#but what i really liked about this essay was the way it explored the innate monstrosity of your body | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-resurrection-3d · 2 years ago

Text

Decided to post the essay I wrote a few days ago. Of course, this isn't meant to shit on anyone, but to work through my feelings on TOH's themes and how I see the fandom working through them.

TOH has a very – let’s say uneasy relationship with its fantasy elements—or at least, that’s how the fandom has received them. I just saw someone talking about how Luz shouldn’t have gotten a Palisman of her own because she “doesn’t need to look any more like Azura,” considering that Luz’s whole thing at the beginning of the series was needing to better “tell fantasy from reality.” But I feel like that’s only getting half the point—the issue with not being able to tell fantasy from reality rests, as the series argues, with expecting the world to cater to you and then lashing out when it doesn’t.

The series makes this most clear with Belos, who rejects the traditional high fantasy genre signifiers as spiritual pollutants and yet is living in as much of a fantasy world as Luz was. “[He needs] to be the hero of his own delusion” locates Belos’s major flaw—in a character way and in a thematic way—in his refusal to see himself as just another part of the world, rather than its center. All of this is spoken to us directly by the embodiment of the Boiling Isles and its magic. This character flaw is then reinforced by how Belos gets defeated and starts rambling on about how humans are innately “better than this” Because Reasons.

I think part of this disconnect might be happening because we’re used to anti-escapist stories rejecting the fantasy world in its entirety. For example, Ready Player One ends with the reveal that the creator of the VR world—it was called the OASIS, wasn’t it?—regretted not spending enough time in the “real world,” and the main character rectifies this by enforcing a weekly one-day service outage. Even though the book explores reasons why people would want to escape into the VR fantasy, including escaping the confines of marginalized identity categories like gender and race, it still asserts that you’re missing out by leaving the “real world” behind. I think also of modern fantasy stories with creatures like vampires and werewolves that bend over backwards to justify why being a human is still totally the best option— “Be glad of your human heart, Feyre,” and so on. Even in series where the human main character becomes inhuman, it’s often through force—characters like Feyre and Elena Gilbert are killed and then revived as monsters, but only Bella Swan actively wants to become one. (It really is the equal-but-opposite response to the question Robert McRuer says is asked of disabled people IRL in his article about compulsory able-bodiedness: “Yeah, but in the end, wouldn’t you rather be like me?” In both cases—whether disabled or super-abled—the normate, abled, “regular” human position has to be reinforced as the ideal.)

And let’s be real, it’s all cope. We can agree it’s just cope, right? But even besides that, I think we also need to keep in mind that, contrary to what internet discourse would have you believe, subverting tropes is not good writing in and of itself — subversion and deconstruction need to be ways of creating meaning within the work, rather than the meaning itself.

I think, then, we can see TOH’s conversation with escapism from s1 to s3 as a way of asking, “What parts of our childhood should we keep?” In Luz’s case, like in many of our own childhoods, the fantasy elements are from the actual fantasy genre because Luz wants to imagine a bigger life for herself than Earth allows, one that is scary and dangerous but in the end still caters to her/us. (See also Freud’s concept of the family romance, wherein a child dreams that their parents aren’t their “real” parents and that their “real” parents are magic space fairy royalty who will one day reclaim their child and everything will be awesome forever.)

In episodes like “Witches Before Wizards,” these genre signifiers provide Luz with a set kind of “script” for how she believes interactions should go—the disappointment and restlessness she feels in the episode is from the fact that it’s not catered to her just because she’s there, in a similar way that Belos believes humans are better just Because They Are. Worth noting that even in that episode, the “reality” Luz needs to learn to accept is still based in a fantasy setting—signaling that the word “fantasy” in “differentiate fantasy from reality” should not be about the genre or the act of consuming fantasy in and of itself. Season three then literalizes this with The Collector turning people into puppets and acting out “The Owl House” as a game with suffering participants.

Conversely, season three adds more nuance by revealing that Luz’s hyperfixation stems from her relationship with her father. The season does a lot to explore the relationship-building potential of fiction, from Amity suggesting her and Luz dress as Hecate and Azura to the reveal that Camila is a secret Trekkie.

A fellow autistic person once described their special interest not just as something they’re obsessed with, but as part of how they processed the world. We can see this kinda play out in Camila’s conversation with Luz right before Stringbean hatches: she says she has forgotten the “Astral Oath” and responds to Luz’s question of her being a “secret nerd” with the admission that she shouldn’t have let her own fears of and experiences with being non-conforming compel her to try and change Luz. The Astral Oath and how it played out within Cosmic Frontier provided a framework for Camila that she admits she should have followed: “My biggest mistake was trying to protect you by changing this beautiful, good witch into something she wasn’t.” The best things about Luz are also the things that make her more drawn to the fantasy genre.

The rampant egoism of the genre should be left behind, the show says, but not the good lessons and the relationships you’ve built from it.

This anti-egoism does, of course, run up against the fact that Luz is still the main character. If Luz getting a Palisman makes her too much like Azura and therefore undermines the message, then honestly I don’t see how the final battle itself isn’t just a colossal fuck-up. Not even in the sense that Luz got Titan magic, which I have seen people say is now suddenly Luz being A Chosen One all along, but in the sense that Luz straight up shouldn’t have been in the final battle at all. (Honestly, if you want YA with a good anti-egoism message imparted through its structure, you’re looking for Robert Cormier’s The Chocolate War—book, not movie.)

I said on Twitter while I was reading Charlie Ledbetter’s “The Dysphoric Body Politic” that TOH has an interesting relationship with its escapism messaging because Luz DOES leave the human world. Even though she had to finish high school in the human world, the finale makes it clear that she’s been putting all of her spare energy and labor into the literal rebuild of the Boiling Isles. She entirely gives up on making a life for herself on Earth.

This isn’t super surprising, (I was always sure it would happen) but I do think it’s where the uneasiness—the messiness—between TOH and its genre comes into play. Yes, Luz needed to dial back her daydreaming and yes, her being in the demon realm ultimately led to it almost being destroyed, but it still is the worst possible ending if she doesn’t get to stay there.

In the article, Ledbetter, a transmasc who discovered themselves through fandom, writes that “Escapism is not a departure from reality. Rather, escape decenters the hegemony of oppressive systems that announce themselves as real and creates space to imagine alternatives.” And yet within the show, it’s a closed circuit—the threat to diversity and self-expression comes from the human realm, and yet there is no attempt to save it. Ledbetter, writing of fandom’s political potential, suggests using fanfic to imagine alternatives specifically so we can give ourselves the drive to try and enact them in the real world.

TOH’s sister show, Amphibia, gives us a taste of this in its finale: in the ten years since the Calamity Trio has left, the once-evil king lives out his final days planting seeds, and the girls themselves are dedicated to either educating others or creating art. They honor the memories of their childhood fantasy—Sasha with two crossing swords as a patch on her jacket and a charm dangling from her rearview mirror, Anne with her entire career—but the portal is closed. It’s not coming back.

Given everything TOH does in season three to reaffirm the value of fantasy as a lifelong interest, though, I think what it wanted to avoid suggesting, like a lot of traditional portal stories do, that the fantasy world is the world of childhood and needs to be escaped. Aslan tells Peter and Susan, after all, that they’re getting too old for Narnia. Peter and his siblings return there only in death; Susan isn’t so lucky. If Luz shouldn’t have gotten a Palisman, something which symbolizes she’s discovered a fundamental truth about herself and has “earned” her place as a Witch, then honestly she shouldn’t have been able to come back to the Boiling Isles, either. How many of us would've been happy with that?

If we want to square this with the show’s politics, I think we can read this as the show saying that, yes, there are some things you have to do as a child, but once you’re free, you aren’t obligated to stay with the society and people who won’t ever see you for who you are. In a way, Luz going back and forth between the human and demon realms parallels the teenage fantasy fan, making space in their lives for fandom as a place of joy and connection after all the boring hard “adult” work is done for the day. You don’t have to leave it behind; building outside of the system and making your life centered around your joy is hard work, yes, but worth doing.

#toh #2d nonsense

33 notes · View notes

bi-hop · 2 years ago

Note

HEY. your essay on alien shapeshifters is FANTASTIC and reminded me of a question i've had for a bit. it's about human shapeshifters who aren't Black most of the time, but do shapeshift into being Black. or really any shapeshifter who shapeshifts into a minority that they weren't born as. a lot of debates about "transracial" people like oli london are founded on the belief that race is innate, or at least that the current concept of race is unchanging. i'm white and jewish and i really don't know enough about the structure of race to know how being a shapeshifter would change being "transracial", but it's a question i would be delighted if you could explore, or at least narrow down for me so i could find sources that aren't you.

Hi! Thanks for reading my essay!

My mind definitely went to the concept of 'transracial' when I was writing; while it's predominantly used nowadays to describe people like Rachel Dolezal and Oli London, it's also been used previously to describe adoptees who are raised by people of different racial and ethnic backgrounds than themselves. As what I linked says, how the term is used nowadays has been pretty controversial among this community. In connection to comics though, there are an oddly high number of transracial adoptees who are also aliens. The Clark and Lex graphic novel coming out in early July casts the Kents as a Black couple raising a white child, Naomi McDuffie's adopted parents are white (one being also an alien), and even Augustus Freeman in the absolute loosest sense of the word could be read as a character loosely based on this phenomenon.

But back to the question at hand, which is more focused on human shapeshifters. Honestly, part of why I focused so heavily on alien shapeshifters is because the nature of a human shapeshifter and how that relates to race is a hard thing to tackle. I'm not particularly sure if I could even find the amount of panels I did for Icon and Martian Manhunter if I went looking for 'DC or Marvel human shapeshifter who changes race regularly'. And I think that's because, in today's day and age, we'd conceptualize a white shapeshifter changing to look Black for extended periods of time more as Blackface (or equivalent terms) than the sort of identification I described in what I wrote.

This article about race not being genetic is long, but I think it helps to answer the primary concern that we see race as this constant, permanent thing. It absolutely isn't. But how we define it in specific cultures at certain points in time offers more concrete snapshots while also illuminating fringe cases, such as the one linked in the essay of Ernest Cole and Trevor Noah, who details how he was classified as Coloured despite it being illegal for him to have a white father during apartheid in his autobiography Born a Crime. I haven't read the full thing, full disclaimer, just parts assigned for a college class I was in last month, but his discussion of identity on paper versus identity in the mind stood out a lot to me.

And I suppose that's where I'm at? There are papers out there defending 'transracialism' (not sure if that caught on as a term) and drawing parallels between it and being transgender, and I've never quite enjoyed acting like they're one and the same as a Black trans person, but people wanting to present themselves as other races and genuinely identifying with these racial or ethnic categories isn't exactly new. So that's identity in the mind. But I don't know, it's not like some of the examples I'm giving are utilizing this identity in benign ways. Dolezal's pretty famous for leading a branch of the NAACP, claiming people fraudulently as family members to verify her identity, falsely filing hate crime reports, and also positioning herself as a Black professor of Africana studies, which is pretty unethical to say the least. Like, I can't really control how people identify or present themselves, but I can still be critical of their intentions and if they're actively harming the communities they want to be a part of. In a fictional sense, I would also be examining it that way.

But either way, I don't think there's a big list of writers who I think could handle the idea of a human shapeshifter changing their body to match an incongruent mental racial identity with effective nuance. Hell, I don't think I'd be able to write it too well either, mainly because of my own discomfort (that I happily admit to). I think probably the best example might be Kamala Khan's early comics having her shift to look like Carol Danvers, and how that reflected the sort of insecurity and internalized self-loathing a lot of Black and brown people feel about themselves. But it wouldn't be read the same if a white Inhuman shapeshifter decided to take on Kamala's visage permanently bc they felt Pakistani.

I don't know if any of this is helpful, but I hope the sources give a good jumping off point for discussions surrounding this, and again, thanks for taking the time to read everything!

#dc meta #long post

8 notes · View notes

ghostlycoze · 1 year ago

Text

Well THIS made my terrible chronic-pain day significantly less terrible! What a pleasant surprise!! :D This absolutely made my day to get to see, I’m so honoured to see you draw my silly little headcanons and to hear you were inspired by them!

I’ve been offline for a while but itching to share some of my ideas, so this is the perfect opportunity–thank you for the invitation! (Oh, and I’m totally taking your Lilypad Essay post as an excuse to ramble about an au i've been working on called the Iterator Revolution—a lilypad-centred eventual-off-the-string AU! Buuuut I got to this one faster >:P)

Now to see if I can organise my mess of thoughts about these silly little robots…

I’m busting out the cozy tea for this one lads. [cracks knuckles]

This is almost exactly how I imagine them, although with a couple little additions that make mine just a liiiiiittle more organic (though I ADORE exploring the more mechanical parts of these guys too!!). Mainly things like innate behaviours they have that are utterly pointless aside from purely communication-based purposes; things that come instinctually to them as a result of deep rooted genetics that don’t really apply to what they are as a whole. For example, yawning! I’ve given my iterators a cute equivalent of “yawning”, which is a combination of cute antennae flutters (like when a cat stretches real hard), scrunching their faces up, usually stretching at the same time, and a deep exhale through their vents. It’s not exactly a yawn, but it's their way of being reminded of their own energy (and it's just cute~)

I feel the urge to go “Biiiiig stretch…” Whenever I imagine these little guys stretching, like you'd do with cats. Cuties, the lot of ‘em.

I imagine in my HCs that they could dream as well; as I tend to imagine their puppets hold a fair bit of the bio in their biomechanical forms, I imagine a lot of their more organic needs would shine through especially once off the string—and given the way they could run countless parallel mental processes at once, I feel like dreaming isn’t too far fetched. Just like how our brains use sleep-time to process information, maybe they only start dreaming once they’re off the string, because to process all that background information while processing active happening things at the same time could be too much now that they've been reduced to their puppets–so that's instead been moved to be a sleep-process.

And for a side dish of angst: Moon and Pebbles would probably be the most prone to nightmares. Moon with collapsing and drowning, and Pebbles with the Rot... Ouch.

Somewhat-related to their sleep (moreso cuddling), I imagine once they're off-the-string, they'd come to realise a new need of theirs is the need for touch. Almost all creatures have it, and while they’d have never known until coming off the string, they too desire it.

Maybe I’m just a sucker for comfort-fluff, but I feel like the first time any of them get to just hold each other, they’d be likely to just cry. Between having never really experienced physical touch before (I imagine maintenance from the Ancients hardly counted, they were likely “switched off” for such things anyways), being almost overwhelmed by it given their deprivation, realising how much they’ve wanted it, and realising how cruel it is that this is something they desire given they’d been caged and separated from each other… Yeah, that’s a lot of emotions for one being to have. It’s relief of what they have, and it's grief of what they should’ve had sooner.

Extending off that, another HC I vaguely remember picking up from another artist’s ideas (I’ve absolutely forgotten who, but I’ll credit when I remember!), is that they all have a sort of electromagnetic field (?), a sort of faint vibration of energy that they can feel from each other like a comforting aura of the other’s presence. Other organic creatures can’t feel it, and before they could touch in person they weren’t aware of it, and yet it’s something that becomes a big source of soothing and a hint of intimacy when iterators cuddle. Those energies almost sort of combine, like the idea of your heartbeat or breathing syncing with a loved one when holding them—and it brings a sense of familiarity, like being back in their cans when they felt the room thrum and hum with their own life force; a sense of home, found in one another. I also imagine newer gens have a stronger electromagnetic field, so it’s more noticeable and special for Moon than it is for Sig when they’re together!

Aaaand slightly less related but still wanted to mention, is iterator stimming!! Maybe it's a bit of projection, but I totally imagine these little guys need to stim, ESPECIALLY when off-the-string. Going from your loud can with 40 different processes going through your head at once, messages coming in from all over your city, an endlessly racing mind designed purely to iterate, to think. And then take all of that away. Leave nothing but a little guy who can only have the amount of mental processes you and I have (albeit likely VERY intelligent processes, but still.) Yeah, the understimulation would be hard to deal with! Everything is too quiet, they need to do something, they were never not doing something so to not constantly be busy would be difficult to adjust to! And so, they’d start stimming. Something to stimulate them, to get all of that energy out, to focus their mind on.

I feel like Sig in particular stimmed before coming off-the-string too—spun around on his rig and did little flips and swoops in the antigravity—though the others may have too. Moon, while she’d never admit it, totally loved hanging upside down now and then. She even does it in-game! Pebbles spun his pearls around, and Suns probably had their own form too, maybe even painting the wall of their chamber? (could explain where Spearmaster got their artistic flair from!)

But after getting off the string, they’d have to find new ways to stim.

Sig definitely does the handflaps, kicks his legs, will just stand and spin around if she’s particularly energetic—the more “big” stims, very obvious. (Little note: I tend to bounce between he/she pronouns for Sig, another little fun HC I picked up from a friend!)

Moon flutters her antennae a fair bit (as does Suns, though theirs can move outwards while Moon’s can only move up and down), wiggles around and bounces on her feet—cute full-body stims that aren’t super intense, but still quite obvious.

Suns moreso rotates their antennae around, but has much slower and the most subtle stims. Gently rubs their hands together and such. I honestly don't have as many ideas for them, but hopefully I'll come up with some more soon enough!

Pebbles taps his fingers on things, bounces his leg—fast yet small stims, usually that he tries to play off and hide. I wouldn’t be surprised to catch him spinning a spear around just to busy his hands. Oh, and he moves his antennae a lot—twitches his antennae wildly at pretty much any and every sound or even thought he has.

This idea is mostly because my design for him has extremely long, flexible antennae, but I like to think newer gens are very expressive with their antennae in general (when they have them… sorry Sig), since they’re far more emotionally in tune with themselves than their older counterparts. Moon and Suns struggle to understand their needs and emotions because they were seen as far more “robot” than individuals at their time of creation, plus any need would be immediately attended to by maintenance workers. For newer generations, they develop their personalities and recognise their emotions a lot faster, as a result of being allowed to be far more individual and “alive”, and also a purposeful measure so they can take care of themselves; less work for those lazy ancients! E.g. While Moon and Pebbles both overwork themselves (runs in the family, eh?), Moon is usually a result of not realising how tired she is, while Pebbles is aware but ignores it.

There’s so many ideas I have for this concept, but some main ones are:

Sig and Pebbles helping Moon and Suns unpack their feelings because it comes a lot less naturally to the two

Moon and Suns making an active effort to better learn how to express their feelings (especially romantic) to better emotionally connect with the recipients (Sig and Pebbles)

The conflict potential (that already somewhat shows in canon) of such a difference. E.g. Suns failed to properly communicate on an emotional level resulting in only furthering Pebbles’ anger in the Spearmaster campaign.

But anyways, back to their sleep habits!

The slurred speech, the devolving into basic beeps for communication, saying silly sleepy-nonsense, that’s all totally how I imagine it!

In fact I have a whole scene idea of Sig and Pebbles bonding when Pebbles is very sleepy, and it’s actually the basis of my “Pebbles is a noodlefly” joke. While I’ve yet to draw it, the basis is:

NSH: You know, you remind me a lot of noodleflies. Pink, long face…

FP: Mmm… Rude…

NSH: Oh, quit being so moody. You’re a grouch even when you’re exhausted.

FP: … [Sleepily honks like a noodlefly, in an attempt to prove he can play along with jokes]

NSH: Ha – HA! No way, did you just honk!?

FP: Shhhut up… Too loud…

NSH: Pfft— Sorry, sorry… Get some rest, ya’ noot.

It becomes a big inside joke for the two. On the occasion Sig’s in need of some cheering up, Pebbles will cast aside his pride and honk to make him laugh.

Anyways, back to sleepy-HCs. I imagine iterators needed sleep when attached to their cans, though significantly less. Like any computer, if you leave it running forever, it’ll eventually overheat or begin to wear down–so some down-time is needed! Though that need for rest is significantly more important considering the amount of exertion being used by their puppets. While I headcanon the iterators are remarkably strong given their metal bodies, they’re probably not the most fit given they’ve never gone for a walk in their lives! Until their muscles (whether those be organic, mechanical, or some kind of metal-meat mushy mix!) get used to it, they’re gonna be sore and tired after their first cycles of off-the-string life.

I adore the way you incorporated their models into these headcanons too, I definitely imagine Moon is one of the sleepiest given her older design. And she DEFINITELY holds some guilt there as a result—frankly, my hc-moon tends to struggle with a fair bit of guilt after suddenly becoming what she feels like is a “burden” after so long of being the strongest senior that everyone could lean on. Between her ailments as a result of her collapse (chronic fatigue, sensitivity to stimuli, a vocal glitch, etc.), her general inefficiencies due to being an older design, and her phobias she’s developed after all she's been through (mainly of water and heights), she does need a lot of help. (I might make a little post on my HCs for her post-collapse side effects later! Though I did ramble about her sensory issues a little here if you'd like to see!)

I think generally that’s something they all struggle with. Needs. While thankfully they don't need to worry about needs of food and such, sleep would generally be their most vulnerable state and need (minus emotional needs). Moon needs the most help with sleep (just like your ideas!), and usually goes to Sig for comfort and cuddles, though I like to think she’s quite affectionate with everyone.

Suns and Moon have the most vague relationship in my eyes, so a while back I made it my mission to explore that. Running off of Sig’s dialogue in-game of all the iterators having a rough-stage at the start (that Pebbles supposedly plateaued at), I imagine Suns is just a bit younger than Moon. Moon had had her rough patch (and boy did she have a rough patch… Maybe I’ll explore my emo-phase iterator HCS eventually!), and once Suns came around, she helped them out of theirs. I’ve got a big ol' chunk of HC-lore for Suns’ rough-patch, which in summary: Suns was treated as a gifted kid, had their head filled with “The new and improved! The best of the best!” mindset, and it inflated their ego a lot. They were kind of a prick, over-ambitious, and then they met their ego-death when they tried to lead a large-scale ascension. And failed. It led to many being echoed, and… Yeah. No wonder Suns is such an emotional wreck (lovingly) in the Spearmaster campaign, and relies so heavily on Sig for support and emotional regulation. They thought they had another chance, to help someone they cared so dearly for, and they failed again. That’s also why I imagine Suns tried so hard to try to mentor Pebbles and help him out of his egotistical rough-patch—Suns of all people knows what it’s like to be in that mindset, and wants to save him.

But back to Suns and Moon, it was Moon who helped them pick themself up after all of that. While I don’t ship the two, I feel like they’re good close friends, so she’d give them a little cuddle too! Though usually it's Sig or, when his ego allows it, Pebbles.

I tend to mess around with their dynamics a lot, especially since I’ve been introduced to the idea of a polycule-ship! Combine Trafficlight, Lilypad, Sunstone, and Ragequit, and what do you get? Cute, cuddly chaos! They all have adorable potential, I couldn’t resist sinking into the world of bashing these silly little guys’ faces together like they’re barbie dolls and going “Now kiss!”

Moon I imagine is the comfiest to cuddle; soft, squishy material along her plating makes her perfect teddy-bear material. While she tends to take a more holder role when cuddling her brother Pebbles or good friend Suns, she alternates the most with Sig. Sometimes they both just need to be held, so taking turns works best! The way I’ve designed the two (I really need to draw them properly soon) is that Moon’s more middle-bottom heavy, while Sig’s got a smaller torso, but big clunky hands and feet for some fun stylisation—but it also means those two slot into one another like two perfect little puzzle pieces!

While Moon is the softest, Sig personality-wise is actually the cuddliest. Once he discovers the wonders of physical affection, he’s always holding one of their hands or leaning on them or doing something just to have some contact. He’s got cycles to make up for, after all! Sig completely sinks into Suns’ lap, and (albeit with some wrangling), usually manages to get Pebbles curled up in hers. Another cute thought for Sig is that I imagine he is very interested in bioengineering (I mean, he created the first genetically modified slugcat messenger, it’s quite fitting!), and takes particular interest in observing the other three’s puppets. Take it platonic or romantic, I can see him just tracing the seams of whoever he’s cuddling’s plating and analysing their designs and mechanics and organic aspects before falling asleep.

Suns is, in my mind, the biggest. In my design (I really need to finish their design), they’re sort of an opposite to Moon—far more top-heavy, and also somewhat inspired by lizards! (Ft. fun little back spines that spike up and rattle when Suns is angry or scared) As a result, they’re probably more of a side sleeper, or sometimes on their back so the other can lay on their chest. With Pebbles and Sig, they’ll just hold one of the two in their lap and accidentally fall asleep like that—and it absolutely becomes a “well, you’re trapped now” situation.

Finally, Pebbles. Oh, Pebbles. While he’d never dare admit it, he almost always curls into a little ball like a slugcat, and is perfect to spoon. In my design he’s quite a spindly little guy as a result of being a newer generation, and also the most “animalistic” in design (much to his dismay. Digitigrade legs, a longer snoot-like face. The lot!), so he’s perfect to scoop up in your arms. If he had a mouth though, he would bite you for it. Though slowly, as he lets himself bring down his walls around the others, he definitely starts to welcome being held. Little did he know that’s what he needed all along.

WHEW! Okay I wrote a lot. Clearly I’ve been rotating these characters in my mind like a microwave for far too long, but that's a lil collection of my ideas!

Eventually I want to get around to rambling about my ideas of slugcat culture and how the iterators face that as well (a BIG theme in my TBTBU au~), but for now this seemed like a big collection of my ideas relevant to the sleepy-ators! (with a couple extras in there, because who can resist stimmy-ators?)

I can’t wait to hear more of your ideas and see more of your art, this was such a joy to ramble about and I hope some of them you can enjoy!

RW Headcanon: Goodnight, Moon

AHHH YESSSS, now that that Lilypad essay is done I can FINALLY share these—!

Hey, @ghostlycoze! So you remember a few months ago how I made that drawing acting on the Moon beepsnort headcanon, and how in my last reblog I eluded to the possibility of drawing out some of your headcanons again? Well, it looks like that time has come, and this time I've got not just drawings, but lots of additions to another headcanon of yours!

This time, it's from your tags in these three posts, which I also saw a while ago! Yet for some reason I began thinking about it again recently, and as is my nature with ideas I like, I decided to develop it further, and even draw it this time!

Also, just to preface, you'll see I did a bunch of notes beside the actual drawings as well. I'll share the picture and roughly type out the notes (in case my handwriting is a bit hard to read) as well as whatever info I couldn't fit on the page. Some of the text also just says "robots" rather than "iterators" because some of these ideas are stuff I actually imagine applying to robot characters in general! Maybe I'll make a post on that someday...

With all that out of the way though, the actual headcanon is under the cut! Hope you like it!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

What are iterators like when they’re sleepy? Do they even get “sleepy” the way we humans do? This headcanon answers that question with a focus on the iterators’ puppets. Much of this info is also framed in the context of a hypothetical “worm-off-the-string” scenario, since I believe that’s the main situation where sleep and getting tired would actually matter to the iterators.

Firstly, when iterator puppets are low on power, until they find a place to recharge they usually enter a power-saving state where, to conserve what’s left of it, their energy is temporarily redirected away from some of their less-important processes. The side-effect of this, however, is that iterator puppets show symptoms of drowsiness kinda like humans! Whereas humans may yawn, stretch, or rub their eyes when sleepy, iterators will often make sloppier/less precise movements, close their lenses a little, and may even have a harder time thinking, since they sometimes shut off some processors and other cognitive functions until they can recharge. The most common symptom, however, is slurred speech, coming from less power given to their speech-forming software.

Another very-common sign of iterator sleepiness is frequent beeping, often in place of words. This is because, like slurred speech, beeps take much less energy and processing to make than analyzing data, formulating a complex response, then vocalizing it clearly. Beeps are thus far more efficient for conveying simple emotions and reactions than words. Looks to the Moon in particular gets super beepy when she’s tired because she and other early models relied more on beeps for communication — they were made back when things like vivid emotion weren’t as taboo in Ancient society, and iterators were meant to be more friendly and openly interactive with their citizens — so she’s more used to beeping to easily express her emotions.

As a side-note and mini-headcanon (wow, real headcanon-layering action here), while even the newest iterator puppets can beep, the older iterator models, as a result of this design influence, also have a much greater “beep-vocabulary” with a wider range of sounds that shrunk with the generations. Their beeps are thus a lot more expressive as well, with some sounds even being similar in nature to animal noises or regular speech! I imagine the entire range of their beeps would closely resemble shorter versions of the “droidspeak” sounds of the astromechs in Star Wars.

But, back to sleepy iterators.

When it’s hibernation time, iterators enter a “sleep-mode”, where almost all of their systems are shut down and recharging becomes the primary objective. However, compared to how I imagine other robots, iterator puppets have a unique way of recharging. Rather than shutting off completely and absorbing power from an external source, iterator puppets have a few key systems within them that remain on even during sleep-mode. These systems, just like those in their superstructures, are capable of converting nutrients into power directly. They emit a soft, rather comforting whirr while the puppets sleep — the only sound iterators make while sleeping, and comparable in nature to stomach sounds during digestion. Otherwise, though, the only other systems remaining on during sleep-mode are a few basic senses, and a program that decides when to “wake up”. The presence of this program also means, uniquely to iterators again, they can wake up on their own, rather than having to be powered back on by someone else like other robots. Overall, these systems are yet another aspect of iterator designs that make them far more biological than many iterators (*cough* *cough* Pebbles *cough*) would like to admit. And in my imaginings of a “worm-off-the-string” AU, systems like these are one of the main sources of both physical and internal conflict for these characters.

Also, since most of their systems are off during sleep mode, iterators sleep, both figuratively and literally, like statues. Whatever position they fall asleep in is the position they remain in the entire time unless a.) someone moves them or b.) they wake up and move on their own. This also means (unfortunately, if you thought these ideas would be cute) that iterators do not snore, shift around, sleepwalk, sleep-talk, or dream while in sleep mode.

That’s about it for this headcanon as it applies to iterator puppets overall. Now, I’m gonna get into how I imagine Looks to the Moon specifically likes to sleep.

In addition to getting very beepy, Moon also gets very cuddly when sleepy, though some of this comes from her affectionate personality. However, it's also due to a lasting trauma from her collapse. Of course she's learned to tolerate the rain over time, yet after spending so many cycles being rapidly drowned over and over in her can — with endless disorientation and senses so out-of-control from being disconnected from most of her superstructure, no one around to comfort her save for the occasional wandering creature, and the knowledge that her own beloved brother was responsible for this — it’s still left a fair amount of bad memories with her, especially from those cycles most recently after her collapse/revival, and this general unease often resurfaces with the sound of the rain. Therefore, whenever the rain comes, this trauma serves as another, more internal reason Looks to the Moon always wants to fall asleep holding onto/being held by someone, or at the very least while sharing the shelter with someone she loves.

On a more positive note, since I’m now officially a Lilypad shipper, I imagine that No Significant Harassment is Moon’s default choice of cuddling partner! It can be a little hard to get in position — I imagine Moon always likes to be the little spoon despite her being slightly taller than him — but they manage! Moon pretty much always falls asleep first, because, as the oldest model of the group, and having sustained the most damage post-collapse on top of that, she simply doesn’t use power as efficiently as the others do and therefore gets tired much more easily. In some ways, the poor thing even feels a little guilty about it; she’s supposed to be the leader of this group, and yet here she is, tiring out after less travel and growing drowsy before the rain even starts! Luckily, Sig makes an effort to ensure her she’s more-than worth keeping around, because after every awful thing the world has thrown at her kindness, the least she deserves is some quality guilt-free nap time! And sometimes, if they want a little alone-time (or if Pebbles gets too fed-up with their lovey-dovey gestures), it’ll be just the two of them, and perhaps their slugcats, cuddling together in the shelter.

And speaking of slugcats, Moon’s second choice of cuddles is Rivulet! Being very soft, warm, and equally cuddly, she makes another good source of cuddles for Moon. And sometimes, if Hunter’s also around and willing, the two join forces with Sig and Hunter for a big, soft, cuddle-filled slumber party!

Still, though, Sig is definitely no. 1 provider of snuggles for Moon. But he loves her dearly, so for the most part he doesn’t mind! Since she falls asleep first, some of his favorite moments each cycle are from just watching her and holding her close as the rainfall echoes from outside; she always looks so beautiful when she’s relaxed, and having her in his arms makes him feel like he can protect her no matter what. So he never really minds when Moon, slurring her words, tiredly asks for him to hold her while she enters sleep mode.

That is, except when this happens and he’s stuck in that spot for the next several hours…

A few more ideas to this headcanon:

Moon’s third choice of cuddles is Five Pebbles. It’s a bit interesting, because in basically all other scenarios Pebbles insists on sleeping alone in a separate shelter, even though he’s actually rather touch-starved (though it'll be a while before he admits it). Moon is one of the only people he’s actually willing to sleep with, besides occasionally Artificer (in which the feeling is mutual and no one else must be in the room). If I someday decide to ship Pebbles with someone, I imagine he’d also be willing to sleep with them, again, only if no one else is around to see it.

To elaborate on the last point and shift to Five Pebbles’ perspective, the reason why Pebbles always wants to sleep alone is because, as I imagine the worm-off-the-string story so far, Pebbles’ biggest internal conflicts are learning to accept all those “worldly attachments” the Ancients so strongly rejected, and overcoming his god-complex and fear of relying on others. And one of the main ways this manifests is him being so deeply embarrassed to be dealing with these basic survival needs — like yet another one of the savage beasts roaming the world, after having been a vast mechanical god so far above those primitive creatures — that he refuses to let others, even his friends and family, observe him in such a “pitiful” state whenever possible, and resolves to try and overcome it alone.

To further continue this idea, this is why Moon sometimes insists on sleeping with him. Even though he’ll have to overcome these conflicts on his own, it doesn’t mean he has to be alone while he does it. She makes an effort during these and other moments in this scenario to assure him that it’s okay, no one’s gonna judge or punish him for living this way, and she’ll always be there if he ever decides to accept some help. Pebbles always falls asleep with his head buried in her chest and holding onto her very tightly.

The iterators often like to sleep with their slugcats, who in the AU also stick around a lot to help guide them as they figure out the ins-and-outs of organic survival.

Both Moon and Pebbles tend to sleep in a curled position. It's actually very similar to how slugcats generally sleep!

Pebbles is quite the workaholic in general, but it also means he has a hard time falling asleep — not because he doesn’t get sleepy, but rather that he often denies it or its significance in an attempt to get more done that cycle (and because, again, he’s “too advanced” for animalistic things like sleeping). The group often has to literally drag him to bed to get him to sleep, and Sig often teases him when his lenses start drooping and his syllables begin to stretch.

In extreme cases, where almost all of their power has been exhausted, iterators won't just slur their words anymore, but their speech will often lose coherency overall, like a spoken case of very drunk typing .

When sleepy, Moon not only slurs her words, but has a tendency to say rather strange and very silly things. It’s another side-effect of less power being used to actually think through her words. There have been many instances where the whole group erupted in laughter after Moon made a really out-of-left-field comment!

Oh, and here's one last quick doodle based off one of the ones above:

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aaaand that's all for another headcanon! Even though it took me a whole week to do the drawings, it was SO fun getting to develop this idea, especially since sleepy Moonie is such a cute concept! I am so glad that you shared that little idea, Ghost!!

And speaking of which, if you've made it all the way down here, Ghost, may I invite you to add any more ideas to all this, if you want? I'd especially love hearing ideas for the other iterators' sleeping habits (how fast they get tired, what position they like to sleep in, who they usually sleep with, how they wind down before bed, etc.)! I mainly focused on Moon and a bit of Pebbles at the end, since I'm still trying to get a read on Sig and Suns's personalities (especially Suns), so it'd be fun to even further expand on this idea in that regard! Of course, you don't have to, but it's a proposition!

But regardless, I hope you and anyone else who made it to the bottom enjoyed my contributions to the idea! And be sure to keep the adorable headcanon ideas coming!!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bonus: Here are the full sketchbook pages, in case anyone was interested in seeing the completed layout! I think I'm gonna be making more of these kinds of drawing/explanation combo artworks!3

103 notes · View notes

womenfrommars · 3 years ago

Note

You're like the most reasonable, level-headed person on radblr why do people get so angry at you?

Precisely for that reason lol. When you're terminally online and start to believe in nonsensical ideological beliefs, you start to resent people who argue against it. The whole idea of seperatism still baffles me. It's supposed to be a political strategy to end the patriarchy but it is treated more like a life style. It is never explained how the strategy would work and even the life style sounds like a bad coping mechanism for trauma to me personally. And then there's the whole contradiction where lesbians don't sleep with trans women but when they face "comphet" they do consent to sex with men? How does that work? And more recently people lost their shit because I pointed out not every reason for abortion is necessarily a good one, even if we go by radical feminist standards. I also don't understand why people think taking a morning after pill is somehow the same as aborting a fetus at 8 months. At that point it could survive outside of the mother's body so you can give birth and no longer have the fetus imposing on your bodily autonomy. There's also this weird resentment towards any woman who persues a relationship with a man (especially if she is bisexual) but then they pretend this never happens and pull out this justice for Amber Heard stick? The more time you spend on radblr the more you will come to see the contradictions.

I also do not buy that the atmosphere on here is solely dictated by radical feminist literature. The idea of fatphobia is part of mainstream liberal feminism. The idea of Islamophobia is just general progressive thinking as well. Find me one radical feminist piece of literature that talks about these problems the way radfems on Tumblr do. I wish people were more open to the idea that what passes as radical feminism today is not the same as radical feminism as it was in the 1970s and that's okay. We live in a different age and we face different issues as a result, and we might put focus on different issues as well

Radical feminist writings are also not... Gospel, let's say. Dworkin wrote about the European witch trials using research now considered outdated. The things she wrote about intersex people are likewise outdated. Apparantly she also defended beastiality and incest when she wrote a book while on drugs. Adrienne Rich coined the phrase "compulsory heterosexuality" but the current Internet definition is just a butchered liberalised version of her initial meaning. She even wrote a follow up essay saying she meant to explore ideas rather than write a strict framework or whatever. And as much as radfems like to deny it, political lesbianism was invented to combat compulsory heterosexuality, so it is part of radical feminism historically speaking. Radfems on here praise seperatism but then almost worship Dworkin, who married a man herself... It's okay to think critically even when reading old feminist literature. You don't have to agree with everything you read because you want to fit into an online clique. The idea of innate sexual orientations (a cornerstone for those of us who hate TRA logic) is not really found in any radical feminist literature from back then simply because it is a very recent idea that most people back then did not believe in. The body of scientific literature in regards to sexual orientation is still developing. People clowned on Michael Bailey because he did a study on male bisexuality to more or less confirm it exists but these people fail to realise there isn't an awful lot of recent research into that, so we do have a need for these studies. Especially considering that older research tends to distinguish between sexual orientation in fantasy and in practice (meaning your sexual fantasies versus your sexual history/practice)

10 notes · View notes

magnhild · 4 years ago

Text

Nora Valkyrie, Identity, and Purpose

Hey everyone, Blaire here, and almost exactly a year ago, I made this mess of a post where I laid out all of my thoughts on Nora and what I thought the show could have in store for her.

And honestly, most of my ideas were way off, and not at all correct. Also, the post kind of flopped.

Thankfully, Volume 8 has given me a chance to redeem myself, and write another, more coherent, essay about my favourite RWBY character; where this Volume seems to be taking her character, and what it means to me, personally.

Buckle up.

To the vast majority of people in the RWBY fandom, Nora is the least-developed character, and the one most lacking in dimension. Most of her character seems to be defined by two things; her energy and love for fighting, and her relationship on Ren.

Volume 8 took note of these conceptions, and addressed them head-on.

Of course, any keen-eyed viewer will have noted Nora’s hidden depths even before this volume, which I noticed in last year’s post. She is perhaps the most perceptive of the main cast, at least, when it comes to people’s feelings and relaionships. She was the only one to really comment on Pyrrha’s crush on jaune, and the first to bring up Blake and Yang’s growing relationship. It was also her level-headedness that resolved RNJR’s argument in Volume 4, Chapter 9.

Volume 7 also showed us her innate desire to protect the weak, and her disdain to those who have the power to help, but refuse. I personally get the feeling that this was her driving motivation in becoming a Huntress; to protect people who cannot protect themselves, perhaps because she doesn’t want anyone to have to grow up as she did. Nora’s fury at Ironwood in V7C7 is esepcially signifigant, because it’s the angriest we’ve ever seen her before, even more so in that this anger is directed at someone with much more authority than her.

But these little details were only the tip of the iceberg. These were traits she already had, and while they help to add layers to her character, they’ve done very little in terms of her actual development.

This is where Volume 8 came in stronger than any other.

Volume 7 hinted to us that Ren and Nora’s relationship was beginning to get more complicated, between their bickering, Ren’s dismissiveness at Nora, and their kiss in V7C6. By the end of the volume, it was clear that they were still struggling, despite their clear love for each other. Volume 8 carried this thread along, having them split into different parties, and Nora giving Ren a bit of attitude we’ve not really seen her direct at him before.

She’s frustrated with him, and disappointed that he can’t see what she sees. But despite her tough front, V8C2 then hints that she’s sadder about the split than she’s letting on, after May brings up Nora’s ‘friends’. C3 then brings this to a head, where we get a conversation that sees Nora opening up to Blake and Yang, and revealing a deeply sad truth about herself- that she has no idea who she is without Ren, because she’s spent so much of her life with him and him alone, and her feelings for him have shaped so much of who she thinks she is. We’ve never seen her so hopeless and lost, especially after she reveals that, as far as she’s concerned, all she’s good for is hitting stuff.

Right in these few minutes, the show takes how the audience percieves Nora, and reveals to us that those two core traits are the gateways to a far deeper insight of her character. She’s known for her relationship with Ren, but wait- what about when he’s not there with her? She’s known for hitting stuff, but wait- that’s all she thinks she’s good for.

It’s revealed to us that, not only is this how most of the audience percievs Nora, but it’s how she percieves herself. And for all her energy and upbeat attitude, deep down, she thinks incredibely lowly of herself. For all her confidence in her fighting abilities, she lacks confidence in herself as a person.

Surprisingly enough, the ‘who am I?’ character arc is one that was hardly explored at all up until this point, despite it being one of the most common and signifgant character arcs in fictional media. And I don’t think many of us at all could have imagined that Nora would be the one to get that arc, when she’s always seemed so self-assured on the surface.

And then, when Penny is in need of help, Nora takes Weiss’ advice to heart, and does the one thing she believes she’s capable of- being strong, and hitting stuff.

Nora overcharging her Semblance to take down the wall is seen by a lot of the fandom as some kind of win for Nora; as her ‘big moment’. But while it’s certainly a really cool and badass scene, it was far from a triumph for her.

This was Nora at perhaps her lowest point so far in the series. This was Nora figuring ‘well, if this is all I’m good for, I’ll do it to the extreme’. This was Nora thinking her only purpose was to greatly endanger herself for the sake of others, because she figured she was the only one who could. And she almsot got herself killed for it.

While certainly a defining moment, it was far from triumphant. It wasn’t a win. It was a self-destrcutive act that reflected how little she thinks of herself; that she’s not worth anything unless she’s pushing herself to the limit doing the one thing she thinks she’s good at.

And to drive the knife in harder, it backfires horribly.

Because now she’s bedridden and critically injured, with scars that are probably permanent; a reminder of her lowest point, forever marked on her body. She can’t fight now, can’t help at all, and Salem has launched her attack on Atlas.

And in her half-unconsious state in V8C7, she realizes this, delivering an absolutely heartbreaking line:

As far as she’s concerned, her last attempt at doing what she thinks only she can do- what she thinks is all she can do- has prevented her from doing anything of worth at all. She lost one half of herself when she split from Ren, and now she’s lost the other half too. The two things that she defines herself by are gone. And the worst part is, we don’t know if she’s awar of the fact Salem has begun her attack. We could very well see her fully wake up, only to realize that the world has begun ending while she was unconsious, and she can’t do anything about it.

Now, this scene, and Nora’s struggle in this Volume as a whole, hit home for me in particular.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably aware that Nora is only of my hightest- and only- kins. And I’ve only been able to relate to her more and more after what we’ve got of her in this Volume.

I am chronically disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which fucks up my body in a multitude of different ways, but signifigantly affects the joints. For me, it hits worst in my back, ankles, and my fingers. The fingers are my main problem. To make matters worse, I’ve also been victim to intense pains in my shoulder, which came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have only gotten worse since. The slightest movement aggrevates it. As any follower of mine would know, I am both an artist and a writer. I create both for fun, and I’ve studied writing as a profession. It is these things I’m known for being good at, and not much else.

Thanks to my disability and my shoulder though, I have to do these things less. Even on perscription pain medication, it still hurts. It hurts to write this even now; my shoulder feels like it’s burning up from the inside. It will only get worse over time.

So, I’m finding myself in Nora’s position. I can’t do what I’m good at anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself as a result. Not doing these things makes me feel lazy and unproductive, and makes me feel that the people around me will abandon me so long as i can’t keep providing them content. And I’ve gotta say, it hurts a lot, and I don’t just mean physically.

Because of what I’m going through, it’s especially important to see my favourite RWBY character just so happening to be dealing with the same problem; the same loss of idenity and purpose. We don’t know who we are or what we’re good for without the things we think define us.

While I’m unsure of my own future though, I find comfort in knowing that Nora’s problem will be tackled and addressed; that her friends will help her to rediscover herself and find her true worth. And while we’ve got a while to go until we’ll be able to see the Volume continue, I’m incredibely excited to see where Nora’s arc goes, especially if we can get some backstory along the way. I find myself wondering if her life before Ren is part of why she thinks so little of herself without him- was it the way she was raised to think? Is this the fault of her childood circumstances? Or is this just something she developed on her own, after becoming too dependant on Ren for comfort?

Whatever answers we get, I have faith that Nora’s story will be told well, and I’m very sure that it’s only just beginning. Even if she finds her worth before the end of the volume, her story won’t be over yet, not when we’ve still likely got at least four more volumes to go after this one.

In just seven episodes, Nora Valkyrie has gone from one of the least developed characters, to one of the most interesting and relatable, at least, in my eyes. There is so much more depth to her character than having a crush on Ren, and being the strong girl who hits stuff. There’s a layer of tragedy to her character that we’re touching upon now, and I’m excited to dive into it.

Thank you all for reading!

#rwby #my writing #rwby analysis #rwby spoilers #nora valkyrie

257 notes · View notes

onewomancitadel · 3 years ago

Text

Hang on I need to make a passive aggressive post about someone in another fandom saying TikTok (puke) is a more accessible platform for spreading fandom gospel compared to Tumblr (puke but affectionately) because it's just the land of walls of text. Well I LIKE writing longform walls of text and when I was forced to watch a TikTok I think I could physically feel my attention span warping.

Excepting a serious discussion about ability (that goes without saying) I think the aversion to longform content is a shame. Like to me if I'm obsessed or interested in a ship I want to read twenty thousand essays about it. But I guess that's the trend of the Internet now

Inevitably somebody is going to think I'm some sort of pretentious monster for decrying shortform content. Well,

But I think also at the heart of this is my annoyance at the trend of complaining about 'I buy books but I don't reeaaaaad any' and tons of posts with this air of anxiety of like how do I read books?? What's the magic cure?? There's like this disconnect between people who are used to shortform content upset at being unable to read longform content. And it's extremely weird because you genuinely shouldn't be beating yourself up this way and treating your body like it's some nonfunctioning mechanical tool, your body is you and you need to be gentle and figure out what it is the things that you want to do. That's probably your best starting point.

The starting point in those conversations is always like, put your phone away and never go online again. I don't personally find an absolutist approach helpful. You can actually go online you should just think about why you're online and what ideas you like sharing or exploring and when you might want to relax away from that. I don't think the phones are inherently the problem (you can read longform content on phones) but the way you respond to and create information is the bit that does.

It's like when I come across snippets of poetry on my dashboard, I often try to find the original source and read the poem in full. That in itself is a task which exercises grounding ideas in context (the social media age leads to a lot of information being groundless and ephemeral) but it's also something which makes me feel like I'm not mindlessly spending my time on the Internet. That's why I think it's important to distinguish what you use the Internet for.

To a degree I think this is even true of for instance writing a post like this. As self-conscious as I am about annoying people, wasting their time, writing something pretentious, being a waste of space, being a failure etc., I do find elaborating on my thoughts in a longform post which sometimes can hit a wordcount in the region of essays I'd write for uni a lot of fun and a great mental exercise. I don't consider this sort of task the same as, say, using Twitter like I'd used to, which stymied most of my thoughts. I do really miss the people I followed there but it was giving me a lot of anxiety using it, annoying people, but you know, what can you do.

But yeah I was annoyed about the idea that Tumblr is less accessible because it's wall-of-texty - so ironic because Tumblr is known for microblogging - when I don't think inclination to shortform content is necessarily the norm or something innate. Obviously I do think there are exceptional circumstances which apply, e.g. if you prefer someone's actual speech as opposed to text-to-speech which can be a bit impersonal, like my friend prefers me reading poetry for him as opposed to getting the bot to do it, and I would like to think that in reading this post this kind of caveat is self-evident.

That is to say, I think longform content is something you can easily get used to again. I had a period where I struggled with reading books a couple of years ago and I was really angry at myself because I used to read all the time, and then I had to actually learn to stop being angry at myself and seeing myself as a tool and instead as like, a person who was trying to do the things I enjoy and search for meaning. You're not a bad tool or a bad person for not being able to read, and sure maybe you might have deeper problems you need to look into (I'm not saying that either), but I still don't think you should view yourself as a tool that's broken. Although there's a cynic in me that views shortform content and broken attention spans as part of a greater ploy to keep you quiet and docile politically.

And yeah maybe I have come around to being a Tumblr apologist because every other website sucks and I'm a nerd who grew up with the Internet. My favourite thing after school was checking Sims forums. I can't say much has changed.

But finally, in terms of fandom itself, fandom shouldn't be a top-down hierarchy. There shouldn't be some TikTok that everybody watches to receive the fandom gospel. Part of the fun of fandom is thinking about things and sharing those things with other people, it's literally community and creativity. That's my ideal anyway.

#stirring the pot

3 notes · View notes

chocosvt · 5 years ago

Text

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!!

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_)

#svt fanfic #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #jun fic #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #jun imagine #jun x reader #svt x reader #wen junhui #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #junhui scenarios #jun fluff #junhui fic

1K notes · View notes

gretchensinister · 4 years ago

Text

Little Souls and Careless Gods: An Exploration of Worldbuilding in Toy Story

Sid did nothing wrong.

Or, let me clarify. The things Sid did wrong were: taking his sister’s toys and modifying them without her permission. That’s it.

Hi, my name is gretchensinister and I have a lot of thoughts about the worldbuilding in Toy Story.

I should admit at this point that I haven’t seen Toy Story 4, only talked about it with someone who has, so if some of my questions are answered by that movie or if it torpedoes some of my speculations, that’s just—that’s just an imperfection of this essay.

I barely know where to begin, but, I started with Sid, so I’ll keep going with Sid. Sid is a kid. Sid is a jerk to his younger sister, but she’s freely yelling across the house tattling on him, so it doesn’t seem like she’s suffering irreparable damage from this. Other things Sid does: wins a squeaky toy for his dog in a claw machine game, blows up toys with fireworks, takes toys apart and joins them to other toys to make new toys. Burns a toy with a magnifying glass.

None of these things is an immoral action, for a person who, through all lived experience (until the toy attack) understands that toys are objects. It’s not bad to give your dog an object to chew on. It’s not bad (morally) to blow up an object with a firework. It’s not bad to take objects (that are yours) and make them into new, different objects. It’s not bad to burn an object with a magnifying glass. From the toys’ perspective, Sid is a sadistic mad scientist type, but from everything he could possibly know, his “torture” of Woody is messing around with an object! His object! That he got from a claw machine! The pretend torture as a choice of play is worth questioning, but it’s not so uncommon as a media trope that an average kid would never have seen anything like that in an action-adventure context. And it doesn’t predict how Sid will treat actual living beings!

(As an aside, I’m firmly of the belief that if you own an object, you should feel free to do whatever you want with it. Set it on fire, take it apart to see how it works, use it as raw materials in a craft project, etc. And yeah I would make exceptions to this rule for like, privately owned culturally significant art or scientifically significant artifacts…but if they’re that significant…they shouldn’t be privately owned.)

So yeah. Sid gets traumatized because he treats objects like objects, and the objects don’t like that. Because they’re actually alive and have now promised to constantly surveil him.

And let’s be clear: Andy doesn’t know toys are alive, either. He never does. He just has a different play style than Sid, and more of an interest in keeping his toys intact. Andy has no empathy with Woody and Buzz, because he is not aware that they are beings that he could empathize with.

All right. Beyond Sid, what I really want to talk about is the nature of a toy’s mind/soul in the Toy Story universe. I will call this the toy’s animus. Much like with the soul and mind of a human being, the animus raises several questions. How is the animus created? Where does the animus reside? Is the animus a tabula rasa, or does it possess innate knowledge? Where does this innate knowledge come from, if so? Is the animus mortal or immortal?

The Toy Story universe offers various pieces of evidence to answer these questions, and they are all extremely worrying if toys and humans are both morally significant beings, though humans do not know this about toys.

Is a toy mortal or immortal?

In the Toy Story movies it is clear that toys believe they can die. Sufficient destruction of the body would cause a toy’s death. Sid’s plan to blow up Buzz Lightyear with a firework threatens his life. In Toy Story 3, the toys in the trash incinerator clearly believe that burning/melting will kill them. But, short of catastrophic destruction of the body, toys are immortal. Jessie suffers, but does not die, from withdrawal of her owner’s love. Stinky Pete was never played with by a child, and he’s alive as any other toy. Additionally, human-mimicking toys are not killed even when damaged in ways that would kill a human, though this does affect their ability to communicate. In the tea party scene in Toy Story, the headless dolls wave when they are referred to. (This raises more questions—how does a headless doll experience the world? They can still hear, but how? Also, why doesn’t the headless teddy bear move? Perhaps they simply don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on with Woody and Buzz.)

I think, according to what we see in the movies, the animus is divisible, and each part of the divided animus contains only a portion of the cognitive ability of the whole. Moreover, the animus is not centered in the head, but rather dispersed throughout the body. I would further argue that splitting the body/splitting the animus, is traumatic, even when reversible. Consider that Buzz’s mental breakdown coincides with the detachment of his arm.

What does this mean for Sid’s creations? Well, it would explain why they don’t talk. The baby-doll head with the spiderlike erector-set body (aside: is this a reference to The Thing (1982)?) really has no reason to be mute, if a toy simply must have a mouth to speak. Its form is unconventional, but, I would say, still “complete.” But if the head only carries an incomplete animus, and the erector set parts carry no animus of their own (an assumption which will be questioned later) then the whole toy would not have enough animus for verbal communication.

Janie the doll and the pterodactyl, with their switched heads, suffer significant disruption of their animi. Would their fractured animi eventually merge to form a new animus for each new body, with a different personality than Janie or pterodactyl? What part of the “Barbie” personality lingers in the animus of the toy crane with Barbie legs?

There is an exception to the concept of the fractured animus, however, and that is Mr. Potato Head. Mr. Potato Head exists in several parts to begin with, and mere separation does not fracture the animus. Curiously, though, some parts of Mr. Potato Head do not appear to contain any part of his animus, such as his plastic potato body. He retains all of his personality and ability to communicate when he has to put his features on a tortilla (?—don’t remember this part well) even though he is from an era of Mr. Potato Heads where his features are only meant to be put in the plastic potato body, not random foodstuffs. (Another question here: what would happen if an even amount of Mrs. Potato Head and Mr. Potato Head features were put on one plastic potato body? Do both animi retain coherence?) It is impossible not to wonder how far apart the features of Mr. Potato Head could be spread and the animus remain whole. At least as far apart as different buildings, as shown in Toy Story 3, but how much farther?

Creation of the animus and innate knowledge.

We are now about to embark on the specific topic that fills my thoughts now when I think about the Toy Story universe. I believe I will first fix myself a vodka cranberry (note: not just vodka and cranberry juice. To make it properly you must also add a splash each of orange juice and lime juice) and read a synopsis of Toy Story 4. Forky’s creation is a deep source of trouble here, and I must fortify myself to face it.

Where do I even begin? Okay. Bonnie, a kindergartner, creates Forky from items salvaged from the trash and names him. He comes to life after being named. According to the synopsis Forky then suffers an existential crisis because he believes he his trash and not a toy. So in this case, the animus appears to arrive after naming, and the animus is not a tabula rasa. The history of the materials appears to have some effect on the animus? (What this might mean for Rex or the plastic army men is especially concerning here.) It doesn’t make sense for Bonnie to think of Forky as trash, so this conviction has entered Forky’s animus from somewhere other than his creator. Also Bonnie has created sentient life without being aware of doing so, probably before being able to write a full sentence.

That’s troubling enough, because, to the eyes of adults or even older children, Forky is garbage. I project Forky’s lifespan of play to be that of months. And he won’t get passed onto other children. Depending on how Bonnie’s community disposes of trash, he may linger with an intact animus, at a landfill, for longer than Bonnie’s own life. It boggles the mind. (And invites hoarding in the empathetic.) However, despite all this, I would be cool with it if this was the only way toys became animate: being owned/named/played with by a child. That could be a complete worldbuilding conceit.

But that’s NOT how animi are generally formed in the Toy Story universe. Let’s back up to Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear has a personality and memories of his history as a space ranger right out of his box. And as we see in Toy Story 2, every Buzz Lightyear comes with that same initial personality. A commercial in Toy Story shows aisles upon aisles of Buzz Lightyears. Something has enabled the creation of thousands, if not millions, of identical animi. There is no direction this can go that isn’t kind of batshit.

Buzz Lightyear and the story that forms his memories were designed and created by adults. It was someone’s (and probably a team’s) job to design a toy that would be popular for a specific demographic, with (if I remember correctly) a cartoon that elaborates on the story and can basically serve as a long-running commercial for the toy. There were probably team meetings, and focus groups, and brand analysis to come up with the name “Buzz Lightyear.” And in such an endeavor, while I would like to imagine that there were some truly creative people involved who cared about the design and story, the people involved would not be the ones playing with the toys as toys want to be played with. And this is where every Buzz Lightyear animus comes from? But how? A manager or director approves the name and then…what? Is there a wellspring of animus that forms? Is it tied to the prototype? The factory workers in Taiwan don’t care about Buzz Lightyear the way Bonnie cares about Forky, and yet their actions in completing Buzz Lightyears call the animi to the plastic bodies. (And the animi are there, without a child’s touch. Stinky Pete was aware in his unopened box. Other toys opened a new Buzz Lightyear and got a living Buzz Lightyear.) And even leaving aside how the animi get into the Buzz Lightyears, the fact is that with millions of Buzz Lightyears out there, we have to conclude that the process that created his animus/animi is orders of magnitude more powerful than what Bonnie did to make Forky. Even assuming some personal care held by Buzz’s designers towards their design, it gets weird. The imaginations of adult toy designers are that much more powerful than a little girl creating and naming her own toy? NOT the way I would expect such a story-world to be set up, but the evidence is there.

And what if the designers of Buzz Lightyear weren’t particularly passionate? What if their boss just said “space is popular now, make me a space toy” and that’s the only reason why they did? That could very well be the case for a different type of toy in the series: the claw machine aliens. Those toys were not designed as a soulful passion project. I’m trying to write this to not be mean to designers who work in not-so-great places, but seriously. We have all seen generic toys in claw machine games before. They were not made to be immortally loved. (And yet! This is what the animus of a toy inherently desires!) Now, the claw machine aliens do seem to have much less backstory than Buzz Lightyear, and have personalities (or maybe just personality)/culture based on the nature of the claw machine. That makes sense, since they wouldn’t have been given a backstory with creation. The point is, though, that they still have animi. In the process of creating these cheap, cheap toys, by the dozens and hundreds and thousands, somehow their bodies were invested with full, identical animi. Adult, corporate creation somehow gives more life to toys than individual, child-led creation.

There are more questions to ask. If adults still have the power (and MASSIVELY MORE power) to invest toys with animi that they also possessed as children, then what can be invested with an animus? What are the limits of toy-ness in the Toy Story universe? Is it the name? I don’t think it’s the face, because there’s Woody merchandise in Toy Story 2 with Woody’s face on it that doesn’t talk. And I think that some faceless toys are shown to move independently/have an animus (possibly including things like LEGO—are the bricks a hivemind? Do the minifigs live inside sentient structures? Can they communicate with these structures? Also, if so, the erector set legs on Sid’s spider baby toy should have added to its total animus. But that’s not the corporate intent, so they’re still voiceless.). Christine (1983) could fit into this universe if the name is of primary importance (movie backstory for Christine, not book). But this would also mean that literally every boat and ship was sentient, but secretly so.*

If the name isn’t the important thing, is it the intent that the object be played with as a toy? In this case, that would mean that Bo Peep’s animus was not mass-produced, as she was originally part of a lamp if I remember correctly. Child-created animi would therefore be more common among non-toy objects than manufactured toys. I also want to bring The Brave Little Toaster (1987) up at this point. In this movie a group of appliances behave similarly to Toy Story toys in some ways, including being played with by their owner and then missing his attention to a high degree when he goes to college. However in this film all appliances and cars have animi, and I personally do not want my vacuum cleaner to feel any kind of way about me, or ever think I have played with it, because I hate vacuuming and would neglect it to death if feasible. (That being said…roombas in the Toy Story universe can hardly avoid being invested with animi, I imagine, no matter the details of the worldbuilding structure.) I bring this up, though, because Wikipedia notes that the original members of Pixar worked on The Brave Little Toaster. Toy Story was released in 1995 and was Pixar’s first feature length film. There is a connection, is what I am trying to say.

I think I have to go with: intent of the object to be a toy and/or being played with as a toy invests a toy with an animus. If it was the naming, then many, many public statues would be as alive as Woody and Buzz, and the people of Denver I’m sure have enough to worry about without Blucifer (Jiménez, 2008) galloping around. Bizarre to say that the least troubling option places mass production on a higher level of investing power than a child’s imagination. And I mean what I say about the mass produced animi being somehow more powerful than child-created animi.

Let’s go back to Sid’s creations. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they able to communicate like Forky? Possibility 1: Sid just doesn’t have the creative power that Bonnie does. I don’t like this because, as I said at the beginning, Sid is not doing anything wrong by making these chimera toys. He’s treating objects as objects, and the difference between Sid’s chimera toys and Forky is that Forky’s component parts were not originally part of mass-produced toys. So, (from a worldbuilding/Watsonian perspective), I have to go with possibility 2, which goes like this: mass-produced toys are imbued with animi because they are toys. Sid’s chimera toys suffer from their animi being fractured when he alters them. But these fractured, mass-produced animi retain enough coherence and power that Sid, a child, cannot replace the fractured animus with whatever he imagines for his new creations. He’s an imaginative kid! But the corporate animus cannot be expelled. The factory animus is the underlying animus and cannot be removed once the toy is a toy. It can develop with memory and experience, but it will always be the toy making corporation that brought the spark of life, not the child that actually plays with the toy.

And this actually corresponds to Sid’s toys’ decision to rebel and help Woody and Buzz. Their animi are more loyal to the corporate intent that first created them. Sid made them into something new, presumably plays with them, and yet they are not Sid’s. They are meant to be read as broken and tortured (Sid has changed them from their factory-created wholeness), not as new beings. A factory-created, owned object, is meant to be held with the same level of care and maintenance of coherence as a living being in the Toy Story universe. What a child imagines about their own toys has less creative power than a distant designer who’s been told to come up with something appealing to put in a claw machine. Children only have animating power for their toys when they make them out of raw materials.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to say that of course the toys aren’t Sid’s, they’re their own people—isn’t that what having an animus means? But Woody, for example, find it very important that he’s Andy’s toy—a possession—“a child’s plaything.” Andy writes his name on him and this is very important to Woody, enough a part of his identity that when Andy’s name is painted over by the restorer in Toy Story 2 the scene reads as an erasure of something important to him, not as a restoration of his autonomy. Time and again we see that toys want to be owned by children.

This is another place where things get weird. First, I raise the question: What do toys need to keep animus and body together? Not much—only a certain baseline of bodily coherency. They don’t need to take in anything from their environment. More interesting, though, is that they don’t need anything from the children they bond to. Shelved, boxed, and forgotten toys suffer, but they don’t die from these states. No toy will ever find a toy’s corpse the way a human could find a human corpse—whole in every way except for the absence of the animating spirit.

So: toys as entities need little. The next question is then, what do toys want? Toys want to be owned and played with by a child (I say child and not children, because the communal state of the daycare in Toy Story 3 is clearly not desirable to the toys). Woody relishes his place as favorite and most played with toy at the beginning of Toy Story. In Toy Story 2 Jessie grieves when her child outgrows her. Stinky Pete was ignored by children for years, causing him to develop the abnormal belief that it would be better for the Woody’s Roundup toys to be preserved in a museum.

(At this point, I spot another thread to follow. It seems that for a toy, the most important relationship in their existence is meant to be toy + owner. In Toy Story Woody is very invested in making Buzz understand that Buzz is a toy and not a space ranger—Buzz is supposed to stay with Andy. In Toy Story 2 the consequences of not being owned by a child are grief and violence. But at the end Woody tells Buzz he’s not worried about Andy outgrowing him, since they’ll always have each other. Now, Toy Story 3 builds up Buzz/Jessie and in Toy Story 4 Bo Peep returns and Woody leaves Buzz and the other group of Andy’s toys for a life with her, but Woody also leaves the toy + owner life to be with Bo. Toys aren’t made to have an independent existence, yet this is how they end up, also acting as matchmakers to help lost toys find new owners and enter into new toy + owner relationships? THERE IS A WHOLE OTHER ESSAY HERE.)

To stay within just one rabbit hole here, however, I must focus on this: Toys want to be owned and played with by a child. They bond with child owners who do not deliberately alter their bodies (I add this because again, Sid’s toys do not appear to be bonded with him). But within this framework, there must be essential pain within a toy’s existence. Toys are immortal unless destroyed. Toys will experience actual play with a child for, let’s say, ten years, maximum, and that’s if the toy is given to the child when the child is very young and the toy is more classic/versatile than most. That’s way shorter than the best human friendships and familial relationships, and at least human beings can often reasonably hope to have lifespans that are of comparable lengths. Oh yeah, and among human beings people are usually AWARE of the relationship that’s taking place. So toys want to form deep bonds with their children and want to have these relationships last. But the relationships can’t last. I’ll gladly state that play, in some form, is necessary for humans to thrive throughout their lives, but the kind of play that the toys in Toy Story find ideal is a childhood phase of play that that most people naturally outgrow. And even if a human did engage in play ideal for toys throughout their entire life, toys are immortal unless destroyed. All toys will lose their owners, and usually after a pretty short handful of years.

The aftermath of the owner + toy relationship is always painful for the toy. What are the options? To remain owned, but not played with: perhaps the “best” option, but it still leaves the toy with only a memory of a full life. Is a shelf life really a life? This is what was facing Woody, I believe, if Andy had taken him with him to college. Another option: to be outgrown and forgotten. This is what happens to Jessie, and it is a deeply, deeply painful experience for her. She develops claustrophobia from being stored in a box. To be donated or sold at a garage sale: also a source of trauma and panic for the toys, but still better than the worst fate, to be thrown out. But toys that have been separated from their previous owners are so often grieving and/or bitter in the Toy Story series.

This is troubling, to say the least, but it also loops back to questions about the animus and memory. Toys are not tabula rasa. Buzz has a strong personality and memory set from his unboxing. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head do not need to court each other. Tour Guide Barbie will act as a tour guide in the absence of children. But with time, and accumulation of true memories as a toy, the toys will develop their own personalities, even if the animus starting point can often remain a strong influence. In Toy Story 3, however, we learn that certain toys, such as Buzz Lightyear, can be returned to the original animus state through a factory reset. I hardly know what to do with this. It wasn’t a permanent reset; Buzz’s memories and the personality he’s developed do come back. (But now he also has access to a “Spanish mode” that is…sexier (can such a word apply?) to Jessie than his English mode. Also other toys can put him into his mode against his will. There are so many worms in this can. Sexualization of Latinx people, can a toy expect bodily autonomy from other toys, etc.?) But not every toy has a reset button. Woody doesn’t. Slinky Dog, Rex, Mr. Potato Head, etc. don’t. Does the threat of a reset only affect toys with bodily components that could be considered brain analogues, i.e., microchips? But the animus is not the “brain” and neither does the “brain” store memories/personality. I really, really don’t know what to do with this, except it seems once again to assert the ultimate strength of the adult/corporate-created animus.

The point is, toys can lose their memories, but when we see that in the movies, it leads the toy to go back to their earliest state.

Now: a mystery. In Toy Story, Woody has developed enough memory and personality that he is well aware of being a toy and is involved with the life of Andy’s room in ways that neither his sheriff role or Andy’s imagination reasonably encompasses. (Consider the “Plastic Corrosion Awareness Meeting.”) All right. This would be of no concern if Woody was a generic wild west doll, but he’s not. He was made to represent a character on the Woody’s Roundup TV show in the 1950s. He would have had an animus strongly imprinted with that backstory just like Buzz Lightyear had his strongly imprinted space ranger backstory. Well, then maybe this means that Woody just never lost his memory. That would be the best explanation. That’s why he has a personality mostly free from this imprinted backstory, having been Andy’s favorite toy for some time. But Woody has lost his memory. In Toy Story 2, Woody learns (learns!) that he’s a representation of a TV character. He meets Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete without knowing who they are at all. Woody has somehow completely forgotten his origins. He experienced memory loss that brought him farther away from his animus starting point.

Okay, so there are multiple kinds of amnesia for toys; I was wrong in my earlier assertion that memory loss tends to the origin animus. But I want to keep poking at Woody’s memory issues because of something else that Woody’s timeline leads me to conclude: Andy is not Woody’s first owner, OR Woody was boxed up and forgotten for DECADES before Andy. Actually, he’s probably spent a significant amount of time in storage or on a shelf regardless of whether Andy is his first owner or not.

Toy Story was released in 1995. If the story is set in the present, then Andy is very close to my age. Now, Woody is “an old family toy” according to Toy Story 2, and Al, as a toy collector, was so thrilled and astonished to find a Woody at a garage sale that he stole him when he learned he wasn’t actually for sale. This leads me to the conclusion that Woody toys aren’t in continuous production. Woody was probably only manufactured during the height of Woody’s Roundup’s popularity, in the 1950s. So there’s two options for Woody’s ownership history. I’m also going to presume in both cases that Andy’s father was the parent that previously owned him, though there’s no reason why his mother couldn’t have been the owner.

So, option one: the young parents/young grandparents option. If Andy’s grandparents had his father when they were about twenty, and then Andy’s parents had Andy when they were about twenty, then Andy’s grandfather could have gotten Woody at ideal playing age and then later passed him down to Andy’s father and then Andy’s father would have passed him to Andy. I don’t think this is the case, though, because Woody still has his incredibly rare hat and a functional voice box. If Woody had been played with by a child at ideal playing age at the height of the popularity of his character’s show, I think it’s likely that he would have gotten played with so much (and taken to places so much) that he would have lost his hat and his voice box would have worn out. Woody didn’t start off life as a collectible, and play causes wear and tear on toys. And if Woody was originally the grandfather’s toy, then he would have gone through another round of play with Andy’s father. Woody’s condition is too good for that. Unless, that is, Andy’s whole family is made up of people who are unusually careful with their toys? That’s sort of an intriguing idea, since it means that Sid’s actions look even more horrifying by contrast, and generations of “ideal owners” for Woody obscure the bizarre nature of the life of a thinking, feeling toy. However, the Toy Story universe keeps raising questions in Toy Story 2-4 about what it means to be a toy, so there doesn’t seem to be a motivation in the series for such obscuring. This is despite the fact that Woody’s amnesia does obscure some things about the nature of a toy’s life, at least in the original Toy Story. (I know the Doylist perspective answers all this easily—this isn’t what the audience is meant to think about, Woody’s backstory as a toy from a 1950s TV show isn’t important in Toy Story, and in fact this backstory didn’t exist until Toy Story 2 was created.)

Regardless, I don’t think the young parents/young grandparents option is the right one. Instead, I choose option 2: the slightly older parents option. Woody’s Roundup is a TV show from the 1950s. It was popular enough to lead to a lot of merchandise, not just the dolls of the main characters. Brief research shows that in the 1950s television Westerns were incredibly popular, and there were Westerns made for kids and Westerns made for adults. The question I’m trying to get at here is trying to figure out how Andy’s grandparents would have known about a kid’s Western show. But, it’s really not that difficult. In this timeline I’m building now, Andy’s father would have been born in the 1950s, making him in his early-mid thirties when he became Andy’s father. Given this timeline, it’s overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s father has siblings, including older siblings, that might already watch Woody’s Roundup. Or, even if Andy’s father was the oldest child, it’s also overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s grandparents’ friends had plenty of kids of their own and probably talked among themselves about what kids liked. The significant thing in this timeline is that Woody would have been given to Andy’s father when Andy’s father was very young. Perhaps too young for a Woody doll, but perhaps also with the assumption that Andy’s father would grow into the doll. So Woody is unboxed and waits on a shelf for a couple years while Andy’s father grows a little. My theory is that Woody’s Roundup was no longer on television by the time Andy’s father was at the right age to start playing with a doll of Woody’s type. This would have two consequences. One: Andy’s father would have been unguided by the TV show in regard of how to play with Woody, meaning that Woody would have formed many memories unrelated to his original animus in this early stage of his life. Two: even though Woody was played with, he never was Andy’s father’s favorite toy, which is why he was able to be passed down to Andy in good condition (and still with his hat).

In this option 2, which I feel is more likely, Woody has probably spent at least 25 years on a shelf or in storage. So why is this important? I think it’s important because Woody doesn’t act like he’s been through the decades-in-storage experience, or the experience of having an owner outgrow him. He sympathizes with Jessie after learning her story, but he says nothing about having experienced anything like it himself. And as far as the movies are concerned, his worries about Andy outgrowing him are new worries. But they can’t be new! He’s already been outgrown at least once before! I mean, with Andy he’s a favorite toy, so that’s a unique owner + toy relationship status that he (probably) didn’t have before. Maybe that amplifies what he’s going through this time?

But there’s another aspect to Woody’s experiences that I want to touch on. All the other toys he would have known as Andy’s father’s toy are gone. There are no other “heirloom” toys in Andy’s room, or at least there is no evidence of this. All of Andy’s other toys seem to have been purchased just for Andy, and purchased new. There is no reference to garage sale trauma, previous owners, or anything like that. And as we’ve seen from other toys throughout the series, toys remember that kind of thing! But Woody doesn’t. His animus is one that shows years of experience building over his character backstory, but he never acts like he’s experienced being outgrown or losing all his toy friends.

Or at least he never says anything about such experiences.

I think it makes sense to read Woody’s amnesia as genuine. But I also think it would be reasonable to read his character as one that has undergone traumatic experiences and has responded by burying them so deep within his mind that he has no conscious access to them, even though they influence his current personality and life. (It’s impossible to know, but do toys in every household respond to birthdays and Christmas with such intense monitoring—with the desire for even the slightest early warning of replacement? Woody is the one who worries most about these celebrations, extremely anxious of his own status as favorite toy.) That the ending of Toy Story 4 removes him from the cycle of ownership and outgrowing can’t be ignored. Better to not have an owner than to experience losing an owner again, and again, and again?

But I do think there is one other possibility: Andy’s ownership of Woody caused him to lose all his memories of Andy’s father. A child may not be able to give a manufactured toy a new animus, but by possessing a toy in a play relationship (as opposed to a collector relationship) a child may be able to overwrite any memories of the toy’s previous owner. The process doesn’t happen instantaneously, as Andy’s toys don’t immediately forget him upon being transferred to Bonnie, but it would certainly explain why Woody makes no reference ever to a previous owner, even though he was most likely manufactured at least 35 years before coming into Andy’s possession. However, Jessie’s story argues against this. While she is happy among Andy’s toys, there’s nothing to show that she is forgetting her own past.

The possibility of a new child owner driving out all thoughts of the previous one is interesting, as it puts some degree of power over the toy’s animus back with the child. However, in the Toy Story universe, it’s clear that if this is the case, it’s not an instantaneous process. And if it’s not an instantaneous process, then it becomes overly complex. What memories would be driven out? For toys less adventurous than the main characters of the Toy Story movies, their whole lives are centered on their owners. They live in their child’s room/house. Anything that took place there would have to be forgotten to not bring up thoughts of the previous owner, including conversations with other toys that were friends of that first toy. At this point we approach a state of complete memory loss before the claim by a new owner. A gradual process would at least allow continuity of personality, since new memories under the new owner would be continually being made. But then, some new memories would have to fade, also. For wouldn’t a toy talk about their past while they could still remember it? And wouldn’t their new friends maybe bring up their past in conversation sometimes? They might even talk about the process of forgetting. That process would be noticed and known among toys. No, after thinking about it, I would say that there is no inherent forgetting process. Memories will mostly tend to stay, with whatever pain and joy they bring. And there will never be any transition process that is easy for the toy.

Woody’s amnesia remains his own, and remains his best defense against the trauma of being outgrown and shelved or stored for many years.

Toys have a strange and painful lot in life, semi-immortals being made to be silent companions to the briefest stage of a mortal lifespan. They live because they are made for children, but for most, in this world of mass production, children do not create them. Their animi are the spawn of creators who have no intent to create thinking, feeling beings. Escaping the stamp of such thoughtless creation means living long enough to know the deepest loss a toy can experience. Sometimes the only way to move forward from such loss is to forget. And yet, there is little will for most toys to move beyond this cycle. Toys overwhelmingly retain their roles as objects. I’d like to say that maybe this means that play is worth it, that temporary joy is worth it. But maybe it’s just the nature of being a toy. After all, if there’s any intent in their creation, there was the intent that they should be objects.

*I would never leave a dangling asterisk. My previous point was about ships and boats, but, if seagoing vehicles live because they are named, then there’s no reason why land vehicles would not do the same. It might be possible to argue that the Cars universe came about after some cataclysm wiped out humans and left only named vehicles behind.

Other avenues of investigation that were beyond the scope of this essay:

1) The situation between the Diamonds and every other gem in Steven Universe is highly analogous to the situation between humans and toys in the Toy Story universe, save for the crucial difference that the Diamonds have no excuse to not know that the other gems are complete feeling, thinking beings and to treat them as such. It was actually parallels I saw between Spinel + Pink Diamond and Jessie + her owner that got me thinking about aspects of the Toy Story universe in ways that I know are meant to be ignored. Also Pink Diamond bringing all those little pebble people to life just by crying on them. That’s a lot of responsibility coming from a solitary expression of emotion!

2) I’d be curious to know if a hugely popular series based on the agency of objects has had an effect on fan culture at all. Or it might at least be a way to examine actions taken on behalf of characters. Fictional characters, after all, don’t feel any kind of way about the situations and relationships people envision them in. They’re mental objects like toys are physical objects. In the real world is anyone going to argue that putting the faces of dolls or action figures together and making kissing noises is something to worry about? Is anything about putting a naked Barbie on top of a naked Ken a harmful act? In the real world I would say no. Also, with full awareness that this is a can of worms, what is the impact of such things in the Toy Story universe? Obviously this wouldn’t be addressed in any canon. But the Toy Story universe is supposed to be like reality with one big secret so there are kids that are definitely using their toys to play out love stories and stories including a vague understanding of sex. And another aspect to all this…if you’ve seen Booksmart, consider one of the characters’ uses of her childhood stuffed animal. I understand that this is not uncommon.

All right. I think I’m done now. And that I will probably go get another drink.

(I had a few baby dolls as a child that included their own toys as accessories. H—how would THAT work?)

#I've been out of school for YEARS and yet I was still compelled to write a long and slightly deranged essay in mid-December #Toy Story

157 notes · View notes