#simultaneously utilizing my own face and also making it an entirely different one

[oneknightlight]

2 months of improvement dude. That’s fucking insane I’m so proud

[safertokiss]

Through a Different Lens

A/N: Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here. New content wowza. I’d say I’m surprised it’s been a while, but I simply am not. Luckily another fic swap has arrived to get my creative juices flowing once again. The gods have gifted me with another perfect opportunity to write sub spence because I was given @writing-in-april as my person yet again. Hooray! Anyways I hope you enjoy and thanks all you cool cats and kittens for the support (we almost to 1000 yeet skrrt). Also, it just happens to be my birthday today so as a gift to myself I thought about subby Spencer for a while.

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: SMUT and can’t forget that fluff

Word Count: 3.2k

ENJOY:)

~~~

It all started completely by accident.

There was no possible way that she would’ve been able to predict just how much they would affect the poor kid. 

She could remember, clear as day, the first time she was forced to wear her glasses to the bureau due to her ongoing frustrations with the torture devices that were also referred to as contacts. There were only so many headaches and eye-waterings that she could take before the insecurity of wearing her frames to work shriveled below the point of caring anymore. 

But none of those previous insecurities held a flame to the amount of confusion she felt when she entered the bullpen and waltzed over to Spencer’s desk to say good morning with a shy smile adorning her face. Y/n hadn’t even been able to get a complete sentence out before the young doctor had turned to her and froze, his mouth hanging open like a fish, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, the harsh red blush she had seen before, just maybe not to this extent, engulfing his boyish features. 

Before she could even attempt to ask him what she had done to warrant such a response, he was spouting out a meager, “H-hey Y/n” whilst simultaneously scurrying off in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Completely and utterly perplexed over what had happened, she had shrugged it off and made her way back to her desk, silently mulling over the interaction periodically throughout the rest of the day. 

It was a couple of the same type of interactions later that Y/n began to take notice of what was actually happening with the boy genius. The stiff and unnatural posture. The stuttering, granted that wasn’t something new, just much more frequent and severe. The audible heartbeat always accompanied by rosy cheeks and goosebumps. 

Spencer Reid was fucking turned on by the glasses.

And he didn’t even try to hide it. Or maybe he did and was just really, really bad at doing so.

Either way, Y/n quickly discovered just how much fun it was getting these reactions to pour out of the kid...so of course she kept wearing the glasses even after she was able to wear contacts again. He didn’t need to know that. 

It was so fucking easy too. 

She would just be sitting at her desk, occupied by some particularly troubling pages of a case file that makes her have to readjust her frames out of stress, when she’d hear a high pitched squeak across the bullpen, followed by the pattering of frantic footsteps she had familiarized herself with in former few weeks. 

While she felt some kind of guilt for putting him through this, it was nowhere near enough to overtake the genuine excitement and gratification that came with knowing she could have such an effect on the adorable doctor.

Of course she found him attractive...how could she not with his perfectly sculpted cheekbones and nerdy slicked back hair. Ultimately Y/n could understand his apparent infatuation with her wearing glasses as she had caught herself, on more than a couple occasions, openly ogling his own specs. 

Maybe they were both weirdos...the whole situation was almost as strange as the Converse kink that she secretly harbored for years. Although her intuition was quick to suggest that, just maybe, both of her unique infatuations stemmed from the same noodle-shaped source.

Perhaps her favorite reaction of his, though, came about during the little office birthday party that the entire team had thrown for him.

He looked so adorable in the gigantic birthday cake hat they had bestowed upon him, Y/n could hardly contain her giggles at the giddy smile adorning his face. She watched on in amusement as Spencer tried desperately to get the candles on his cake to extinguish, to no avail, at least until someone felt bad watching his struggles and decided to give him a hand.

“They’re trick candles Spence, they’re gonna come back on every time.”, JJ chuckled, subtly smirking at Morgan who was also enjoying Spencer’s ongoing struggles. 

A couple “happy birthdays” later and the rest of the team slowly began to disperse, leaving just Y/n and him alone in their own little space. He must’ve noticed this too because the blush that had already been present throughout the celebration beforehand seemed to deepen even further as he visibly swallowed down his nerves.

Slowly stalking towards the rouge kissed boy, she dragged a couple of her fingers across the surface of the desk, noting the way his eyes briefly flicked down to follow the movement before hesitantly returning his gaze to match her own. 

She also noted the way his knuckles were basically turning white from the amount of pressure he was using to grab the sides of the chair.

“You have a good birthday, Spence?”, Y/n drawled with a teasing smile, now standing directly before the trembling young man.

Seeming to snap out of whatever sort of trance he had been in, he hastily cleared out his throat before responding with a bit of trepidation. “Hmm...yeah-yes uh yes it was v-very good, than-thank you.”

She couldn’t even attempt to conceal the smirk that had made its way to her lips listening to the genius stutter through his words. Such a nervous, nervous boy. So adorable. So fucking hot. 

“Well that makes me happy. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself pretty boy.”, she paused her thoughts soaking in the little hitches in his breath surely from how close she was standing near him and the added nickname. Deciding to play a little bit dirty, she leaned over directly into his line of sight to reach for the cake set before him.

 “Now how about I take this away and cut it up for all of us to eat? Hmmm?”

His eyes darted immediately to the cleavage that was so graciously presented to him as she bent over to pick up the dessert, a sharp little gasp escaping his pretty, pink lips as his pupils dilated carelessly. 

Y/n inwardly smirked at his reaction and began walking towards the kitchenette, but only made it about three or four steps before being interrupted. 

“Did you know that in some instances birthday candles are safe for wax play?”, he exclaimed before seemingly realizing what had just escaped his lips, his hands flying up to cover his traitorous mouth. 

Bewildered, in the best of ways, by what had just been said, she slowly swiveled back around, facing him once again, before placing the cake on the desk beside her. 

“What was that Spencer?”, she grinned at the petrified man who hadn’t made a single noise since his unexpected declaration. The poor thing looked like a caged in animal with nowhere to escape. Perfect.

“N-nothing! I m-mean obviously it was um s-something, but j-just uh just forget what I s-said.”, he quickly explained while frantically shaking his hands as if he was hoping he could simply wipe your memory of the last minute or two away permanently.

“No, no please go on.”, she teased. “Now I’m intrigued. What did you mean by ‘in some instances’ Spence?”

She wasn’t expecting the look of confusion, however brief it was, that peeked its way through the overwhelming embarrassment that had been showcased on his face, as if he truly couldn’t fathom that someone was actually asking him to go into more detail about a topic. 

Still didn’t change the fact that he was completely mortified.

Clearing his throat, he hesitantly lifted his gaze back to Y/n’s, seemingly debating with himself over whether he could articulate the words to come out or not. 

“Um...well..usually many p-people who choose to e-engage in such act-activities will use specific types of c-candles that are uh more designed especially for pl-play.”, he paused and she drank up the way his Adam's apple bobbed along his throat. “Uh… basically depending on the t-type of candle that one u-uses, the amount of pain or um d-discomfort differs. B-birthday candles tend to b-be on the more painful side so only the couples who are in-into that kind of thing would ever really utilize t-them.”, he finished abruptly, his leg bouncing rapidly in her line of vision.

She still couldn’t really believe she had actually gotten him to say anything at all, nevermind an in depth analysis on wax play. In a weird way she was proud of him. Really proud. Sometime amidst her thoughts, she’d found herself standing directly behind his sitting figure, her hands resting on either side of him against the table, the goosebumps visible on his skin from the implications of the position they were currently in.

“That’s really intriguing Spencer. I’d love to find out someday just why it is you know so much about the subject, but I don’t want to make you go into cardiac rest anytime soon.”, she remarked, giggling at the shy smile that made its way to his mouth.

She didn’t even register reaching out to lightly touch his lips until she heard his sharp intake of breath. Until he turned his head so they were mere centimeters apart. Until she watched his puppy eyes dart between her lips and your frame covered gaze. Until the space between them seemed to be lessening with every sec-

“Hey pretty boy! Where’s my cake?”

Y/n grudgingly pulled back at the interruption, watching in amusement as Spencer’s body instinctively leaned forward as if his lips hadn’t gotten the memo and were still searching for hers. “It’s coming right up you lazy ass!” she yelled back with a grin on her face.

She looked back to the boy sitting before her and was almost mesmerized by the dazed look present on his face, the blush slowly retreating as he came back to his surroundings. She could tell there were words that he wanted to say, but they just didn’t seem to be forming fast enough to actually come out. Deciding to put their little moment on hold before he passed out, she walked back over to the neglected dessert and started heading towards the break room again.

“I’ll make sure to save you the biggest piece, Spence.”,she threw over her shoulder, chuckling at the bewildered look still that was still present on his face.

~~~

The day was a big success in her opinion. 

Spencer looked even more like a child than usual with the big shit eating grin that remained throughout the celebration and the bulky hat that he refused to take off. She could never understand how someone could have such an affinity for sugar as she watched him devour the huge slice of cake she had carved up for him.

But hours later, it was just her and Spencer left in the building. 

And she was not about to let that go to waste.

Y/n could see him from where she stood at the entrance to the kitchenette. She could see the way he slouched over his desk with his legs curled underneath him, criss cross applesauce, as he scribbled down whatever case file he was working on. She admired his determined work ethic, that’s for sure.

But now was simply not the time to work.

Spencer immediately froze as soon as her body situated itself to be leaning against his desk, painfully aware of her gaze on his tense form. 

“H-hey Y/n.”, he nervously murmured, the stutter once again making her giddy.

“Hey yourself doc. Wanna tell me why it is you’re still here working at such a late hour? Doesn’t the elusive Spencer Reid have better things to be entertaining himself with?”, she drawled, her piercing gaze making the poor kid squirm before her eyes.

“Oh um no...n-not really. I actually don’t mind working late. It’s k-kind of therapeutic in a way. But um...I’m happy t-that you’re here w-with me.”, he whispered the last part as if he was scared you wouldn’t appreciate his gratitude.

But she appreciated it more than he knew.

Noticing the little pencil holder situated amongst the file stacks on his desk, an idea popped into her mind that she just couldn’t shake, prompting her to pick it up and begin fiddling with it.

“Oh is that so pretty boy? Does my presence satisfy you?” Before he could even attempt an answer she “accidently” dropped the holder on the ground, the array of pens and pencils dispersing among the floor. “Oops my bad.”

Spencer immediately scrambled out of his seat and onto the floor to start collecting the colorful writing utensils, the perfect distraction needed for Y/n to situate herself on his desk with her legs spread open directly in front of his face. 

“D-don’t worry abou-”, his sentence cut off as he looked up and was met with the tantalizing sight of her white lace panties already damp with her excitement. She swore he could die happy with the way his eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

“See something you like baby?” Unable to even form words, the young doctor slowly nodded his head, eyes still locked on the obvious wet spot between her open legs.

“C-can I..can I um…”

“Use your words baby boy. Can you what?”, she spoke clearly, grasping his chin so he’d look her in the eyes.

“C-can I taste you?” She couldn't get over the desperate way he spoke as if he’d die of thirst if he didn’t get a drink from her.

“Of course you can sweet b-” Not even letting the words leave her mouth, his hands were eagerly pulling her panties down and off her legs, his lips instantly connecting with the heated flesh at the apex of her thighs. She swore his tongue and lips were enchanted with the way he was able to effortlessly maneuver his way around, easily picking up on what she loved. 

“Oh Spencer you’re such a good boy.” she couldn’t resist  threading her fingers through his silky hair and tugging slightly, an action she assumed he enjoyed based on the muffled whine she heard from between her thighs. 

It hadn’t even been more than a few minutes before she found herself already on the verge of letting go. No guy had ever been able to make her feel this good and just electric until now. He was quickly ruining her for anyone else in the future. She did not mind in the slightest.

“Baby I really wanna feel you inside me. Is that something you want sweetheart?”

He reluctantly pulled back after a few more kitten licks to her clit, wide eyes finding hers and whimpering out a broken “yes”. More than happy with his response she gently pulled him up by his hair and started undoing his belt, his oversized pants easily falling down without the extra support. Just another thing about him that she had come to adore. She was very pleased by the obvious bulge that protruded through his baby blue checkered boxers. 

Before she pulled those down too, though, she very gently reached up and cupped his cheeks, guiding his plump lips to her own, basking in the delighted whimpers that escaped his mouth at the soft but passionate contact. She released his lips with a slight nip and proceeded with his clothing removal, coaxing him to sit down in the swirly chair he had been previously residing in, before straddling his lap. 

“You ready sweet boy?”, she asked leaning forward to kiss his rouge forehead and cheeks.

“Mhmm I’m r-ready.”

Taking that as the go ahead, she cautiously positioned herself over his throbbing erection before slowly lowering herself inch by inch until he was completely enveloped by her tight, warm walls. 

“Oh-ohh my.”, he whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being connected so intimately. Gently, she started to move a bit more, hesitantly lifting up before lowering herself back down, flush against his lap, one of her soft hands anchoring herself to his shoulder while the other caressed his flushed cheeks.

“I know baby, I know. You feel so good baby boy I don’t think I’m going to be able to last much longer.”

“M-me neither.”, he stuttered as the pace she had previously set seemed to increase in speed, the excitement and ecstasy getting to the both of them and subconsciously pushing the two of them closer to their shared release. 

The fire was quickly building within her body and she knew she was truly crumbling at the seams, but with the way his body was trembling and his dick was subtly twitching inside of her she knew he was right there too.

“It’s ok baby boy, it’s ok. Cum for me sweet boy. I want you to cum inside and fill up my pussy Spence.”, she muttered feeling the beginning of her end crash unexpectedly throughout her entire being, grasping onto the boy underneath her to tie herself to the earth. 

Overwhelmed by the utter euphoria of Y/n cumming around him, Spencer let himself get thrown off the edge, his hands tightening on her waist hard enough she was sure little bruises would form come tomorrow, not that she minded at all.

“Oh Y/n!” She watched on, obsessed with the way that his mouth fell open in a little o-shape as his eyes squeezed shut, the tell tale signs of pleasure coursing through his veins, the warm feeling that he left deep inside of her as she gently lifted herself from his shaking legs, reaching for her panties before the warmth was able to escape down her damp thighs.

Looking back at the trembling boy after cleaning herself and him up, she couldn’t help but melt at the lovesick, puppy dog eyes he was giving her, prompting her to lean forward and leave more little kisses on the top of his damp hair.

“That was incredible Spence. Really incredible. I’ve never felt anything like that before baby.”

She melted even further at the way he shyly dropped his head to somewhat hide the wide grin that had spread like wildfire across his face. There was a comfortable silence between the two of them before his head lifted with a questioning glance.

“How’d you-I mean uh how did you know that I liked you?” There was no way she could control the giggles that left her lips at his silly question.

“You weren’t exactly subtle with the whole glasses thing Spence.”

And then the only sound heard throughout the building was her full blown laughter at the mortification that speedily adorned his cherry cheeks.

Tag List: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @watermelonstyl @goldnratio @cheyxminds @kricketc29 @cupcake525 @pinkdiamond1016 @slutforthegubes @shadyladyperfection @emilysallysmith @babblingbrookex @legendaryanimeaestheticclou @sunstspidey @ashwarren32 @pixels-impulse @eviewildflower @spencerreider @awkwardsadaa @dirty-pan-goblin @ughgoaway @cromies90-blog @mightaswell247 @calm-and-doctor @golden-hoax @1mpvls3 @lonewolf471 @centiaaa @spencerspecifics

[baepsaesbae]

Eclipse

Pairing— Day Fairy!Hoseok x Night fairy!reader    

Genre— SMUT, fae au, angst, idiots to lovers

Warnings— Oral (F receiving), nipple play, explicit unprotected sex, hair pulling, both praise and slight derogatory dirty talk bc I can’t make up my mind, slight swearing

Word Count— 3.3k  

Summary— The summer solstice is here and it’s time to celebrate. Your favorite part of the solstice is that you get to see Hoseok, or rather, the love of your life. It’s too bad you haven’t told him how you really felt, even though it has been centuries. Maybe this year will be different. 

A/N— This fic is part of The Fabled Collab hosted by @joontopia, @kimtaehyunq, and @whipped-for-kpop-fics. Hoseok is my sunshine, so I just had to write about him! Thank you to @s0seo and @taegularities for giving me motivation to write. Lastly, huge shoutout to Eden from @thebiasrekkers​ for making this awesome banner for me! As always, let me know how you guys like the fic! My askbox is always open <3

Fae clans have many holidays and rituals, but solstices are by far the most celebrated. Solstices mark the pivotal event that shifts the seasonal responsibilities between the sun and moon clans. The summer and winter solstice are always the biggest events of the year, with about a week of festivities leading up to the final event. 

Sweat ran down your spine as the sun beat down on you. You’ve been holding up a stupid banner for what felt like an eternity.

“Okay wait, you’re gonna hate me but I think we should put it back to where we originally had it,” Sunghoon said with furrowed brows.

“That’s it. We’ve been doing this all morning. Figure this out yourself,” you angrily threw down the banner and stormed off before Sunghoon had the chance to yell at you.

You ignored the friendly calls from other fae that were setting up decor nearby. It was way past your bedtime. Cranky and drenched in sweat, you were definitely not a happy night fairy. Heading straight to the pond, you derobed and found comfort in the cool waters that  washed away your stress instantly. You gazed up at the blue sky while floating on your back. The day truly was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that. However, nighttime was better in your very much biased opinion. The dark sky littered with countless stars that glittered like diamonds was an unbeatable sight. 

“Hey there sunshine!” a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. You dipped back into the water and turned to the source of the sound.

“Hey there, perv. Care to join me?” you beckoned.

“I wish I could, but I need to go finalize some plans for the handoff ceremony--”

“It’s the same EVERY year. C’mon Hobi, you don’t need to go,” you whined.

“I’ll meet you back here at sunset, how does that sound?” he tried to appease you.

“Midnight. I’m already exhausted, I don’t wanna wake up early,” you blew raspberries into the pond.

“That’s fair. I’ll see you then okay?” Hoseok waved before flying off.

On top of parties filled with indulgences that would blow the mind of any feeble human, Hoseok was the added bonus that made you eager for each solstice. Admittedly, you two have had some sort of flirtationship going on for the past few centuries. Your friends always teased you about how madly head over heels you were for him. As much as you wanted to believe that he loved you in the same way, something always felt off.  

Hoseok always reciprocated your flirtatious advances, but it felt more like a game between friends rather than something substantial. You’ve even observed his interactions with other fairies, and it didn’t seem like he gave you any special treatment. He was simply a good friendly guy that everyone loved, but not the way that you loved him. 

You were dying to know how he truly felt about you. All these years of playful banter had been fun, but they had also been simultaneously eating away at you. There’s no way he doesn’t know that you love him. At the same time, what if he thinks you’re just a good friend? You needed to know for sure, and you intended to confront him about it at midnight.

“Good evening,” you greeted Hoseok shyly as you approached the pond’s bank. 

“Good day to you sunshine,” Hoseok called back as he kicked at the water.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked.

“Boring as always. You’re right, it’s the same every year. But the elders still want to go over everything again to ensure that the ceremony is perfect,” Hoseok sighed.

“Thanks for coming to hangout with me even though you’re so busy,” you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day! You’re the perfect person to unwind with after a long day,” Hoseok smiled. There it was. The radiant smile you fell for the first time you ever met him. 

“You sure I’m the perfect person for that? What do you do when you’re back in your own land surrounded by other day fae?” you prodded, hoping to steer the conversation onto the ‘what are we’ topic. 

“I have my friends there for sure, and I appreciate them too. But it’s different with you. Maybe because I can only hangout with you twice a year. You’re like my super special friend, yaknow?” Hoseok tried to explain. 

“Uh yeah, for sure. Like a special playdate kind of thing huh?” you tried to hide your hurt feelings.

“Exactly! You get it. It’s like you’re my favorite dessert that I can only have twice a year,” Hoseok nodded.

“Right…” you whispered softly to yourself. You spent the rest of the night listening to the unfruitful discussions Hoseok had during his meetings. All the excitement over the festival had drained from you. Now, you just wanted it to be over so you can go sulk in peace. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Hoseok observed, “You haven’t interjected once about how stupid our traditions are or how you’re looking forward to having long nights again.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m just tired. Sunghoon really worked me to the bone yesterday, that damn day fairy,” you faked a yawn.

“Hey, be nice! Wasn’t it you who volunteered to help us anyway?” Hoseok shook his head.

‘Yeah, because I thought I’d be able to work with you,’ you thought.

“It was a bizarre streak of altruism, that’s all,” you shrugged. 

“Nah, I know you’re a kind fairy deep down!” Hoseok playfully nudged your shoulder. Normally you would welcome this type of physical affection, but for right now it served as a painful reminder that you were merely seen as a buddy. 

You actively avoided Hoseok for the remainder of the week, counting down the hours to when it would finally all be over. You made up some lame excuse to not hangout with Hoseok every time he approached you. He must have caught on by the final day, either that or he was extremely busy. Afterall, he was the MC for the entire ordeal. 

Apparently, your abrasive reputation preceded you because no one wanted your help with anything. As soon as they saw you coming, they would randomly find themselves very preoccupied with something that made them too busy to talk to you. The only person who would put you to work was Sunghoon, who was one of Hoseok’s best friends. You wondered why he was always so nice to you even when you complained the entire time you helped him.

“That’s the last table! They all look great, thanks for helping with the set up,” Sunghoon gave you a thumbs up.

“You know it’s pointless setting up all these tables. Most of the fairies are just gonna be dancing or fucking all night long, no one is gonna be sitting down,” you said.

“Are you gonna be one of the fairies partying?” Sunghoon inquired.

“Definitely not,” you answered curtly.

“Then I’m happy at least one of these tables will be utilized,” Sunghoon nodded, “Try to enjoy yourself tonight okay?”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

The entire forest seemed to come alive that night. The trees swayed with the enchanting music while cheers of merriment erupted around the party scene. You sat alone at a mushroom table with your third (or was it fourth?) cup of berry wine. You glared at the fairies who had lost themselves to their pleasures, whether it be the wine or the toadstools, or perhaps even both. Fairies who had given into their more lustful urges could be seen on the outskirts of the dance floor, some in the innocent stages of kissing and others entangled full fledged fornication. Scoffing at the obscene orgy, you stumbled off to get another cup of wine. Even though you weren’t really participating, you had to admit that fairies knew how to throw a party. 

“Hey ___, I noticed you’ve been by yourself the whole evening. Want some company?” someone asked behind you as you filled up your mug to the brim. You turned to see two Sunghoons merge to become one hazy Sunghoon in the blink of an eye. 

“F-ffuck off Sunghoon,” you slurred.

“I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you did for this year’s summer solstice,” Sunghoon continued, unfazed by your harshness, “Wanna dance to celebrate?”

“Nope,” you answered as you pushed him aside.

“Yeah she seemed pretty pissed dude,” Sunghoon said while taking a large swig.

“At you or in general?” Hoseok inquired.

“Dunno man, she’s always been like that. However, she seemed more aggravated than usual, which is hard to imagine,” Sunghoon chuckled, “Did you do something to her?”

“No! I’ve been replaying everything we talked about at the pond but everything seemed fine! I even told her that she was my super special friend and---oh shit,” Hoseok’s face fell.

“Idiot,” Sunghoon tsked. 

Both fae clans had gathered by the main stage, intently listening to the same speeches that the clan leaders have spoken for centuries. You watched apathetically as the everlasting flame was being formally handed over. The crowd roared as the flame changed from a deep crimson red to an icy silver color with a blue hue, signifying that the solstice had come to pass. 

If the festival wasn’t wild before, it had only gotten more out of hand after the official ceremony. Seeing the other fairies go wild in every sense of the word made you nauseous. The noise level intensified as you watched your fairy brethren engage in rather promiscuous activities. Someone even beckoned for you to join in the fun, but you just walked away. The only person you wanted to have that kind of fun with was Hoseok. It infuriated you that your thoughts always drifted to him. You filled up your cup one last time and walked away from the ruckus, towards an empty grove. Hopefully you would be able to wallow in self pity in peace there. 

The stars twinkled above you, and dim moonlight speckled the ground around you as it shone through the trees. You could still hear the party, but it was much fainter now and served as nice background noise to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. With a deep exhale, you fought to hold back tears. You felt so foolish. Too many years have been wasted in vain for an unrequited love that you should have seen coming. It was so stupid of you to hold onto a sliver of hope that Hoseok would like you back. 

“The party is that way,” a familiar voice called out to you.

“Then why aren’t you there?” you didn’t try to mask the annoyance in your voice.

“I saw you walk away, I wanted to check up on you.”

“Why the fuck would you even care?” you sat up and hissed.

“Why are you being so hostile? You’re the one who has been avoiding me all week!” Hoseok raised his voice.

“I’m sure you didn’t have much time to spend with me anyway,” you huffed.

“That’s not true. I spent every moment of my free time looking for you, only for you to turn me away. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok calmed down.

“Fine. I’m in love with you, okay? How fucking embarrassing. It hurt when you said that I was your super best friend or whatever. Seeing you afterward just reminded me of how dumb I am,” you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Oh sunshine, I’m the idiot. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my special friend because I like you too. I wanted to spend every second with you this week. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, I’m so sorry ____,” Hoseok got down on his knees and pulled you in for a hug. You were stunned.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner then!” you pushed him off.

“I thought it was obvious from the way we flirted!” he argued. 

“You’re nice to everyone, it was hard for me to tell,” you pouted.

“My apologies for not being a sourpuss like you,” Hoseok laughed.

“So...what now? It wasn’t really a romantic confession but I guess our feelings are out in the open now,” you whispered as you leaned against him.

Suddenly, Hoseok pushed you back to the ground, straddling your hips. His dark hair nearly covered his eyes as he looked down at you. He was beyond beautiful, his white iridescent wings glittered ethereally in the moonlight. 

“Remember when I said you’re like a dessert I can only have twice a year? I’d like to make that a reality,” Hobi smirked. He bent over to kiss you. It was soft at first, his plush lips pressing up against yours. He gently cupped your face with one hand while the other wandered to your chest, undoing your blouse. Lust overtook the both of you as the kiss deepened and Hoseok fondled your breasts. You let out a small gasp as he played with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.  

“Spread those legs for me, sunshine,” he demanded.

You complied, slowly exposing yourself to him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him while in such a compromising position. Hoseok gingerly kissed a trail along your inner thighs towards your core. His hot breath against your pussy made you squirm under him in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, “Let’s play a game. You have to make eye contact with me while I eat you out. Every time you look away, I stop.”

“You’re evil,” you huffed before reluctantly looking at the beautiful being perched between your legs. 

“That’s my girl,” he purred approvingly before spreading your folds with his fingers. His eyes darkened with lust as you watched him lick tantalizingly slow stripes. He could feel your need for more, so he moved up to focus on your clit, giving it special attention as his tongue swirled around it. 

You tangled your fingers into his hair, gripping him tighter as he licked your clit faster. All your composure was lost as you looked down at him with pleading eyes.

“What is it? Need more?” Hoseok teased as his fingers traced your entrance.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?” Hoseok feigned ignorance

“Please touch me,” you said softly.

“We need to work on your begging, but you’re so adorable I can’t say no,” Hobi dove back into stimulating your clit as he slipped a finger inside of you. He smirked at how easily he went in, and immediately added a second finger. The new feeling had you throwing your head back as he grazed your g-spot. Right as things began to feel good, he retracted everything.

“Hobi!” you cried out in frustration.

“You looked away. Remember the rules to our little game?” Hoseok chided. You glared down at him as he immediately picked up where he left off, not giving you time to readjust. Fighting back the urge to close your eyes, soft moans escaped from your lips.

“Ready to cum, my dear ___?” he asked sweetly as his fingers dipped to directly attack your g-spot.

There was no time to give a proper response. Your back arched and your toes curled up as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Drenched in your juices, Hoseok glistened under the moonlight.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Hoseok praised, “But I’m not finished with you yet,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

He unbuckled his trousers, releasing the monster that dangled between his legs. You willingly spread your legs for him, eager for more.

“So needy, you haven’t had enough yet?” Hoseok tsked as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your folds.

Finally, Hoseok began to bury himself into you. He took his time, relishing how your warm walls squeezed him. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, focusing on feeling every inch of him. Once he bottomed out, you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. The dark lust that swam in his eyes broke for a second, replaced by the warm smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place. He bent down to kiss you, and you happily reciprocated. 

Hoseok moved his hips slowly as he fucked you at a deep yet gentle pace. Mouths still colliding, you shyly licked at his lips. Taking your hint, Hoseok’s tongue met yours. As the kisses deepened with more saliva being interchanged, Hoseok’s thrusts became harsher.    

“You’re so fucking sexy. Lemme see that ass baby,” Hoseok growled as he flipped you over.

He smacked your ass twice and watched it jiggle in awe before placing a firm grip on your hips. Almost animalistically, he bucked into you. Your body jolted forward with each thrust. You had never been fucked this hard before, and it was heavenly. Hoseok’s control over his body movement was insane. Your moans grew louder as his hips continuously rolled into you. 

One of Hoseok’s hands formed a tight grip on your hair, roughly bringing your head up off the ground. You couldn’t stop your wanton moans from filling the open air. 

“H-Hoseok,” you cried out.

“What is it? Is it too much for you?” Hoseok cooed in your ear as he brought your head back even closer to him.

“Mmm-no,” was all you could make out.

“I knew you could take it all, such a good slut,” Hoseok praised as he let go of your hair.

Unable to hold yourself up, you immediately fell back onto your chest. Your fingernails dug into the dirt as you could feel another orgasm swelling up inside of you. 

“I’m gonna cum again,” you wailed out.

“I’m almost there, wait for me baby,” Hoseok instructed.

With perfect timing, Hoseok let out a guttural moan as he spilled his seed inside of you. Sounds of pleasure bounced around the grove as you came in unison. Hoseok’s cum dripped down the sides of your inner thighs when he pulled out. 

“How did I do, sunshine?” Hoseok asked jovially as you laid on the ground before him.

“You knocked me out. I don’t think I can move for a while,” you weakly answered with a smile.

“Not a problem, we can just stay here for a while, sunshine,” Hoseok laid down beside you, beckoning for you to rest atop his chest. 

“I like when you call me that,” you yawned.

“Sunshine?” Hoseok asked.

“Yeah, that. It makes me feel special,” you nodded.

“Is that so? I’m glad it makes you feel special, because you are. You’ve always been the spunky night fairy that everyone knows but is too afraid to approach,” Hoseok laughed.

“What! I am totally friendly! Just not to those who piss me off,” you defended, “Which...I guess is a lot of people so I suppose I see your point. What made you want to be my friend if everyone thought I’m scary?”

“You treated me like everyone else. It always felt like people put on a fake facade around me since I’m the chief’s son. They’re nice to me to try and curry favor with my father, or maybe flirt with me to try and gain some special sort of status. I don’t know. I’m just me,” Hoseok shrugged. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re my sunshine,” you hugged him.

“That makes me feel great. I’ll do my best to see you more than twice a year, okay?” he kissed your forehead.

“I guess I can clear my schedule and come over to visit you too,” you giggled, “Or maybe we can run away and make a clan of our own.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to go somewhere where no one knows my name or expects anything from me.”

“How about we go to where the day meets the night?” you offered.

“Like what? An eclipse?” Hoseok said as he gazed into the night sky.

“Precisely. We can make an eclipse clan. We only have to do festivals for eclipses, and those are kinda rare,” you giggled.

“Sounds like a good dream, sunshine. Let’s seriously discuss it in the morning when we’re both more sober,” Hoseok kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight, my sunshine,” you whispered into his chest.

Published July 23, 2021. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2021 Baepsaesbae.

[bigskydreaming]

what are your opinions on we are robin?

Massively complicated by the fact that DC's writers don't have an ACAB bone in their collective bodies.

Dunno how new to my blog you are and thus how familiar or not you are with my ACAB stance for Dick and my personal tendency to never acknowledge or interact with the specific idea of Dick as a cop...like there's more than enough material for me to work with without ever having to delve into that and I fundamentally believe being a cop is counter to everything I see as Dick's core premise and makes no sense given the specific origins and continuities I view as most 'him' -

But I WOULD have a lot of thoughts about how Dick would feel about this massive city-wide movement that he had no hand in creating and how he would inevitably feel personally responsible for every life to put on a facscimile of his family's costume AND the things they did in those costumes (such as the kid who was manipulated into killing someone while in that guise, per the Court of Owls' agenda).....

AND I would have a ton of thoughts about the fact that it was Alfred who secretly engineered this movement and how he of all people should know how Dick might feel about that, and thus how Dick WOULD feel about that information, but complicated and coupled with the fact that Alfred most certainly was motivated in part by his grief for Dick and seeing this as a kind of legacy, a way to honor his grandson, and able to justify to himself any transgressions towards Dick's feelings here with the idea that Dick wasn't alive TO be hurt by his actions here....

BUT the reason I avoid engaging with We Are Robin content beyond acknowledging it as Duke's origin story in the background of Duke content I write....

Is I absolutely can not - or more to the point - WILL NOT - attempt to justify Dick's decision to get all the kids arrested and locked up for their own safety while he went after the Court alone.

To be clear - I absolutely am of the opinion that Dick was and always will be right and justified in not wanting to see anyone get hurt in the colors and image of his family's legacy. That this has absolutely NOTHING to do with his impression of any such individual's competency, nor is it about trying to restrict their agency. That its wholly a PERSONAL thing for him, its a private instinct that is entirely reasonable and allowable, for him to have a kneejerk need to keep more people from dying or suffering in that specific mantle that he never intended to BE a legacy beyond just himself.

I headcanon that after Jason himself, nobody hated the memorial in the cave more than Dick, because the last image he had of his family was them lying dead on the ground of the circus ring, just broken bodies colored from high above in the classic Grayson colors and covered in blood. That THAT specifically is the image Dick so often saw in his nightmares in his early years in the Manor, that is the SPECIFIC visual Bruce so often comforted him about upon waking....and that it was a massive slap in the face and an indication of Bruce's most unfortunate tunnel-vision tendencies in his own grief, that it never even OCCURRED to Bruce that in memorializing Jason in the specific way he did, he was also subjecting Dick to a constant, ever present visual reminder of one of Dick's personal most traumatic images....the sight and idea of his family, now not just his parents but also his brother....reduced to just broken, bloody costumes he'd never get to see as anything but that again.

Not to mention then captioning this memorial with "a good soldier" and thus in the process of disrespecting Jason's true bond with Bruce, simply because Bruce couldn't handle that at the time and was trying to literally DISTANCE himself from that view of his loss, the loss of a son, of family....Bruce simultaneously disrespected Dick's legacy of his family and everything he'd created Robin to be, and envisioned Jason-as-Robin to be from the moment Dick gave Jason his own old costume and embraced him as the new Robin and by extension, HIS family as much as Bruce's.....like, no matter what Bruce intended for HIMSELF and his feelings about Jason's death with that caption, he literally reduced Dick's tribute to his parents and expression of brotherhood to his brother to.....nothing more than the uniform of a child soldier, a subordinate of the Batman in HIS personal crusade. Something that Jason never actually was, and Dick CERTAINLY had never created - or gave Jason his blessing as - Robin to be.

So on that front, I have no problem with Dick WANTING to keep all the Robins, every child who called themselves one, safe - and to take on the Court of Owls alone, by himself, because like it or not, that will ALWAYS be personal for him. That is about HIS family in a way that it will never be about the family, the heritage, of anyone else, even his adopted siblings. The Court were after HIM, specifically, and always were and always would be. I don't see anything hypocritical about Dick's desire to keep kids out of that fight when he himself would have never been okay with Bruce benching him as Robin in some random fight....because this fight is deeply personal for Dick in a way that's not transferable, and to be honest, I see his desire to keep anyone else from dying as a Robin, in a fight against the Court ESPECIALLY....I see it as an inherently selfish want of Dick's. 

A selfishness that I think he's entirely justified in having. Its not about anyone but him. Its about HIM not having to deal with the burden of any more deaths in his family's colors, his family's name, when he in all likelihood originally created Robin in that particular guise because he figured he'd likely die as Robin at some point, and thus he'd never have to see anyone die in the image of his family's costume and colors ever again because the only person left TO die in them, at the time, was he himself.....thus kinda ensuring for Dick that when he did die, he'd go out just as his parents did, which in his youth at least was likely a weirdly kinda comforting idea for him.

So on the one hand, Dick's desire to keep the kids out of harm's way was ultimately a selfish - but justifiably so - desire to not see anyone else dead or injured in a literal WAR of CHILDREN being fought in his personal family colors and image....especially when 99% of them had literally no idea what the colors they were fighting in signified and meant for the mantle's original creator.

BUT.

BUT BUT BUT BUT BUT.

Where this all falls apart for me, and why I don't just go with this take and instead just kinda sidestep around the whole story itself and don't engage with it....

Is there's absolutely no way to 'fix' the story as is.....without coming up with an entirely different middle climax, in which Dick finds some way to sideline the kids without getting them all arrested.

Cuz see, what I'm NOT gonna ever do, is try and argue from an in story perspective, that Dick would ever be stupid enough, or try to justify, getting kids - many of them marginalized, and people of color specifically - arrested in the name of keeping them SAFE.

That's just stupid to the nth degree, and unilaterally the fault of DC's writers being oblivious to the real-world realities of police brutality and the interactions and dynamic people of color have with the actual police.

It was DC's fuck-up there, but I - especially as a white writer and fan - am not going to try and fix or transform that fuck up short of entirely rewriting the whole second half of We Are Robin's plot, which to be honest, I don't see as likely to ever be a priority for me as there's so much other content in Dick's narratives I'd rather get to first. Its just way too far down the list, the premise itself doesn't interest or engage me enough to make me WANT to invest in that particular story heavily enough to create a whole other direction for it, that navigates around the issue I have with it here.

So again, I mostly just....don't engage with it. Because I can't see Dick's stance on the issue of his family's legacy ever being other than what I always see it as, and thus see it as here, but I'm definitely never going to find it appropriate to write Dick trying to justify his decision to ENGINEER the police arresting all these kids for their PROTECTION....to a black character like Duke in specific.

Because its not. But again, this wasn't Dick's decision at the end of the day, because he's a fictional character who can only make the decisions he's written making. And thus it was the decision of writers who wrote these characters in situations that contained analogues to real world issues without keeping centered an awareness of how those issues intersect with people of different identities, particularly people of color and black people in specific.

So its not a decision that made me like, dislike Dick, because its one that I don't think he should have ever been written making, but its not a decision I care to justify in universe.

And that's about all I think I ever intend to - or even could - expand on that subject, I'm pretty sure. *Shrugs*

Oh wait, no, I lied!

Quick thought for white fans in particular....because I HAVE seen this subject tackled at least once or twice in fiction, from an ACAB standpoint that had Duke reaming out Dick for his decision here, for the same reasons I'm outlining above.....

This isn't an attempt to gatekeep or police anybody as like, I'm not actually ever trying to do that, I'd have to know every fic writer's personal identity and marginalizations TO do that, and I'm not pretending to know that or asking to, like, its just not on the menu for me so please don't get me wrong, this is purely aimed at a plea for white writers in particular to exercise personal accountability and good, sincere judgment in this regard:

No matter your personal feelings about Dick Grayson, the subject of Robin, or any of this in general, PLEASE keep in mind before utilizing Duke as a mouthpiece for giving Dick shit for this in the name of smearing the latter's character or making him look bad, like.....

Dick is of Romani descent. In the New 52 continuity as well as pre-Flashpoint. That's been made explicitly clear, and as such......there is no substitute in our current real world zeitgeist for the interactions the police have with black people, but please keep in mind that Romani people have a very, VERY long history of being subject to police brutality and persecution in a wide range of countries. Its a big part of why so many people are so uncomfortable with cop!Dick in the first place, and as such, it makes treating him as this naive, privileged white guy when having the realities of police brutality explained to him by another character, like.....not look exactly like you might intend there, because the reality is he's not SUPPOSED to be that character, but too few people at DC, and ESPECIALLY the people writing the We Are Robin stories, like, completely fail to ever extend the idea of Dick being Romani to any kind of examination of what kinds of lived experiences, perspective or perceptions this results in him having specifically.

And that's a failure on DC's part, but you don't need to go making it your failure as well, so for those of us who are white like, this really is something that should be kept centered before we decide to engage with story elements like the above one from We Are Robin, and like, if we do, then HOW we go about that specifically.

[wisteria-lodge]

bird secondary transitioning from badger secondary model to lion secondary model

so i’m stumped.

at this point my secondary is so burned that bookkeeper badger is the only thing i know how to fall back on, and sometimes it can be nice, but most of the time it’s exhausting. normally i just procrastinate on whatever i have to do because i’m exhausted & burnt out, and i have to force myself to just sit down and work through it because at that point i have no other options.

at the very least it’s a model i got from my dad. he’s always emphasized putting in the work on projects and things, and whenever i would push through a hard day of homework (or just any work i guess) he would tell me that i was “a real trooper” and that he was proud of me. (he’s for sure a badger secondary haha!)

Using your Badger doesn’t sound at all fun. I’ll agree with you here. Model.

i think i’m pretty good at seeing things from other people’s point of view? and i can look at situations and relate to other people, and i do like doing that to some extent.

Good lord, I hope we can all do that, otherwise what am I doing writing about people with different primaries/secondaries than me?

i also have a friend who’s a total courtier badger, and i’m simultaneously envious of how charming is and sometimes a lil creeped out by it? bc i can usually tell when she’s putting on a voice but she also makes it so convincing it sometimes leaves me feeling a little tricked and manipulated… i know she doesn’t mean it that way? but still.

So we have a focus on *authenticity* here. Could be Lion. Could also be Bird, since those are the two Solid secondaries. I don’t talk about the solid/fluid distinction much, but the idea is that Badger and Snake secondaries bounce off their environments, they are literally fluid in the sense that they become the shape of whatever glass they’re in. Solid secondaries are stable, static. You are who you are. You work on your environment, your environment doesn’t work on you. 

i think a large part of it boils down to the question of whether or not i always act the same around everyone, and whether or not this bothers me/how i wish i could act.

That is definitely the question. If you act the same around everyone (or feel weird and sticky when you don’t) that’s Lion. If it’s more ‘this is the face I have designed for these people/this situation,’ that’s Bird. 

i don’t act the same around everyone. there is a certain set of behaviors that i adopt around my close friends, but i have a different set of behaviors for things like class, interacting with professors, or my parents, etc etc. (like for instance, with my friends i act very bubbly/sweet/cutesy. i’m energetic and cheery, at least on a good day. 

So far this sounds like Actor Bird. You’re able to list the behaviors that go with each one of these faces, and that each of these faces have a specific utility & and purpose. (Friends! Parents! Professors!) 

the way i act with my close friends is probably the most “me” i get. but any one of those behavior sets is really only a facet of my personality - some of them are larger facets, or come closer to representing the whole, but i’m not sure that any one of them on its own is truly “me.” i’m not sure i am a set of behaviors. 

The fact that you think of your different “behavior sets” as “facets” instead of outright lies… like you’re not talking about them in any sort of heavy or negative sort of way… is also making me think Actor Bird. 

but sometimes it feels like some of my friends talk about me in a way that makes it seem like that’s the only part of me they see? and that is not all that i am, and it bothers me & makes me feel like they’re stereotyping me a little haha. maybe that’s my fault for acting that way around them so much, but i’m not sure. how i wouldn’t? changing my behavior to show the more business-y side of me i guess would feel like pushing them away.)

It sounds like your social persona needs a little calibrating… but it also sounds like you’re consciously in the process of calibrating it. That still  seems very Bird to me. A Snake or Badger couldn’t go off in the corner and calibrate behavior like that, they’re too influenced by whatever happens to be in front of them. And a Lion secondary… I think a Lion secondary would say that potentially pushing away a friend is an acceptable loss. 

the idea that i could always be myself is very very appealing. would i like to be able to act the same no matter what? to some extent, yeah. i would *love* to always be that comfortable and unafraid. 

Okay. You like Lion secondaries. And yes, they do look cool from the outside. But you’re romanticizing them. Lion secondaries are not always comfortable and unafraid, not even close. The more scared a Lion gets, the more pressure they’re under, the more direct and more “themselves” they become

but it’s not safe or reasonable to always show the more honest/closer/internal facet that my friends get. and i’m not sure i’d want everyone to see all of it? i don’t think i owe everyone i meet every part of me. 

This is not the answer of a Lion. This could be any of the other secondaries, but not a Lion.

(i guess i’d like to be able to integrate certain aspects of my friend persona into my default public persona? like maybe some of the more talkative/outgoing/bubbly parts. i’m generally more quiet in public, usually because i can’t think of things to say. i think i might be getting better at that, but i’m also not wholly there yet.)

more people have seen the way i act with my friends because of how often i’m with my friends in public now. i’m not sure whether that bothers me or not. (i think it might. a little. but not enough to change the way i act around my friends. they matter more than how other people see me.)

This entire ask is about conscious, social calibration. You’d like your friends to take you a little more seriously, and you’d like the people in the rest of your life to see as more talkative and bubby. And making that change is just… a thing that’s on the table, apparently. 

(and that is is not something every secondary can do, it’s super Actor Bird. You’re literally workshopping different parts you play. Also “persona” is a word a lot of Actor birds use.) 

(“I’m quiet because I can’t think of things to say” feels really Bird to me somehow.)

i used to lie a lot, but i’m working on being a more honest person, which means i’m back to being bad at lying. i think it’s stupid to try and waste your time acting in a way to please others. i used to do that when i was younger, and it got me less than no where. i basically learned that someone is going to dislike you no matter what you try, so you might as well say whatever you think. maybe you want them to like you, but they won’t. why bother?

Interesting. We’ve got more conscious social calibration going on, but what you’re describing is a shift from a more people-pleasing Badger-flavored performance (we know you model Badger, you’ve got at least two strong Badger secondaries in your orbit) into a more Lion-flavored one. 

I think I could sum up what you’re written so far as “I’m an Actor Bird who used to model Badger, but I worry that the sweet cutesy side of Badger is making my friends not take my seriously, and the quiet, fade-into-the-background side of Badger is making me boring and not fun in front of authority figures. So, I’ve decided to start building a Lion model, because Lion secondaries are awesome, but it’s still a model-in-progress.) 

i guess i adopted a lion persona/model as a defense mechanism. there’s still something that draws me about the sheer honesty of a lion.

Yep. Here we are.

but i might be pulling that model more from anger/bitterness/hurt than anything else.

I’m truly not getting much anger/bitterness/hurt from your ask. If anything, you seem pretty empowered.  The tone is“I don’t like the way I’m being perceived, but I’m working on changing it.” That doesn’t sound Burnt at all.

If i try to think about telling a lie or intentionally choosing to lie it just doesn’t work. people can always see right through it. 

You don’t lie, you “show different facets.” You’re not an improviser. It’s hard and stressful to come up with a story, or a way to be, on the fly.

i can usually make lies work if i do it instinctively and not think about it

My guess it that when you’re “acting” it fundamentally doesn’t feel like a lie. You’re comfortable in that space, you’re used to it, so of course you’re convincing.

and i’m better at lying to people who aren’t my close friends. 

Everyone is.

but if it has to be instinctive then that means i end up working lies into how i act, and start to lie more than i mean to or for no reason, and i don’t like that :(

Huh. I’m exactly not sure what to make of this, but I think it probably has something to do your Badger secondary model. I mean, you describe Badger secondary as “manipulative” and “tricky.” 

so yeah. those are my thoughts. sorry for the length i guess? i’m not going to call it rambly bc i do think everything i said was important but uh. i wrote it out and then inserted more thoughts into different places so it maybe doesn’t flow as well or coherently as it did in the beginning. sorry about that ^^; hope you’re able to find something useful in all this!

((am i a bird. are you going to come out of this saying “oh haha you’re totally a bird!” bc if you do i might scream *i don’t even know what tools ARE-*))

Tools come in all kinds of shapes, my friend. What makes them tools is the way you prepare them ahead of time. 

[clayandstuff]

Becho Musings Part 2

Some more musings about Becho while simultaneously addressing unfounded blorke takes that make my blood boil and have no basis in reality. Focusing on S5 and on since I’ve already covered Becho’s relationship before they got together, this will look at them specifically as a couple. Posting this for posterity on my blog.

TL;DR

Not to accidentally validate any of these blorke claims by talking about them or giving them attention, but they’re so easily debunked by canon I can’t help myself... 

Garbage take #1

Echo is just following Bellamy, she doesn’t love him, he is her King, they have a spy/king dynamic (lmao this isn’t even a real thing like wtf does this mean? You can tell blorkes are pressed about the knight/princess racist trope their ship falls into but you can’t just make things up! What a sad, misguided attempt to create a false equivalence between bellarke and Becho. A spy/king dynamic is literally not a thing - and unsurprisingly, it doesn’t accurately represent the relationship between Bellamy and Echo at all - but nice try I guess), Echo is only looking for someone to follow and take orders from, etc. 

There’s so much to break down in this hot garbage take:

Before I get into absolutely destroying this hot garbage, let’s quickly address how the subtle framing of these “arguments” purposefully doesn’t acknowledge Bellamy’s feelings for Echo. Attempting to discredit Becho by designating Echo as a follower deliberately disregards Bellamy’s active role in his relationship and his feelings for her. Bellamy loves Echo and that’s clear throughout the show, but it’s wonderfully vocalized on screen multiple times in S5. Bellamy considers Echo his family (5x01 “we’re family and nothing can change that”) and it’s explicitly verbalized in 5x07 (”Our friends are there. People we love”) and once again in 5x12, from Clarke herself, when she told Echo “Bellamy loved you”. So, ya know, Bellamy loves Echo. That’s not debatable.

So first off, Echo’s relationship with Bellamy is not at all like her relationship to the Azgeda royal family (who she was in servitude of and essentially employed by). This is one of the worst takes I’ve ever seen and I’m not sure how anyone can logically come to that conclusion? (Which is mainly due to the fact that this claim is made in bad faith and isn’t actually based on logic or what we’ve seen in canon, but I digress). Not to mention Echo refers to Roan and Nia with honorifics and obviously does NOT do that with Bellamy, seriously wtf show are blorkes watching... Being loyal or devoted to someone does not mean the same thing for every relationship. Context matters. People can be loyal to each other for a variety or reasons, family/survival/clan/duty/temporary alliance/self-preservation/etc. Echo's never even hugged Roan, that already contextually makes her relationship with Bellamy very different from her relationship with Roan. Being devoted to someone because it's your job to protect the royal family (as a member of the Queen's guard and spy for the Ice Nation) is not the same as being devoted to someone because you are in love with them, in a romantic relationship with them, and want to keep them safe because they’re precious to you. Hello?? 

The other glaring inaccuracy with this garbage take is that Echo is not someone who just follows people or orders. That’s never been her character. She is a soldier, like Bellamy - but even when she was loyal to Azgeda she was never just a good little follower. She singlehandedly took control of Polis for Azgeda and commanded the entire Azgeda army in Roan’s absence. She doesn’t sit around waiting for people to give her orders or tell her what to do next. That’s simply contradictory to what we’ve actually been shown on the show. Mischaracterizing her as such is nothing more than a blorke ploy to minimize (and outright ignore) her strengths and agency as a character, intentionally erasing the fact that she is a brilliant strategist, skilled warrior, and a trusted political confidant. 

Also, did blorkes forget that she’s literally a goddamn spy?! Being a spy is not the job for a follower who can’t think for themselves and needs someone to take orders from. A spy is given a mission and it’s up to them alone to make it happen. There’s actually an enormous amount of freedom and trust given to a spy. No one gives you step-by-step instructions to achieve your goal. You are literally on your own, often in enemy territory, having to think on your feet, adapt, and come up with a plan to get the job done. Oops embarrassing they forgot she’s a spy (it’s laughable to watch S7 and think she would ever actually betray her friends. She. Is. A. Spy. Infiltration is her job - we even saw her successfully infiltrate Diyoza’s camp in S5 and Diyoza herself actually admits she “got played” by Echo - CMON. Loyalty is her defining characteristic. PAY ATTENTION)

Calling her a follower is such a gross mischaracterization. Just look at her relationship with Roan (her actual King). She constantly argues with him, gives him push back, and even insinuates that he’s weak (to his face) on more than one occasion (in 4x01 when she flat out tells him “we can’t afford for our people to think you’re weak” and he gets offended enough to call her out on it, and then again when she’s sparring with him in 4x02 and offers to take his place once she knocks him on his ass). She doesn't even follow orders all that well if we're being honest (bless her little panda heart). She's the one who tells Roan to "send me to Arkadia" when she thinks Skaikru isn't being honest. She's the one telling Roan, the king, what to do! Not only does he let her talk to him like that, he actually values what she has to say. 

Furthermore, the one time we see Roan actually give her a direct order (to bring Octavia back alive) Echo ends up NOT doing that (lol). She isn’t afraid to speak her mind or make her own decisions. One of her biggest character defining moments (that gets her banished from her clan) is when she decides to act of her own volition and go directly behind Roan’s back, to cheat in the conclave. No one ordered her to do that, it was all her. And there’s also all of the S7 Bardo Disciples plot which further proves that Echo isn’t just some mindless follower (cough cough Bellamy with the Shepard cough cough and Pike...). She’s always been her own person who thinks for herself and does what she believes is best for her people. (Even as far back as her introduction in S2 when she realizes Bellamy is Skaikru but still decides to trust and work with him in Mt. Weather. She also silences all those grounders in the cages with a single command and they ALL shut up and obey her, but sure yeah she’s just a follower 🙄🙄🙄)

So now that we’ve established how she interacts with Roan, let’s look at how she interacts with Bellamy. I’ve already detailed their attitude towards each other before they get together here, but now let’s look at how they act as a couple. 

In S5, we see in their first scene together that they are very affectionate towards one another (so much kissing, arm rubbing, smiling, and forehead touching) as they mutually comfort each other. Echo is apprehensive about things changing on the ground because of Octavia and the fact that she’s still banished, but Bellamy makes an effort to get her to smile (even going so far as to joke about her “almost killing” his sister and him being more stubborn than Octavia. He gets her to laugh with him and even exclaims “good!” once she finally relaxes and smiles). He also tells her “we’re family and nothing can change that” - very different from her relationship with Nia (who Echo bowed down to when in her presence) who used Echo as spy/weapon of war, and Roan, who cast her out after using her political knowhow to effectively lead. Then on the Eligius ship in 5x03 they get their battle couple on by working together and fighting side-by-side to take out the prisoner who woke up. Later in that same episode, they jointly come up with a plan to deal with the cryo-sleeping prisoners that isn’t just murdering them (ultimately utilizing Echo’s plan to use them as leverage since Bellamy doesn’t want to kill them and Echo knows that it’s a strategic mistake to leave their enemy with reinforcements if they can stop it). When they don’t agree on something, they always talk it through and compromise (a sign of a healthy and mature relationship, where both people are regarded as equals and their input is valued). 

Also, Echo was the one who came up with the plan to counter McCreary’s forces when he’d stolen Diyoza’s battle plans. Echo and Bellamy share a voiceover as they both relay the plan simultaneously to their separate groups. Once Bellamy finishes explaining, Octavia says to him “tell Echo I said well done”, giving Echo credit and acknowledging the fact that this is indeed Echo’s idea. Can someone kindly point me to where Echo is being a follower waiting patiently to be given her orders from her “King”?? Because as far as I can tell that never actually happens...

Side note, anyone else remember how blorkes were irate that Echo was the one leading Spacekru at the end of s5. They complained that it didn’t make sense for Echo to be in charge because “Raven was smarter” and Echo was being “so bossy”. Let’s just take a moment to acknowledge the contradictory nature of the arguments “Echo is so bossy and leading Spacekru” but also “she’s just a follower with a spy/king dynamic to Bellamy”. She can’t be both 🤣 stick to a story please. (Also, I LOVE Raven so this is in no way me shading Raven, she’s amazing and brilliant). Bonus: when the show runner is sick of your garbage takes and calls you out

To reiterate, the contradictory claims and clear disregard for facts and the truth of the show just further proves that their “complaints” are made entirely in bad faith. They are rejecting reality and demonstrate no comprehension of canon - their garbage takes should not hold any weight and are merely a form of lashing out because they’re upset their fanon ship never happened.

Getting back on topic...

So, S5 is where Becho are canonically established as a romantic relationship and the audience gets to see, for the first time, how they interact after 6 years in space and falling love. (Can I just point out that the entire purpose of a time jump is to have our characters change and be in emotionally new and different places - it’s a storytelling device to change the status quo and shake things up - it’s perfectly acceptable to have Becho get together during it given their history with one another. I address this in more detail later so we’ll put a pin in this for now)

Once they get down to the ground, Bellamy fights for Echo (both figuratively and literally) with Octavia and at every turn he doubles down on his love for Echo. To summarize, Echo won’t turn in the defectors and is willing to be banished for it, leaving Bellamy to stay in Polis with Octavia so he can still have a relationship with his sister. However, Bellamy won’t let Echo do that. He doesn’t want her to leave and he doesn’t want to be apart from her. He offers to defect with her! He would chose to give up his relationship with Octavia and Clarke (who he just found out was alive and reunited with) to be with Echo. Echo doesn’t like that plan because she doesn’t want Bellamy to be in harm’s way. She even tells him “we’ve been through this. You’re not going with me” to which he responds “like hell I’m not!” and she tells him “you are not dying for me”. Bellamy seems inconsolable at the thought of her leaving and can’t even look Echo in the eye when he’s telling her that he’ll be in the rover and it’ll only take him a few days to get to her, and once again Echo comforts and reassures him. 

While Echo is at Diyoza’s camp trying to take down the eye, Bellamy has been staring at the monitor nonstop for 8 hours waiting for any change or sign that Echo made it there safely. Harper has to come in and tell him "you've been staring at that all night" and to “go, get some sleep”, knowing that if left on his own he would emotionally exhaust himself worrying about Echo and her safety indefinitely. Bellamy responds that the eye should be down by now and even says that he "wishes it was me over there". (This line reminds me of when he took her place in Mt. Weather to get bled in the harvest chamber. He is always willing to put himself in her place if it means getting her out of danger - he loves her and would do whatever it takes to keep her out of harm’s way). 

Eventually Bellamy marches through the desert and carries Echo’s sword for her. He even sits by the fire and holds onto her sword because he can’t reach out and hold Echo (meanwhile Echo is being comforted by Emori that she’ll be together with Bellamy soon - I love a good yearning parallel!). When they reunite at the end of the season, they hug, grip each other tightly, and stay pressed together just being in each other’s embrace (again, this is NOT how she acted with Roan or Nia... this is a romantic relationship, and it's obviously played out on screen very differently. Echo never received a singe bit of comfort - physical or otherwise - from anyone in Azgeda). 

Before they get out of the rover after rescuing Octavia, the minute Echo and Bellamy are reunited, Bellamy reaches out for Echo's hand and holds it (a callback to earlier in the season when he was reaching out for and grabbing onto her sword in her absence). Then they battle-couple-it-up again and take out the gunners making it possible for Wonkru to march through the gorge. They are equals (and partners) on and off the battle field.

S5 ends with Bellamy staring at Echo in cryosleep, yearning for her once again. And in S6 right off the bat they compromise with each other to get things done. The planet is dangerous and Bellamy doesn’t want to take fighters but Echo counters that it might be a mistake not to bring their to best fighters (Echo vouches for Octavia here) and Bellamy doesn’t want Octavia to come so instead he agrees to wake up Miller - another compromise where they make decisions together and work as a team. In S6 we also see in real-time Echo opening up to Bellamy and trusting him enough to let him in to her traumatic past, strengthening their relationship (directly in front of the audience) as Bellamy promises “from now on, we look forward not back” and comforts her with a loving forehead touch and a kiss. 

Bellamy and Echo both come up with the plan to rescue Clarke from Josephine (Echo directly gives Bellamy the go ahead to “go save Clarke” while she stays back and saves the rest of their friends after they set off the EMP taking down the radiation shield). While Bellamy is in the forest, he expresses regret and worry for Echo explicitly two separate times (Bellamy asks Clarke “what about the people I left behind” and Clarke assures him his actions helped to keep Echo specifically (as well as Madi) safe. He has another separate conversation with Octavia about Echo where Octavia reassures him that “Echo’s strong” and “she’ll be okay”). Bellamy also gets more reassurance from Murphy, who informs him that “Echo is in trouble” but he’ll “do what [he] can for her”. He tries to console Bellamy because Bellamy is currently captured and can’t get to her to help. Once Bellamy returns from his mission in the forest, he sees Echo smiling right at him and he sprints into her arms, hugging her desperately and smiling into her shoulder with his eyes closed. Becho is a loving, healthy, mature relationship filled with trust and mutual respect, where both people are treated as equals.

So yeah, no follower spy king dynamic BS. Equal partners in love.

Garbage take #2 

Becho is toxic because he got mad at her and called her a spy, etc.

 Blorkes love to incorrectly imply that Bellamy’s little outburst in 6x04 at the party means that “Becho is toxic”. Well, if you actually watch the rest of the episode you’d see that there was a loving resolution to this “fight” 🙄

As Echo is walking away from Bellamy at the party, Bellamy instantly hangs his head in regret. He then immediately goes to find her and apologizes. He tells her “I’m a jerk. I was taking my feelings about Octavia out on you” and “I’m sorry”. Then we see Echo open up to him about her past and would you look at that! Their romantic relationship is being explicitly developed on screen! The trust! The love! The tears in Bellamy’s eyes as he listens (it hurts him just to hear what she’s been through)! The way he gets up on his bad leg (thanks Clarke) and goes to comfort her, kisses her head before he even sits down and tells her “Everything we’ve been through has brought us here. From now on, we look forward, not back”, fully committed to her and reaffirming that they’re in this together. Then Bellamy touches his forehead to Echo’s, but that’s not close enough so they kiss to be together. Their love is so palpable. 

Show me where this is toxic??? Because it’s not and you can’t just say things. Words have meaning. I don’t understand how anyone can deny that lovingly resolving a misunderstanding only strengthens Becho. Getting in disagreements/arguments is part of every relationship. Becho having one (one-sided) “fight” doesn’t make them toxic. Especially when Bellamy immediately goes to apologize, knows that what he did was wrong and wasn’t fair, and they talk about their feelings and work through it together. That’s like the exact opposite of being toxic.

It's fine not to ship them, but there's no need to be willfully obtuse about canon or what the show presents. Their romantic relationship is not toxic and is arguably the healthiest one on the show.

Garbage take #3

Becho’s development happened off screen, Becho has no development, etc.

In season 5 Bellamy and Echo are revealed to be in a romantic relationship. I’ve already addressed how the ‘no development’ claim is just a blatant lie, so I won’t repeat myself here (you can just read about it in my other post which was previously linked). But let’s talk about why this “argument” is also pretty garbage and is once again made in bad faith.

S5 is THE definitive Becho season (and it absolutely slaps). Blorkes couldn’t accept that Becho were a couple because they intentionally chose to ignore all of their previous development and then had the nerve to (falsely) claim that it all happened off screen. (Which is blatantly untrue, but even if it was true - quick reminder that “lack of development” doesn’t seem to be an issue for Marper - it’s just a problem for Becho 🙄 even though most of S4 was explicitly focused on developing Bellamy and Echo’s relationship while Harper and Monty had sex once and then were instantly a couple...hypocrites 🤷). It’s the flagrant refusal to accept what’s being shown on screen that bothers me. You don’t need to make up lies and spread asinine comments about the characters - you can just acknowledge that the show is going down a route you don’t personally like. You don’t need to twist yourselves into a pretzel to justify your preferred ship. Just be honest about what’s really upsetting you.

I’ll admit that it’s fair to say you wished we could have seen more of their development becoming explicitly romantic, but the ground work is absolutely there and to say there’s NO development and that it all happened off screen (ala Gina the walking plot device who didn’t exist as a character until she showed up as Bellamy’s gf for all of 5 mins before getting killed off) is just simply untrue. And while I’m addressing genuine criticism/complaints, it’s definitely frustrating that we never got to see any flashbacks of the Ring during S5 despite getting to see both Clarke and the Bunker during the 6 year jump. Thankfully, we did eventually get to see Becho’s first kiss flashback (swoon 🥰) in S7 but even without explicitly seeing Spacekru flashbacks during S5, all of Becho and Spacekru’s interactions throughout the season made it perfectly clear how much they all loved each other and were a family. The writing and character interactions easily convey to the audience Spacekru’s closeness and tightknit bond and it was a joy to watch. Because Octavia becomes Blodreina, you need to see at least some of how that happened, so we get bunker flashbacks. And Madi is an entirely new character, so we have to see how she met Clarke. But it’s actually not that big of a leap to get to romantic Becho since it was clearly set up (we also don’t see Memori break up, but again it’s not a big leap to understand why they would given the explanation we got), so Spacekru flashbacks aren’t actually necessary although they would have been greatly appreciated.

Garbage take #4

Bellamy doesn’t care about Echo and abandoned her for Clarke

This is somehow the narrative blorkes like to perpetuate about S6, but again this is completely factually incorrect. If what they are referring to is Bellamy going to get Josephine out of Clarke’s body while Echo stays back and looks after everyone else, it still makes no sense. There is no reading of the show in which this garbage claim has any basis. Bellamy would never willingly leave Echo behind (splitting up to take care of something they previously established they were going to do is not abandoning her 🙄x50).

Here’s what is actually happening in that scene: Echo is the one who tells Bellamy that she will stay and “keep the others safe”, and that he should “go save Clarke”. (keep in mind that saving Clarke actually isn’t the end goal of what they are trying to do here anyway. They are trying to get Josephine’s mind drive to use as leverage with Russell so that their people can have a place to live). Echo told him to go because the alarms were going off and they needed to get Josephine to Gabriel instead of waiting for Jackson to get to them and take out the mind drive. Context fucking matters. Blorkes just love to twist anything onscreen to fit their agenda and it just ends up making them look delusional.

As for “Bellamy not caring about Echo”, show me where????? S6 gave us one of their softest and sweetest scenes (as well as a fireside cuddle) that begs to differ. All of S5 begs to differ. Hell, all of S4 begs to differ too. In fact, the entire goddam show begs to differ. Bellamy “sprint into the arms of my girlfriend Echo” Blake begs to differ. This garbage take has no basis in canon. It’s once again just another bad faith claim by blorkes who are hardcore projecting. Because guess what? Not caring about the other person is exactly the way Clarke feels (or more accurately doesn’t) about Bellamy. Clarke left Bellamy to die in Polis in S5. Clarke physically slapped him in his face. This is canon. That’s THEIR ship, that’s not how Bellamy feels about Echo.

Blorkes like to say Becho don’t have any scenes together, but they’re really just so tilted that Echo gets her own plotlines every season, has relevance to the story, and actually isn’t solely defined by her relationship with Bellamy. She can’t be “just Bellamy’s girlfriend” while blorkes claim that “Becho doesn’t even have any scenes together“. Those are two contradictory statements guys... again, stick to a story please. So we have Schrödinger’s Echo, who is somehow both “just Bellamy’s girlfriend” and also “doesn’t have any scenes with him”. Give me a break. Neither of these statements are true and they’re honestly just dumb. It makes blorkes furious that Echo gets narrative focus each season, so they decide to twist that into “she and Bellamy don’t share any scenes”. But guess what? Queen gets both 👑. She can cuddle by the fire with her little spoon boyfriend and also spread the seeds of revolution while sniping at Russel with her bow and arrow during an execution to save her family and friends.  

Also to the people who think S6 was so good for bellarke

Why didn’t Bellamy actually realize that Clarke wasn’t Clarke. Josephine reveals herself to him, he didn’t figure it out 🥴 (Echo was able to piece it together though, so Clecho Endgame I guess)

At the naming day lantern thing, Clarke tells Bellamy that she “lost sight” of him (supposedly) being important to her. She tells him that he is her family too (which he doesn’t verbalize back oop) and she won’t forget it. How nice that that’s something Clarke COULD forget and that she said that to his face 🥴

Bellamy is oblivious that Josephine is impersonating Clarke, so much so that when he hears her say “chill out” to Gaia, he repeats back “chill out? Happiness looks good on you”. He can’t even tell that’s not Clarke and he actually thinks she looks happy 🥴

Why was Bellamy completely unfazed, not jealous at all, and totally cool with Clarke having sex with Cillian. He even says “I take it you had fun with the doctor?” and Josephine!Clarke says back “let’s just say it’ll be a while until he recovers” and Bellamy couldn’t care less that “Clarke” is talking to him about her sexcapades with other people. There’s no angst or jealousy or longing looks or sadness lsdjsdkf. He’s genuinely happy for her. Then he makes an “ugh TMI” face and turns away. As if the thought of Clarke having sex in general is uncomfortable. Great blarke content, much romance  🥴

When Josephine has control of Clarke’s body she flirts with Murphy (and not Bellamy... a huge L in the metastory)

When Josephine is in Clarke’s mind and has access to all of her innermost thoughts and feelings - there’s no mention of any hidden or repressed romantic feelings for Bellamy (but we do get Josephine taunting Clarke about an actual love interest - “it’s why you cry when you think of Lexa”). Where was all this good blarke content guys?? 😩

The crumbs were extra stale in S6 if you ask me... almost as if the story between Bellamy and Clarke is, in fact, not a romance  🥴 🥴 🥴

ANYWAY

Becho as a couple are emotionally supportive of one another, unshakably stable, communicative, open, and loving. They support each other, they fight for each other, and they absolutely cherish each other. Whoops looks like I accidently wrote a thesis paper (and I’m sure I still managed to leave a bunch of stuff out). Thankfully, the show is the show. And it will always be about canon romantic Becho. And blorkes can die mad about it while we rewatch and enjoy the show to our heart’s content 😊

[masterjedilenawrites]

May the Books Be With You: Din Djarin and Grogu

Welcome to May the Books Be With You, a bookstore that is simultaneously cozy and crazy, located in all times and all places, housing a multitude of words and pages. As the store owner, you take pride in finding the perfect story for any creature that makes its way through your doors. Whether it's a historical narrative for an amphibious Jedi, a calming romance for a battle-weary clone trooper, or a fun collection of children's poems for a new Mandalorian father... Your store has it all, and you are more than eager to help every patron walk away with their next happily ever after.

Din Djarin and Grogu

It had been a rather slow day for you, the kind that usually made you restless and just a little mad. It hardly surprised you this time of year, with the weather being so nice and the trade season starting to pick up. It was not the best time to hunker down with a book. But that understanding did not help pass the time by any easier. You wished you had saved your weekly shelf dusting for today. Instead, you had squeezed it into the same day as you'd stocked the new shipment and paid the utility bills, like a dumbass.

By mid-afternoon, you had completed yet another round of pacing through the shelves, realigning books that weren't actually askew, pretending you hadn't seen some of the titles before and skimming the first few pages. You made your way back to the front counter and let yourself bend over it with a frustrated huff.

Stretching yourself over the wooden surface felt nice. Just as you were starting to think maybe you could try some yoga moves, there was the familiar jingle of the little bell on the front door handle. You jolted upright, hoping the customer hadn't noticed you unprofessionally, and probably unflatteringly, contorting yourself over the counter.

"Good day," you smiled up at the unusual figure standing awkwardly in the entrance. He was entirely clad in what looked to be beskar armor, with a shiny helmet, flowing cape, straps of ammo across his chest, and what looked to be some sort of weapon poking up from behind his back. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and nestled in the crook of it by his hip, was a little green creature.

You knew from your perusal of certain demographic books that your customer of the day was a Mandalorian. The T-shaped visor alone was indication enough, but you were aware of the significance of beskar, too; Mandalorian iron, it was sometimes called out in these parts. It was also safe to assume that he was some sort of bounty hunter.

But the creature at his side gave you pause. You were sure you had seen its kind before, but you couldn't pinpoint any specific names or memories. Whatever its species, it sure was adorable. Its eyes blinked slowly while its large ears quirked from side to side as it took in its surroundings. It held a curiosity that most of your customers tended to have, despite it seeming so young. You felt your smile lingering as you gazed at it.

The Mandalorian took a few hesitant steps inside, turning his helmeted head around slowly.

"Can I help you find anything?" you asked, used to this kind of behavior. Sometimes people came into your quirky little shop with a purpose, while others simply ended up there, unsure why they felt compelled to enter, and unable to walk away. As if pulled in by a magical force.

The Mandalorian shifted. "Um, I was hoping to find something for the little one."

His voice was filtered through his helmet, but you could still hear the shyness, how he carefully enunciated his words, how he seemed to be hiding his true nature.

You came from around the counter, still beaming at the "the little one" in the pouch. Its face titled up at you and its little hands grasped at each other in comfort.

"Did you have anything in mind?" You looked between creature and helmet, hoping one of them would give you something useful to go off of. You had a knack for finding the right book for the right person, but you needed some kind of starting point.

The Mandalorian shrugged. "Some kind of activity? Something to keep him busy, so he stops messing with the buttons on my ship."

He said the last part more quietly, like he didn't mean to be upset about it but still found it tiresome. You briefly wondered what their connection was. It wasn't often you saw a bounty hunter toting around a kid, and of a vastly different species, no less.

But you pushed that thought aside so you could consider the challenge at hand. An activity book....

"This way," you said after a beat, as you headed down an isle toward your left.

The shelves weren't arranged in a pattern, and the books on them weren't in a logical order, either. You liked it that way. It ensured you would always be needed.

You snaked through a few rows before arriving at your destination, the Mandalorian and his little friend directly behind. You stooped to wiggle out a thin book from one of the lower shelves and splayed it open between you and your customers.

"Maybe something like this?" you asked, slowly flipping between the pages so he could see. Each page was a photo of a whole mess of random objects; brightly colored marbles and unique figurines and letters in funky fonts and countless other items that made for an interesting landscape.

"There's prompts to find certain objects," you explained, "but even if he can't read, it's still fun to look at.

The Mandalorian brought the satchel around and you lowered the book so the child could see it.

"What do you think?" the Mandalorian asked him. The child cooed and held his hand out at it, his eyes unblinking as it scanned over the open page. The Mandalorian chuckled a little. "Looks like we'll take it."

You happily handed the book over, but you didn't feel fully satisfied. You squinted your eyes into the distance, feeling like there was more this odd duo could use.

"Do you read to him?" you asked, though you didn't wait for an answer. You headed off down the isle and turned the corner.

"I don't really have the time..." the Mandalorian said. He pulled up as he came around the corner and found you crouched at the end cap.

"Here," you said, having found what you were looking for. You didn't display it this time, passing it to him confidently. "It's a book of poems. Nothing fancy or weird. They're really cute. Most are short, too, so it'll fit into your busy schedule."

You winked playfully, but couldn't tell if he'd noticed or was looking at the book instead. He opened it and carefully thumbed through the pages with a gloved hand. You added, just as an extra selling point, "Most kids like being read to. It's comforting. Helps them grow."

The helmet titled up a bit and nodded at you.

"Okay."

Maybe you were imagining it, but he sounded just a little excited. You held back a self-satisfied grin and instead looked down at the kid in question. The Mandalorian followed your gaze and you both noticed the creature had pulled a book off the shelf next to him. He somehow seemed even more enamored with this one than he had the other book.

"What do you have there?" The Mandalorian angled the book to get a better look at the cover and you laughed. It had the silhouette of a man's head covered in chainmail. You suspected it reminded the kid of his own armor-clad caretaker.

"It's a story about a hero defeating monsters and becoming king of the land," you explained. "It's been translated from a very old language, so it might be difficult to read aloud. But it's a good story, so might be worth it."

The Mandalorian sighed. "Then I guess we'll take that one too."

He fished out some coins from his pocket and deposited them into your hand. You followed the pair back to the front of the store, wishing you'd found a way to keep them here longer, but recognizing the life of a bounty hunter meant keeping on the move.

"I hope you two find your way back here again someday," you said in parting. The Mandalorian paused with a hand on the doorknob, his helmet glinting in the afternoon sun that poured through the windowed doors. "I'd even watch the little guy for you, if you needed."

The Mandalorian chuckled, a soft and pleasant sound. "I just may take you up on that offer. Thank you for your help."

He gave you one last nod as he pushed through the doors. You tried waving at the child, but he was too busy cooing at all his new books. You watched as they made their way down the street and out of sight, and then turned back toward your empty store.

Now, about that yoga....

Book Inspiration:

I Spy: A Book of Picture Riddles, Scholastic publishing

Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein

Beowulf, translation by Seamus Heaney

AO3 link

[spectralstars]

On My Definition of Magic

Within the magic community, it’s important to know how individual practitioners define their terms, or at least that different practitioners define things differently. My definition of magic is one that’s evolved over the course of time as I develop my craft, and it’s bound to change over time, but I thought I would go into more detail with how I define it now.

The act of magic, I define as such: The art of utilizing all aspects of the Soul to effect change.

And the being of magic: A simultaneous sense of power and wonder.

So, let’s break that down.

“The art of utilizing all aspects of the Soul to effect change.”

First off, it’s important to me that magic is defined as an art. I’d considered “the act of” or “the process of,” or even “the science of”—and indeed, magic is an act and a process and oftentimes a science. But first and foremost, there is a deep artistry to magic. Inviting of individual expression and creativity, yet demanding of the mastery of certain skills, and ultimately requiring both intention and action, magic is absolutely an art in my eyes.

Secondly, the Soul. When I refer to the Soul with a capital S, I refer to the sum total of all parts, components, aspects, etc. of an individual. The physical body is a part of the Soul. As is the mind the heart, the subtle body and its aura, whatever such components you choose to include in your personal framework. As is the ego, the shadow, the inner observer, the dæmon, the sub- and super-conscious, etc. and, if you believe in such, the lowercase-s immortal soul, the divine spark. Do not take this as a definitive list; these are all merely examples of what an individual practitioner may or may not see as meaningfully distinct aspects of the Soul.

And as the individual is a microcosm of the larger universe, these components can be seen as analogous to various layers of existence. The physical, mental, emotional, archetypal, astral, societal—what have you. I’ve spoken on these before, and the distinctions between them are, in the grand scheme of things, unimportant.

Crowley (whom, let it be known, I do not endorse) defined magic as the act of effecting change in accordance with will, but many (myself included) have noted that, if taken at face value, this definition implies that mundane, physical actions may easily count as magic—picking up an apple when one is hungry, for example. Yet the exclusion of the physical that is present in other definitions of magic is not satisfactory to me either, especially as it is often contradicted. To perform an act of magic, all such aspects must align: physical action, mental focus, emotional investment, energetic aim, spiritual intent etc.

I speak in terms of disparate components to illustrate a point, but in practice I do not delineate between them in such a concrete way. Magic does not discriminate against any part of reality. It is all-encompassing, and it demands the same attitude from the practitioner.

This is also why I do not define the substance of magic as “a field of energy,” or “a spiritual force,” as many others do. Both non-physical and physical forces play their role in magic; what makes them magic and no longer mundane is something else entirely: the simultaneous sense of power and wonder.

To put it simply, and a bit bluntly: If you don’t feel that you have the power, the capability, the right to make your mark on the universe, it will not be made. And if you don’t feel at least a little bit blown away by the fact that you can do magic, then it’s not magic you’re doing.

The true sense of magic is not a compartmentalized understanding of these two qualities, but a simultaneous experience of something that is both at once. Magic is a union of awe and control, of pride and humility—indeed, of self and universe.

This has nothing to do with any literal substance of magic. As I’ve said already, there is no one substance of magic. This has to do with the spirit of magic, that which makes an act truly magical, in the widest sense of that word.

In all my rigorous testing and planning, all my contemplations over models of the universe, all my research and results, I find it crucial that I never forget why I do this. I do this for the feelings of power, and for the feelings of wonder, and for the reminders that this world is a truly magical place, and I am a truly magical piece of it.

Disclaimer: The information I post to this blog is UPG, based on my own experiences. If I state something as fact on this blog regarding magic, that is because I treat it as fact within my practice, but I do not claim it as objective truth.

[iwriteaboutkpopsometimes]

Hyunjin "Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)" (원곡 : Sam Tinnesz) | [Stray Kids : SKZ-PLAYER]     ~A Love Letter~

I talk about why I love this video so much and deliver an excruciatingly detailed play by play of it, but why read a two thousand word, five page essay on a three minute video when you can just go watch the aforementioned three minute video? Forget me spending hours writing this, why are you here, seriously, it would take you significantly less time to watch the actual video. Regardless, enjoy my attempt to refrain from saying the same three things, “he's so cool”, “I love him”, and “this is so good”, in exchange for a  more, hopefully, academically professional sound.

Watching him perform never fails to put me in a trance, it’s incredibly captivating how precise and sharp while simultaneously lively and energy-filled his movements are. This video feels reminiscent of enjoying a movie I’ve seen countless times, memorized every line of dialogue from, and genuinely think of every part as the best it has to offer. I greatly missed seeing him dance and having this as his grand welcome back into the spotlight is nothing less of a gift. Every second leaves my heart pounding and as excited as the last, as he continuously tops himself the longer I watch. I feel that revisiting the video is the least I can do, for giving it only one view doesn’t feel morally acceptable if I intend to truly appreciate it for that art that it is. Dramatic of me? Perhaps, but I can’t help but perceive it as more than just this one video that was uploaded onto their YouTube channel. It isn’t just about all of the work he and others put into the making of this particular video, his choreography for the song was a result of years upon years of practice and learning different techniques. A performance this good doesn’t only involve technical skill though, but also skill in regards to one’s inner mind. To have confidence in one’s self, to hit every move powerfully, to know what you’re doing and be unapologetic about it, that is skill. Sure, the performer is at the focus of any performance, but don’t forget that it’s also about the audience, it is after all for the enjoyment of the viewer. If the audience senses your doubt and insecurity and uncertainty, it will make your stage that much less enjoyable. Whatever you feel, they can feel too. When I watch him, I don’t feel any of that. In fact, I feel the exact opposite, I feel inspired, motivated, confident, excited to advance in my own endeavors. The emotion that this video evokes from me goes beyond anything Stray Kids or K-Pop or even dance itself, it makes me want to be a better person, be kinder to myself and work harder. That might sound like a lot for one video to do for someone, but it’s the truth. All of the details, even down to the individual frames, it all works together to create the most gratifying viewing experience. At the time of writing this, the video has just hit five million views and has over one million likes, only a mere three days after its initial upload.

The first shot of his footsteps alone,  as he goes to stand in front of the mirror, I already feel this sense of importance coming from him, delicate, yet powerful. The setting, cold and empty, yet inviting, it makes room for him and gives him just enough light to be seen, for he doesn’t need all that much help to surely shine. The credits that pop up use a dark shade of pink-red for it’s background color and white text that acknowledges the same deep red imagery and text associated with the material of the original work. His outfit is neat and pristine with some sparkle, resembling one a prince would seem fit. He stares at his reflection, holding a sheer white ribbon in his mouth, gathers a section of hair behind his head and proceeds to tie it with said ribbon. The music starts as he finishes tying and lets his arms fall down at his sides. The over the shoulder shot looking into the mirror, shows that his expression is neutral, almost calm. This can most certainly be described as “the calm before the storm”, except the storm itself is antonymous to a tragedy, because when the singing starts, it’s as if his performance persona was turned on by a switch, a charismatic possession that took place in a matter of seconds that sends chills down your spine in the best way. His previously neutral, calm-like expression and gently resting arms are quickly replaced by the sudden placement of his right hand around his neck and a look that resembles more of  a vengeful, hesitant, and somehow playful one. Similar to what I’d imagine a villain would look like right before being bested during an epic fight sequence at the climax of a film. It’s satisfying to see him popping to the beat’s rhythm, his arms, wrists, and head smoothly illustrating the flow of the words, his focus and the secure angles he’s able to form before even fully utilizing his lower body. On the line “Got secrets I can’t tell”, he delicately places his pointer finger in between his teeth, as he turns back to meet the camera with his eyes, the shot now semi-closely focusing on both Hyunjin and his reflection as opposed to just one or the other. He extends his right arm, his hand forming a fist, and the camera movement making it as if I’ve been punched and sent flying. He stumbles to the middle of the room, does an opening gesture with his arms, like a proud baker showing off their completed wedding cake, along with a dramatic spin incorporating his thin, white, flowy cape. Reaching the pre-chorus, we get to see the room more clearly, like the stone pillars and the contrast of the small, warm lights on the walls to the grand grayness radiating from the large window that makes him appear as a near silhouette. There’s a certain holiness about him spending a count with his head down and arms out, much like the Crucifixion of Christ, before showcasing more of a demonic energy when he faces the window with his body, but bends backward and looks to the camera upside down. He rips off the cape, tosses it behind him, to his right. This could symbolize a transformation, an abandonment of a particularly purer image of oneself, a liberation. The music picks up, and the manner in which he dances is like a visual representation of one’s inner turmoil combined with an agenda to seduce those watching, wanting to dance for himself while taking us along for the ride. Now that the first minute of the video is out of the way, let’s continue.

The music fades into the background and the video takes on a sudden widescreen and grayscale appearance as he falls back on his right hand, flings his left hand over to his right shoulder, as though he’s been shot, and is being supported by his knees. He leans forward, places his right hand on the ground in front of him, uses his left hand to push his right knee over to achieve ideal balance, setting up his body roll. He extends his right leg back, getting close to the ground, and there’s something quite feral, yet intimate about the way he traces the length of his arm with his face and left hand. It looks like he’s taking out his frustrations through his moves while never sacrificing the detailed quality of the performance as a whole. It reminds me of how it’s more than common for artists to use their pain in their art, whether it be a point of well-intentioned expression with a specific purpose or simply an outlet for them to channel into. Hyunjin is the definition of aggressive elegance. The fullscreen, colorful display and music entirely return when he spins and lands on the ground in a Spider- Man esc pose, the room a lot warmer than even before the stylistic grayscale section. There’s hints of red, acting as a match that’s set to illuminate and ignite the puddle of gasoline that is him and his performance, that replaces the once colder, icy blue that previously enveloped his silhouette. He bounces to the beat showing off his proud, devilish smile that, instead of striking fear, makes me feel proud, as I’m essentially rooting for the villain in the movie. If the transition to the grayscale widescreen was him getting shot, then the transition back to fullscreen color is him emerging from his grave, an awakening. His shirt is no longer neatly tucked into his pants, but rather, hanging very loosely and mostly unbuttoned. He covers his face with his left hand, pulling it down for just a second before revealing his expression that has swiftly reverted to a roughly indifferent one. The inner conflict has greatly subsided, and focuses on the hesitant-free embracing of his newly discovered self, one of immense confidence and sex-appeal. Although, something about the flow of how he averts his gaze, looking to the left and not the lense, while pointing and doing body rolls at the camera, covers his eyes with crossed arms, and then allows for his hair to cover his eyes as well, makes me feel like he doesn’t want the viewer to know he is still at least a little bit shy. He quickly makes you forget though, because the next and final minute exaggerates everything he’s shown us up until this point, taking it to a whole new, spectacular level.

The bridge of the song creates a slower, softer atmosphere, which is beautifully interpreted with how Hyunjin carries himself during this part. Bigger gestures that blend into each other seamlessly, centering on really taking up the space he’s in. He gently and precisely lowers his body to the floor, collecting a white rose between his teeth. As soon as he returns to his upright stature, the setting changes dramatically. His hair now completely down, he’s under a spotlight in an otherwise pitch black and foggy room. There’s blue and red light reflecting off of his white top and his skin as he dances. This part feels more humane compared to the rest, with more of an obvious balance between sharp, impactful moves and tender, compassionate ones. He draws attention to his shoulders, brings his hands and feet close to his body, and showcases his red lit back. I particularly enjoy when he flicks his wrists and twists his ankles to the right in unison on the second syllable of “unstoppable”. For the “legendary animal” part of that line, his arms create a cage-like structure by doing a climbing motion and carrying it over all the way to the left. A cage in which he destroys the walls and breaks out of, shown by him punching downward on beat. From holding the rose in his mouth to holding it in his hand, he brings it over his head to his left shoulder, and raises his heels. He carries the rose down and around his left arm, his left arm momentarily resting at his waist, his right arm extended downward, he raises his heels again. His whole body lowers as a rigid wave starts at his up flicked wrists and subsequently elbows and shoulders. This collection of gestures results in petals falling off of the rose. He then inevitably throws it into the void, out of the reach of the lovely spotlight. I see this spotlight dance as a danse macabre, or dance of death. The white ribbon, white shirt, and white rose all coming together to illustrate this innocent and pure quality to him, that through this dance, he finalizes the renouncement of. He is more than ready to embrace a new and different side of him, but especially to get rid of the older and repetitive side that felt restrictive more than anything. The spotlight dance ends with Hyunjin looking directly into the camera, tracing his right hand down his chest and to his side, and the camera backing away. The last chorus of the song brings us back to the oh so familiar main room, Hyunjin’s hair back to being tied up, the lighting is the same, but there’s something that stands out. His shirt is on the verge of being completely unbuttoned and that allows for something alluringly shiny to be fully in view compared to before. The video comes full circle with Hyunjin’s hand around his neck, he stands in the hallway, and walks away a new man as the screen fades to black. 

As I wrap up this essay on Hyunjin’s “Play With Fire (Feat. Yacht Money)”, original song by Sam Tinnesz, Stray Kids: SKZ-PLAYER, the video has reached six million views, a million more than when I first started writing this, and I feel proud to have spent a day simply pouring my heart and mind out on this wordy display of my appreciation. Don’t be fooled though, for my necessary research, I guess you could call it, for this project may no longer be so necessary, I shall continue to watch and applaud the masterpiece and experience that is this video for my own personal enjoyment, much like how this whole piece was written for my own personal enjoyment. It was an interesting challenge to properly voice not only the contents of the video but also my thoughts and feelings on it. Hyunjin is a highly valued dancer, member of Stray Kids, and person and five pages isn’t ever going to be enough to fully explain the respect and admiration I feel for him and his various projects. I think he’s really cool, I experience all sorts of fiery euphoria watching him dance, his rap and singing alike are addictive as hell, and he’s pretty, haha. I missed him a lot while he was inactive, and I’m so happy to have him back and doing great things as per usual. I’m excited to see what he and the rest of the group have left to show us this year. I advise you to watch the video if you haven’t, but somehow ended up reading an essay on it first, and if you’ve already seen it, watch it again, yeah. I’ll leave you with lovely thoughts and lovely vibes and I hope you too can appreciate the work he’s put into the video, as well as my work on this essay. Thank you for taking the time to read my love letter, essentially, and bye for now ^ ^

[elizabeethan]

My Hands, Your Hands- Part 2/2

Part 1

Read on AO3

Emma wakes up feeling grateful for Advil. She wonders what her head would feel like without it, considering the headache she’s sporting now.

Rolling over slowly and noisily, she smells bacon and considers whether she’s going to eat some or be sick. The smell effectively pulls her head from the pillow and she makes her way to being vertical, despite the throbbing pain that radiated from the base of her skull. She finds a sweatshirt while simultaneously barely opening her eyes and scurries to the bathroom where it was decided that she was indeed going to be sick. She could make some definitive statement about never drinking rum and coke again, but she knows that’s foolish, as she’ll be in the same state next weekend.

Problematic? Maybe. For a 29-year-old? Definitely.

Once her teeth are brushed, she’s able to shower the sweat and regret from her body, cranking the water as hot as it will go as memories from last night flood her mind. Most noteworthy would probably be the fact that she and Walsh broke up, although that was less than surprising and not at all upsetting. The more she thought about him, the more she knew that she was only with him because she felt like she had to be. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend because all of her relationships end badly.

So, when he came over expecting her to need him, and became upset when she didn’t, she knew it was time. She may not have gone at him the way that she did if she hadn’t been drunk and full of feelings of rejection, but what’s done is done.

More memories assault her as she thinks back to being rejected, how that felt, and the nature of why she was rejected. She and Killian were ordered behind the Iron Curtain, and while she suggested that they casually get the kiss over with, he felt entirely differently. I really don’t want to kiss you like this.

Of course, more memories come to her as she picks up her purple shampoo. Killian has always been sweet to her, and she’s always seen him as her brother’s best friend, but she has to face the fact that he is insanely good looking. He’s got those icy blue eyes that rival the color and depth of the ocean, contrasting with his dark hair and fair skin. The way he smirks, all the damn time, literally drives her insane, and whenever he does that stupid thing where he pinches his bottom lip between his right thumb and forefinger, she wonders what it would be like to bite down on it.

She may be attracted to Killian, but he’s always been her brother’s best friend. Sometimes she thinks of him as her friend, too. Like when he makes her coffee in the morning, exactly as she likes it. Or when he drives her to work when it’s raining so she doesn’t have to walk. Or when he goes on runs with her in the park, claiming that he wants to be there to keep her safe from killer waterfowl.

(That last one is a joke. He wants to be there to make fun of her in case another swan decides to attack her so that he can relive his favorite memory. He’s told her this several times.)

The truth is, he’s never been anything less than sweet to her, and to have him reject her drunken-self last night must’ve really done a number on her ego. And now, when she thinks back to what he said in the kitchen, she just feels as though he was taking pity on her because of how pathetic she was being. What I mean is, if I were to kiss you, I’d want it to be more special than it would have been behind the Iron Curtain.

Was he serious? Considering this was daring. Accepting that he was serious about this and genuinely wanted their first kiss to be special will be detrimental to Emma’s ability to pretend that she doesn’t find him insanely attractive. This takes her feelings beyond physical attraction and into crush territory. AKA, serious danger.

Imagine having a crush on your roommate? Yikes.

But a crush on your older brother’s best friend, who also happens to be your roommate? Double yikes.

As Emma makes her way back into her bedroom, the smell of bacon blitzes her again and she feels just how empty her stomach is now. Once she smells the cocoa and French toast, though, the grumbling coming from her can likely be heard throughout the loft.

“Swan?” Killian calls, confirming her theory that her hunger is evident to all. She hears his footsteps coming towards her as he calls to her again: “do you want some breakfast, love?”

Well, here we go. “Only if you’re making it right,” she grumbles with a roll to her eyes.

“Bacon extra crispy, French toast with cinnamon, but not too much, extra butter, cocoa with cinnamon and whipped cream. You think by now I don’t know your hangover food, Swan?”

She tightens her robe around her middle as she takes in the sight of him; black t-shirt and checked gray pajama pants hugging his muscles perfectly. She nods and offers him a small smile as she says, “so you know how to get me drunk and how to cure me the next day, huh?”

He smiles back at her, blue eyes twinkling impossibly. “Aye, that’s right, Swan. Now get dressed and get out here before this gets cold and all my hard work goes in the bin.”

“We don’t call it a bin here, Jones. Honestly, you’ve lived in American for how many hundreds of years now?”

He breathes out a scoff. “Just get dressed, woman. I won’t have you in a robe distracting me from my breakfast.”

She rolls her eyes but listens to him and steps back into her room. Her cheeks are hot and she knows she’s blushing, and hopefully she can blame it on the hot shower. She picks out a new pair of underwear and leggings and a clean sweatshirt, choosing not to utilize a boob prison today. Her boobs deserve the Sunday off.

When she gets out to the kitchen, the table is set and her plate is full of bacon and French toast, her favorite mug filled to the top with delicious, perfectly prepared cocoa. She grins, unable to stop the blush from hitting her cheeks again. “Looks great,” she says, not bothering to turn her attention to him as she makes her way to her usual seat across from hers.

“I hope so, it took me all damn morning. Honestly, you couldn’t have chosen a hangover food that’s easier to make? French toast has to be the most tedious breakfast.”

“And yet I seem to be eating it every Sunday now,” she says, finally looking in his direction and smirking.

“Aye, well, I figure it’s easier to fill you up with eggy bread now than it would be to listen to you complain for the rest of the day.”

Her face scrunches up as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Ugh, do you have to call it that? Again, you’ve lived here for centuries. Just call it French toast.”

He chuckles as he shoves a strip of crispy bacon in his mouth, choosing talking over manners as he says, “eight years, love. I’m really not that old, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says with a nod as she takes a bite of bacon herself. “But David’s an old man and you’re his friend. Also, the way you complain about your muscles being sore after you run just makes you sound like you’re 200.”

“Well, I can assure you I am not 200. I’m actually a few years younger than David, thank you very much.”

“Still older than me,” she says with a shrug. He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Then, before she can stop him, she sees him scooping a spoon full of cubed watermelon onto her plate. “Hey, no healthy food allowed.”

“Healthy food is exactly what you need right now, Swan. What did you have for dinner besides the popcorn you threw all over the living room? You’re welcome, by the way, for vacuuming that up for you,” he says sarcastically and with a smirk playing at his lips.

“My hero,” she says with eyes rolling to the back of her head. She wonders briefly if rolling her eyes is a defense mechanism so that she doesn’t have to look at him when his face does that…

“It’s fresh, love. The best money can buy for my Swan. Eat up.” My Swan, she’s swooning.

“Where is everyone,” she wonders as she takes a bite of watermelon. And he’s right, it’s fresh as hell. Shit, it’s delicious.

“David went to church with Mary Margaret, Will hasn’t been home yet. I’m pretty sure Ruby slept on the couch, but she was gone when I woke up.”

“Where did Will go?”

“Home with Sabine.” His mouth is full, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is.

“Whoa, really? I didn’t even notice they left last night.”

He smirks again, “I’d wager you didn’t notice much, love. You were completely obliterated. Five drinks was all it took, I suppose.”

“Hey,” she whines, “I’m pretty small! Five drinks is a lot, especially when you're the one making them. You put so much damn rum in them, I swear you were a pirate in a past life.”

He hums, “maybe I was. At any rate, you were absolutely smashed. Do you remember much?” Is he testing her memories? Does he wonder if she remembers everything that happened last night? Does he hope she doesn’t?

“Pretty sure I remember everything, although I suppose I wouldn’t know if I didn’t.”

“Ah, so you remember how desperately you wanted to kiss me then,” he says as she chokes on a sip of coffee.

She’s coughing so hard now that she can hardly respond. “I did not want to kiss you, I wanted to win the game.”

“Winning the game isn’t a real thing, Swan. The winner is the person who makes it to the end, who also happens to be the one to drink the most. I’d say based on how you seem to feel this morning, you don’t actually want to be the winner.”

“I’m very competitive,” she says. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and drops it to her now empty plate.

“Aye, love, I know,” he says with a chuckle as he does the same and stands, taking her plate from her and stacking it on top of his own.

“I guess I did kind of ruin the game, though, didn’t I? What with Walsh and everything,” she trails off, standing from the chair and making her way to where he was standing at the sink and lifting herself up onto the counter.

“The game didn’t matter at that point, Emma,” he surprises her again by using her name, which he really only does when he’s being serious. “I’m sorry.”

She draws her eyebrows together and says, “sorry? For what?”

“For everything,” he responds, tapping her legs out of the way so that he can open the dishwasher and place their dirty plates inside before he starts on the pans he used to make breakfast. “I shouldn’t have hit him. It was childish, but when he said that to you… I couldn’t stop myself. I could barely even see straight.”

Right. She knew Walsh had come over and embarrassed her, but she forgot all of the details until now. He called her a slut and before he could step out the door, David grabbed him and Killian swung his fist into Walsh’s jaw.

“It’s okay,” she nearly whispers. She allows herself to glace at his right hand and see the bruises that formed on his knuckles. “Did you ice it?”

“Aye,” he chuckles softly, “you practically forced me to. You were very adamant that I take care of my one good hand,” he says as he smirks up at her. She feels her chest and cheeks go red again.

“I did not say that.” Her voice comes out as weak and small as she feels.

“Oh, you did. Then you practically started crying,” he smirks again as she drops her head into her hands.

“No,” she groans. “This is mortifying. I’m so sorry, I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”

“You told me that you didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She lifts her head slightly and allows herself a glance at his left hand now. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Swan. I know you weren’t trying to be offensive. I didn’t mean to make you feel badly about it.”

“I wasn’t, I’m not. I’m sorry, Killian,” she raises her eyes to meet his, perhaps for the first time that morning.

He surprises her by meeting her gaze and smiling softly, his right hand coming up to pull hers away from her face and then touching her cheek so lightly that she thinks she may have made it up. Her breathing quickens as he says, “it’s alright, love. Thanks for looking out for me.”

Instead of choking over her own breath like she thinks she might, she says, “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I’m treating you differently, you know?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, his words barely over a whisper, his hand falling to hers atop her knee. “You never do.”

Just as she thinks he may close the gap between them and take her lips between his, the front door swings open and her older brother walks in, Mary Margaret following closely behind him.

Killian backs up so fast that Emma nearly loses her balance and falls off the counter, straight into the dishwasher. With a clang, Killian steps forward to steady her and hits his ankle against the door, hissing and cursing.

“Uh oh,” Emma says as she jumps down to his aid.

“Shit, I’m fine, it’s fine.” He groans lightly as he rubs his ankle, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Dammit.

“Hey, you’re up. How was breakfa- are you okay?” David walks in to see Killian hunched over and Emma standing awkwardly, hands out as if she’s trying to will the pain away with magic or something.

“Fine mate. Just walked into the dishwasher.” Emma smiles lightly now, realizing how silly this whole situation was. Rather than focus on the fact that she was sure Killian was about to kiss her, she chooses to focus on how dumb they must look to David and Mary Margaret. She would much rather focus on that than on the fact that her crush, which she didn’t know she had until very recently, may actually be reciprocated.

~~~

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she groans into her pillow as she flops down face first into her bed.

“Me either, if I were you, I’d stop trying to fight it.” Emma lifts her head to glare at Ruby, who sits down on the other end of the bed and flops over as well.

“Of course, I’m fighting it. He’s David’s best friend! That’s insane. Not to mention the fact that he literally lives across the hall from me.”

“Definitely insane, but most likely worth it, girl. Honestly, I thought you guys were already… you know. I’m more surprised that you aren’t.”

“What could possibly make you think that?”

Ruby rolls her eyes and smirks, “Emma, come on. A blind man could see the way he looks at you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s completely in love with you. And you’re not so good at hiding it either, my friend. I’ve never seen someone blush as hard as you did last night.”

Emma sits up, unable to remain still. “So, what do I do?”

Ruby smirks again and says, “Killian,” waggling her eyebrows up and down and giggling. Emma groans again.

“No way! Besides, he’s still getting over Milah.”

“Please! It’s been almost a year since that happened! You don’t seriously think he’s still hung up over her, do you?”

“Well, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a girl home, and he never sleeps out. Obviously, he still loves her and he isn’t over her. First heartbreak and all that.”

Ruby’s mouth is agape and her eyes bug out of her head. “Emma, seriously? Tell me you’re kidding right now. He hasn’t hooked up with anyone because he wants you, not because he can’t get over his ex!”

Emma ponders this briefly. It’s true, she hasn’t known him to be with anyone in months. She doesn’t think he has since she moved in nine months ago, but that couldn’t be right. Emma knew Killian as her brother’s friend before they became roommates, and she always thought of him as a lady’s man, even when he was with Milah. But Ruby’s theory, that he hasn’t been with anyone because he wants to be with her, is almost too much for her.

“Look, before last night, I had no idea I even felt this way. He’s always just been David’s hot friend. This is a lot.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “I know it is, but don’t you owe it to yourself? You’ve really been striking out lately.”

“Thank you so much for that reminder, friend.” She rolls her eyes again.

“I’m just saying, your first boyfriend died and that was tragic. Then it was Neal, and that was tragic in a completely different way. Now Walsh? The guy was a total douche!” She’s right. “Your track record is not good. I wanna see you happy, Emma. You’re my best friend and I want what’s best for you. And I just think… maybe that’s Killian.” Emma throws her head down into her pillow again and groans loudly. “Hey, come on. At least wait until I’m gone before you start picturing-” Emma hits her with a throw pillow. “I mean seriously, if you don’t I will. Even with one working hand I bet he could make a girl-”

“Ruby! Leave him alone!”

“Sorry, sorry! But seriously, how did that happen?”

“You're being insensitive,” Emma says accusatorily.

“I’m just curious, I know he told you. He’s barely told anyone what happened, but he told you, so there’s that.”

“There was an accident when he was in the Navy. Something to do with his Captain, I think. His arm and hand got tied up and crushed. Nerve damage.” Ruby cringes. It is a horrible story, and it must’ve been a horrible accident. Killian’s lucky to have a hand anymore, even it if it just for aesthetic purposes. His arm is so damaged it barely works, and Emma often finds herself wondering what his recovery process was like all those years ago- not that he ever talks about it. “Don’t let him know you know. I don’t even think he meant to tell me, I’m sure he wouldn’t want me going around telling people.”

“So, what you’re saying is, his love for you is so strong that-” Emma hits her with another throw pillow. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna go, okay? I’ve gotta get to work. I’m lucky I got out of the breakfast shift but now I have to do dinner.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“I expect a full report, got it?”

~~~

“Care for a movie tonight, Swan?”

Emma’s dragged from her thoughts as she pretends to scroll through her Instagram feed when she hears Killian’s voice from across the room. He’s standing near the curtain on the outside of the living room donning another black Henley and gray joggers. Of course the bastard was wearing gray sweatpants.

It’s absolutely pouring outside, and if she’s being honest with herself, there’s nothing she’d like more than to curl up on the couch and watch a good movie. Maybe have a good snuggle… She clears her throat and rolls her eyes. “Fine, as long as you make the popcorn.”

“Is that why you threw it all over the place last night? Because I didn’t make it? It must not have been very good.”

“I told you what happened, and it had nothing to do with you, Jones.”

“Actually, I don’t think you did say what happened,” he said as he made his way into the kitchen and took out his infamous air popper and some butter.

“Oh,” she stood from the couch and followed him, grabbing two glasses and filling them with ice. “Well, I was leaving Walsh a voicemail and the pipes made a sound, so I jumped. Not really that big of a deal. I didn’t even scream like he said I did,” she fibs.  

He chuckles and says, “I suppose he was behaving rather dramatically, wasn’t he?”

“That’s for sure,” she grumbles with an eye roll. She fills the glasses with water and adds lime to hers, then makes for a lemon to add to his when he stops her.

“I’ll just take a lime as well, Swan.”

“You hate lime, what do you mean?”

“Well, as one of my good friends has been reminding me constantly, they're really not that different. I suppose lime has grown on me, over time.”

“I’m your friend?”

“I didn’t mean you, Swan,” he deadpans.

She narrows her eyes and draws her brows close together. “Okay, weirdo. What are we gonna watch?”

He smiles as he takes the popcorn bowl with him into the living room and plops down on the couch. She places the glasses down on the coffee table and sits next to him so that he’s sitting on her left side, just as he always is.

“Don’t you want to watch Dirty Dancing?”

She’s stunned into silence. Of course this man, this perfect specimen of a human, would offer to watch her breakup movie with her without prompting. Of course he would think of that, even when she didn’t.

“Oh, um, I don’t know, I don’t really know if I need to.”

“No? Not even after Walsh?” He seems even closer now, and she wonders how it’s even possible for someone to smell as good as he does right now.

“I mean, that wasn’t really a breakup. I guess it was, but… I guess I’m not that upset about it.”

His voice is so soft and gentle. His hand touches her left knee and he smiles at her before saying, “that’s great, Swan. It would be a pity to see you upset over such an animal of a man.”

She’s still stunned, still silent as she nods back at him. Before she can stop and think, she thinks she’s leaning in closer to him and she thinks she doesn’t mind it, not one bit.

After some time, once he’s put on an episode of The Office and they’ve settled themselves into the couch and eaten their fair share of popcorn, she speaks up. “I guess I’m more upset about what he said to me than anything,” she nearly whispers.

He hums softly and she can see his throat moving as he does, and shit it’s sexy. “That was rather upsetting, although I suppose we already know how I was feeling about it, don’t we,” he says with a soft grin, his eyes crinkling; she literally almost combusts as she nods, completely breathless.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she breathes. She nearly feels her lashes fluttering as he moves impossibly closer. She can practically feel her lips buzzing with how much she wants him to close the space between them and take hers between his. There’s a coil heating in her belly as she looks as his stubble covered face and feels his fingers delicately touching her knee.

“You know during the game, when I said I didn’t want to kiss you like that?”

She can’t breathe, so she nods in response. Before she can think, she sees his eyes fluttering so that they're almost closed as he moves so close to her that if she moved at all they would be touching. Then she watches as he grins beautifully, then his face closes the gap before hers and he presses his lips to hers so delicately that she could barely feel it.

Her eyes close effortlessly and within seconds as he kisses her softly then draws away far too quickly. Her eyes fly open again and she looks at him as if to say what the hell, come back. He listens as he presses himself to her more firmly, pursing his lips into hers and reaching his hand up from her knee to her cheek. She breathes into him and reaches her own hand into the back of his hair, feeling the softness between her fingers and the heat growing hotter in her belly. She can feel his tongue softly swiping between her top and bottom lips, as if asking permission to kiss her more deeply, so she parts her lips ever so slightly in invitation. She feels him suck on her top lip lightly before he licks it softly and she nearly loses it. His hand laces it's way behind her ear and into her hair as she tugs on his lightly before she hears him groan into her mouth, igniting her from the inside out.

She bites down lightly on his bottom lip and feels him stir in his seat as he leans closer to her, pushing softly until she’s laying down on the couch and he’s on top of her and kissing down her neck. She thinks she hears the popcorn bowl hit the floor, spilling whatever was left, but she can’t be assed to care.  Her legs part as he fits himself between them, drawing their bodies even closer together, but somehow not close enough. She thinks he may have bruised her neck slightly, but she doesn’t care. She just keeps carding one hand through his soft hair as the other feels his muscles rippling through his shirt at his back, his chest, his triceps. He meets her mouth with his again and kisses her hard, as if he needs her like she needs him. She’s certain he does, based on the firmness she feels pressing against her upper thigh, and she’s tempted to rut her hips up towards his, but stops herself, reveling in his mouth on hers.

Moments later, they separate and their foreheads touch, his hand coming to her face and his thumb stroking her chin as he smiles breathlessly at her and she smiles breathlessly at him. His lashes flutter once more and he softly touches her cheek before drawing her to him once more, kissing her with a passion that she’s sure she’s never felt before.

When he finally pulls away, she’s gasping for breath, barely able to open her eyes. She thinks she may be dreaming, or dead, until he says, “I meant something more like that.”

She breathes out in a whoosh before saying, “holy shit,” embarrassment immediately taking over as she laughs lightly.

He laughs hard, and she can feel his chest vibrating against hers and she thinks it might be killing her. “Aye, my thoughts exactly.”

“I guess I can see why you rejected me, then,” she breathes out, reaching her hand to touch her own mouth, as if checking to see if it’s still there.

“I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much, love. I really wanted to kiss you, I have for a while, but I wanted you to remember it happening afterwards. I also didn’t really know if you were sober enough to actually consent last night,” he laughs. She pushes her forehead up to his and laughs with him some more.

“Probably not.” Who the hell thinks like that? Is that a symptom of adulthood? Emma thinks she should probably stop dating children if that’s the case.

He pecks her lips once more with his and she’s tempted to grab him and pull him back to her, but she doesn’t. Not this time.

“A while, huh?” she asks, and his brows raise as if he didn’t even realize he said that.

“Aye, I suppose so.” He lifts himself off of her and grabs a throw pillow before taking her hand in his and hoisting her back into a seated position herself. “I don’t really know if I should have done that. But I’ve wanted to kiss you basically since I met you and when you said you weren’t upset about Walsh… I guess I just…” He trails off and looks away from her, down at his hands.

“I wasn’t. I’m not. I was going to end it soon anyway.”

“Aye, you said that last night.”

“It’s true.” He looks back at her, finally, and smiles. It’s her favorite smile of his; the one where he grins with all of his teeth and his eyes scrunch up, but it softens after a second. It’s got to be the cutest and sexiest thing she’s ever seen. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Aye, of course,” he says, drawing his dark brows together as he does when he’s concerned, as if he’s worried about what she’s going to ask him.

“Why didn’t you bring anyone home last night? You said you wanted to, and that girl seemed more interested in you than in Will, but you didn’t go for it. How come?”

He’s quiet for a moment, glancing down from her eyes to the mess of popcorn on the floor, before he responds, “I didn’t really want to. I haven’t had a very keen interest in quite some time. I don’t know why I said that to you last night, honestly.”

She hums in response, then thinks back to what Ruby said. “So, when was the last time you… you know…” she trails off, realizing very quickly that this wasn’t really an appropriate line of questioning for her best friend whom she’s kissed one time.

“Such an interest in my sex life, aye Swan?” he smirks, finally looking at her again. She smiles back sheepishly, no doubt turning a very bright shade of pink. “It’s been a while, that’s for sure. One time with Milah just before you moved in, and then a drunken Halloween night with a girl dressed as Tinkerbell.”

She rolls her eyes at the thought of him hooking up with Tinkerbell and not knowing her actual name, then says, “you and Milah hooked up after she broke up with you?”

“Aye, a lapse in judgement, I suppose.”

She nods, understanding completely. There was a point after her breakup with Neal when she considered going back to him, although she luckily had a change of heart after a very loud conversation with Ruby.

“Can I tell you something, Emma,” he says so softly that it’s almost a whisper, but she can still hear the deep timbre of his voice.

“Yes,” she whispers back.

He’s breathing heavily, his forehead is close to hers and his hand is back on her knee. “I’ve had a massive crush on you since you moved in. Since we met, really, but I think when you moved in and I saw you crying on the couch while you sang along to the ending of Dirty Dancing, I was done for. And you're my best friend and I don’t wanna put any pressure on you, but I want you to know… how I feel.”

Emma hasn’t breathed for several moments, and this didn’t change anything. “I’ve had a crush on you since, like… last night, I think,” she says, smirking.

He laughs again and she sees an evil glint in his eyes before he wraps his right arm around her waist, pulling her up onto his lap and tickling her mercilessly as she laughs loudly, likely drawing attention from her roommates.

“You are absolutely wicked, Emma Nolan. Last night? Are you serious?” His fingers are still brushing lightly against her waist and she’s still giggling, actually giggling, for god’s sake. “Can I take you out for dinner, then?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes and says, “you better,” before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing the holy hell out of him.

[lifeofthegrind]

this is like a month old but i thought i would post my final for my social sciences class bc i was rly proud of it! the full cover letter is under the read more but it’s really long so to summarize: it’s about how Mad Men used advertising as a shorthand for societal ideals of the family, and how Don Draper is consumed by those ideals over the course of the show

The original concept for this project was a triptych collage. I wanted a visual element because the ads on this show are so visual, and because I thought that it was the quickest way to connect three distinct moments together. There are three general columns, each with pictures from a different episode of Mad Men. First, from S1:E13: “The Wheel”, then S6E12: “In Care Of”, and finally S7E14: “Person to Person”. I wanted to pull out these three episodes as particularly memorable moments when the advertisement shown on the show is tied directly to the personal life of the main character, Don Draper. Then, within each column, there are three general rows. The top row shows three separate ads that are featured in the respective episodes. I highlighted the brand names in gold and obscured any faces shown in these pictures to highlight the power these brands have over the people creating or consuming them. Then, the second row is trying to highlight the general social fantasy that each ad is trying to sell. Finally, the bottom row shows the dissonance between that fantasy and Don’s actual reality. From left to right, there is Don sitting alone in his house, Don explaining how this product was “the only sweet thing in [his] life” because he had no paternal affection, and Don admitting that the façade he projects is not actually his true self. There are several quotes from Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex and from Karl Marx’s Capital that informed my thinking written in the blank spaces.

Marx said that “as soon as [an object] emerges as a commodity, it changes into a thing which transcends sensuousness” (Marx 163). Its monetary value was not tied to its physical form anymore, but represents an abstract buying power in the economy. He posited that this value’s power came from the labor expended by the producers of the product. In this project, I am trying to show that commodities and brands also gain an outsized importance by adopting societal fantasies and becoming myths. These myths act as translators for societal ideals to our own lives. Just like how Greek heroes taught the Greeks lessons about how they should and should not act, the American myth—advertisements—translate our social ideals to the people and help them integrate the general fantasy into their reality.

Viewing advertisements through this lens makes Mad Men’s general structure of showing how Don Draper and co. solves their personal problems by creating ads very transparent. Their ads are powerful because of this connection to their personal lives, because the connection to social reality is what makes advertising effective. Brands like Coca-Cola and Hershey’s are not synonymous with the perfect American life by chance. By focusing on the creators of ads rather than consumers, it is clear how their symbolism in the American consciousness was “elaborated like language, by the human reality” (Beauvoir 57). The meaning of these brands is created by someone’s reality, not an inherent fact of the universe. This is made explicit in Mad Men by focusing on the creators of these ads. Beauvoir said that “any myth implies a Subject who projects its hopes and fears” into the creation of the myth (Beauvoir 162). The creators of these ads have to buy into the American fantasy just as much as the consumer for an ad to be truly effective. Both creator and consumer are using these ads to bridge the gap between their own reality and the ideal they are told to emulate. Don Draper lives every day articulating these myths, and struggles with how his own reality consistently diverges from his ideal. Thus, he copes by utilizing pouring elements from his own life into his ads, and thus is able to live in the delusion that they are one and the same.

This coping mechanism is first shown explicitly in the left-most column, taken from S1E13: “The Wheel”. Don is literally projecting images of his family to sell this product. By using his family as the quintessential American family in this myth, he is able to trick himself that they are this way in reality. However, this is not a real solution to any of his problems. This is a film projector, not a time machine. The final image of the episode shows Don’s reality: that he is alone, estranged from his family, unable to connect. In mythologizing his own life, he does not solve any problems, but rather uses them as one of his “countless ruses rather than confront real-life obstacles that he fears may be insurmountable” (Beauvoir 53). It is important to note that Don, in his role as both creator and consumer of these ads, is not simply responding to the power that this product has over him. He is imbuing it with power as well. The Kodak carousel is a film projector, not a “time machine”, not a way to reconnect with family. But by giving the product such an outsized importance in his own life, Don has given it power, while simultaneously removing some of his own.

In the second set of images, from S6E12: “In Care Of”, I wanted to show how Don is not merely projecting images of his life onto these fantasies, but actively pouring real information into them, as a sort of offering. Don has shared his real past and identity with almost no one, and yet tells the Hershey’s executives a deeply personal memory, almost compulsively. He is not creating a myth for his reality, but describing his reality through myths that already existed. “Hershey’s is the currency of affection” is not an arbitrary slogan, but a reflection of Don’s own need for affection from his nonexistent mother. Even when he was a child, he already had the association of Hershey’s with the ideal family that he never had. This societal ideal is already attached to the brand and the product, which is why Don believes that Hershey’s has no need to advertise at all, since there is no need to tie the product further into fantasies. Just like in the Kodak pitch, Don is using his real life to define this ad. However, the bottom picture shows Don breaking down and the executives being unimpressed. In this case, the gap between his reality and social ideals is too great to be bridged by an ad, and so the ad is unsuccessful.

The final set of images, from S7E14: “Person to Person”, shows Don as he is finally separated from his life completely. The reason why he articulates his life through ads, and the reason why he runs to California, the representation of counter-culture, is because he is compelled to “search for himself in things, which is a way to flee from himself” (Beauvoir 57). Don makes sense of his reality by alienating himself from it. In the final scenes of the series, he is completely alone, however, listening to someone extoll the promise of “a new day, new ideas, a new you.” Again, the self is equated to a collection of ideas that can just change, rather than a continuous experience grounded in reality. The iconic 1971 Coke commercial then plays, in full. Regardless of whether Don the character created this ad, the tagline “It’s the Real Thing” combined with the counter-culture aesthetic of the ad clearly represents the new ideal that Don is striving for. To the viewer, this final image shows us that this seeming enlightenment is nothing more than a mirage. While Don continues to filter his life through myths, and to “prefer a foreign image to a spontaneous movement of one’s own existence, ... to play at being” (Beauvoir 60). He is not able to create a new self, because his current self is nothing more than a collection of “new ideas”. Don believes that he is able to create a new self by creating his environment or aesthetic because he has continually tied his life to images, rather than accepting his reality for what it is.

Of course, the ultimate commentary Mad Men offers is on the viewer. One has to ask why audiences continued to flock to a show that focused entirely on one man’s quest to escape reality into some mid-century fantasy of American life. The 1950s and 60s hold an incredible grip on the American imagination, as some bygone era when the United States was unquestionably on top. Mad Men seems to offer a refutation of that image, in even showing the fracturing to the American family and myriad of other social problems faced during that time. However, it may be “not the opposite” of that fantasy, “but rather [its] most recent and noble manifestation” (Nietzsche 112). Mad Men, showing how its characters fail to live up to these fantasies, actually reinforces them by constantly showing them as desirable, if unattainable. Contemporary America has projected its hopes and fears onto Mad Men in the same way its characters project onto their ads. We face a similar period of political and social upheaval. The information revolution of the television finds its counterpart in the internet, where advertising is absolutely unavoidable. Don Draper is not the protagonist of a nostalgia-fueled recap of America’s greatest hits, but a cautionary tale in what happens when one ignores reality in favor of adherence to social fantasies.

[blaster-aichi]

Cardfight!! Vanguard Extra Story IF 17—19 things

feat some overdue screaming

IF 17

said overdue screaming

Without the context of epi 19, Kourin’s reference to original memories stands out as incredibly peculiar. Miwa’s response, while fitting for anyone else, could have an entirely new meaning after the revelation at 19′s conclusion, we’ll get there in theoryland.

Never knew needed Kai-kun working part-time jobs but it has become a huge need, thanks writers.

That’s gay. But it does suggest that the possible ruptures in IF’s reality aren’t isolated to Shin and Kamui in the previous episode. It would be nice to see any other instances from the possible ripple effect.

pre-19: “oh this face is a mood”. post-19: “different character but hmmmmm”

With all the Legion Mate comparisons floating around from the get-go, Naoki’s method in tackling his regret is an intriguing choice against his past efforts. In Link Joker, Legion Mate and the second half of the manga/Reboot, Naoki’s objective was to make for his inaction going forward and earn Aichi’s forgiveness. If given the opportunity to go back and redo things, he may have taken it, though having heard from Aichi personally that he’s thankful for everything and everyone that he’s connected with as a result of how events played out, Naoki may not have had the heart to do so. Without that talk, it’s natural that, instead of looking ahead and atoning, Naoki’s turning backwards, it’s a neat contrast.

The series has always built up the relationship between Aichi and Blaster Blade but the relationship between Kai-kun and Dragonic Overlord is so precious, it’s a shame that it wasn’t delved into prior to the past couple of years. The notion of evolving circling the both of them is incredibly fitting, with the history they’ve had in both continuities and the duality of their approaches. (It might have been occupying thoughts a lot since, the scene was so poignant).

Between his soldiers attacking during their first (onscreen) attempt to reach the root of the problem and Emi’s subsequent admission, props to Aichi for isolating it and cutting it off to anyone that tries to interfere, hoping it’s a part of any explanation to his reality warping (assuming it was him, until today, it seemed the only viable reason).

The comparison between Naoki and Kai-kun had me believe the former might join up with the main party as a nod to being there by the latter from beginning to end of Legion Mate, being both characters harbouring regrets (if Kai-kun were to regret that his IF life takes away from the happiness of the Outside World characters).

I just really, really, really love this scene. That is all.

Bless for highlighting the irony in the KaiAi units being adversaries.

Did I mention this is joint-favourite IF epi with epi 7? It’s not, it is and here’s one of many reasons why.

Reason #57 why: the battle choreography.

“Aichi Sendou isn’t the one you want to save”. Makes you wonder who was out to save the object of their regret and who was out to save themselves.

For a moment, had believed Naoki was not-dying (Retiring?) and being returned to the Outside World, somewhat surprised it hasn’t been utilized more beyond the Ultra Rare teams diving into the Akashic Book from.

Very Soft Cardfight. That is all.

Somewhere, original continity Naoki is screaming.

Tell this to your Link Joker self, please.

IF 18

On the one hand, Kai-kun walking around in Miyaji (with or without the context of IF), on the other hand, Bushi Eats.

Probably due to cracks coming from him getting a glimpse of the original reality, but Shingo cares an enormous amount for someone who, just a couple of episodes ago, said all the products in Card Capital were going to make him lose his mind.

“Awful big brother”. Laughs with shovel. (Comparatively, he’s brother of the year.)

PEDAL FASTER.

Love how Masaki and Shinji are named to overlap with their brothers’.

He’s going to fucking murder you.

[Kourin voice] Aichi is tired. [Me voice] As am I of your bullshit.

Wingal took so much time to train that it was only on his third appearance that he didn’t attack anyone. Also soft? So very soft.

NO THAT’S SO CUTE DAMN IT.

I have so much to say about Aichi missing Emi but also she’s barged in twice and you blasted out our of the castle on both occasions. Bullshit.

Do not pull the Legion Mate with me, boy.

Is he super dissociated because how do you even in the face of this?

It’s not just that he shouted her name, but the tone of his voice shouting at her. Thinking about just how extreme it is in comparison to the Aichi she knows and has kept company is pretty chilling.

Just how aggressive Aichi has become within the IF World is alarming; on only two occasions has he let anger get the better of him and one of those two wasn’t so bad. If this is to play on how warped he was going into the fight with Ibuki, good play on the writers’ part.

Semi-related to the above; with exception of three characters (Emi, Rati and Voidkuto), Aichi’s always used honorifics, and attached one to Kourin’s name, so to hear him address her without one is jarring, for lack of a better word.

THE BIG RED FLAG: Aichi’s expression in seeing Kourin having acted of her own accord (and potentially disobey him) smacks of two things:    — his perceived crumbling control over the Sanctuary Knights, coupled with Naoki and Shingo’s desertion (his lack of reaction to the latter is bizarre, as it lends itself to and could bolster his hatred of Vanguard)    — insinuates he never had control, but was allowed to think that he did. There’ll be a section beneath 19, which itself does a lot to fuel the flames of this suspicion, that will consolidate thoughts and the theory that’s been brewing since this episode last week.

On the subject of 19, Miwa being so nonchalant and passive about everything makes a lot more sense.

Let the girls fight physically more.

UBW Archer Class Meme-y Dialogue tingles.

Naoki and Shingo holding down the fort is very sweet, particularly when Shingo was alone in that task last time.

IF 19

Alarm bells rings first thing in the morning.

The irony in past Ibuki preventing Kai-kun going to Aichi after the past dozen episodes, there are no words.

Odd that the caveat of meeting yourself from another point in time presents itself when it didn’t occur in the first two episodes, unless, at least in this case, it applies only to past events.

There’s trying not to yell FGO at things and then there’s brain yelling “Lostbelt!” at Ibuki.

Rekka and Ren’s appearances gives me hope they’ll resurface; the main characters and audience know where their target is, so would like to think word will somehow get to them. (Speaking of. Nome? Where the fuck are you during all this?)

Episode loves playing with unsettling sights, very fitting for messing Ibuki’s head around, but simultaneously, making it apparent just how much of a threat Kourin specifically is.   — On a related note: Kourin beats out Ren, Leon, Sera, Voidkuto and IF Aichi to have the most nightmarish face and I Am Afraid. Give Aichi a face like that al you’ll irreparably wound my psyche.

Intense Vibrating. They’re setting up Ibuki’s Deleting Aichi is relevant, it was the only one Kourin didn’t touch on in the episode and I am burning.

How dare you montage their time together with that music and then cut to this!

Did everyone else forget Jammers were a thing or was it just me being dumb?

Everyday I relate to Kai Toshiki.

Just going to appreciate Kai-kun gushing over giant robots in the middle of battle.

Kai-kun!Blaster Blade vs Greion giving me intense flashbacks to Aichi watching Kai-kun’s image in Blaster Blade sacrificing himself to try and fend off Greion just before he got Deleted and SCREAMS.  — Once that fight is brought up directly, if you listen, you’ll hear Rena screaming in the distance.

If there’s anyone who has no room to talk it’s Miss This Thirsty For Aichi. Also when did you two switch places of tease and teased?

“Oh shit, he’s going to Delete Kai-kun”. “Oh okay, false alarm, thank G—” “OH NO SHIT HE’S ACTUALLY GOING TO DO IT!”  — On an actual note, seeing the three regrets prominent in this season all take separate routes is interesting; Shuka working to correct her wrongs in the present and moving ahead, Naoki trying to travel back and alter things from the point of origin and Ibuki being twisted to no longer feel regret, seek repentence and rather to repeat his actions.  — Ibuki vs Aichi flashbacks intensify.  — Also, mid-fall dab.

Double Agent Miwa is a blessing, who knew his acting skills were so good? Although the begs the question (if he was flat-out planted as a mole) how he earned Kourin and/or Aichi’s trust to become a Sanctuary Knight in the first place

IF 20 preview: HYPE! HYPE! HYPE!

Theoryland (Screaming):

Miwa being Takuto or Nome’s Outside World partner:

In both Rekka and Suiko’s cases, there was a companion venturing in alongside them, both of whom are friends of Kai-kun and the same age. Perhaps, Miwa may have been in league with one of the Tatsunagi brothers (having determined Aichi’s motivation and Kai-kun’s position in all this, calling on his closest friend to match the girls’ partners) through whom he gained insight into the situation and moved in order to protect Kai-kun; working from the inside to weasel information out of the others, understand how they operate, monitor their activities to keep Kai-kun out of their sights, (find Takuto, if with Nome) and maybe (find a means to or actively make an effort himself to) drag Aichi out of his current state. It may be that, instead of Sanctuary, his abduction of Kai-kun had the destination of a rendezvous with Nome until the girls’ interference and the entire incident went off the rails.

Aichi as a puppet king and Kourin the true human antagonist:

Since his expression in seeing Kourin on the offensive without his say-so, it’s been on my mind that Aichi hasn’t actually been in a position of power whatsoever throughout IF, but he’s been led to believe he is, and the act might be withering. As "original" memories factor into it and Ultra Rare’s were lost at the end of the main Reboot continuity plot, it’s possible they may be on the line as they were in Link Joker/Legion Mate.  — As she’s aware there are such memories, it’s possible that they were triggered into resurfacing when Takuto appeared within IF World and encountered her and Aichi, leading to his capture and confinement, so as not to cause any further damage to the world fabricated.  — Alternatively, she might be acting in order to keep the force (a Brandt remnant remains my personal suspicion) that has Aichi in his current state at bay. Her unease in seeing him hanging above the scene outside Sanctuary as she attacked the others might suggest that she was worried it could break loose, as she’s never been one to be rattled. This is why “human” was specified above, because whatever the case, any corruption in Aichi is evidently the overarching antagonist force.

Additionally, throughout the season, Kourin has been fiercely territorial around Aichi, speaking and acting on his behalf, while keeping the other Sanctuary Knights at an arm’s distance. She alone enters his private quarters, sees him in pain, and (no, haven’t given up entirely on the right eye thing, there have been other people around when he’s outside his Alfred form and it was visible) privy to any secret circulating him (as well as IF’s true nature), while keeping the others in teh dark. Her reasoning may be wanting to keep him under he thumb or prevent whatever’s inside/in control of him from running rampant.

And in regards to Ibuki, Aichi made the declaration about casting him elsewhere, but Kourin was the one who enacted it, and the sole player in manipulating him to switch sides. There’s no certainty that Aichi is even aware, much like he might not be conscious of Naoki’s betrayal.  — Her being responsible for recruiting might also explain why Misaki was never a Sanctuary Knight: Kourin desired she have an ordinary, happy life, not unlike Aichi’s wish for Kai-kun.

In a truly ironic turnabout, it looks to be that Kourin is IF’s Sera.

[tlbodine]

A Brief History of the Slasher

Is there a more iconic face for the horror genre than the knife-wielding psychopath? Many would say no. Although the tried-and-true slasher formula is so played out as to be a cliche -- and fresh examples played straight are tough to come by in the modern age -- for many, slasher films are the heart and soul of horror movies. 

How did that happen? What do they say about us on a cultural level? And where should you start when it comes to a formal study of the topic? Let’s delve deep and find out! 

Murder and mayhem are evergreen topics of fascination for humans, and we’ve been telling stories about murderers since Cain killed Abel. But these stories didn’t become what we would formally call “slashers” until the 1970s. 

So what is a slasher? 

Slasher films are defined by a few shared characteristics: 

A high body count (multiple victims) 

Murders are shown on-screen and often from the POV of the killer 

The murders happen one by one, incorporating pursuit, struggle, and finally death

The killer may have a supernatural influence, but it will have the physical appearance of a human (and may often simply be a human)

In almost every instance, the killer is portrayed as being insane or rendered deeply troubled by a past trauma which had triggered the murderous impulse. The killer is frequently dehumanized, and the victims are usually young. 

Slashers often adhere to their own sort of moral logic, more closely resembling Medieval morality plays than perhaps any other modern genre of storytelling. By utilizing a cast of archetypes, various virtues and flaws can be represented among the victims. 

These traits are what differentiate slashers from other murder-focused horror, thriller and mystery tales. 

Consider, for example, the narrative structure of an Agatha Christie murder mystery like And Then There Were None. In this book, a group of strangers are brought under mysterious circumstances to a remote location, where they are systematically murdered as an act of vengeance. In concept, this seems like it should be a slasher -- but its execution is quite different. In the book, the murders are a backdrop; the characters (and reader) are confronted with bodies rather than scenes of overt violence. 

The First Slasher

In 1974, two films came out that gave birth to the modern slasher. 

The first, released in October, was Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The second, released in the USA in December of that year, was Bob Clark’s Black Christmas. 

Texas Chainsaw Massacre tells the story of a group of friends who run afoul of a family of cannibals living in a rural farmhouse. Black Christmas is about the systemic murder of sorority girls during Christmas break. And both left an indelible mark on horror history. 

It’s important to put some context on the world these films were created in: 

The recent dissolution of the Hays production code meant that movies could be more graphically violent and morally depraved than ever before

The Vietnam war was raging, and for the first time in history, televised footage of the battle was piped into living rooms on the evening news

Multiple serial killers were active in the country, and their exploits also graced the daily newspapers and nightly news to sow terror 

Richard Nixon’s presidency was marked by an as-then unprecedented level of corruption and scandal

Gender politics provided both sexual freedom and career ambitions to a generation of women, and the 1973 landmark Roe v. Wade case legalizing abortions played a massive role in both gender relations and the way we would think about life and bodily autonomy. 

The 1970s provided, in other words, a perfect storm of circumstances that collided to give birth to slashers, and neither Hooper nor Clark are shy about citing these as their inspiration. Texas Chainsaw was billed in theaters as a true story as an act of political defiance against newscasts that spread misinformation; Black Christmas is at its heart a film about abortion and a woman’s right to leave an abusive relationship. They were undeniably films of their time. 

Texas Chainsaw inspired a wave of sensationalist "ripped from the headlines" murder movies loosely based on real killers, such as Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes (1977), which was based on the Sawney Bean legend or Charles B. Pierce's The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976), which was based on the Texarkana Phantom Killer.

And Black Christmas, of course, served as the thematic springboard for a little film called Halloween.

Halloween and the Final Girl 

In 1978, a little-known small-time director named John Carpenter was hired to make a movie with the working title, The Babysitter Murders. It would be about -- you guessed it -- babysitters who got murdered. The idea was later adapted to take place on Halloween, likely for commercial reasons: People like watching scary movies in October, so setting a film on Halloween night would surely help with popularity.

John Carpenter certainly did not wholly plagiarize Black Christmas with his holiday-themed slasher, but the earlier film's influence is visible all the same -- from a shared lineage of "the call is coming from inside the house" babysitter folk legend, to the perspective work on establishing shots of the house and the ambiguously bleak ending.

But compared to Black Christmas, Halloween is horror with its edges filed down so it'll be easier to swallow. Both films have predominately female casts, but the sorority girls in Black Christmas have sexual agency and outspoken opinions that are nowhere to be found in Carpenter's work. In fact, Halloween so aggressively fails the Bechdel Test that it seems to do so on purpose -- there is not a single scene with two girls where they are not talking about a boy. And while Black Christmas deals with complex topics like abortion, domestic violence, and the unreliability of the police, Halloween simplifies its formula down to the utterly basic: Michael Myers kills because he is pure evil, and that is simply what evil does.

Despite its flaws -- or perhaps because of them -- Halloween became an immediate and enormous hit. It also introduced several clever storytelling techniques that were crucial to the advancement and development of the slasher genre:

The introduction of a Final Girl, the lone survivor who holds out against the onslaught of terror. (Carpenter denies that Laurie Strode’s virginal innocence has anything to do with her survival, but “final girl as virgin” would persist as a trope for a very long time) 

A masked killer. Although we’d seen masked murders in many films before (I’ve talked in the past about the trope of the mask-wearing murderer, and the way it is both thematically and logistically useful in storytelling: https://tlbodine.tumblr.com/post/189658195609/the-masked-knife-wielding-psycho), the “look” of Michael Myers is so iconic that it inspired a need for future killers to have a similarly thoughtful design, decking them out almost like comic book superheroes. 

Franchising opportunities. Although earlier movies had spawned sequels, Halloween exploded as a franchise thanks in large part to the iconic design and the simplistic good-vs-evil storytelling formula. Future slashers would latch onto this killer-centric franchise formula for over a decade. 

Halloween became the most profitable independent film, holding the record for 16 years, which goes to show just how successful the formula truly was. 

The Golden Age of Slashers 

As the 1970s gave way to the 1980s, the advent of VHS and Betamax formats created a market for low-budget straight-to-video films. Because slashers are so cheap to make (you don't need any famous actors, can film entirely in one location, and practical effects can be as simple as a few gallons of stage blood), they were ideal candidates for the job. On the big screen, horror was enjoying an unusually high level of popularity, a proven money-maker, simultaneously commercial and subversive in a decade of opulence and social conservativism.

So onto that stage walks Sean S. Cunningham's gory slasher, Friday the 13th, where a group of teenage camp counselors are brutally murdered, frequently wile having sex. The film spawned a widely successful franchise, which swiftly began borrowing elements of Halloween -- a silent and indestructible masked killer, a signature musical score -- to become a pop culture mainstay. The 1983 Robert Hiltzik film, Sleepaway Camp, cashes in on the "death to camp counselor" plot in the same way that Fred Walton's When a Stranger Calls touched on babysitter murders in 1979.

A whole slew of less-successful films would follow, most of them lost to the history books but still living in dollar-bin DVD collections. Some, like Prom Night and My Bloody Valentine, would earn a cult following. One noteworthy cult favorite is Slumber Party Massacre, directed and written by women (Amy Holden Jones and Rita Mae Brown, respectively), which turns some slasher tropes in their head.

A glut of films, most of them instantly forgettable, led to a decline in slasher popularity -- until Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street in 1984.

Cracking Wise and Slashing Teens 

A Nightmare on Elm Street introduces Freddy Krueger, a different sort of horror villain than audiences had seen before. Krueger is a supernatural killer who stalks his victims in their dreams, bringing a fresh supernatural twist to the slasher genre. And, unlike Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, Freddy is anything but silent. Thanks in part to the charisma of lead actor Robert Englund, the character's darkly comedic personality became utterly riveting.

Plenty of dream-related horrors would follow, none of which would make much of a splash. But one film franchise did latch on to a similar formula: Child's Play, directed by Tom Holland in 1988, introduced another supernatural wisecracking killer in the form of Chucky, a murderous doll possessed by the soul of as serial killer.

These major film franchises -- Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Child’s Play -- would go on to spawn numerous sequels and become such a thoroughly pervasive part of pop culture that you can find their likeness everywhere. But despite the many imitators, there was little in the way of innovation in the genre until the mid 90s. 

Do You Like Scary Movies? 

Wes Craven toyed with the idea of self-referential horror in New Nightmare, a Freddy Krueger film that was itself a meta-analysis of Freddy Krueger films. But he would revisit the idea with far greater success in 1996 with Scream. 

Created by horror lovers, for horror lovers, Scream is designed to be the most quintessential slasher film ever created. Relying on a hip, young cast to draw in a fresh audience, Scream works by combining nostalgia, meta-analysis, humor, and buckets of blood into a single film. The opening scene is a direct homage to When a Stranger Calls, and the masked killer is a deliberate call-back to earlier films. 

Unsurprisingly, Scream was a huge hit that ushered in a brief but furious wave of slashers, like the star-studded I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) and Urban Legend (1998), and Scream itself had several sequels and even a TV series. But the 1990s were something of a dark era for the slasher film, seeing the release of some spectacularly lackluster franchise installments. One exception to that was the fan-favorite Freddy vs Jason, which pits the two killers against one another -- a delightful premise, but one that had strayed far from the slasher roots. 

Modern Slasher Films 

The 1990s slasher reboot was short-lived and mostly forgettable, and by the 2000s filmmakers had mostly turned away from the genre entirely, except for a slew of nostalgia cash-in reboots of every popular franchise. 

The one exception was meta-analysis -- building on Scream, these films began to deconstruct the genre in a way that would combine horror, humor, and criticism. 

The Final Girls (2015), directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson, takes this sort of meta approach. The Cabin in the Woods (2012), directed by Drew Goddard but bearing the fingerprints of co-writer and producer Joss Whedon, takes it to even further excess, providing both a thorough deconstruction of horror gropes and an entirely new mythos to give it a fresh framework.

But the problem with deconstructions is that, once a few truly successful ones have been made, it becomes essentially impossible to create the original thing in earnest anymore. And so the slasher as a sub-genre has reached its bloody end. 

Where Did All The Slashers Go? 

With dozens of slashers spanning more than 40 years of film history, it’s pretty hard to create something new with the format. Which is not to say that people aren’t still making them -- they are -- but there is less room to innovate within the notoriously rigid and simplistic slasher formula. 

Culturally, we’ve moved on a lot from the 1970s as well. For one, serial killers are no longer the threat they once were. Babysitters and camp counselors are rarely teenagers, either -- in fact, teens aren’t leaving the house as much in general. And a rise in information technology, communications and surveillance has made it harder to isolate victims and commit murders over a long period of time -- our mass murders tend to happen in shooting sprees instead these days. For another, that same information technology has made us extremely jaded and hard to impress with gore. 

The 2000s delivered violence at levels utterly beyond anything in history. The rise of the so-called torture porn -- a genre that dispenses with the stalking and killing of multiple victims in favor of lingering on the painful mutilation of a small handful -- delivered gore unlike any seen in earlier slashers. Cable television series like The Walking Dead deliver graphic violence with unprecedented regularity -- you no longer need to pick up a “video nasty” to indulge in some gruesome gore. 

And, well, unfortunately, the internet has made it easier than ever to see real violence, from terrorist beheading videos to medical gore to live-streamed murders. 

Gore for gore’s sake is simply not as compelling in the 21st century, and that takes away much of the slasher’s appeal. 

Slashers have had to morph and adapt to find a foothold for survival. In the 2000s, we saw their metamorphosis in real time: From torture porn to home invasion to a cornucopia of more innovative horrors dwelling on fears both large and small. 

We’ve probably seen the last of masked knife-wielding, babysitter-killing psychos...but the horror genre is richer for it. 

[mindthefool]

Evisceration Promenade

In quarantine, my creative process is an evisceration promenade: a public stroll without my organs and a quest for intimacy in isolation. Now, reader mine, I confess, there is a bit of a contradictory process going on here. I want to create intimacy in isolation, through the screen or in writing, but I also am insistent on becoming a stranger to myself in isolation. I am developing oscillation rituals between familiar and alien. 

Some days quarantine melts my center, some days it hardens. Some days I am puppet, some days puppeteer. When the world is reduced to one place, I find I do not stay in place. I hardly stay in space anymore, or at least I try my very best not to. I’ve long since reached the end of my drug phase, so I have to be much more intentional about finding methods of escape or adrenaline rites to enact when necessary or desperate. Drinking is a flawed strategy, I always end up drunk too early in the night because the winter took my 8pm and made it 4pm. Time is screwing with me so I screw with it back. We are not on the best of terms, you might say. 

My housing companions are keeping me alive and I lean on them like extra legs. Sometimes I feel wet, sticky fire on my skin and all my internal organs ache, longing to vomit, because my loved ones make me so anxious and angry, and everything is too tight and too loud, including the crowd of people I share a bedroom and a brain with. Sometimes I drown out the nervous voices of my brain family with the words of vindictive Artaud, or the sorceress Anzaldua, or the mid-bender brunch mood of Deleuze and Guattari. They all scratch a particular itch and it helps sometimes, but other times they can make me feel much worse, confronted with the peaks and valleys of creativity.

I have had to expand my subjectivity and proliferate it, to endure isolation. And no, this did not become an antidote to boredom or loneliness, I just met new selves who dwell in such states. We tolerate one another. We cohabitate in modes of peculiar familiarity. Sometimes I am eager to neglect and abandon certain selves. Their vengeance, though often frightful, is something to look forward to. Most events are. Any motion is interesting at the very least, if not entertaining, revelatory, or disastrous. 

The existential planes of thought and feeling are as bold as the walls of my room. Nothing is ever as simple as these walls and their promise to contain. It is a deceptive offering; they can hardly keep me within and I can hardly even see them anymore, even though I keep covering them with bright art to counteract winter. And what occurs amid the shifting, false walls is performance; a special quarantine theater which I’ve named the Evisceration Promenade.

The Evisceration Promenade is a stubborn habit, documented delicately in writing and video. Evisceration Promenade is a mode of embodiment that functions at the degree of intensity where it becomes an objectification, a mechanism for receiving cosmic impulse. I find that it is a matter of befriending my organs, not transcending my body, for this can be dangerous and distracting. Activities that are almost transcendent but too inadequate and incomplete to achieve such an eventful climax, are those that simultaneously chisel and broaden consciousness. 

Reader, please know, I do not gain consciousness by departing from my body, nor do you by departing from yours. Instead, I connect to all that I am not, by honoring my capacity to confront such forces; honoring the impossibility of being eternal; and surrendering to becoming. Becoming is necessarily a process that occurs in in-between space, in oscillation, and in proximity to limits. When I befriend my organs, they become receptors of divine messages and the impulses they receive channel into my voice, a chorus of the cries of organs. 

Performance— a deceptively public art— is a mechanism for survival in isolation. The promenade claims movement as its imperative and evisceration refers to the drawing out of sputtering organs to brave the light and the air for the first time ever. When enacted together, these two gestures or rituals (a public stroll without organs) achieve a special embodied objectification (a result of outside gaze + relation to the organs as external friends). This particular embodied objectification allows one to name and redirect shadows, as Artaud suggests, a critical survival strategy when you’re stuck in a house with your own madness as your only companion. Organs inside the body never experience light. Once removed, they make shadows, like growths that collaborate with sun.  My partner put it rather eloquently in a text message on the matter, “Evisceration is to make painfully public the private… the sudden act of isolating a piece from itself… isolation is then, the reverberation of the first torn intensity.”

The circumstance under which I create performance requires simultaneous and contradictory impossibilities. I eviscerate: I have no organs because I am an object in relation to other objects, including the relation between self and the Body Without Organs. I promenade: I move through an externalized public because I observe and document assemblages and their components. My organs are my audience; my nerve-juice, joints, bones, tissue and blood are my friends and do not belong to me. If I held myself superior to them, I’d be trapped in subjective interiority that cannot be sustained while also trapped in a house.

Antonin Artaud states that theater exists only in the moment where impossibility begins to occur. In the pandemic, theater as it was known to me, became impossible: assembling crowds is impossible, standing closer than six feet to people is impossible, conversing with uncovered faces is impossible. Therefore, the theater that I am interested in, quarantine theater, began at the moment when the art form was banished to the untouched margins of possibility, where I await to meet it for the first time. 

Truthfully, I feel as though I am making theater for the first time, which may come as a surprise to you. In quarantine, I must conjure an audience myself and weave it into my compositions, which requires great, reckless fortitude of the imagination. I must also conjure stakes high enough to put me in “danger,” for the actor experiences true affects in imagined situations. To believe that I am in enough danger to require enormous risk, while trusting I am safe enough to take them, I must ritualize entering into and parting from states of fight or flight. Deleuze and Guattari might refer to this as injecting doses of caution, the key strategy to interacting with the Body Without Organs. The BWO is a force that produces desire as it resists organization and the functional conformity of an organism. “The BWO howls: They’ve made me an organism! They’ve wrongfully folded me! They’ve stolen my body!” It is a body with no belonging or form, one that acts upon its violent desire for formlessness and “expresses the pure determination of intensity, intensive difference.” The disorganized body is encountered in pursuit of a dismantled self. It is dangerous. Deleuze and Guattari prescribe “injections of caution,” for the “human body is scandalously insufficient” so if handled thoughtlessly, the BWO can override the organism and destroy it.  

Reader, my dearest, I have known it all along. Artaud knew it too. Impossibility and insufficiency are tools of the theater. Artaud opens his book The Theater and its Double with an essay called “The Theater and the Plague.” Timely, I think. The text pursues similarities between the bubonic plague and performance. Both pose disasters that must either be settled in death, or satiated by some remedy. He describes the agonized social psyche of the plagued era: the invasive imagery of dead people in heaps, loved ones blistered and passing one by one, the dreaded familiarity of various moans and groans that spurn or welcome death, the false privilege of escape into seclusion, the fear of dropping dead unexpectedly like the neighbor did yesterday. 

Today, our plague kills millions, with a particularly brutal fondness for the most vulnerable people, abused by power structures and neglected by those privileged with resources. Many people rightfully fear this plague, and many others act as though it does not exist. Outside the house there is life-or-death risk bursting from the orifices of strangers and all they touch. Inside the house too, there is the risk of ever-approaching psychosis or of suicide. 

Artaud writes, “The state of the victim who dies without material destruction, with all the stigmata of an absolute and almost abstract disease upon him, is identical with the state of an actor entirely penetrated by feelings that do not benefit or even relate to his real condition.” My favorite challenge of quarantine theater is that of enacting impossibility, rather than representing it. 

In a paper about Tadeusz Kantor, Heidi Gilpin writes that such a challenge is precisely the function of theater. Theater manifests contradictions and utilizes them as affective materials that serve a sort of collective surrender to the ambivalent insistence of “life’s appetite,” which Artaud defends as a characteristic of the inherent evil of the universe. 

Kantor’s work is centered around the bold, sneaky ties between performance and death. The importance of representing death in theater is reinforced by the fact that it cannot be represented. But when an audience does experience a spectacle of disappearance and enactments of death, they are confronted with the inadequacy of representation, and furthermore must reimagine their personal relationships with possibility.  Since theater happens when impossibility begins, Kantor raises the necessity to witness death. It is the same necessity which I encounter more and more frequently: that which Artaud names as cruelty, and that which I outline as the shifting distinction between speaking the unspoken and raising the unsayable. 

Theater has a very important task in the face of impossibility and the unsayable. It can be accessed through the enactment of incompleteness, or insufficiency, in addition to repetition. Gilpin offers examples of repetition from psychoanalysis that function similarly to the repeated experience of witnessing disappearance in theater, which makes possible the impossible through self-referential, partial enunciation of that which is absent. 

Repetition is a consequence of failure. It is an action performed from the desire to control past events, to overcome failure, but true repetition is impossible. In performance, the tight activity of repetition and its oscillating manipulation of memory, which eventually licks open scar tissue, fulfills the desire of the audience to view becoming. This particular form of becoming faces Artaud’s cruelly, or necessity of life. Gilpin names it as “a desire to witness survival mechanisms at work.”

The desire to witness trauma reenacted and inadequately confronted, is connected to the spiritual inclination of theater to raise the unsayable. It is a measured injection of release toward the vast hazard-loaded landscape of the BWO. Artaud, in his section about the plague, elaborates upon my reflection, “... the action of the plague that kills without destroying the organs and the theater which, without killing, provokes the most mysterious alterations in the mind of not only an individual but an entire populace.” 

Quarantine theater is Artaud’s theater that dispels evil. It is not made to rouse chaos, but to redirect it; “naming and directing shadows,”  to reduce the frequency of mind spirals, sinking nihilism, claustrophobic grief, and other apocalypse-imposed madnesses. I have spent recent months inquiring about theater as a mechanism for survival. My writing honors performance as a source of life in isolation. It works as medicine, it is a worthy spine to wear through ambient collapse. During Evisceration Promenade, many things that had never known light before have now grown shadows; their gestures are unrecognizable and complex. 

The other day, one quarantine roommate took it upon themselves to reflect back to me some observations they made about my behavior when I am creating during quarantine. I am glad they shared their study with me, for it delighted me greatly. They described the way I move erratically through the house, often bursting into rooms where people are consumed in quiet activities and I announce: THAT I AM HAVING AN EXPERIENCE, AN ARTISTIC BREAKTHROUGH, MAKING UNPRECEDENTED THEORETICAL COMPOSITIONS, FALLING INTO UNCANNY FRIENDSHIPS WITH THIS AND THAT WRITER. Or, on unfortunate occasions: A DREADFUL, INSURMOUNTABLE CREATIVE BLOCK AND IMMENSELY SPECTACULAR DESPAIR IN REGARDS TO MY WORTHLESSNESS AS AN ARTIST, STUDENT, AND PERSON. My roommate giggled as they told me all of this, and I cackled relief, in awe of the accuracy. They carried on, describing the daily inconsistencies and the conspicuous cloud of mood I invariably don. And I carry on too, careful not to lean too far into the trope of tormented genius, but parading my guts around my ever-shifting house as the  fantastical, untethered prodigy that quarantine has taught me to be. 

References

Artaud, Antonin. The Theater and its Double, Trans. Victor Corti. London: Alma Classics, 2010.

Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, vol. 2. Translated by Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987.

Gilpin, Heidi. “Lifelessness in Movement, or How Do the Dead Move? Tracing Displacement and Disappearance for Movement Performance,” in Corporealities, ed. Susan Foster (New York/London: Routledge Press, 1996), 106-128.

[inspirationdivine]

The Piano, Revisited || Simon and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @inspirationdivine, @inconvenientsimonstrocity Summary: It’s never just about a piano, or a dog. 

Simon had to make several conscientious efforts to not go out of his way to make the place look unnaturally immaculate though he did the very best he could with what he was given - the couch was still worn but it now sat against the far wall next to the doorway that led to his bedroom. One could no longer tell there were birds in the house as every downy feather had been collected and discarded, his old television set having been disposed of and replaced with a small but superior one that was placed opposite the couch, next to the front door. His kitchen still needed to be remodeled but at least it was clean now with functional utilities. The beautiful piano Lydia had given him admired the sun coming through the fixed window that faced the wall entirely made of bookshelf. He himself sat at that piano patiently as he waited for his guest to arrive, learning a new melody from a random piano book he bought during his outing for supplies for his dog and pausing every now and then to collect the ball Beans brought him with obvious excitement, throwing it as far as it could go - he usually aimed under his bed as that encourage Beans to burrow. All things considered, given what happened last week, he was determined for this to be a light visit. The only thing keeping it from being perfect (aside from things he couldn’t control) was his near-constant sniffling. 

Even when she wasn’t being petulant about the state of affairs, Lydia wasn’t… thrilled with the outer appears of Simon’s home. Rustic was a generous word, but one that local hipsters might have used, but Lydia wouldn’t have. If it hadn’t been for the man who lived here, she wouldn’t have given the place a second look. There was a bounce in her step as she walked up to his door, a gentle thrill. There had been a most welcome gap in her life in his absence, but it was still a gap. She’d grown accustomed to his gentle ways. Not immediately spotting a doorbell, Lydia gave a gentle knock. Well, it made sense that there wasn’t the sound of a doorbell because Simon took that bad boy out as soon as he moved in - that was high up on his priority list given his own… sensitivities. Both of them heard the knock almost simultaneously and Beans, not quite trained yet that knocking on the door did not constitute yelling at it, excitedly bounced around and yapped. Simon, who had trouble containing a smile in spite of the dog’s less-than-stellar behaviour, gently shushed his new companion and went to the door to open it for his old one; forcibly bonded once, now separated only from that invisible tether. He felt his heart flutter at the aspect of seeing her again though he still couldn’t figure out why. Scooping up the white terrier and holding him in one strengthened arm, he swung open the door. “Hey, Lydia,” He breathed, his smile widening for her; it hadn’t been that long but he felt an uncharacteristic longing to just… be near her again. “Er… come in,” He stepped aside to give her room, still holding the dog as he squirmed with… such excitement. SO EXCITED.

Despite, in theory, knowing that there was a dog there, Lydia still startled at the sound of excited yapping behind the door, although she’d smoothed her face by the time Simon had opened the door. His smile was a mile wide, and she smiled  in return, in a lopsided smirking way. “Hello Simon,” she replied, before turning her gaze to the fluffy white dog in his arm, snuffling at her curiously. She offered her hand, gently curled, for the pup to sniff. She’d never had a pet in her life that didn’t answer back, but Lydia understood the simple, sweet pleasure of dogs. After a long, curious sniff and a quick lick of her knuckles, she seemed to have just enough of Bean’s approval to deserve a small pet. Lydia stepped inside, her glamour unfurling around her like sepals around a flower as the door was closed behind the two of them. “Wow,” Lydia said softly, looking around the space, transformed completely in the week since Simon had been back. Lydia turned to compliment him, but only then noticed the puffy red around his eyes. “Simon? Is everything alright? Have you been crying?” Once the door was closed, Simon carefully set Beans down where the dog proceeded to zoom around the house, passing by Lydia and stopping every time to sniff at her briefly as though every time was the first before rushing off again. Simon found it easier to keep his gaze on the animal than other people, even ones he knew like Lydia or Ariana but he managed to put his eyes on Lydia’s natural state once more, having since grown used to her ethereal beauty. His smile, though not dissipating, did falter ever-so-slightly when she asked about what he had been doing. He thought, for a moment, about telling her that he had been - every other wolf in their makeshift pack had been through an ordeal in some form or another, each one only bothering to tell him when he reached out… it wasn’t about him, it never was and that was fine but he felt like he worked really hard to maintain communication and, ironically, it always seemed to fall on deaf ears. He would’ve been lying. “No. Er, I mean-- yes, everything’s fine, relatively speaking” He stuttered out an answer, deciding to dodge it altogether though the mention subconsciously made him reach up to rub at one of his eyes with the heel of a hand as though that would fix it - but really, his eyes just itched. All the time. “Sorry.” And there came the first apology. “It’s really nothing.” He dismissed and looked away from her, motioning about the house. “I, uh… did some rearranging.”

Lydia crossed her arms, raising one sharp eyebrow. “Simon, I don’t believe you.” Relatively speaking meant that anything could be true. Relative to being dead, relative to being actively tortured. It wasn’t a lie, so it didn’t heat up any rage simmering inside her, but that didn’t make it true. He rubbed at his eye and perhaps without noticing, sniffled. She looked down to the dog, sniffing at her ankles, perhaps for all the solvent scents and human lingering on her. The dog tilted its head, as if listening for something, but then darted off to try to get off and under the couch. “My dear, your eyes are red. You don’t look well. If it’s really nothing, is it drugs? Are you unwell?” She wasn’t taking the bait. Well, it wasn’t even bait, it was just a distraction from himself, again, as usual. Even when Simon was at work, he kept his eyes on his hands in the bathroom due to lingering neglect for how he looked but she wasn’t the first person in the past couple weeks to say the phrase ‘you don’t look well’. Frankly, part of him didn’t understand; he didn’t think he ever looked particularly well between his wrecked diet and lack of good sleep. How far into denial was he willing to wade, was his new question. “It’s not… drugs,” He replied first, taking a step back and looking at the floor, his smile now only half-present and half-hearted. If anything, it was the LACK of drugs - nasal spray had been a bust, and he’d be ashamed if someone saw the veritable collection of different bottles he’d acquired and stored in one of his cabinets, none of which were prescriptions and all of them were at varying levels of empty; for the record, he DID take a… generous dose of… he couldn’t be arsed with remembering which one it was, anymore. Suffice it to say, his empty stomach didn’t agree with it. Maybe he should be honest; after all, it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s just alle-- uhm… Rhinitis,” He cut himself off with a harsh clear of his throat as if the word was uncomfortable in his mouth. Whyyyy did he say that. He rubbed his eyes again followed by his pointed nose and his nervous tic called his hand to the gnarled scars on his shoulder where he started to scratch at them. “Can I, er… get you anything to drink?” Take three. He wanted to move, he HAD to move but he found himself stuck in place as he was being scrutinised by Lydia, almost as if some part of him deep down was desperate to be confronted. He didn’t want that… did he?

“Don’t lie to me,” Lydia replied curtly, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. “You don’t have to tell me, but do not lie. I can’t stand it.” She huffed, turning her scrutinising gaze to the dog, the worn couch, anywhere but him. Of course he had secrets, she did too, and their time of sharing so much didn’t mean they had to share now. She’d crunched her teeth together without even noticing it, her wings shifting under the shells of her elytra. The piano was there, open and in use, but Lydia was no longer so excited to see it. Clearly, she had misjudged, inviting herself into a space Simon didn’t really want her. She’d never loved talking on the internet, it was so hard to judge, and he was the type to not ask for anything he wanted unless she pushed it on him. He was also the type to never say no if she pushed something on him. “You can get me whatever you want, but I don’t drink.” Lydia replied, perhaps a little too sharply fae for the man she knew was only barely wolf.

"Lydia, I am terribly allergic to dogs." The sentence rumbled out of Simon’s mouth in a growl accompanied with the loud sound of ripping fabric before he had a chance to stop it and the millisecond the sentence ended, he brought a hand to his mouth similarly to how he did when he raised his voice to Nora. Her body language hadn't gone unnoticed by him as he felt her presence change; he upset her. "I-I'm sorry," he apologised quietly, feeling that his breathing grew erratic, the familiar sense of being confronted making him panic. Did HE want that or… Did the other one want it? "I shouldn't have snapped." He could say all he wanted in the way of apologies but he already snapped and it was his turn to avoid looking at her, glancing at the dog that had tilted his head at the noise and now pranced over to Simon as if smelling something very interesting to him. "I remember you don't drink." he gave a liquid sniffle and he pulled out a half-empty packet of tissues. "I wasn't lying, either, " he added just as quietly. "Rhinitis is scientific terminology. ‘Perennial Allergic Rhinitis’ is the full name." He didn't know why he added that but since he was already wearing on her nerves, he might as well go all the way. 

Lydia took a step back when he growled at her, and fabric ripped around him. His trousers hung on his hips strangely as he backed up, and from one moment from being a towering pillar, he suddenly looked as small as she was, shrinking in on himself like a flower at night. She watched the way his long, wiry fingers dug into his pocket uncertainly, sniffling again, and his eyes looked like they might water. She swallowed, her ice blue eyes softening to brown glamours for a moment. Guilty. That was the name of this particular feeling. "Simon, I think this time I should say sorry, for accusing you of lying. You don't need to apologise for snapping, either. I was in the wrong. But…" Lydia hesitated for a second, looking back to Beans. "Simon, why did you adopt a dog if you're allergic? Why try to hide that?" It wasn’t Simon’s intention at all to scare her or even to get her to apologise; if he had just been honest with her in the first place, this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. If he were honest with HIMSELF, it wouldn’t have happened. The way she said his name seemed to calm him down, though he wasn’t sure why. He gulped and kept his head low, his brow furrowing. “Because… Deirdre couldn’t keep him,” He started; that was the reason for taking the dog. “And… I just--” He wiped his eyes with the tissue, feeling emotional tears starting to well and mix with the allergic ones that spiked his eyes as he forced himself to answer the rest. “This dog is the first creature I’ve ever interacted with that seems… happy to see me.” His voice wavered. “He doesn’t talk about me behind my back. He’s always excited to spend time with me, he looks forward to when I come home… He trusts in me, depends on me.” He wanted to stop everything; stop talking, stop being on the verge of crying, stop itching and sneezing and thinking, just stop. But he didn’t; couldn’t. “He makes me feel like I’m needed.” Every tear he wiped away on his face was replaced with a new one as he kept his gaze on Beans. “No one’s ever made me feel like that before.” He said with a timid certainty, even as he talked to Lydia because he knew she certainly didn’t need him. No one in what they called a “wolf pack” did, no other people he called friends in town did… “He makes me feel like I’m not so... alone.” Once he was done with his confession, he coughed out a broken laugh and blew his nose. “Sorry… ‘me me me’. I’m being selfish.” He gave a watery smile as he kept trying to clean up his face. “You weren’t in the wrong.”

Her hands curled over his. Lydia had stood still, listening to him as everything he’d hid fell out through crumbling walls. She’d taken in his tears, the way his head ducked and his chin trembled. At the end of all this, it was all she could really do, taking his hand in hers.Lydia opened her mouth, once, twice, and swallowed herself. There was a crease between her brows as she looked at him. Really looked at him, beyond the stickiness and the job and the musical skill. “Yes, You, you, you. I imagine that’s more you’ve said about Simon Donovan than you have all year. You don’t sound selfish, my love, you sound like you’re in need of someone to listen. Well, that and more tissues.” Lydia swallowed, and tugged him, gently, toward the couch. She thought of the message from Ariana, implying that they were wolves together. She thought of Regan, cordial at best. Nora, who was currently without name but had been taking care of Simon’s home. How she’d left when he’d snapped at her. “Simon, it’s okay to talk about things when you’re upset. I know… I’m not exactly approachable, but you can talk to me. It’s okay.” Simon felt her hands on his, how strange it felt but how it was something gentle against his white knuckles from how tightly they had balled. That was perhaps the first time someone who wasn’t in the process of hiring him had said his whole name and he gave another small laugh at her mentioning needing more tissues; she certainly wasn’t wrong with the mess he must’ve looked. He easily allowed himself to be led to the couch by her, feeling for a moment as heavy as the pressure was evident in his sinuses but the second he started to actually sit down, he felt a sharp pain as though someone had tried to pull on a limb so hard as to dislocate it. He felt his pelvis jerk forward to distance himself from the couch and felt something unfurl behind him, which gave him the okay to actually sit down this time as a long, thin, scraggly tail, very deep brown in colour, rested on the cushion next to him - and one he hadn’t paid ANY mind to and had no idea was there. They hadn’t sat for very long when Beans welcomed himself into Simon’s lap and tried as he did to get his tongue to connect to Simon’s face, the werewolf managed to keep the excited dog at bay gently. He listened to everything Lydia said carefully and though she said it was okay several times, he was having immense difficulty justifying his confession, hating that he put her on the spot like that. “It’s not right of me to put that burden on you,” He said, his voice scratching through the congestion and the buildup in his throat from crying. He cleared it and licked his bottom lip in thought, keeping his head down but looking at Lydia tentatively. “I’m not-- I shouldn’t be upset. I have nothing to be upset about,” He exhaled. He was silent for a long moment. “S… Thank you, Lydia.” His tone was… his. “For, uh… tolerating my childishness.” The timid smile that lingered on his face crept back on shyly. “You came to hear the piano, not to entertain my emotional outburst.”

Simon may not have paid any attention to the long tail he had suddenly sprouted, but Lydia sure did, eyeing it with concern for a long moment before looking back up at him. It wasn’t nearly sunset, nor near the full moon, so surely it was fine, right? Not a problem. She was interrupted by the little white fluff ball jumping onto Simon’s lap, clambering all over him. Lydia huffed a small laugh at Beans, but returned her keen eyes back to Simon himself, as he finally began to talk. “That’s funny,” she replied, her eyebrows raised. “It sounded like you had a lot to be upset about.” She leant back a little, against the back of the couch, and slowly put her hand on his shoulder. Slid it across his back. “Well, yes, I did come for one and not the other, but I also came for the pleasure of your company, Simon. All of your company, not just one convenient facet of it which suits my nebulous desires. If you don’t want to dwell, then we shan’t. Just don’t dismiss yourself for my comfort.” Simon hesitated to respond at first and only felt himself relaxing subconsciously when she put her hand on his shoulder, moving it to his back and he closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to stretch into her hand like, well, a dog nosing into the palm of their human to pet them some more but he refrained and took the simple gesture as it came; sweet, gentle, her connecting with him this time. “I, uh… enjoy your company, too,” He replied, opening his eyes again. He was still being honest and he didn’t even mean it in an intimate way; he just liked being around others. He always liked that. “I think I’m okay,” He responded after another pause. He gave her another smile. “Thanks again for--” And he suddenly stopped, his head tilting sharply as he heard what sounded like a rhythmic thumping next to him. He glanced down and almost jumped up from surprise when he saw the-- HIS tail wagging beside his leg. Was that his? Why did it look like that? WHY WAS IT HERE? He had some questions but not as immediately as the gasp that got caught in his throat pricked into his nose and he jerked his head sharply away from Lydia and the dog that had since lounged on his lap to sneeze. Twice. Three times. Four-- nope, only three. “Sorry,” He gasped, using a new tissue this time as Beans glanced up as if to ask what was going on and why his bed was suddenly spasming. “Th.. uh. This is new,” He remarked with a sniffle, pointing to the tail that stopped wagging. “I’m… sorry, that’s-- this is-- yes, I’d rather just… play the piano for you.” He concluded lamely. 

“All right, my love,” Lydia said softly, patting his back before she carefully let him go, hand and back at once. She wouldn’t pry further, not when she’d caused this most recent bout of distress. He said he was okay, and she believed- Simon startled away from her as he noticed his own tail, and Lydia sat back to give him space as his whole body tensed. Was he about to shift? No, merely sneeze. “Indeed it is. Simon, darling, are you allergic to… yourself?” She asked curiously, and then nodded. “I’d love to hear you play.” For all intents and purposes, tail and ruined jeans aside, Simon did feel better. He dwelled in his thoughts often because he was the only person he had to share them with but even sharing them with Lydia accidentally relieved some of the pressure he had been feeling for several weeks now. And even if it was psychosomatic, that she had been lying through her pearly teeth, she told him that he could talk to her or at least mention when something was upsetting him. He still had trouble grasping the concept that it was okay for something to bother him to the effect that he should tell someone what it was but he attributed that unnecessary stubbornness to his not having anyone to talk to except for his parents for the duration of his life and it was something not worth discussing today after he had already accidentally broke down in front of her. He gave a couple pats to Beans’ hindquarters and the dog stood up in his lap, stretching for a moment before hopping down and he stood up shortly after, tail swaying down to rest behind him - that explained why his pants suddenly felt weird. He didn’t know he’d have THAT to look forward to. He… needed new clothes, anyway. “.... . Unfortunately, I am.” He hesitated, as usual, before answering her, finding that that was almost the most embarrassing thing he could’ve admitted. Despite not liking attention, it was hard to actually embarrass him - a lot of things rolled off his back but that one just… it irritated him mentally and literally. “It’s not usually that bad but I think--” He sneezed again. “The dog is exacerbating matters.”  

Lydia tried quite hard to resist the smile that crept up across her face at his admission, so much more shyly admitted. She could almost see him flushing, Lydia thought. “Well that is rather ironic, I must say, and unfortunate. With or without the dog” Not quite as unfortunate as the gaping hole in his trousers, which was rather hard not to look at. The tear was much, much more bizarre than the tail that had caused it - fae had all sorts of anatomical peculiarities relative to many other species, and each was more beautiful than a plain human form. His discomfort was inescapable, but with time perhaps he’d adjust. Lydia trod carefully as Beans tried to follow them over to the piano, twisting in between their legs - in particular Simon’s - and smiled warmly at his set up. Her eyes drifted along the spines of the bookcase, all the sheet music he’d collected over the years. She’d been right to choose for him a piano with brown wood, not black, it would have stood uncomfortably in his home, whereas this fit in with everything else. “So what will you play?” Her patience with him was insurmountable, something Simon was sure to retain as far into the future as his memory would allow. His reddened gaze followed her astutely as she moved with her grace, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed her active care in avoiding Beans, who was probably being a challenge by getting right in the way of where one’s feet should go. It was unfortunate, wasn’t it. He was unfortunate. He had snapped at people, not been available to help them with their problems, offered kind words but nothing else in the way of actually being assisting. He was infected with a parasite that disagreed with his genetic makeup; he was a right mess to look at and deal with, doubly so since the introduction of the dog, which she now knew why he clung to Beans so adamantly. His misery was worth every second so long as he had something… someone to spend his time with. He felt a weight, small but sharp, lifted off of him now that Lydia was sufficiently ‘up to speed’, at least in terms that immediately mattered. “I was thinking of Chopin this time,” He suggested, going over to the piano and sitting on the seat, lifting his tail as though it were the tailcoat on an expensive suit to drape over the back. He was not about to think about how long that would be out or what he’d do to hide it, not right now. Right now, he wasn’t lonely. Not with her and his dog near him to tolerate him, pretend to care, listen. As he rested his fingers on the keys and sifted through his mental library for the right song, he felt a sensation through him gently and a rhythm behind him, feeling the soft brushes of air that a wagging tail dispensed.

[valorxdrive]

❝ ... yes, i'm afraid it's true. those called by the throne of heroes will lose their memories of their times had once they disappear. we do not age nor die normally in the real world, but once we perish in battle we will forget all the memories we have gained. it is a sad fate, but it is a price to pay to be a heroic spirit. ❞ - martha to sora

-

♕ - “But that’s..!” Cruel? Unfair? Many things that spoke of sacrifice, a key, essential ingredient paid as tribute for anyone that walks the hero’s path. No starry eyed dreams or hopes that shattered into realms of cosmic unfairness could come to change that. For every great power was a price at it’s deepest pits, a token paid, kept and heavily utilized in exchanged for whatever they do within these passing days. Even now the brittle solitude turned into clandestine during that fated day, when he found himself within a chapel with the smoky deluge of darkness seeping at his feet.. A solution to save everything, all at the cost of himself.

He could come to see that Martha managed to form some brand of peace with her own trials. Learning the relationship between Master and Servant, great bonds kept and transcending, an equalized side to the spiked malice that also found itself accompanying many grim entities, it was an entire system and world that’s terrifying strong. No different than those who come to take the mantle of what it means to become a Keyblade Wielder. By gaining some brand of understanding, the compassion toils and overflows, holding no shame in being revealed between his body language and his eyes that burn many hopes.

To think she faced these days with both fullness and her head raised high. Something about that, the kind of strength she shows, had really compelled him to reach out within that moment.

Proper words were even harder to find.

“I..” Stalling upon the next breath, his mouth remains hanging, only for his jaws to clench down as that same turbulent flame is brandished within his heart. There’s strength carried within what he says next. “The times we shared, our times, the things you made with many important people.. Martha, I, I don’t believe that they’re gone in the least.”

”Not when we have our hearts to carry what our minds cannot.”

Impossibly may stand as the wall in between them, but in many times through Sora’s life, it shows. How emotion manage to become the connection force that breaches through every instant of the inconceivable. For others even at their darkest hours or beyond to make a connection to those come to mean so much to something so fragile, so weak, only for it to be simultaneously one of the greatest sources of strength anyone could ever reach into. He hadn’t even thought twice in reaching out, grasping Martha’s hand carefully, using this moment to really let that sink in.

Canting his head once more allows them to meet eye to eye.

“I’ll always keep a part of you in my heart. Something you can call out too even whatever power that makes this happen tries to bring it all to naught. That throne can’t get rid of something like that.”