look. “Don’t go so deep you forget about us, okay? Put one foot in their rabbit hole and keep the other up here with us. You’ve got to be the piece that finally brings this team together. We can’t make it to championships without them.”

EXACTLY. Neil is – involuntarily – the best shot they have at finally getting into the realms of functioning teamwork. He gets along with Matt and Dan as they seem to like him (and he would be a fucking idiot to ditch them okay they’re the bEST) and obviously the monsters have adopted him as well now. Ergo: Stop angst-ing on about how you’re going to ~leave this team~ and start realising this is your fucking wonderful fuckup family now, and it’s your chance to bring it together.

This is a textbook sports drama trope – outsider makes dysfunctional team great through the Power of Friendship – and I love the fuck out of it.

They made it sound easy when Neil knew it wasn’t. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dan said, squeezing his shoulders once before letting go. “That’s all we ask.”

Why is Dan so great, seriously. They really could not have a better captain. <3

Moving on to more fun topics: Dan and Matt find out Neil has been taking way more classes than he should and will probably get academic burn-out before they even get close to the Ravens, which makes Dan go into Concerned Mum Mode immediately.

“When I was in high school I worked an overnight job, went to school, and captained my high school Exy team. It made me hate everything about my life. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.”

Dan <333

“Thank you,” Neil said.

“Don’t thank us, remember us,” Dan said. “We’re your teammates. We’re here to help you with whatever you need, whether it’s this or games or general stress. We’ve all got different experiences, but we’re used to needing help. We’re just not used to getting it. But you’ve got us now.”

DAN <33333333333333333

Forreal @God @the universe @Nora Sakavic why did you let me not appreciate her properly before the girl is a TREASURE.

Speaking of treasured girls I love too much: Murder snowflake is back!!

And murder snowflake is… Hurt?!

Neil wondered what alternate universe he’d stumbled into. “Andrew hit you.”

“A couple times,” Renee said. “I forgot how fast he is when he’s high.”

WHAT.

“Renee and Andrew are sparring partners,” Matt said.

FUCK YES.

THEY’RE SPARRING PARTNERS THIS IS LITERALLY THE BEST THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME TODAY.

I want a billion Fight Club AUs now where Andrew and Renee spar in the weirdest of places, quickly attracting a crowd of youngins with bottled up rage inside them wanting to learn how to fight, yet instead of the whole thing blowing up and becoming criminal and fucked-up they just teach them how to punch and box and do a lil bit of martial arts, and even though everyone thinks they’re weird AF they’re the best teachers in the whole city.

Side note: That thought was mostly inspired by this bomb ass fanart I found the other day, not knowing it had any base in canon, I thought it was just a great AU. (Seriously, I cannot get over it. It’s so great.)

Also, I’d say I’m sorry for talking about Fight Club so much, but honestly that film is a masterpiece and anyone who says otherwise can exist stage left. I know tumblr likes to hate on the pretentious nerd-fuckboys who think they’re ~special~ and ~deep~ for liking it, and I’m all for that, but seriously the film itself is AMAZING.

Ahem. Moving on.

“I am a born-again, Neil. Andrew is not interested in my faith; he is interested in the person I was before. He and I have more in common than you think. That is why I make you uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Ohh, homegirl is smart. She knows you’re avoiding her, ya idiot, you’re not as subtle as you think.

Also, CALLED IT. Cannot wait till we find out how many axe murders exactly she has hidden in her basement. I know I say this a lot, but her backstory is the one I’m most most most excited for.

“I don’t understand you.”

“You could ask,” Renee said.

YES PLEASE DO.

“Is it really that easy?” Neil asked.

“I’m not proud of my past, but I can’t heal if I hide it. When you think you are ready to trust me, let me know. I don’t want it to be a problem between us. We can get a cup of coffee and talk about anything you like.”

Did somebody say BACKSTORY UNLOCKING COFFEE DATE because fuck me the fuck up and count me the fuck in.

Dear God, this got long. I’m sorry. Whee!!

---

Quick info: Sunday’s update will come Monday night as I’m visiting a friend in Leipzig over the weekend and won’t be able to write! I’m very excited though, we’re going to a bunch of museums and will possibly wear cosplay while doing so because we’re NERDS it’s gonna be GREAT //storms off

#trk #the raven king #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #reblog if ya fancy #those help me out the most #seriously why is this so long barely anything happens apart from the lil backstory thing #hope u like!!!!

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