#love has many forms and horde prime understands none of them

[pennamesmith]

Panopticon

Horde Prime is a thing that hungers. 

He is from a place far beyond this soap bubble of a universe. His world is vaster, darker, deeper, but it is also crushing, cold, suffocating. He longs to subsume the flickering light of this plane, to cast out the shadows. But no light will ever be enough, because Prime is the shadow. 

Others of His kind have come to this reality before, and will again. They ooze through hidden fractures and crawl out of holes torn open by greedy fools lusting for obtainment. But they are forced to hide in darkness, cowering in the backs of poisoned brains and frail hosts. Only Prime embraces the fire. Only Prime seeks not to snuff out the light, but to become it. Only Prime. 

He has built a place for Himself here. An empire. He is the ruler of known space, and everything He sees He makes His own. 

And Horde Prime sees all. 

— 

Horde Prime made Himself a body of sinew and flesh to live in, and then He made it again and again and again. He looks in every direction and He sees Himself reflected. He looks into His mirrors and sees the blazing world of light. Of course, these reflections don’t truly feel the ecstasy of existence. Such things are for Prime alone to know; the First, the Only, the Truth. 

And Horde Prime knows all. 

The reflections are perfect. Prime makes them perfect. If any should show a crack or a flaw, He feeds them to the flames of His light. He watches them char and wink out of existence, and He feels the thrill of their terror and pain. When one of His broken reflections vanishes before expiring — pulled through a wound in space to somewhere beyond his reach — He marks it as an unusual memory, but nothing more. Horde Prime has more important matters to concern Himself with, here at the center of all things. 

Later, when His lost little brother somehow manages to send a message back from nowhere, Prime’s curiosity is piqued. When a new world appears, its energy blooming like a rich flower, His lust is sparked. And when His warped reflection dares to stand before Him, face changed and thoughts hidden, His rage burns white-hot. 

—

Horde Prime considers the abomination. He hates its very existence, yet He cannot bring Himself to destroy it. Impossibly, it is something new, a well of unfamiliar experiences, and He cannot control His hunger. 

Peering into His defective brother’s memories, Prime sees a strange story play out. A shipwreck. A rebellion. A pathetic attempt at an empire equal to His own. 

And love. 

Love. The very thing Prime craves above all else, sustenance He has snuffed out suns to obtain, exchanged freely between a lower creature and a mistake of creation. 

“There was even a time you wished I would not come for you. Is that so?”

His jealousy is sharp and furious. Never before has one of Prime’s own reflections looked past Him to someone else. The very idea that one could love another more than Him is anathema. He takes the thought of the violet woman and hides it within Himself. He will make his brother love Him truly again, because it is inconceivable that such devotion could be given to anyone but Prime. 

With divine grace, He allows the wretched thing another chance to prove its loyalty, and another, and another. An unlucky cat offering temptation crosses the apostate’s path, but the lost brother resists. Ashamed and afraid, it confesses with tearful eyes, and Prime is pleased. He is a patient and forgiving god. He drinks deeply from the vessel until it is empty and pure, and Prime’s light burns brighter still. 

—

Horde Prime knows that something is wrong. 

A tiny piece of First Ones technology, clutched in a guilty hand, catches like a mote in His eye. He knows it is there. He knows what it means. He could rip it away from the foolish defect without the slightest effort, but He does not. 

He wants the poisoned brother to recant on its own. He wants to be chosen. He needs to be wanted. Horde Prime cannot remember when He last felt so starved. The other creatures in this universe, the beasts who must accept Prime’s light or perish, their resistance He has learned to accept. It is only natural for lesser life forms to require correction. His own creations, however, are another matter. Until now, not even the most broken and worthless of them has ever wished for a life apart from His presence. 

It is unbearable. 

Horde Prime views the little brother’s memories over and over and over. He listens to the woman’s words and watches her face awash in light. He examines every detail, and He still can’t understand it. He visits the amusing little stronghold on Etheria’s surface and scoffs at what He finds. How could anyone love this more than Him? It is a child’s idea of attainment, naive and pitiful. 

Prime sends His armies to cut out Etheria’s Heart, the corrupted brother among them. It is another test. Everything is another test. Prime will never stop giving tests to the ones He loves. He waits with bated breath when she appears, watching unseen, wanting desperately for His little brother to make the right choice. His rage when it rejects Him again carves deep scratches into the arms of His throne. It is sickening. 

“What have you done to me?” 

—

Horde Prime burns. The planet burns. He holds the Heart within His grasp. All will be as it should, again. He offers His brother one final test: Prime’s light or this doomed backwater darkness. Only by killing one can it have the grace of the other. There can be only one choice. 

When Prime falls, He knows that there is no hope left for this mad prison. He lets His vessel die and His true body erupts like an exploding star. His arms reach out across dimensions. He sees all. He knows all. 

“Ah, little brother. So it’s true. You have been thoroughly corrupted. So be it.” 

The world will end in fire. Though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. He looks across the crumbling planet and sees the tiny creatures clinging to each other with worthless love, and it pleases Prime to know they will be shown how misguided they were before the end. 

Horde Prime holds the failure’s body and the rebel scientist and binds them together. He will let them see what comes of choosing such a life. He will let them perish together as He creates the universe anew. It makes no difference. There is nothing they can do to stop it.  

Love cannot hurt Him. 

[fuhadeza]

I think the fandom pretty much agrees that one of the most important things missing from season five was a moment between glimmer and catra about angella. and, I mean, I agree enough to have written a whole fic about it. but I stop short of calling it bad writing, because I think that’s unfair to the show as a whole. I don’t know if it was a deliberate decision or if there were some constraints on how serious they were allowed to get (or a bit of both), but I think glimmer and catra’s resolution is actually handled very well, in the same general way She-Ra handles most of its character development: through action and symbolism. (see here for an elaboration). so, without further ado:

why glimmer forgave catra, or: we spent four seasons inferring that catra and adora were in love, so let’s give the writers the benefit of the doubt and see what we can infer about catra and glimmer

first, let’s agree on one thing: catra did not kill angella. we can argue all we want about what exactly catra expected opening the portal to do, but “I’m going to kill the queen of bright moon!” is definitely not in the running. instead, let’s think of it this way: catra created a situation which indirectly led to angella’s death. she was an important part in the chain of cause-and-effect, but not the only part. angella made a choice, too. that’s important. 

this isn’t an excuse - what catra did was still very bad! but if you’re glimmer, specifically, I think the distinction matters very much. I don’t think glimmer could forgive someone who literally, directly, explicitly killed her mother.

moving on: let’s consider the season four finale first. what does glimmer see catra do here?

she sees catra at her lowest, and she hesitates. this isn’t the villain glimmer has been fighting - it’s a defeated, broken young woman. and maybe she thinks, for the first time, how did catra get here? what shaped her?

then catra is confused by glimmer’s attempts to stop the Heart. not only that - she actually gets up and follows her, and considering the state catra is in right now, that’s really significant. she’s not just confused, she’s curious.

and then they’re beamed up to prime’s ship and the next thing catra does is save glimmer’s life specifically and etheria generally. and, sure, she does it by ingratiating herself to an intergalactic tyrant, but...

... the next thing that happens is that glimmer has an awful lot of time to think. and I think she realises a few things about catra. she realises that catra must have grown up in an environment where mistakes were something you were punished for, not something you ever tried to make right yourself. she realises that catra’s position in the horde was always precarious, that she was doing exactly what she’s doing with horde prime now - and make no mistake, glimmer isn’t stupid. she sees the way catra acts during dinner. she sees how catra keeps coming back to talk to her. prime may have arbitrarily designated catra a guest and glimmer a prisoner, but I think glimmer gets it. catra’s clinging on every way she can, trying to survive any way she can. her position is no more secure than glimmer’s.

and then we get to Corridors, and glimmer knows that catra isn’t a fundamentally bad person. she saved glimmer’s life once. she kept her company. she brought her cake! and glimmer recognises that the actions are more real than the words: catra is going through the motions, threatening to leave adora to prime, repeating the things she’s been saying to herself ever since adora left... but what she really needs is someone to give her permission to be the kind of person glimmer is, the kind of person who tries to fix her mistakes. and glimmer gives her that, because she think it’s worth a shot: she thinks catra might listen, if someone just says, no matter how many bad decisions you’ve made in a row, it doesn’t make you any less worthy of making a good decision next.

so catra sacrifices herself to save adora (and by extension bow and entrapta, which catra has no reason to know about but which still counts for glimmer!), and in possibly the most on-brand thing she ever does, immediately clarifies that she’s not doing this for glimmer.

but like. come on. the cat doth protest too much. of course she’s doing it for glimmer, too, just a little: for the person who finally inspired her to do something good with her life. and I think glimmer gets that.

so at this point, they’ve formed a strange sort of connection & catra has done the big damn hero move, and it could end there with catra being lost forever. that’s a sort of closure for glimmer.

but I think at some point glimmer asks herself: can I imagine myself in catra’s position? opening that portal?

and I think the answer is absolutely yes.

at the start of the series, catra and glimmer fundamentally want the same thing: the power to protect the people they love. they both have inferiority complexes at various points in the series, and their arcs are both about acquiring more power & struggling with the consequences of that.

the difference, of course, is that glimmer grew up with a robust support system. when she tries to activate the Heart, it truly is with the best intentions. but now she knows catra better. she can try and put herself in catra’s (figurative) shoes. and she can imagine growing up in an environment with almost zero support. she can imagine the only bright spot in her life just up and leaving one day. glimmer saw all of that happen, but now she has insight into what it looked like from the other side. what shadow weaver defecting must have felt like. what it must have been like for shadow weaver to turn up again and torture her with the help of her worst enemy. (seriously, I feel like we don’t talk about that scene nearly enough). and glimmer thinks, if I was capable of ignoring all of my friends & their compassion & their genuine concerns out of a misguided attempt to protect everyone that ended up putting them and the whole world in mortal danger, even with all the advantages of my upbringing - what chance did catra have? of course she jumped at the opportunity to make it all stop, to finally make herself safe. glimmer does it to protect her friends and catra does it to protect herself - but, crucially, glimmer now has proof that, given the opportunity, catra is very capable of choosing to protect other people, too.

and those are the two parts of the puzzle, I think. glimmer understands, at least a little, why catra did the things she did - but that isn’t enough to forgive her. it’s enough to feel sorry for her, maybe, but not to forgive her. what she needs is to see catra confront those actions, recognise them as wrong, and try to make up for them.

and that’s what she gets on prime’s ship.

and she thinks, this is what I told her to do. this is what I’ve always been told: you screw up, you try to fix it. she’s only doing what I would do. and she doesn’t have to forgive catra, because no one can ever be forced to forgive. but glimmer is a compassionate person, an empathetic person, and I think, after all of that? she simply can’t blame catra anymore, because she sees too much of herself in her.

I think there’s a really important moment at the end of Corridors. when glimmer tells adora about catra saving her, she says “she said she wanted to do one good thing in her life”. not “I told her to do one good thing in her life”. glimmer doesn’t take that choice away from catra, because no matter what role glimmer played in it, it was still catra’s choice. that’s the important thing.

I could go on: 5x06 is also excellent for this, because we have catra both relapsing a bit but also reinforcing her commitment to doing things right this time. but by that point, I think glimmer has made her choice. she makes the choice at the end of 5x04, when she agrees with adora that they should rescue catra. everything that follows is really just vindicating her.

and, yeah, you might say “but none of this is in the show!” and it isn’t, at least not explicitly. but it’s there in the way catra and glimmer look at each other at the end of season 4. it’s there in every scene they share on prime’s ship, but especially in the way glimmer tries her best not to drive catra away, because she knows they both need the company. it’s there in the way bow and glimmer open the circle for catra at the end of 5x06. it’s there in the same way catra and adora’s love for each other was there throughout the show.

and maybe I wish catra and glimmer had gotten to (figuratively) kiss, too, to really solidify what the show had been doing implicitly. but I’m content that they didn’t, because I get it. I understand why glimmer forgives catra, and I’m happy to fill in the parts they couldn’t show on-screen myself. and I also understand why other people aren’t, but if you’ve read this far, I hope it helped with that, at least a little! (and also, thank you. this got longer than I expected.)

[bisexualklausmikaelson]

last night i dreamt that somebody loved me -

a/n: au future fic or Double Trouble is once again a prisoner of Bright Moon and Scorpia’s been paying them quite a few visits lately. Double Trouble/Scorpia/Catra.

-

It feels like centuries since Scorpia had last had a moment to herself.

Rebuilding Bright Moon, fixing their worlds, and reuniting the princesses was taking up almost every minute of her days - she never realized how many responsibilities she had left behind when she had decided that she wanted to give her up her kingdom. To think being a princess involved so much groundwork.

“Ah,” she hears in the distance, light and graceful steps making their way towards her “I knew you’d be back,” Double Trouble whispers, creeping up behind her.

The garden - it’s where Scorpia retired to when she wanted to escape her duties. When she wanted to be alone and have some time to herself. But, she had forgotten that sometimes, the garden was also a healthy little outlet for the prisoners of Bright Moon.

Of course, after peace was restored to their world, the only one they really had to watch out was the notorious Double Trouble themselves.

“Leave me alone,” Scorpia sighs, sitting by the dark orange and red flowers, allowing her mind to wander too far. She doesn’t even notice how Double Trouble sits beside her, offering her an unblinking stare.

Scorpia then hears a distinct meowing in the distance, as a stray cat makes its way towards her.

She’s caught off guard by its familiar fur-pattern - light brown with mis-matched eyes, one blue, another yellow...just like -

“Thinking of your wild cat?” Double Trouble asks her.

Scorpia bites her lip, burying her face in her hands. “I’m not,” She releases.

Double Trouble takes a moment to observe her for a little bit longer.

“You know princess,” they whisper, sounding sly, “you’re a terrible liar.”

Scorpia releases a shaky breath - all her thoughts were just bottled in and it felt like she was going to explode. “You’re the last person I would speak to about this,” she grits.

The other being crooks their head to one side, raising a brow. “And yet,” they say, “Here you are,” they point out, slyly.

The princess holds her head up high, strong, resilient, and unimaginably hurt.

“What do you want?” Scorpia asks. “Why are you talking to me?” she adds on, with an angry tone.

Double Trouble backs away, looking sad. “You really want to do the answer to that?” they question as the princess offers them a firm nod. “I feel sorry for you,” they admit, quietly.

Scorpia then decides to storm off, unable to handle her emotions at this very moment.

-

Catra had been missing for what felt like years.

Some say that she ran off to live in the Crimson Waste - that she buzzed all her hair off, traded in her cat-like outfit for a dark blue suit and goes by a different name.

Others say - she’s dead.

That’s the theory Scorpia is the most afraid of.

After Glimmer was rescued by the princesses - Catra was just gone.

Some wonder if Horde Prime killed her, during her entrapment, if she just wasn’t able to survive his torture.

Scorpia doesn’t know the truth and maybe, it’s better this way. Because at least, she can hope that her first theory is right.

-

(Her new friends are great to her - they treat her as if she has been part of the gang this entire time.

Adora is all smiles and bright eyes with her new comrade, ready to fight by her side and make her feel like she is home. Glimmer is the big sister she never asked for, all protective and kind, full of wisdom beyond her years. Frosta is the strongest kid she’s ever met - meeting her eye-to-eye in every practice battle and inspiring her to spar with her new found friend. Mermista is softness underneath that brooding demeanor (she loves playing board games with Scorpia, she loves it even more when she lets her win - each and every time). 

Perfuma weaves her flower-crowns that match her battle gear. Spinnerella and Netossa invite her to family dinners. Bow laughs so hard at her jokes that he sheds tears. Sea-Hawk understands when she needs a hear-to-heart.

And yet -

She cannot help but feel alone.

None of them loved Catra like she did - none of them care as much as she does about her well-being.

They don’t understand how lonely she is without her.

Scorpia knows she’s being ungrateful because everyone is being so kind to her. And somehow, that makes her hates herself).

-

She only visits the garden again on a stormy night.

“My wild cat,” she sobs, quietly. “Where in the world could you be?” Scorpia desperately asks herself.

She doesn’t expect to hear a reply.

However, to her surprise, there is a sudden smell of daffodils in the air - with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon.

Just like Catra used to smell.

“Right here,” someone whispers, “Princess Scorpia,” they go on to say.

Scorpia turns around only to be met by Catra herself - or rather what happens to be Double Trouble shape-shifting into Catra anyway.

“Nice try,” the princess shrugs. “But I know it’s you, Double Trouble,” she spits, wiping away her prior tears.

To her demise, Double Trouble doesn’t bother transforming back. She wears Catra’s features like a mask and blends into it so well, she could fool almost anyone. 

Except for Scorpia. 

“That’s a shame,” they shrug. “What gave me away?” they wonder, always looking for tips to improve their acting skills.

The princess meets their gaze, finally staring this Catra look-a-like straight in the eye. They have no idea how much she wishes she could see her wild-cat right now. How much she just wants to hold her and kiss her.

She never even got to do that. Not even while Catra was -

“The look in your eyes,” Scorpia finally answers, “she’d never look at me like that,” she specifies.

Double Trouble frowns, hearing those words almost break their heart, to think the princess had been so pained, this entire time.

“I see,” they bite their lip, feeling guilty for their small prank gone so awry. “Unrequited love, quite a tragedy isn’t it?” they whisper, as they transform back to their original form.

Scorpia feels more at ease now, oddly so.

“I thought your powers weren’t supposed to work anymore,” she points out. “After that incantation Shadow Weaver and Glimmer put on you,” she reminds them.

“They’re both still quite unfamiliar with my skills and abilities,” Double Trouble offers. “So casting a proper spell that works on me is difficult for them - my powers don’t always work but sometimes, when the weather acts up, I can manage at least one shape-shift for a little while,” they explain.

“So you chose Catra,” Scorpia bluntly says. “To mess with me,” she accuses.

The Bright Moon prisoner is taken aback by the comment, but they are also surprised to see the lack of rage in the princess’ face. “You’re not angry with me?” They ask.

She shakes her head, turning away from them. “I can’t be,” Scorpia releases, nervously. “Not when you were wearing her face,” she confesses.

Her words move Double Trouble - unexpectedly so.

“My dear,” they rest a hand on Scorpia’s shoulder and weirdly enough, she let’s it happen. “You truly have it bad, don’t you?” Double Trouble whispers, squeezing tight.

Scorpia feels weak - in this weird new world, the sly creature beside her should be the last thing she would trust but, they are the only thing that is familiar to her right now.

“What can I do?” she questions. “I love her, still. I love her always,” she admits, sounding broken.

Double Trouble watches as the rain suddenly stops, they take this as a sign. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” they say. “You love her now - maybe even the day after and the one after that - ”

“This isn’t exactly making me feel better,” Scorpia cuts her off.

Double Trouble smiles - the same way the Cheshire Cat smiles. “Let me finish,” they order and the princess doesn’t say anything then. “Just because you feel like this today, it doesn’t mean you’re going to feel like this forever,” they advise her.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes at their suggestion. “It’s not that simple,” Scorpia tells them.

“I know,” they stare at the rose bush before them, picking one of the flowers and wincing as their fingers stabs into a torn. “But it gets easier, everyday,” they say, enduring the pain and offering the rose to Scorpia.

She looks puzzled - she still doesn’t get why Double Trouble is so nice to her. Maybe, they’re lonely too. Maybe they actually like her.

It’s hard to tell what their true intentions are.

“You know,” she sings, as she finally allows her shoulders to sink and the tension to flow through. “It’s oddly nice, talking to you,” Scorpia whispers, while she accepts the flower being handed to her.

Maybe it was time to try something new - to offer other people second chances too.

Even if that person was Double Trouble.

-

[emperorsfoot]

Hordak and Entrapta have an actual conversation about their engagement and Entrapta’s motivations. 

Also, bread-crumbs about Keldor. 

...

The first time Hec-Tor met Keldor, he could barely bring himself to raise his head. Not because his condition was in a progressive phase and he felt faint and might pass out –although, the stress of this arrangement hadn’t done any favors for that- but because he was so utterly miserable, he just didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes.

Anillis –Horde Prime, he must call him ‘Horde Prime’ now- dragged Hec-Tor halfway across the universe to meet the person he would be marrying. The eldest son of the King of Eternia. A Prince, equal to him in status if not power of their respective nations.

Hec-Tor kept his spine straight and his shoulders back when he gave the formal greetings, but his eyes were down. He did not look at his fiancé once during the introductions.

That is, until he heard a stifled laugh. Hec-Tor looked up to see his intended with his hand over his mouth, trying to dampen the sound. But he couldn’t help it. The amusement reached all the way to his eyes. Brown eyes, a brown so dark they might as well have been black. They practically sparkled with humor and formless, unfocussed mischief.

Keldor did not look like the rest of his family.

In his dossier, Hec-Tor read that his mother was King Miro’s concubine, not his legal wife. A Gar woman, one of the many blue skinned races in the universe. Keldor had his mother’s dusky blue skin and straight black hair. An ebony-black that shined in the light of Eternia’s sun. He was not what Hec-Tor was expecting and he didn’t know what to make of his intended.

“What’s so funny?” Hec-Tor demanded. No one dared laugh at a Prince of the Horde Empire.

“You are.” Keldor answered honest, still smiling. “You’re so stiff, like one of those windup soldier toys my brother still plays with. Can you do anything else besides posture and pose?”

Hec-Tor sputtered something as incomprehensible as it was ineloquent.

Next to him, he felt his brother stiffen, chest rumbling with an effort to suppress a snarl. “Is this what you teach your children, Miro? To insult their guests.”

“Keldor!” King Miro turned to his son, more temper in his voice than Hec-Tor felt was necessary considering the offense. High temper, with an undercurrent of exasperation. Apparently, this was an attitude that Prince Keldor took often and King Miro was exhausted trying to teach his son respect.

“Apologies. I was simply overcome by Prince Hec-Tor’s level of discipline. I can only hope to one day be so well trained.” Keldor gave an overly exaggerated bow, lowering his head, ebony hair falling over one shoulder, hiding the fact that he was still smirking with amusement.

Hec-Tor felt a small smirk pull at his lips. Imperial protocol was stiff and confining, but no one had ever mocked it to his face before. Keldor was bold and unafraid.

…

The second time Hec-Tor met Princess Entrapta, the only thing he could think was that she didn’t even clean-up well.

Her hair and face were washed, and she was not wearing that dreadful set of overalls with the straps hanging down like some slovenly plumber. She was wearing a dress, pale lilac, with an empire waste, short puffed sleeves, and a satin ribbon waistband. The dress was lovely. Or, rather, it would have been lovely if it weren’t for one random stain on the yoke of the bodice. Hec-Tor couldn’t tell if it was engine grease, space ship coolant, or gear lubricant. None would surprise him. He could even form a rather clear and vivid mental image of her tinkering with some dirty piece of machinery while wearing her gown.

She was even still wearing a welding mask and work gloves!

After the chaos of their first meeting, the formal introductions were postponed until the following day. The context changed from a formal meeting in the throne room with pomp and pageantry, to an informal breakfast. The gardens would have been better, but the weather had turned bad, with sands washing over the shieldwall and covering the grounds in clouds of brown and yellow dust.

So, they ate in a parlor just off from the gardens. The doors sealed tight and the shutter plates lowered firmly over the windows. The only sounds were the ‘plink, plink, plink’ of sand and pebbles against the shutter plates. And Entrapta’s talking.

“…it really in ingenious.” She was saying. “Horde World shifts classification between an M-Class planet and a Y-Class planet depending on the point in its solar rotation and climate. It’s harsh and hard for organisms to thrive on, yet, your engineers have made your cities not only livable, but thriving! The shieldwall that goes up every time there’s a storm not only protect the city from the most destructive gales, but also take the kinetic energy of the storm and transforms it into energy to power the city. It’s clean, natural power, and one-hundred percent renewable!”

Hec-Tor rolled his eyes. She was stating things that were common knowledge to any resident of Horde World. But Brother seemed to be hanging on her every word. Intently listening to her explain his own home’s technology to him. Hec-Tor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes again. If Horde Prime enjoyed her company so much, maybe he should be the one marrying her.

“Finding renewable or self-sustaining energy sources is one of the hurdles of weapons designs.” Entrapta continued, gesturing vaguely with her hair. “That’s one of the reasons why I find magic so fascinating. They say that any technology that’s sufficiently advanced would look like magic until it’s understood. But I disagree. That implies that magic can’t be understood. But there are countless people all over the universe who not only understand but practice magic! And different kinds of magic too! My hypothesis is that magic, like science, is just another method. Hypothesis, experiment, results, repeat, calculate. Magic has to have a method too, and if I can combine that method, I could make weapons powered by magic instead of coaxium, or tibana gas, or taydenite.”

Absentmindedly, Hec-Tor twisted the old wedding band on his finger, Keldor had been a sorcerer. He understood magic. Hec-Tor did not. But neither did Entrapta seem to either. At least, Hec-Tor heard her talk about anything but weapons, robotics, and engineering since she arrived. But only mentioning magic in the context that she was ‘interested’ in it.

“That’s so interesting.” Horde Prime grinned. “Isn’t that interesting, brother?”

“Riveting.” Hec-Tor sipped his breakfast tea.

Prime frowned at him, then kicked the younger man under the table.

Hec-Tor glared at him.

Prime flicked his eyes to Entrapta then back. A silent command to ‘talk to her!’

Hec-Tor sighed. “Was your journey peaceful, Princess?”

“Oh, it was great!” She spread her arms wide, hair spreading with them. “We passed by this energy cloud that turned out to be a sentient being, and almost got caught in the shockwave of Krypton exploding as we passed the Rao system, and were nearly hit by a stray energy blast from Namek. It was so exciting!”

That was a string of utter nonsense. There were no such planets as ‘Namek’ or ‘Krypton’ and energy clouds were not sentient. Hec-Tor shot his brother a pleading look. Entrapta might be bringing powerful weapons to the Empire, but the woman herself was clearly insane –and not in the traditional way that members of their family sometimes were.

Horde Prime met his younger brother’s eyes, smiled, then stood from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have affairs to attend to. Brother. Princess.”

He left.

Hec-Tor suppressed the urge to scoff. Horde Prime rarely attended to anything himself. He had a battery of aids and officials to attend to things for him. Hell! Most of his important ‘Emperor duties’ were delegated to Hec-Tor anyway.

A silence descended over the table.

Hec-Tor finished his tea. A servant appeared with a fresh teapot, then disappeared again.

Hec-Tor continued to sip at the new tea.

“I’m not good at this.” Entrapta blurted out.

It was such a non-sequitur that Hec-Tor was a bit thrown. He wasn’t sure if he’d missed part of an earlier conversation or not. He blinked at her, hoping she would elaborate.

“Getting along.” She did elaborate. “With people. People don’t understand me, and I don’t understand them either. I’m sorry if this is awkward.”

“Arrangements such as this are always awkward.” He informed her without inflection. “You are the ruler of your nation. No one is forcing you to do this. So, why are you?”

“Oh, well that’s easy!” She smiled at him as if it were a silly question. “Your brother promised me unlimited resources for my research! Just imagine the advancements I could make with the near-unlimited resources of the Horde Empire at my disposal! And all I have to do to get it is sign a contract with you. I’d say it’s a small price to pay!”

Hec-Tor just continued to stare at her. His teacup, halfway to his lips was paused forgotten in his hand. “It’s more than just a simple contract! You are aware of what marriage entails, are you not?”

Before an answer to this question could even be attempted, something dropped down from the chandelier. Fluttering down on dusky-blue wings to land with feet on the table.

“Imp!” Hec-Tor barked.

“Oh. Hello again.” Entrapta smiled. “You’re the boy from the vent.”

Imp made several quick motions with his hands, introducing himself to her properly. Since she saved him the previous day, he decided he liked her.

The Princess only stared at him with incomprehension. “I don’t know what that means.”

Hec-Tor grabbed the empty chair Prime had vacated and dragged it over to his side of the table. “Sit down.”

The child complied, sitting in the seat next to his father. Then made series of quick hand motions at the older man.

Hec-Tor sighed. “He wants me to tell you that his name is Imp and he thinks you’re ‘cool’.”

“Oh. Thanks!” She smiled as if she was not used to people thinking she was ‘cool’. Entrapta rested an elbow on the table. “So, you like to hide in vents too huh? I agree, it’s the best way to get around if you don’t like being bothered by people or having to answer a lot of really pointless questions.”

Imp signed that it was great that he was still small enough to fit in the vents and that he liked to use them to hide from his tutors (something that Hec-Tor was not aware he did). Entrapta, however, did not understand this, so Imp signed to his father to translate for him.

Instead, the Prince only glared at the boy. “Why have your tutors not notified me of these antics?”

Imp looked away awkwardly. Guiltily signing, ‘No reason…’ The actual reason was he was also intercepting the messages and datacards before they could make it to his father’s desk. Being able to fit through the palace vents was also great for spy work and espionage! (Not that Imp yet knew the word ‘espionage’.)

Hec-Tor just massaged his forehead, feeling a stress headache threatening. Luckily, he did not feel lightheaded or faint, so there was no danger of him passing out.

“So, Imp is your son.” Entrapta made another attempt at conversation. As she already warned him, she was not good at it, and had no idea what was too personal. But, asking the person you were going to marry about your future step-child had to be on the list of acceptable, right?

“Yes.” Confirmed Hec-Tor. “My son from my previous marriage.” He placed extra stress on the last two words as a subtle reminded that marriage was more than just a contract. Marriage came with a certain expectation, and –if she didn’t already have any heirs of her own- certain requirements.

“Hi, Imp, I’m Entrapta.” She waved at the child, her hair mimicking the same motion as her hand. “Imp is such a cute name! Is it a nickname or did your father give it to you?”

‘Imp’ was actually what Keldor kept calling the little hybrid creature when he was still in the vitrine. Hec-Tor was sure he didn’t mean it to be a real name –Keldor probably would have chosen an Eternian or a Gar name for their son- but after Keldor disappeared, Hec-Tor couldn’t imagine calling his son anything else but what Keldor had been calling him for months. Brother always disapproved. He felt it was not commanding and imposing enough for a Prince of the Kur Dynasty. Ha! As if ‘Zed’ was any better!

“It is his name.” Hec-Tor informed her with a completely straight face, expression impassive.

“Aw…” Entrapta smiled. “Your dad’s secretly a softy.”

How rude! Hec-Tor sipped his tea to hide his frown.

“Imp, go terrorize someone else for the moment.” He commanded the boy. “Entrapta and I have to discuss subjects you are too young to hear.”

Imp made a rude sign that Hec-Tor knew none of his tutors would have taught him. Then flew away.

He waited to make sure the child was truly gone and not just lurking somewhere where he could eavesdrop. When Hec-Tor was satisfied that his son was no longer within hearing, he pushed his tea to the side and leaned over the table, making eye-contact with Entrapta.

“You are aware that marriage is not just a simple legal contract.” He informed her. “Both of us will be expected to-“ here he hesitated, unsure how to phrase what he was trying to say, the need for clear communication battling with the modesty that had been drilled into his since his infancy “…perform…” no, that was not clear at all. Time to try a different tactic. “A marriage is not legal until it has been consummated. I do not know how things are done on Etheria, but in the Empire we have a specific tradition-“

“Beilager.” She nodded without inflection. Then reached up a tendril of hair to slide her welding mask down over her face to hide her expression. “I know.”

Of course she would know if she was the one to agree to the arrangement. If he was given a dossier on Dryl, then she must have her own files on the Empire. She struck him as the sort of woman that would do her research. She would know that, to confirm the marriage had been consummated, the wedding night would be observed by an Imperial lawyer, the Justice who performs the ceremony, and anyone from the wedding party that wished to witness.

Hec-Tor closed his eyes, mixed feelings over his first wedding night bubbling to the surface. Brother standing closer to the bed than was probably appropriate, feet planted, arms cross, leering at him. But Keldor took his face in his hands and whispered words of comfort. Made him feel safe. ‘Close your eyes. There’s no one here but us…’ Hec-Tor opened his eyes again and glared challengingly at that expressionless metal mask. “And you are fine with that?”

Still not lifting the mask, Entrapta only shrugged. “It’s just one night.”

Drumming his talons on the table, Hec-Tor studied her.

Their first meeting was unorthodox and unexpected. At the time, he was more concerned for his son and shocked at having a part of his palace cave in, and he wasn’t in the right state to really consider this woman that would be his spouse.

She was small. Short in stature, her frame slender but muscular. She might be a Princess –Queen- but she was not the type to sit in palaces or on thrones and let others do things for her. If her musculature and the grease stain on her gown were any indication, she was not afraid of getting her hands dirty and doing things herself. That was something Hec-Tor could admire. Even if she didn’t seem to grasp that there was a time and a place for such things and over the course of this week leading up to their wedding was not the time.

The thing that bothered him now was that Entrapta seemed to view this marriage as nothing more than a business transaction. Which, it was that in part, but as one of the parties that had to be married, he would have hoped she’d realize that it was much, much more than just clear-cut and cold business.

“And after the wedding night?” He asked, still speaking to her welding mask and wishing he could read her face to get some measure of her thoughts.

“I…” She began haltingly. As if unsure of her own views on the matter. Surely she must have thought this through if she was the one to agree to the marriage and wasn’t being forced to by others. “I’m not the most romantic person in the universe.” She confessed. “I’m really bad at reading body language and understanding non-verbal ques. You’ll need to tell me directly when you want to... perform like that.”

This was actually a bit of a relief to Hec-Tor. “And if I never want to perform like that with you?”

“That’s fine too, I guess.” She nodded, as if that was a relief to her as much as it was to him. Then she looked away, her face thrown into profile Hec-Tor could just barely glimpse a fraction of her expression behind the mask. She looked conflicted. “Except- except at some point in the future I will need a daughter. I guess, so long as she comes out of my body her legitimacy as Heir of Dryl would be secure, so she need not come from you. But… I just think- since we’ll already be married, it would just be more convenient if my children came from my spouse.”

Their children would be members of the Imperial Royal Family, and Heirs to the weapons manufacturing titan of Dryl. That was why Brother wanted this marriage so bad. And Dryl required a female to inherit. Brother wanted Hec-Tor to sire a daughter with this Etherian Princess so that he could wed her to Zed, thereby insuring that the armory of Dryl would always be under Imperial control.

It was actually a rather genius amount of planning on Horde Prime’s part.

Hec-Tor hated it.

“Do you, um, do you require any more children?” She asked, hesitant.

“No.” He stated flatly. “Imp is sufficient.”

Entrapta sighed, as if relived. She did not want to have any more children than was absolutely necessary. Then she smiled. “Imp is gonna love the Crypto Castle! That’s where I live, by the way. My castle in Dryl. It’s got so many secret passageways and hideaways. I’m sure he’s gonna have a lot of fun living there!”

The idea of his son hiding –and getting lost- in secret passages did not sound fun to Hec-Tor. He would prefer Imp not spend time lurking and hiding at all.

“I do not want my son getting lost in an unfamiliar castle.” He informed her. And also, made a mental note to ask his brother why she assumed he and Imp would be living in Dryl instead of the Imperial capital of Horde World.

“Oh. He won’t get lost.” She promised. “I give trackers to all the residents and staff of the castle so no one gets lost.”

If no one else was using the secret passages, why would everyone need trackers to keep from getting lost? Hec-Tor was concerned.

“You won’t get lost either.” Entrapta assured him. “I’ll probably give you master privileges on the tracker app so you can not only locate yourself but everyone else in the castle. I spend most of my time in my lab, anyway. So it’ll be nice to have a spouse I can delegate the work of actually ruling and running Dryl to. Actually, that’s another benefit I get out of this deal! Few responsibilities to cut into my experiments!” She smiled at him from across the table. “I think I’m gonna like being married, actually.”

Hec-Tor pulled his tea back to him and sipped it for lack of anything better to do. From the sound of it, he was not going to enjoy being married at all.

[incendir]

[NOTE]: I used a combination of bbintl and beesubs translations so credit to both of them

I don’t understand the eyes that focus on you I don’t understand the things you hold now, at that age Your passionate fans, the TV programs that allow you to be on them The musicians that form around you

One of the most common hate comments—that they claim they just don’t understand why he’s so successful, they don’t get what the hype about him is, they don’t get why he’s so famous at such a young age, and they say all this with the tone that he can’t possibly deserve any of it. He can’t possibly deserve or have done anything worthy of all the fans he has, the renown artists he’s collaborated with, all the shows he’s been on (I’m assuming the most representative of this is him being a producer on Show Me The Money��when he was first cast on the fourth season there was plenty of debate as to whether he deserved that position when all of his peers in his age group and in terms of years debuted were still competitors themselves).

There’s no real incentive, no reason for my hate But my guilty conscience gets buried by the crowd

As his fan of over six years now, I’ll be the first to say he’s done plenty to warrant criticism—you’d be hard-pressed to find any human, any celebrity, who hasn’t. He’s never committed a crime, he’s never done anything morally, hugely questionable or controversial—I don’t consider dating a scandal, so the only true scandal I believe he’s ever had stems from an immature, and thoughtless mistake that he’s atoned for and apologized for over and over, and still does years after it even happened. There is no reason that I can think of to hate him, and if you read between the lines of the comments of his anti-fans, you’ll realize that there’s no true reason for them to hate him either. Yet, he has hordes and hordes of haters because when spiteful comment after spiteful comment is read by otherwise neutral parties, more hate tends to easily form—if so many people hate him there must be a reason, right? Strength in numbers applies to the negative as well as the positive.

No matter what efforts you made, what suffering you went through Your success gave you the right to be insulted again

He was born with heart and respiratory problems. These health issues made it difficult for him during Block B’s early days when they had taxing choreography and he was always seen gasping for breath after rehearsals and performances. The first company he signed with treated him and his group terribly. There were controversies and they were extremely unpopular—they were horribly managed and in dire financial circumstances. They managed to escape, they managed to claw their way up through blood and sweat to the top despite their new company still being incompetent. He sacrifices sleep and personal time to create music for both himself and his group—he never once considered one without the other. He constantly receives hate and constantly has the general image of a thuggish troublemaker despite being well-spoken, well-read, intelligent, humble, and kind. But it doesn’t matter how much he endured because he’s successful now, isn’t he? None of that matters, none of it needs to be taken into account because now, he’s rich, he lives in an expensive apartment, wears expensive clothes, has an expensive car—so he’s perfectly qualified to be hated on. It doesn’t matter what he had to do to get to this point in his life, the fact of the matter is that he’s here, and that, apparently, gives everyone the right to take a stab at him all over again.

Why did she date such an unrefined delinquent?

Nine times out of ten, when there is a dating scandal, the vast majority of comments will hate on the woman in the relationship, whether she is a celebrity or non-celebrity even. Naturally, even though one of the articles mentioned how he had helped her through her own controversy, how he’d driven to her company and comforted her, this became the one time that I saw more comments hating on the man—that he wasn’t treating her right, that he didn’t deserve her, that he was too ugly for her, that her seen running into his apartment complex was a reflection of him rather than of the paparazzi following them, that he was a player who couldn’t possibly have feelings for her other than for a physical relationship because that just seems like the type of man he is.

I don’t understand how your music became hits The awards you receive every year, your luxurious surroundings

Paralleling the beginning of the first verse, and an elaboration on it as well—again one of the most common hate comments. Through this, you can see the shape and form of the song—the structure of how he’s stacking the different kinds of hate he receives. The beginning of the first two verses both begin with the most basic and transparent attempts—invalidating his success and worth by stating that they themselves don’t see anything special about him, that his music, his entire career, seems pretty unremarkable to them, nothing noteworthy and definitely undeserving of the accolades he has received thus far.

If you evoke some controversy right now, that would be impeccable timing My lips are twitching with abusive words and insults Our needs are simple, you just have to mess up on one sentence The interpretation is entirely up to me and I decide on your ideology as well

As each verse progresses, the hatred progresses as well—at first they are perhaps the type of comments he could shrug off easily because they are so obviously false or ones that are simply about his profession, and he is the type of person that accepts criticism for his music, not the type to ever think his music is flawless. Deeper into the song are the lyrics detailing the comments that are harder to stop reading—that are harder to shrug off and dismiss, that attack the type of person he is or the type of person they think he is and want him to become so that they can be proven right all along. All it would take is one mistake, anything that can be even mildly misconstrued—that would be more than enough to paint him as the brutish, stupid, arrogant, undeserving celebrity they knew he was all along. Clarifications, explanations, elaborations are all excuses—it will never matter what he meant, only what they hear, what they want to hear.

A hundred of your good acts, I’ll carve on sand One mistake, on solid rock

It doesn’t matter how long he atones for one sin—it doesn’t matter how long he goes until his next, inevitable mistake. It doesn’t matter that he’s only human. For all the hundreds of things he does right, for all the years he goes without controversy, they’ll carve them onto sand for the tide to wash away moments later as if they never happened. Any mistake he makes, however, regardless of how small, regardless if resolved or proven false in the end, regardless if apologized and forgiven, that’ll be engraved for all eternity—it’ll be brought back again and again any time his name is mentioned.

Guess whose loss it will be if you become my enemy? The camera lens will become a gun barrel

Above all, faceless IDs on the Internet full of hatred yet basking in their anonymity want to know and feel that they have an actual effect. They want to know that their words shake him and they want him to know that they are what determine his fate, his success or lack thereof—that they are so powerful they determine his self-esteem, his sense of self-worth, his pride or shame at the quality of his music. As long as he steps in front of the camera, it is up to them how he feels about himself and his work—therefore, he should do well to please them, remain on their good side. This will return in fuller force later on in the song.

No matter how shitty things are for you, you need to dance properly

A good proportion of the lyrics are applicable to celebrities in general, most especially idols, and this is one of them. I’m of the personal opinion that professionalism should be maintained—a job is a job, and rain or shine, you have to do your job if you expect to receive your livelihood from it. However, in the end, we’re all humans, and there are days you just can’t contain what is going wrong in your life, sometimes you’re sick, sometimes you just aren’t feeling it, and I’m not, and I don’t believe he is either, referring to those who simply skimp out as if being an idol is a voluntary activity at will rather than a profession—as he’s someone who is extremely professional and rarely, if ever, misses a schedule (he’s been known to endure filmings while vomiting between takes). I believe he’s referring to how the majority of idols and celebrities in general are hard-working, maintain appropriate expressions, perform to their fullest ability nearly all of the time, but they are crucified all the same any one single day or event they don’t seem at the peak of cheerfulness, at the height of their energy and enthusiasm.

I’m not an anti, it’s fan mail Once you rack up those positive comments That means you’re past your prime

This is the first time in the verses he refers to the chorus, and the central motif of the entire song: The opposite of love is not hate—it is indifference. This anti states, and this will be emphasized later on, that Zico should be grateful for this negativity. He should be grateful for the hate. In fact, he should even consider these hate comments fan mail—the reason being, that, receiving positive comments means he is no longer relevant.

Bear this in mind, the moment you make a stage name You have to kill yourself

A chilling, impactful line about the sacrifices that celebrities make physically, emotionally, mentally that non-celebrities will never be able to truly know, and never can truly experience nor understand. He had to sacrifice as much as he gained, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that he had to kill a part of Woo Jiho to become Zico. It should also be noted that he changes his flow for this verse—so that it almost sounds less like a third verse and more like a bridge. Previously, both his flow and tone were dark and smooth, but now it becomes harsher and choppier, aggressive and angry. The anti is becoming more and more cynical with its words—to the point where there’s hardly any other way to describe it than just, honestly, truly cruel.

The choice is yours to make If you want the public to eat you up (popularity/relevance), then be chewed out first Get on the cutting board

Leading in straight from the previous line, and also referring back to what was mentioned previously about indifference being the true opposite of love, the anti reiterates that the only way to gain fame is to first allow himself to be destroyed. His character, his skills, his appearance—he needs to accept that everything must be put willingly for slaughter and slander before he can gain fame because any attention is supposedly good attention and he has to accept that.

(1) A pro always rips the corners of his mouth widely (2) Professionals always need to smile

I thought this was one of those instances where both the figurative meaning and the literal translation are needed to get the full effect across. The meaning is another elaboration of the previous line regarding how celebrities are expected to “dance” even when they are going through difficult times personally, but the literal translation gives this statement the grotesque, macabre tone it needs to fully convey what he wishes to have the listener realize—it may seem nothing to an audience, to a non-celebrity, to an anonymous anti-fan on the Internet to tell a celebrity they need to perk up and keep smiling for a professional demeanor. After all, the commenter comments once—but there are thousands of commenters commenting once and the celebrity receives all of those thousands telling them to smile, again and again and again throughout their career. After a while, it wouldn’t be surprising if the simple act of smiling when told to feels as if you are ripping the corners of your mouth.

Merchandise don’t have privacy The customer is king around here

Possibly one of my favorite lines of the entire song. Other than the obvious of how this is referring to how entitled many non-celebrities feel they are to the private lives of celebrities, it most likely also references part of a rap he did during the NIKE Unlimited event shortly following the revealing of his relationship last year—

There’s another thing I could never forget That day my house, my car, and my daily life were all exposed

The reception to this was, expectedly, simply more hate—violent indignation that he was defending the invasion of his privacy and most comments ignored how his privacy was invaded at all and rather stated that it wouldn’t matter if his privacy was invaded if he was an upright person with nothing to hide, so clean and moral that even if snapshots were taken wildly out of context, he would still seem moral and upright. Bringing this back to ANTI, with the furious tone and choppy flow he uses for this verse, especially at this part, you can sense the undercurrent of sarcasm. The anti-fan finds it so incredibly absurd and infuriating that a product dares to desire privacy, that a product dares to desire its human rights not to be violated when everyone knows the customer is always right.

Hatred is also interest How long do you think you’ll receive that kind of treatment? So be thankful to me

What was implied in the second verse is now explicitly stated. Zico’s anti-fan is letting him know that fame doesn’t last forever, and that hatred is also considered popularity and attention and, regardless of how much he has been hurt by it—regardless of how many wounds and moments of darkness and doubt it might have caused him, first and foremost, Zico should be grateful to those who’ve hated on him all these years, dragged his, his friends’, his family’s names through the dirt. For, without them, and when they no longer treat him so miserably, he will not be celebrated anymore—he will be no one, once again.

I’ll make you lose your way I hope I can see you around for a long time I’ll end it here

As said before, again, above all the utmost wish and desire of an anti is to know that the subject of hatred has been affected—feels lost and horrible and feels hated, feels like truly all the faults listed about them are true. They want to know they’ve made Zico question whether he even wants to pursue his dream anymore. At the same time, they wouldn’t be an anti-fan if they had no one to hate. They rant on and on about how their hatred is a necessity of the celebrity livelihood, that Zico should be grateful as it is their attention that brings his music popularity and thusly lines his pockets—that he is nothing without them. Yet, they need him—they want him to continue making music for them to dismiss as mediocre and unoriginal, they want him to continue giving interviews so they can dissect his answers and dismiss him as problematic and toxic, they want him to continue being on shows and featured in magazines so they can claim his personality arrogant and his appearance ugly. The tone is sarcastic, cold, and mean. Naturally, the last thing they would ever want to do is let him know that without him they have no choice than to face what it reflects about themselves that they take the time to think up and spit out such degrading things to someone who has committed no crimes in his entire life and no true controversy in years. The very last line of this verse carries more weight than appears—stating that they will stop slandering him now as if they are doing him a favor. They are implying that they are taking pity on him now—he must be so destroyed, must be shaken and reeling, from all the faults he has that they’ve shed light on. So, for his sake, they’ll stop, and they challenge him to continue appearing before them if he can handle it.

I’ll wipe away your make-up And tell the world that it was all an act Why do I hate you? The price you’ll pay will be as large as the success you enjoy That’s all I wanna tell you about

I have the lyrics of the chorus as last because they summarize what the anti is saying throughout all of the different types of comments they leave. There is a reason for why these are the lyrics that G.Soul sings. Zico’s voice is what the anti-fans are actually posting, what they are actually themselves typing out and what they believe they mean. G.Soul is speaking for what is within the anti-fan themselves, what they are feeling and why they do what they do even if they might not acknowledge it themselves. Words differ from one hate comment to the next, but the sentiment behind them will always be the same—the one thing that no anti-fan will ever be seen typing in, the thing that Zico has realized about all of his anti-fans. He said as much in the Dazed Digital interview earlier this year, “Nowadays, there are people and comments trying to bring me down.When I see stuff like that, I find myself laughing about it—I don’t understand it, there’s no point to it. How can someone lack that much confidence about themselves that they try to get me down? I mean I don’t even think I’m that great!”

Anti-fans disguise themselves as concerned fans, as critics, as neutral third parties with an unbiased opinion that is only vitriolic and cruel because the celebrity clearly must deserve it. Despite all the different masks, all the various categories of hate-filled messages, that an anti might wear, Zico has realized that what they want is the same—for whatever reason, they want him to hate himself as much as they hate him. They want to see himself as the trouble-causing, simple-minded, partying, problematic, arrogant, selfish, unworthy, overrated celebrity that they paint him out to be and that they are so focused on getting the world to see him as.

I’m not you ANTI

There are several ways to look at the very last line of the song. Initially, I thought it was most probably just an English error on his part, and he meant it as “I’m not your anti”. In that case, the meaning is simple, and the final line simply reiterates the motif previously elaborated on and reiterated throughout the song about how hatred is still interest. The second way this line could be taken, if there is no error in it, is the anti-fan stating that they are not Zico—simply they do not want to be Zico, they are above him for all of the reasons they state throughout the song, all of his controversies and how problematic his image is according to them. In this interpretation, the repeated “anti” at the end would just be a sort of tie-in to state the song title. The final interpretation I offer, and I personally go back and forth between this and the first one, is that this final line is actually from Zico’s perspective—the only part of the entire song that is not supposedly spoken by the anti-fan. If spoken by Zico, this line then turns into “I’m not you, Anti”. It doesn’t matter how much they hate him, how many times and how intensely they degrade him and his loved ones, how much the rip apart his music and claim it insubstantial and unoriginal at best. He’ll never hate himself the way that they seem to hate themselves.