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indigovigilance · 6 months

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Sodom and Gomorrah: A Speculative Meta

on Ao3: Sodom and Gomorrah: A Speculative Meta

Sodom and Gomorrah is the story of a land so steeped in sin that many prayed to God for intercession, and God sent two angels to see for themselves if the rumors were true, and determine based on their testimony whether the cities should be destroyed.

In Season 1, we learn that Sandolphon was there, doing a lot of smiting and turning people into salt. The way that Aziraphale talks about it, we are led to believe that he was there too, bearing unhappy witness to the destruction, his plastered-on smile faltering as his vision fades into the middle distance:

In this meta I am taking an alternate stance to the wonderfully presented interpretation by @queerfables in my speculation of what happened in Sodom and its relevance to the GO story arc overall, if canonized. I hope that readers will consider the merits of both arguments in their own formulations of Aziraphale and Heaven in the GO universe.

TW: discussions of homophobia, sexual assault, death & destruction

Verses are taken from this translation of Genesis, chapters 18 and 19.

Genesis 18

20 Then the Lord said, “The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous

21 that I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached me. If not, I will know.”

(Notably, the allegations made against Sodom and Gomorrah are never discussed. It is simply left at “sin so grievous.” Though it seems like there may be more information in Genesis 12)

But God herself did not go down to Sodom, instead sending two angels. I, like queerfables, read this and quickly came to the conclusion that for GO narrative purposes, the two angels that God sent to Sodom were Aziraphale and Sandolphon, where the former is playing tour guide to the latter, who has the real authority in the situation.

Upon arrival, the angels are met by Lot; he invites them to stay with him. At first they refuse, saying they will stay in the square, but he insists.

Genesis 19

4 Before they had gone to bed, all the men from every part of the city of Sodom—both young and old—surrounded the house.

5 They called to Lot, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so that we may know [have sex with] them.”

There is a lot of baggage to unpack from these two lines, especially in the 2023 context of politics in the Western hemisphere. Same-sex marriage is nearly ubiquitous, a near turnaround from only twenty years ago, but so is homophobic rhetoric, and the story of Sodom and Gomorrah is cited a lot for those purposes. Intersectional communities of faith have done a lot of work to try to reinterpret these two verses, insisting that what God finds so abhorrent about the actions of the men of Sodom is not that they are homosexual but rather that they are attempting to gang-rape two newly arrived strangers in their city.

For the real world, this is a very important discussion and a solid position to maintain, if one wishes to defend the concept of a benevolent God who made homosexual, bisexual, transgender, and every other flavor of human as lovingly and intentionally as was made every cisgender heterosexual person.

But we’re not talking about real-world God. We’re talking about the God in Good Omens. And She is not a very nice person.

We have only to look at the contract that would allow the murder and then replacement of Job’s children, or the abject poverty under which Elspeth suffers that forces her to commit [apparent] atrocities, and ultimately drive her to attempt suicide. Whatever your feelings may be about the God of our shared meatspace, the God of Good Omens is not a character we are meant to admire, sympathize with, or make excuses for.

Returning to Sodom in the Good Omens universe.

I propose that it is thematically in keeping that the men of Sodom were not attempting to commit gangrape, but rather, they saw Sandolphon and fell in love on the spot. Because yes, Aziraphale is a fine scholarly-looking fellow, but it’s approximately 2000 B.C., the Bronze Age. Sodom and Gomorrah are most likely agrarian societies, and Sandolphon looks like he could throw a bale of hay like a javelin. He’s a whole lot of man, and the men of Sodom are into it. I mean, c'mon, Paul Chahidi in some biblical garb, is, uhh...

...not an eyesore, iykwim. [image source: imdb.com]

So they go to Lot’s house and ask if they can see this man, in hopes that they can ask him on a date. They are smitten by Sandolphon. Sure, the ultimate goal may be to have sex with them, but not right there on Lot’s doorstep, and the gross misquoting can be attributed to Sandolphon’s own libelous report of events, not to the Sodomites themselves. History is written by the victors, after all.

While we’re at it, let’s consider Lot’s response:

Genesis 19

6 Lot went outside to meet them and shut the door behind him

7 and said, “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing.

8 Look, I have two daughters who have never slept with a man. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do what you like with them. But don’t do anything to these men, for they have come under the protection of my roof.”

In the true spirit of Good Omens comedy, I can envision Lot walking out among these men, complaining that not one of them has asked permission to court or marry either of his daughters of maritable age, and perhaps rather than simping for his houseguest, perhaps they would consider dating one of them instead. Is it homophobic? Sure, but I’m not here to defend Lot; he doesn’t need it. Because standing next to Sandolphon, he’s an absolute poppet.

(The remaining stanzas regarding the Sodomites breaking into Lot’s house, I am going to selectively set aside and chalk that up to Sandolphon blowing some Sodomite choice statements about Lot being a homophobic asshole way out of proportion.)

Sandolphon, a True Believer, is not about to stand for this insult to his heavenly purity. Angels do not have relations with humans, and to insinuate that he would even consider it is blasphemy. He takes it as a personal insult that the Sodomites would propose such a thing. He finds this to be evidence enough that the Sodomites are truly corrupt and worthy of destruction.

I feel the need to emphasize here that while this contains some distinctly queer themes, Sandolphon is not angry because they are men; he is angry because they are human, a different species from himself (in the same way that angels are different species from demons), and furthermore that anything resembling love the way humans do it is disgusting and vile to him.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, is standing helplessly on the sidelines, desperately trying and failing to de-escalate the situation. But it’s no use, Sandolphon has already made up his mind. There’s nothing left for Aziraphale to do but to try to save as many people as he can, beginning with Lot and his family.

Genesis 19

12 The two [angels] said to Lot, “Do you have anyone else here—sons-in-law, sons or daughters, or anyone else in the city who belongs to you? Get them out of here,

13 because we are going to destroy this place. The outcry to the Lord against its people is so great that he has sent us to destroy it.”

Again, in the fashion that GO takes liberty with biblical narrative, I propose that it is Aziraphale alone who warns Lot that Sandolphon will destroy Sodom come sunrise, and sends him out into the night to gather his family and get them out as quickly as possible. I propose, additionally, that Aziraphale is the one who leads Lot and his daughters by the hand out of Sodom and then protects the village of Zoar from destruction so that they can take shelter there.

Genesis 19:

15 With the coming of dawn, the angels urged Lot, saying, “Hurry! Take your wife and your two daughters who are here, or you will be swept away when the city is punished.”

16 When he hesitated, the [angels] grasped his hand and the hands of his wife and of his two daughters and led them safely out of the city, for the Lord was merciful to them.

17 As soon as they had brought them out, one of them said, “Flee for your lives! Don’t look back, and don’t stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!”

18 But Lot said to them, “No, my lords,[or singular, lord] please!

19 Your[singular] servant has found favor in your[singular] eyes, and you[singular] have shown great kindness to me in sparing my life. But I can’t flee to the mountains; this disaster will overtake me, and I’ll die.

20 Look, here is a town near enough to run to, and it is small. Let me flee to it—it is very small, isn’t it? Then my life will be spared.”

21 He said to him, “Very well, I will grant this request too; I will not overthrow the town you speak of.

22 But flee there quickly, because I cannot do anything until you reach it.” (That is why the town was called Zoar.[“small”])

While yes, this is a fictional interpretation of a biblical scripture, let’s take something from the fact that Lot is supposed to be addressing two angels, but the pronouns he uses to do so are all singular in the original Hebrew: that is to say, it seems like he is only talking to one angel. So in the victor-edited retrospective, the story is written to seem like two angels were rescuing him, but from the faithfully quoted words of his own mouth, it was only one. It seems like Sandolphon tried to write himself in as one of the good guys but couldn't bring himself to actually change the words that were coming from Lot's mouth. (Again, this is unnecessary work to do for the biblical narrative to be molded to a GO narrative, but it is an interesting feature of the original text nonetheless.)

At sunrise, the destruction begins:

Genesis 19

23 By the time Lot reached Zoar, the sun had risen over the land.

24 Then the Lord rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah—from the Lord out of the heavens.

25 Thus [S]he overthrew those cities and the entire plain, destroying all those living in the cities—and also the vegetation in the land.

26 But Lot’s wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.

So goes the story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah: The cities are slandered before God, who sends Aziraphale and Sandolphon to investigate; Sandolphon is so incensed by human men flirting with him that he determines that the city shall be destroyed in the morning, and Aziraphale races against the clock to save as many as he can, knowing that he cannot save everyone. He bears witness as the men who resemble himself so much, who committed no greater crime than to seek out a forbidden love, perish in a rain of fire and brimstone. He must feign heavenly delight that a sinful blight was erased from the world, while mourning thousands of lost souls. He wonders if they have been sent to Hell. Even Lot’s wife, whose only crime was to question, to wonder what is behind her and perhaps regret leaving it behind, is turned to salt. He sees the vicious glee of Sandolphon exacting his revenge for the crime of impugning his celestial celibacy. He wonders what Sandolphon would do to him if he ever found out about the stirrings in his heart for a demon who, 500 years prior, had sat beside him on a rock, looking out over sea, comforting him as he nursed his wounded faith. He wonders just how far along with Heaven he can go, and what the consequences will be when he dares to say, “I will go no further.”

~~~

[image source: Wessex Archaeology]

For those who (like me) are interested, the story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah seems to have been merged from two historical events, which was common in a period preserved primarily by oral history. The tale seems to resemble a volcanic event that occurred nearby and around that time, but Sodom and Gomorrah were most likely destroyed by an earthquake and a subsequent flood, since they were located in the Jordan Plain, the lowest dry land in the world, a full quarter of a mile below sea level at its lowest, and very near the Dead Sea. Additionally, the area is rich in bitumen, sulfur-rich near-surface petroleum deposits that, when disturbed by a major earthquake, may have sent hot tar flying into the air, which if it landed on anything flammable would give the impression that fire and brimstone were raining down.

✨ the more you know ✨

~~~

Blending together the biblical canon and archaeological speculation, I'm going to make a wild, unsubstantiated proposal that Crowley turns the people of Sodom into fish so that they survive the flood. Because one biblical flood was enough, and he'd heard around the water cooler that She had promised not to do that again (lying liar). This creates a tentative connection with the raining fish we see in the title credits of both seasons, and I'm also going to reference it in an upcoming meta.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziraphale #sandolphon #sodom and gomorrah #ivoc #textpost #long post

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abstractnaturaldisaster · 1 year

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More Steddie Flower Shop / Tattoo Parlor AU

Part One is available here! Time for Steve’s perspective! c: (also available on AO3)

*** Steve had signed the lease on the studio space a week ago and he was gearing up for the opening, posting instagram updates for the followers he’d gained from his previous tattooing gigs. Steve had bounced around a few spots since he started tattooing, but he hadn’t found anywhere that felt like he really belonged. Most people assumed tattoo artists had to be overly masculine or into counterculture. Steve had never been all that alternative (other than a brief emo phase Robin has been sworn to secrecy about) and he didn’t have loads of tattoos himself. It had been a point of contention between him and some of his past coworkers who felt that a tattoo artist should wear their ink proudly.

Homophobia was also still pretty common in some of the more mainstream shops in town and Steve couldn’t handle some of the casual comments shop owners made about his more feminine style. To top it all off he was sick of having to tattoo tribals or dandelions on college kids as he “worked his way up the ladder” at some of the more established places. Steve had managed to garner attention for his original colorful floral work on instagram and was getting enough interest that he decided to take the leap and find his own space.

He was eternally grateful that his best friend, Robin, had agreed to help with the front of house and appointments so he could focus on tattooing. Robin and Steve had talked for hours about how to make Steve’s studio inviting and comfortable for anyone who dropped in. Steve felt strongly about gatekeeping in the tattoo community and wanted his studio to be bright and open and set people at ease who had never been tattooed or had been burned by more “hard core” shops.

Robin had taken Steve to hundreds of estate sales and thrift stores to find pieces that were homey and comfortable so that his new studio could reflect his tattooing philosophy. He’d filled the space with plants and soft fabrics and made sure that the studio had plenty of light. Steve had set up a nice waiting area that was more of a living room than anything else with loads of books and a record player to provide a soft soundtrack. He purposefully didn’t include any records heavier than Simon and Garfunkel to encourage a more relaxed atmosphere. He’d worked at a shop that only played metal and he basically lived on Excedrin to survive the headaches he’d get after a shift.

“Steve! It’s looking so good!” Robin said as she pushed through the door with the spoils from her Target run. “I really think it’s almost there. And just in time for our first appointment, tomorrow.”

“I’m really happy with it, Robs.”

“You should be! It looks awesome. Very instagrammable,” Robin added as she posed by the record stand. Steve snapped a quick pic before Robin could stop him.

“You’re right, very instagrammable,” Steve joked. He showed Robin the picture.

“Hey, that’s actually not bad. Send it to me and I’ll post it to stories to help drum up some business, kid.”

“I already had to close my books twice, I think we’re going to be okay, babe,” Steve laughed.

It was true. After he posted some of his favorite floral pieces his DMs had blown up and he already had a full schedule for the next couple of months. Robin had agreed to help Steve in exchange for the promise that he wouldn’t overwork himself and actually take days off, so they were already scheduling clients pretty far out. To afford the overhead and keep to a more limited schedule, Steve had to broaden his initial search for studio space. They’d ended up in a slightly less desirable part of the city but since it seemed like Robin was serious about limiting Steve’s schedule it was a deal they couldn’t pass up.

“Alright, I picked up drinks to fill the mini fridge, coffee, tea, and some snacks. I also got this very cute planner to keep track of all your very important appointments,” Robin said as she pulled everything out of her grocery cart.

“I feel like we have to be forgetting something, Robs.” Steve looked around the space. He’d fully outfitted his tattooing space with everything he needed, they’d set up the printer and iPad to do stencils, and everyone had places to sit, but it still felt like something was missing.

“I think you’re overthinking it. We double checked the list last night.”

Steve walked over to the window and looked out at the busy street. He noticed the flower shop across the way. “Wait, that’s it. I wanted to go set up a recurring delivery for a flower arrangement for the front desk for each week.”

“Wow, when you said you wanted to lean into the plant gay aesthetic you weren’t kidding, huh?” Robin laughed.

“I just think it would be nice to have fresh flowers in addition to all the greenery,” Steve added.

“You’re sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to talk to the guy you’ve been checking out who works there?” Robin asked.

“I’ve been doing nothing of the kind.”

“Then why are you blushing, babe?” Robin dramatically flung herself onto the couch. “I’m so glad we got some old lady’s fainting couch for precisely this moment. It is perfect for dramatically winning an argument.”

“You’ve won nothing, Robin.” Steve pouted.

“You know I’m just giving you shit. If you’re going to go you better go now. I think they close early.”

***

Hope you guys like soft Tattoo Artist Steve! Part 3 here!

Taglist: @maya-custodios-dionach

#my fic #steve x eddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie #tattoo / flower shop AU

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catgirlhell · 9 months

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hi! about the "learn how it works before you start making assumptions" about the bluesky post and its networks; what assumptions should we be looking out for? that its not twitter and not everyone is going to be connected like on there? your description of federated networks is understandable, but the default domain it seems to have at signup is bluesky's. I feel like most people would be using this, and only people looking for a certain thing and knowingly leaving that "sphere" will know that theyre isolating to a different community.

I'm new to this too and theres very very minimal, well explained things about it online, and youre the only person I've come across who seems to know anything, so if you have more advice to share I'd appreciate it!

as much as I would like to answer this as an authority and really contribute to the nascent understanding of federated instances as an alternative to current social media platforms, the fact of the matter is that im not. i have a basic understanding of the way in which they work and how to use them, and I dont think im the best source of information. this being the case, since i did bring it up and i did get an ask, i'll try to explain the best i can.

the "fediverse" (dont mind the silly name, we know its silly) might best be explained with the similarities to email. Misskey, Mastodon, and others marketing themselves as federated instance platforms are basically like if you took your email account and stapled twitter to it: Misskey/Mastodon are not platforms themselves, so much as they are frameworks for web servers that connect to one another independently and are run by individuals. These frameworks are usually open source, have different alternative forks that offer different additional features/ui elements, and ultimately all connect to one another regardless. but they are not "platforms" like tumblr or twitter or facebook. anyone can make their own federated instance, and what that instance looks like depends on what framework they used to set it up.

Bluesky and Threads are different. Bluesky differs in that it is run on a private protocol-- it runs differently to the protocols used by the aforementioned open source alternatives and currently cannot connect with them. It's still in beta and its too early to call how it will operate. Threads, like Bluesky, is also a private protocol. At current, it merges your information with other Facebook/Meta products (facebook, instagram, etc). Supposedly, these will eventually be able to communicate with the Fediverse at large, but you should keep a great amount of suspicion with them, as both are run by billionaires. Bluesky is the project of the former head of twitter, and Threads obviously belongs to Zuckerburg and Facebook.

If you head about "x platform is homophobic/racist" in reference to the earlier federated instance frameworks, understand this very crucial thing about Mastodon/Misskey/etc:

They are not websites. They do not have established moderation policies and staff dedicated to managing who posts what.

as stated, Masto/Misskey are just server frameworks. Each federated instance using those frameworks is run by individuals on their own private web servers that they either operate themselves or rent out from a company. the largest Misskey instance, Misskey.io, is currently under fire for having homophobic moderation practices. This does not mean that every instance of Misskey is moderated with homophobia in mind, and homophobic moderation tools are not built into the code of Misskey.

As the old guard of web 2.0 crumbles, the internet is changing again. whether we fall back into the ad-friendly hellhole of yesteryear or we enter a new phase of the internet's wild west depends on platform migration patterns and whether or not people develop some pretty basic web and internet literacy that's been lost over the last 20 years as the internet corporatized and users had to learn less and less about how the websites they used work. my explanation here probably has incorrect information and holes in it, but that is because i, myself, do not fully understand the total extent to which the fediverse and federated protocols operate; i, too, am a layman.

that being said, i hope this was helpful to anyone trying to figure this stuff out. i've already carved my own space on a small, invite-only instance with friends, but i've got no plans to move shop until this place really does burn down to the ground. hope that helps. good luck!

#asktag #Anonymous #long post #fediverse #misskey #bluesky #this is why i said someone who can actually explain this and has an audience needs to get ahead of the curve #i dont think federated instances are super complicated if you have some webdev knowledge #but this new generation of people who grew up with the corporate internet might not have the first clue about operating it #in the end #all we can do is learn and adapt #if someone wants to poke a dozen holes in this post and better explain it #go for it

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angellic-critique · 5 months

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Hell I have weird idea about Molly

Sooo Molly basically a Drag queen mafia ADs blood related(AD is more mafia themed)

I imagine her story where she didn’t really like following orders from the mafia, but when she saw Drag people and their shows, she found her happiness here

(^the example that's Molly as Drag Queen can be like)

Her sins was:Threatening the lives of others and smoking or more biblical like Envy

Born in 1960s and died from Lungs Cancer

See? Easy fix. As simple and clean as rain. Thank you genuinely this, this ask? This is all I needed to heal my soul over. If vivzie genuinely actually cared about LGBTQIA+ OR the drag community whatsoever then there shouldn't even be an implication that Molly IS Angels' Drag sona, she should just be herself and be her own persona and her own version of drag! Whether brothers/sisters or an open interpretation of their gender dynamic, I adore this

I agree that she should be within the mafia family and be openly queer as much as angel. And while yes of course I am aware of the blatant homophobia that was within the time periods of the characters [ie. Angel dying circa. 1940s] having his sister live longer after him within the family and unable to handle the burden that was angels' responsibilities and roles, smoking just as much as he did and unable to keep up! Maybe the mafia they were born into is queer friendly/under-the-ropes hence why they can be focused around performing drag freely. Perhaps angels could be promiscuous and still openly be his sexual self but Molly could perhaps be more closed off and serious, sultry and asexual taking pride in her performance and envy with the captivity of the audience rather then the show at hand. There's so many alternative ways to handle their dynamic like maybe they both perform drag to try to compete in a sibling like rivalry that was settup by the mafia for them to always try to be at each others' throats! Arackniss in the corner giving a thumbs up supporting both of his siblings too^^ [or maybe he has something at hand with the family manipulation and could be against them? Whichever way you want to write the family honestly!!^^]]

Could I please get image sources over who these lovely ladies/people are if it's alright with you? I adore this concept honestly I love the rewritten portion of the criticism community because viv misses out on so many missed opportunities within her concept/series that people just scramble to run for the hills and I for one am in full support of this!!!

Why have only one drag/crossdresser when you can write multiple within reasoning?^^

#hazbin redesign #hazbin rewrite #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #anti vivziepop #please stop supporting spindlehorse #trash askbox #thats just my ask tag i love your ask sm thank you♡#hrmm perhaps it is time for a le positivo taggo !!#genuine art tip box #genuine queer writing

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 8

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 8: Would You Rather

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter spend the day together.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, talk about addiction, grief, communication problems, confrontation, piv sex, homophobia, spanish homophobic slur, infertility, automatic writing, ghostie better back off, fluffy fluffy feeeeeeelings

Notes: Chapter title from "Would You Rather" by Phoebe Bridgers. Hey so about what I said when I started this series about putting out a chapter every week... I've found that it's not very realistic for me. It doesn't usually take me more than one or two weeks to finish writing a chapter, but I'll put them out when I'm done with them! Thank you so much for understanding and for reading. I appreciate you!!! Also I got a little behind on replying to people's nice comments, and if that's you, you'll be hearing from me tomorrow most likely lol THANKS AGAAAIN!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

When you wake up to the braying of your phone’s alarm, snuggled into the heat of Dieter’s naked body, the sun hasn’t even begun to peak over the horizon. The world is still drenched in darkness. His forehead rolls against the arch of your back as you breathe, the oil from his pores slick on the shared spot. Soft puffs of his sleeping breath spread over your spine and make you tingle.

You close your eyes and find that, if you’re still enough, you can feel the steady beat of his heart echo across your skin.

The night before replays in your head. Parker’s show. Dieter’s confrontation. The way he pushed you to your breaking point. The way he made it up to you.

You wonder if he’ll bring it up again, or if he considers the point of contention to be healed. If you’ll ever get the courage to tell him that it’s not just his wandering attention that hurt you. How do you tell him that his publicized cocaine binge picks away at your brain just as much?

You wonder if this stitched up wound will just be infected by lingering doubt and unasked questions. If your vigilant throat will keep the ache locked away in your chest. If an abscess will grow and rot until it’s too late for antibiotics and it swallows you whole.

The alarm goes off again.

I have to get up.

For a moment, you consider quietly gathering your clothes and slinking out of the room. The comfort of running away and hiding where it’s safe, at a distance far, far away from him, entices you. Maybe the overall net hurt of abandoning him would outweigh that of letting him in your life again.

Then you hear him snore, his slackened lips making a boioioing noise on the exhale. You take a deep breath, your intermingled scents wafting off the stark white sheets that were dampened by sex and sweat. The tickle of his bed head against the nape of your neck.

Your chest tightens.

Maybe the overall net joy of letting him in your life again would outweigh that of abandoning him.

You wriggle around to face him, drag your fingers through his hair, and kiss his forehead. His lungs expand at the contact. A dry hum sounds from his throat. You cup his cheek and drag your thumb against the grain of the gray patch in his beard, then press your lips to the tip of his nose. At this, he hums again and smiles.

“I have to go,” you whisper.

“No,” he croaks, one eye squinting open as he frowns, “Stay here, baby.”

His deep, sleep-drenched voice tugs at your heart. You sigh, “I have to work.”

“Lemme come with,” he mumbles, his limbs waking to pull you closer.

“Do you really want to?”

He hums and nods, “When do we gotta go?”

“Like now,” you chuckle.

Dieter groans and rolls onto his back, then stretches his hands and feet as far away from his body as they’ll go. When he sits up and gets out of bed, your eyes follow, admiring the soft edges of him in the darkness.

“Want some clothes so you don’t have to put a fucking tuxedo back on?” he asks you as he hovers over his open suitcase, rifling through its contents, then adds, “You fancy motherfucker?”

Sitting up and stretching, you yawn, “I suppose.”

He tosses a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a soft t-shirt onto the bed for you, then starts tugging on clothes. The bedside lamp clicks as you twist its knob. Its light floods the room.

You wince away from the brightness and stand up out of bed, “You really don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. You can sleep in and come over later.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he smirks at you, gaze dropping to your tits for one last peak before you pull his shirt over your head.

“No,” you scoff, “I just- y’know, I don’t want to make you think you have to-”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he threads his arms through a black hoodie, “I want to.”

You walk around the bed and approach him, linking your hands behind his neck, “If you say so.”

His puffy, dark eyes meet yours and they linger for a tender moment. He leans forward and kisses your forehead, then in a mumbles against your skin, “You’re making me breakfast and coffee though.”

“Deal,” you chuckle.

Cool autumn air wafts into the apartment through the open windows, counteracting the heat that’s been radiating from the oven all morning. The two air masses dance and swirl with the music from your stereo and the steam rising from cookies laying out on the cooling rack. Dieter is sitting at the counter across from you, sketching and keeping you company while you bake.

“Would you rather freeze to death or be burned alive?” he asks without looking up from his paper.

You tilt your head to the side and scrunch your face up towards the ceiling, tapping your index finger to your chin, then shrug, “Freeze to death.”

“It would take so long, though,” Dieter glances up at you with a furrowed brow, “Wouldn’t you rather just,” he makes a hand gesture like an explosion, “Get it over with?”

“Mmm, no, I hear the delirium from hypothermia fucking rules,” you pick up one of the cookies off the plate between you and split it in half. The soft craters and layers inside are exposed.

With a frown, he sets down his pencil and grabs a cookie. He stares at it as he considers this, but then declares, “I’d still choose fire.”

“Interesting,” you nod in acknowledgment.

Dieter bites off a chunk of the cookie, moans and nods, then takes another bite before setting it down on the counter. He wipes the crumbs off his gray t-shirt, then picks up his pencil again.

“Would you rather take a vow of celibacy or a vow of silence?” you ask, then sink your teeth into the cookie’s thin crust. It gives way to the squishy middle. You hum and wiggle your shoulders in approval.

Dieter sits up straight, then shakes his head, “Burned alive.”

“Not an option,” you chuckle.

He crosses his arms and pushes his mouth to one side, then glances up at you, “Can I break the vow?”

“No, you physically cannot break the vow.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “Vow of silence.”

“Same,” you snort, taking another bite of cookie.

“Would you rather your crush be able to read your mind or have access to your internet history?”

“I’d never subject you to this horror show,” you point to your forehead, then ponder out loud, “But, on the other hand, if you had my internet history, you’d see how many times I’ve googled your name.”

After the words leave your mouth, you wince at yourself. All the blood rushes to your cheeks.

He raises his eyebrows and leans forward expectantly. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face as he asks, “Oh yeah?”

You bite down on the bottom lip of your smile and shake your head. He props his chin up on his fists and leans even closer.

You fold over onto the counter, hiding your face. The pencil clatters against the countertop, then his barstool squeaks and groans as he stands up and makes his way around the counter.

“That’s adorable,” he chuckles as his hands snake around your waist from behind. He mumbles against your neck, “You still have to answer the question, sweetheart.”

“Oh my god,” you shake your head. His fingertips tap against your belly as he waits patiently for you to continue.

“Internet history.”

“Agreed,�� he responds. His lips tickle your neck, “Really, if you can read someone’s mind, you can ask them about their internet history and get all the details.”

“Bingo.”

The oven starts beeping, so he lets you go and returns to his seat while you pull out the sheet pans and plop them onto their designated spaces on the countertop, each marked by dark green hot pads. After tossing your oven mitts down and turning off the oven, you lean over the counter towards him again, “Would you rather get rich in a way that disappoints your family or just make enough money to live?”

“Well I already do one of those things, so,” he mutters. His eyes are narrowed in concentration as he shades the humanesque figure on his paper.

You frown at him, “Really? Your family doesn’t like that you’re a famous actor?”

“Nope,” he enunciates the P sound with a loud pop that draws your eyes to his plush lips, “Pa is very traditional, machismo. You know, with his upbringing, and being a Marine and all that, he thinks what I do is…” he stops drawing and gnashes his jaw to the side, trying to find the right word, finally settling on, “Shameful.”

You hum and nod. He resumes drawing. As he talks, you study the gentle tics that pinch and stretch his face.

“According to him, acting is something that gays and women do,” Dieter’s words are tinged with spite and exasperation, “ Maricón, he’d always call me. Which is like a, uh, slur for gay people. Fucking asshole ”

Fury on his behalf flares in your veins. Your vision tinges red when you imagine his father calling him this. You try to remain calm and neutral as you ask, “Is your whole family like that?”

“Mostly, yeah. Ma is supportive, but he doesn’t like it when she talks to me,” the corner of his mouth shrugs up into his cheek, “When I visit, he and my brother don’t talk to me, really. It, um… it’s pretty fucking shitty.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Just my older brother, Tomás. And he’s the golden child, you know. He’s just like Pa. A colonel in the marines and very,” he beats his fist against his chest and makes an exaggerated stern face, “manly.”

You nod sympathetically and meet his gaze, “That fucking sucks. I’m sorry, Dee.”

His lips purse into a pout and he sighs, “So yeah. Rich and disappointing, it is.”

The way his eyes seem to flatten at the mention of his family squeezes your heart into a pulp. You want to hold him and absorb all the bad, like a healing stone. You want him to feel peace and belonging. You want him to see that he deserves it.

“I think it’s really great that you followed your dreams instead of letting some sad asshole dictate your happiness,” you tell him, reaching across the counter to offer your hand.

“Thanks,” he takes it and gives you a squeeze, a wistful smile creeping across his face as he sighs, “What about you? Rich and disappointing or just enough to get by?”

“Mmm, well, I’m a disappointment and barely make enough to get by,” you smirk, “So I think I’d rather be rich about it.”

“Business isn’t going well?” he questions.

“I mean,” you scrunch up your face and shrug, “It’s fine. I’m able to make it work. But I lost a lot of clients when people had to start picking up versus delivery. And Ethan drained our savings buying blow before he died.”

“He did?” Dieter frowns. His thumb smooths a circle against yours. The motion soothes the uncomfortable stretch of opening up to him.

You nod and raise an eyebrow, “Also, I don’t know if you know this or not, but being a drug dealer doesn’t really come with life insurance or a retirement plan.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. A grin spreads across his face and warms you.

“I know, it’s kind of shocking,” you roll your eyes and smirk. The playlist broadcasting over your speakers ends. Quiet settles over the two of you. It’s just his thumb grazing yours, both of you staring at the clasped hands.

“You know, I can help you-”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head.

He tilts his head and scrunches his nose up, “Why not?”

“I’m not gonna let my…” you falter here, mouth hanging open in limbo, unable to verbalize what the next word should be.

My what , exactly?

“Boyfriend?” he finishes.

Your gaze flicks to his and you see that his dark eyes are soft and hopeful. Heat creeps up your neck, onto your cheeks. Your heart starts pounding heavy in your chest. You can’t stop the giant smile from beaming across your face, “Is… that what you are? My boyfriend?”

His thumb works faster against your hand now. He shifts in his seat with a shrug, Adam’s apple bobbing as he inquires, “Is that what you want me to be?”

Regardless of the voice in your head telling you to play it cool, you can’t get the smile to dim, or lessen the giddiness that’s bubbling in your chest. His tongue darts out across his lower lip and he mirrors the goofy ass grin on your face, dimpling his cheeks.

You stammer, “That would be, um… that would be… yeah. Yes.”

“Ok,” he beams, “You’re my girlfriend, then.”

“Ok,” you try to clamp your lips between your teeth in an attempt to smother the smile, but fail. It breaks free and lights up your face.

“Fuck, come here,” he mumbles, pushing his stool back and making his way over to you. His palms cup your cheeks as he holds you against the counter, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is ripe with a hot, desperate kind of want. Its urgency drips down your back and settles between your thighs. Your hands creep up the loose cotton of his t-shirt, delighting in the heat of his body on your palms. He hums, leaning hard into your touch, tongue sliding soft and wet against yours.

A moan rumbles inside your throat. His hands trace the outline of your body, fingertips ghosting along the goosebumps lacing your arms, under the hem of the t-shirt you borrowed from him, trailing across the excitable skin of your abdomen. The gentle touch leaves quivering muscles in its wake, sparks of pleasure igniting a fire inside you.

“Bedroom,” you mumble against his mouth. He pulls back and grabs your hand, squeezing your palms together like he can’t stand to part the skin-to-skin contact for even a moment. A grin breaks out across your face as you watch the way he shuffles through the kitchen, down the hall, through your bedroom door.

You turn around to close the door, and his arms wrap around your waist. His lips press into the crook of your neck, then his tongue rolls against your pulse and you whisper, “Oh my god, Dee-”

“Mmm,” he hums, “Can’t fucking get enough of you, Lua, you know that?”

His teeth catch your earlobe and you gasp, a delicious ripple of ecstasy trickles down your spine. You anchor your hands in his hair, nodding in agreement. He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear. Your knees buckle beneath you as a rush of euphoria floods your brain.

Dieter pulls you back up, the puppeteer yanking your marionette strings taught. You turn around and barrage him with hungry kisses, urging him backwards.

Each blind step the two of you take is accented by lust-drenched panting. Both of you tug at the other's clothes, ripping off shirts and pants and underwear until there’s nothing left and he’s tumbling backwards onto your bed, pulling you down after him.

You clamber on top of him, settling your hips on his. A hand lands at the nape of your neck and he pulls you in for another kiss. You whine into the feeling of his mouth against your own. The thick length of his cock parts your swollen pussy lips and grinds against you, earning a moan from your throat as the flames of pleasure lap away at your insides.

You lean back enough to bring his face into focus. Your fingers comb through his hair as you study his face, admiring how his lust-blown eyes drag across every inch of your body. He bites his bottom lip and meets your gaze.

His hands slide up your thighs, hips thrusting upwards, and he purrs, “Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he brings one hand to your cheek and brushes the pad of his thumb against your lips, “Just fucking look at you.”

Dieter’s words are dripping with raw wonderment. He’s looking up at you like you’re some kind of divine miracle he’s been blessed to witness. Your heart throbs in your chest.

You let yourself sink into the warmth this man evokes. It's like wading into a hot spring, the way it sears your skin and soothes your aching soul. Your fingertips trace the contours of his face in an attempt to etch this moment into your long-term memory. His eyelids flutter and his lips part. A smile creeps across your face.

He drops his hands to the tops of your thighs, caressing them as he grins up at you, “What’re you smiling about?”

“You’re really goddamn beautiful, too, Dee,” you coo, eyes flicking down to his lips for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Desire saturates his features, heating the air between you, reeling you both in until your foreheads press together.

When you capture his lips in yours, he groans into the kiss. He rolls his hips, sliding his slick, twitching cock over your clit. You reach down and guide him to your entrance. His mouth gapes open, breath hitching as you sink down onto him. Gravity lowers you down, the electric stretch of him pulling a whimper from your throat.

“Holy fucking shit,” he chokes out. His digits dig into your thighs. All ten pressure points radiate a sinful ache. You moan against his lips and start rutting up and down the length of him. And, fuck, every single nerve ending he rubs along floods you with a high-frequency pleasure that makes your ears buzz.

He hums, trailing hot, wet kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, to your neck. His lips vacuum seal against your pulse and he sucks the skin between his teeth. A shudder echoes down the middle and you run your fingers through his hair, cooing, “That’s so good, baby, yes- yes, fuck, Dee I fucking love it.”

With a wet pop, his mouth departs your neck and he rumbles, “Wanna leave my mark on you-“ his teeth bite down on the round of your shoulder. The sharp sting intertwines with the sheer ecstasy of him filling your cunt over and over again, and you let out a choked sob.

“Want everyone to know you’re fucking mine,” he growls, gripping your thighs even tighter. His greedy confession vibrates between the layers of your skin, “Aren’t you, Lua?”

You whimper and nod, swallowing hard, eyes fluttering shut as he starts to fuck up into you. His cock drags back and forth over something so fucking delicious, it overrides your brain, and all you can think is more of that, more, more. Your fucking heart races and you break out in a sweat.

“Tell me, baby,” his hands slide to your hips, where he tightens his grasp, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Dee,” you mewl, “All fucking yours- oh my fucking god-”

“I’m yours, too, you know that?” he pants, “You know how much I fucking care about you?”

“Yes-” the word come out in a choked sob, and you whimper, “Fuck, that is so good, don’t fucking stop, baby.”

You fold over and press your lips to his, moaning into the kiss. Your hands roam to the sides of his face, thumbs grazing the patchy facial hair on his cheeks as you rest your sweaty forehead on his and take his cock.

“Your pussy is fucking perfect, Lua” he husks, voice bouncing with each thrust, “Like fucking heroin, I swear to fucking god-”

“God I fucking love it when you talk dirty to me,” you growl, then nuzzle against his neck, catching his salty skin between your teeth and sucking on it.

He moans and bucks his hips up into you. A muffled cry sounds from your throat as the shock wave of impact compounds on the already mounting pleasure and he starts panting, “Yeah? You fucking love that, baby? You like when I cram my fat cock in that sweet pussy then tell you how good it fucking feels? Hmm?”

Your wrecked sob is buried against his neck, the edges of your mind peeling up as the ecstasy at your center starts to throb and grow. You release his neck and hover above his mouth as you moan through gritted teeth, “Yes, I fucking love it, don’t stop-”

“I wouldn’t fucking dare. Won’t stop 'til I feel that tight cunt squeeze the ever loving fuck out of me-“

A gasp expands your lungs as a wave of pleasure starts to swell, “Oh- oh, holy shit- ”

“Yes- oh my god- that’s it, baby- there we go,“ Dieter purrs, driving into you at a maddening pace, “Fuck yes, that’s it.”

Ecstasy crashes down on you, and your whole body quivers under its impact, pulling a strangled noise from your throat. He moans and his hands fly to your face to pull you in for a needy kiss, snapping his hips against yours, gasping against your mouth as he finds his release.

Your bodies slow their writhing and go slack. All those tingling muscles relax. You rest your head on his chest and melt into a puddle on top of him, eyes drifting closed as a satisfied smile creeps across your face. Dieter hums and lays one hand on the small of your back while the other pets your hair.

In the noise’s inflection, you can hear him smiling, too.

The thud of his heartbeat against your cheek, the warmth of his skin flush on yours, the motion of his palm rubbing into the base of your spine, it leaves you weightless and euphoric.

Your bones buzz with this sensation that you can’t quite put your finger on.

Like when you were a kid biking around the deserted streets of your hometown on a summer night. Wind blowing through your hair, cooling your sticky, sweat-drenched skin. Laughing as you and your friends took turns trying to navigate your bikes without touching the handlebars. When time was meaningless because all that existed was the moment you were living.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, fluttering in your chest in an attempt to make itself known.

Dieter’s lips press against your forehead and he mumbles, “I could stay here forever.”

It hits you then. That feeling like sunshine and freedom and living.

Happiness.

Dieter is hunched over his sketchbook, eyes flicking up to the closed door that always seems to steep his soul in ice. The yellow, chewed-up pencil pinched between his fingers seems to move on instinct, skipping over his consciousness completely as the graphite tip glides across the buttery paper.

You’re only a few paces behind him, handing off a box of cannabis-laced apple cider donuts to a client, but the melodic tune of your chit chat seems miles away.

A dark wall. An antique mirror. A pallid, silver-haired man inside the mirror, staring at him with vacant eyes.

The door to your apartment shuts. A metallic thunk from the deadbolt jolts him out of his trance. As he studies the illustration made in his fugue state, his spine stiffens. He chucks the pencil across the counter and pushes the stool out behind him to stand.

Of course, he recognizes Ethan.

Not just from the flashes of his face that grip Dieter’s heart like a hawk’s talons, but from that hazy period between winning an Oscar and COVID-19 lockdown.

The tall, angular man who arrived at a rooftop party in Greenwich Village with armfuls of edibles that blew Dieter’s mind. Ethan was only there for a short time, but strangely enough, meeting him is one of the only remaining memories Dieter has from that night.

He approached Dieter, who was shoveling a pot brownie in his face over a garbage can, with a disarming smile as he pointed to the dessert, “Good, right?”

Dieter hummed and nodded, trying to quickly chew a mouthful in order to respond.

“No worries, man, sorry for sneaking up on ya while you’re eating,” he chuckled and waved one hand in a dismissive gesture, then pinched a joint between his full lips. The orange flame of the lighter illuminated his face as he lit it.

By this time, Dieter was able to swallow the brownie and clear his throat, wiping his chocolate-tinged fingertips on his dress pants before extending his hand, “Dieter Bravo.”

“Ethan,” he gave Dieter’s hand a firm shake, then held the joint out to him in offering.

Dieter accepted it, taking a few puffs as Ethan gave a sharp nod towards the party’s epicenter, all lit up and crowded, “Having fun?”

His eyes scanned the party, noting how nobody seemed to be dancing, and how everyone kept looking at their phones, as if waiting for another Saturday night party option. He shrugged and passed the joint back, “Something to do.”

“Fuck, dude, that bad?” Ethan laughed, the low notes coming out short little bursts from his belly. He took a puff off the joint and passed it to Dieter, “You’re an actor, right?”

“Yeah,” Dieter responded as he pinched the joint between his lips and inhaled.

“I like your shit, man,” Ethan grinned and took the joint back.

“Thanks,” he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, then gestured to the display of edibles, “I like your shit, too. How is it… fudgy and crispy?”

“Fuckin’ a, right? My girl bakes everything, she’s a fuckin’ genius at that shit,” Ethan shook his head and grinned.

“Amazing,” Dieter nodded.

“So tell me-“ Ethan stopped to inhale, giving Dieter a moment to brace for whatever question the man was loading. On the exhale, he asked, “What’s your favorite shape?”

Dieter’s head jerked back and he laughed, “Favorite shape?”

“Weren’t expecting that one, were ya?” a shit-eating grin spread across Ethan’s face and he passed the joint.

“Well, no,” Dieter stammered and took a hit, then scratched his chin and shrugged, “but obviously it’s a triangle.”

“ Obviously , he says,” Ethan laughed and slapped his own knee, “That’s good shit. Triangles are fucking cool.”

“They are fucking cool, aren’t they?” Dieter chuckled and passed the joint.

Ethan took one more hit, then dropped it on the cement paver of the rooftop patio and smashed it with the toe of his shoe, “Listen man, I gotta dip, but if you ever wanna order anything, text me or gimme a call. I can deliver to most places within city limits.”

He held out a white business card that was completely blank except for a ten digit phone number handwritten in black ink. Dieter took it from him and nodded, “Right on.”

“Nice talkin’ to ya,” he gave a quick wave and turned to go.

“Wait-“ Dieter called out, then when Ethan turned around, he asked, “What’s your favorite shape?”

“Circle, hands down,” he answered.

Dieter met with Ethan every once in a while after this to buy edibles. He admired how easy-going the man was, and of course, the quality of the product. He never put much thought into the encounters, because at the time, they were just drug deals.

But now, as Dieter finds his infatuation with you growing wider as each second passes, he has been trying to remember more about your late husband. Any kind of clue to explain how the Ethan he met on that rooftop ended up trying to end both your lives.

There’s something lingering at the edge of his memory, fuzzy and out-of-focus. It weaves its way between the tendons in his neck and pulls them tight.

“Are you ok?” you come up from behind him and hesitantly rest your hand on his bicep.

When he glances over at you, you’re searching his face, eyes gleaming with concern. His shoulders slacken and he shakes his head, confessing, “I don’t know what the fuck just happened to me.”

“What do you mean?” you frown.

Dieter’s eyes dart between your face and the page. His throat feels tight when he swallows, then clears his throat, “I don’t know how to explain it. I was drawing, but I was totally fucking zoned out, and-”

Your gaze falls to his open sketchbook. You drop your hand loose to your side and take a step towards it. He sees your whole body go rigid as you study it.

“Did… did you go in that room?” you question, spinning around to face him. His stomach twists in a knot when he recognizes the fear in your eyes.

He stammers, “N-no, I wouldn’t…”

Your body relaxes as you process this information, brow furrowing as you sigh, “No, I know you wouldn’t.”

His nerve endings feel raw and exposed, skin crawling as the silence creeps into his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Is that what it looks like?” Dieter gestures to his sketchbook, then runs a hand through his hair.

You nod and fiddle with the drawstring of his pajama pants that you’re still wearing.

“I swear, Lua, I don’t know what happened, it was fucking weird,” he runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, “I- I didn’t mean to scare you or anything.”

“No, I know,” you step towards him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.”

Dieter wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, eyes flicking to the doorway he despises, then back to your face, “No need to apologize, doll.”

Your eyebrows press together, gaze unblinking. One of your thumbs starts oscillating against the skin at the nape of his neck. The comfort of your embrace seeps into his bloodstream, sedating his adrenaline-fueled heart. His eyes blink shut and he takes a deep breath as his muscles start to slacken.

“Do… Do you need to leave?” you ask him quietly.

His eyes snap open and meet yours, brow furrowing as he frowns, “I’m not leaving you.”

A smile stretches across your lips and your face gets all flushed, then you stammer “I- I just mean- um, I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here-“

“Mmm, no, see,” Dieter smirks and brushes his thumb against your cheek, “We have plans for a shitty movie marathon and I fully intend on keeping that date.”

“Ok, but-”

“I think your boy just needs to mind his goddamn manners,” Dieter raises an eyebrow and nods towards the spare bedroom.

You tilt your head and frown thoughtfully, “Have you asked him to leave you alone?”

“Does- does that work?”

“I dunno, maybe? Maybe he doesn’t, like,” you scrunch your nose up and shrug, “Know ghost etiquette?”

He laughs and shakes his head, “Ghost etiquette?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you start laughing from your belly, head falling back towards the ceiling as the melody fills his heart to the brim. He just fucking beams at you as you bring your gaze back to his and smile, “I don’t know, I’m just…” your smile starts to fade and your eyes drop to the floor, “I’m sorry he’s fucking with you.”

He presses his forehead against yours and mumbles, “I’m fine, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

When the term of endearment rolls from his lips, it doesn’t taste like it has hundreds of times before. It’s gooey and saccharine, melting across his tongue like those chocolates that come in shiny red heart-shaped boxes.

You hum, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him in for a kiss. Your lips are soft and warm, moving leisurely against his. And, fuck, this makes it all worth it. The nights he spent wide awake, aching with want, tortured by the thought of someone else touching you. Flying across the country to track you down and argue with you in the street. Even dealing with the intrusions from your dead husband.

When you pull back to meet his eyes, your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs grazing against his facial hair, “That was my last customer. Do you wanna run some errands with me?”

“Would you rather be abducted by aliens or stranded at sea?” Dieter asks. Your head is cradled by his belly, body stretched out across the grass, perpendicular to his.

You’re holding a blood red leaf above your head with one hand while the other is clasped warm against his. The sun hovers in the cloudless sky off to the west, heating him to comfort despite the crisp air on his face and the cool earth beneath his back. There’s a pile of plastic bags next to him, the results of this afternoon’s supply run. The two of you couldn’t resist stopping at the park across from your apartment to bask in the sun before starting on dinner.

“Abducted, hands down,” you answer, closing one eye as you move the leaf close to your face, then further away, “You?”

“Beam me up, baby.”

“Would you rather be trapped in a room with one million tarantulas for ten minutes or be forced to eat ten tarantulas in ten minutes?”

“Are they alive or dead?”

“Alive, obviously,” you drop your extended arm to your side and look over at him.

“Fuck that,” he groans, “Do I have to?”

You raise an eyebrow at him and smirk, “Them’s the rules.”

“Shit, I guess… I guess trap me in the room and hope one of them puts me out of my misery quickly,” he responds, stomach churning at the thought of eight million furry legs crawling around him.

“That’s a good point,” you frown, then look back up at the sky, “Same.”

“Would you rather never have kids, or have triplets that have to be in the same room as you until they turn 18?”

As soon as the question leaves his lips, his stomach flips with regret. Just one second too late, he remembers you telling him that you’re infertile. His body tenses as he tries to figure out how to shove his foot in his mouth at this angle.

You release a heavy sigh, then shake your head, “I, um…”

“I’m- fuck, I’m sorry,” he cranes his neck to look at you, “I’m an ass, I completely-”

“No, it’s ok,” you reassure him, although your somber tone implies that it is not , in fact, ok. With a shrug, you answer, “I’ve always wanted kids. Gimme the Velcro babies.”

The muscles in his throat tighten as he contemplates what to say next, smoothing a circle against the back of your hand with his thumb.

Dieter considers answering his “would you rather” question, but it morphs into “would you rather Lua think you don’t want kids when she does, or think you want kids when she can’t bear them?”

It’s more impossible than the tarantula question.

He also considers asking why you can’t have children. Not that the answer would affect his feelings for you. It’s just something that, like every other part of you, sits at the back of his brain, piquing his curiosity. He has this burning desire to unfold you and lay you flat, to hear all your stories ad nauseam, to memorize every single line of your verbal autobiography. He wants to know you better than he knows himself.

Instead of letting either of these things leave his mouth, or worse yet, changing the subject, Dieter waits. He stays quiet, but present, thumb grazing against your hand to reassure you that he’s there.

“I was a stepmom, though,” you say eventually, glancing up at him, “Ethan had two kids with his ex-wife.”

“Oh yeah? Do you still get to see them?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Miri didn’t really like Ethan having them, so I didn’t see them much. I think I spent more time with them when we were sitting shiva than the five years Ethan and I were together.”

Dieter hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Why didn’t she like him having them?”

“What, besides our very legal business dealings?” you snort. After a beat of silence, you roll on your side to face him, “That’s… not true, actually. She doesn’t know about that.”

He studies your thoughtful expression. You tuck your interlaced hands between your cheek and his belly and avert your gaze, then start picking at individual blades of grass from the earth with your free hand, “Ethan was… an addict. She put up with a lot of shit before they split. And after they split, before we were together, there was a night where he got fucked up and left the kids at his apartment. They were only 4 and 8. Miri came to get them the next afternoon and they were still there alone. He said he completely forgot about them. They were all pretty fucked up about it.”

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes.

“I know, it’s so fucked,” you shake your head, “So yeah, I get it. I never held that against her or anything. She was just trying to protect her kids.”

You glance up at him, surveying his face as he listens intently, then return your attention to ripping blades of grass from their roots, “When we got engaged, she tried to warn me. But I didn’t listen. I thought I knew him better. I did lines with him occasionally, and he didn’t go off the deep end like that, so I thought he changed. Or like it was different because he was with me, like I cured him or something,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “So dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Dieter frowns and squeezes your hand, “People change.”

You crinkle your nose and go silent.

A deep ache hollows out his chest. In that quiet moment, as he watches your face sag with skepticism, he vows to make a true believer out of you.

“Hey,” he mumbles.

Your eyes flick to his. Electricity trickles down his spine and capsizes his stomach.

“Thank you for sharing with me.”

A smile stretches across your face and you nuzzle against his hand, “You’re welcome, love.”

He licks his lips, takes a deep breath, then says, “And, um, thank you… for giving me another chance.”

You nod and hum in acknowledgment, but your smile falters a little as you search his face. Hurt still lingers in the background of your features. His guts twist when he recognizes it.

“Sleeping with Katie was… fuck, I regret it every goddamn day.”

“Dee, it’s ok,” you mutter, gaze dropping to the grass. You pinch a few at a time now, ripping them away, their corpses growing into a small, green haystack.

“ No , it’s not,” he asserts, and your eyes flit to his again as he spouts off, “You know why? Because I knew how I felt about you, and I did it anyway. And then I fucking-”

“Dieter-” you sit up and fold your legs under your body, releasing his hand to place a palm on his sternum.

He follows suit, pushing off the cool earth to cross his legs and lean close to you, “No, Lua, we have to clear the air. Otherwise it’ll keep fucking lingering and eating away at us.”

You think about this for a moment, brow furrowed as you pluck a few more blades of grass. Then you look up and meet his eyes, nodding, “Ok.”

“Ok,” he grins and straightens his spine, then beckons you closer, rumbling, “C’mere, beautiful.”

You crawl into his lap, wrapping your legs around him and linking your hands behind his neck. He can smell the notes of vanilla and macadamia wafting off your skin and hair, see the conflict of this intimate kind of confrontation creasing your forehead.

His fingers grip your sides gently and he sighs, “I fucked up. I went on a fucking bender. It was embarrassing, how I acted. I’m…” he shakes his head and meets your eyes as his face slackens, “Fuck, so ashamed. And I didn’t know-”

“It’s ok, love,” you assure him, pressing your forehead to his.

“But that’s what it was with Ethan, wasn’t it? Coke?”

You nod.

He slides his hands around your waist, cradling your spine in his interlaced hands, pulling you closer as he swears, “I promise that’s the last time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mumble.

The impact of your statement makes him wince.

“Listen, I know you don’t believe me. And that’s fine, Lua, it really is,” he pulls back to meet your eyes again, “I mean it, though.”

You search his face, then nod, “Ok.”

The two of you stay here like this, gaze locked, steeped in the heat of vulnerability. Dieter relishes the way this invisible tether between your soul and his seems to thicken and pull taut. Adoration swells his heart until his chest aches at the excess luggage.

“I, um…” you swallow hard, take a deep breath, then tell him quietly, “I’m sorry for icing you out.”

He hums in acknowledgment, pulling you closer until your bellies are pressed together.

You nuzzle into the crook of his neck and sigh against his skin, “I felt so… I don’t know, rejected? Like… embarrassed that I felt something when you didn’t.”

Dieter rests his cheek on your head and his eyelids flutter closed as he listens to you.

“It fucking hurt. And that scared the shit out of me,” you confess, your voice shaky and damp, “I didn’t think…” you sniffle and wriggle your face against the collar of his jacket, “I didn’t think I would feel like this again. Especially so soon.”

His arms squeeze around you, hugging you as he admits, “I didn’t think I would either.”

In the distance, he hears geese honking in their flock, flying south for the winter. A brisk gust of air rustles the plastic bags laying on the ground a few feet away. They’re filled with apples, snacks for tonight, dry ingredients that needed restocking, and deli sandwiches. His stomach rumbles and a chill raises goosebumps across his skin.

As if you can read his mind, you mumble, “I’m fucking freezing. Let’s go make some soup.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #psychomanteum

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lilareviewsbooks · 9 months

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Books for Good Omens fans!

Are you emotionally scarred by the ending of season 2? Is the wait for season 3 going to be excruciating for you? Are you looking for something that’ll fill those voids? Look no further, Good Omens fan! I have some media for you to consume!

The Tea Dragon Series, starting with The Tea Dragon Society, by K. O’Neil

71 pages (first book)

Contains: tea magic!; a cute sapphic romance; queer rep all around :)

If you like Good Omens because of how fluffy it can be (though that season finale was not fluffy), I highly recommend this series! The Tea Dragon Society is a comic book trilogy following Greta, who is swept into the world of caring for tea dragons, tiny little creatures that grow tea leaves on their foreheads.

As is the case with Good Omens, this trilogy includes a lot of queer representation. It’s written by a non-binary author, K. O’Neil, who introduces us to queer characters of all identities. Also much like Good Omens, there is no discussion of homophobia or transphobia. There’s also a sapphic romance between Greta and her love interest, which is very sweet! This is perfect if you need a pick-me-up after season 2, and if the fluffier aspects of Good Omens are your favorites!

The Greenhollow Duology, starting with a Silver In The Wood, by Emily Tesh

112 pages (first book)

Contains: the fae!!; enchanted woods; middle-aged gay people!!

If what brings you joy in Good Omens is it’s middle-aged leads, I give you Silver in the Wood, and its companion Drowned Country. These two stories are quite episodic – much like Crowley and Aziraphale’s little adventures – and feature a pair of middle-aged men who fall in love against the backdrop of supernatural things afoot.

Apart from representing the older portion of the queer community, The Greenhollow Duology is also brilliantly written and very atmospheric. It will place you inside the cottage where most of the action happens, and you will be able to feel the magic in the air. Both of the books are novellas, and so are quite short reads you can enjoy whenever!

A Series of Unfortunate Events, starting with The Bad Beginning, by Lemony Snicket

176 pages (first book)

Contains: adults that are incompetent; children that are very competent; quirky writing!

If your favorite aspect of Good Omens is its quirkiness, I give you: A Series of Unfortunate Events! This middle-grade series follows a trio of siblings as they are passed from distant relative to distant relative after their parents’ mysterious death, all the while being chased by the evil Count Olaf.

This series reminds me of Good Omens for its tongue-in-cheek humor. Mr. Snicket is a master at metatextual comedy, that is, making jokes about the text itself. I’ve always had a lot of fun reading his writing! A TV show adaptation of this series has been made, and it’s on Netflix, but I haven’t watched it all the way through and can’t speak to how good it is, but it’s worth a shot if you’re feeling like watching something! Though I have to warn you: no gay people here :(

A Master of Djinn, by P. Djeli Clark

438 pages

Contains: alternate history; a steampunk Cairo; muslim rep!!

A Master of Djinn is for those among you who want to see gay people save the world. I give you: gay people saving the world. This one follows Agent Fatma of the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities in an alternate, steampunk-y Cairo, where magic was brought to life by mage Al-Jahiz, many years ago. Fatma is faced with a mysterious murder and must join forces with her lover Siti to find out what happened – except it’s waaay more complicated than it seems…

I think this reminds me of Good Omens the most because there’s a very cool dynamic between Siti and Fatma. Much like Crowley and Aziraphale, they have opposing views on a lot of things, religion for instance, and must reconcile that with their love for one another. They’re also very much ride-or-die for each other, and go on many supernatural adventures together, just like our favorite couple in Good Omens! It also features elements of fantasy being woven into a “normal” world, in this case even affecting history as we know it, to build an alternate reality!

But, be warned: there is discussion of homophobia and sexism in this book!

This is part of larger universe, namely the Dead Djinn Universe, which includes two other novellas. You can read them in this order, or choose to start with A Master of Djinn. The novel is self-contained and will explain everything you need to know!

The Mimicking of Known Successes, by Malka Older

169 pages

Contains: a murder mystery; a second chance romance; humans living on one of Jupiter’s moons!

Another one for gay people who just like a nice couple they can follow around as they unravel some intrigue, and who were desperately infatuated with “detective Aziraphale”: The Mimicking of Known Successes is a Sherlock Holmes-like story following Pleiti and Mossa, a couple of ex-girlfriends whose paths cross again when Mossa begins investigating a mysterious murder. This one takes place on a human colony in one of Jupiter’s moons, but, apart from that, is not very hard sci-fi. There’s not really any science-y bits that I can remember. Mostly, it’s just a murder mystery, but set in space!

It’s perfect for Good Omens fans who love following a couple with a long history. Not to mention, it also has an almost grumpy/sunshine dynamic that kinda reminds me of Crowley and Aziraphale. And since I know most of us Good Omens fans were once deep in the Sherlock trenches, I thought I’d add this one to cure your heart’s many, many wounds (oh, Steven Moffatt… One day, one day you will pay…)

This is not currently part of a series, but a second novella, The Imposition of Unnecessary Obstacles, will be published in 2024.

That’s all I got, everyone! If you’d like some more books that, just like Good Omens, don’t delve into homophobia or transphobia, I have a whole list of books that fit the bill! :)

#good omens #good omens 2 #queer sff #sff books #fantasy books #sci fi books #queer books #book recommendations #book reviews #the mimicking of known successes #a master of djinn #the tea dragon society #the greenhollow duology #series of unfortunate events

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ragnarokproofing · 1 year

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this post is going to be under construction for forever, basically.

i haven't decided on my fake name yet. i am a full-time creative writing MFA candidate in chicago. late twenties. male. i hold a BA in game development.

i write fantasy, primarily dark fantasy, but am also interested in urban fantasy and historical fantasy. i have a decade of experience writing and posting fanfic in many different fandoms.

my writing focuses on themes of masculinity and homophobia, transness, sexuality and kink, disability, and gay love/romance.

i speak english and have a questionable grasp of french and czech. i am studying norwegian and old norse/icelandic.

i'm open to tag games and the like but it will probably take me a minute to get to them.

fiction: i'm really passionate about YA lit, even though i'm not writing any right now. my favorite YA authors are laini taylor, alex london (yes, the one plagiarized by james somerton), and margaret rogerson.

my favorite (adult) fiction authors are cathrynne m. valente, ursula k. le guin, and brandon sanderson. my favorite nonfiction authors are neil price, richard preston, and lindsey fitzharris.

film: my favorite directors are masaaki yuasa, robert eggers, and the wachowski sisters. my favorite films are cloud atlas (2012), ravenous (1999), mind game (2004), pom poko (1994), and trick or treat (1986).

i love B movies, and i have a growing collection of DVD movie packs and vinegar syndrome special editions. i have the oversized "champagne and bullets" poster hanging on my wall, and i own the miami connection soundtrack on vinyl. i am one of the only people on earth unironically interested in the history of shot-on-video movies.

music: anything in the "alternative" sphere, but i have a special fondness for folk punk and psychobilly/horrorpunk. my favorite bands are the mountain goats, AJJ, florence + the machine, aganst me!, editors, and baroness.

study/academic topics: my thesis is largely inspired by my passion for viking/medieval scandinavian history and culture. i am studying old norse/old icelandic, in the hopes of being able to read the sagas in their original language.

i love medical history and know everything there is to know about WWI-era facial reconstructive surgery, and plan to write a story about it someday (i was into it before the fitzharris book, goddammit!). i will read any nonfiction book about a part of medical history, whether it's a specific disease or a technique or field.

other: lake superior and the minnesota north shore, minnesota public radio, food culture and food writing, candles and incense that smell like the woods, tattoos that look like woodcuts, collecting enamel pins, travel patches, and mosser cats, fiber arts.

my thesis: a grand-scale dark fantasy novel about a misanthropic wizard academic and an alcoholic viking mercenary trying to save the world. main themes: cultural homophobia, misogyny, and machismo and the way they affect gay men, fascism and surviving under hostile systems, sacrifice and what makes a world worth saving, languages and the way they affect our lives, romance.

vampire story: a short story about a vampire that works at hot topic befriending a community college student in 2007. main themes: being suicidal and what makes life worth living, connection, romance.

viking story: a short horror story about a viking that gets stuck in a cave while searching for his unrequited love, who may or may not be dead. main themes: homophobia and machismo, grief and mourning.

i don't like naming things.

i don't care who follows me.

this blog is occasionally NSFW.

if you post a lot about political issues, i will not follow you. this is because i am here for fun, not to be angry, depressed, homicidal, or suicidal. if you do not like that, get bent. it will not change.

if you are weird to me, i will block you.

if you, under any circumstances, refer to me or any of my male characters as baby, baby girl, girlie, bitch, princess, or any other infantilizing, misogynistic horseshit, i will block you.

that's it.

#my posts #writeblr intro #about me #writeblr

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lurkingshan · 24 days

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Jazz For Two

What an absolute mess of a show. What a muddled message about family and intimate partner violence and abuse. What a nonsensical progression of scenes masquerading as a story.

I have been scratching my head about this one all the way through, but today's final episodes really took the cake. There are so many problems with this show that I could break down in great detail, but the biggest problem as a piece of storytelling is that nothing the characters do makes any sense. Let me illustrate this by describing the progression of Seheon and Taeyi's arc in episode 7 in four scenes:

Taeyi reacts to Seheon's kiss with violent homophobia, calling him slurs and sexually harassing him as a form of mockery

Taeyi feels bad, goes to the piano room, plays a tune, says he's sorry and kisses him, all while Seheon passively lets it happen

Taeyi puts his arm around Seheon, flirts, and struts around the school hallway with him, looking very much like a couple

Taeyi jokes around and tries to kiss Seheon in the piano room

All of this happened within 15 minutes of screen time, with no connective tissue between these scenes to explain the huge change in Taeyi that occurred overnight, or give any agency to Seheon as this boy alternately abuses and hits on him. Homophobia has been a huge and looming threat throughout this show, but suddenly Taeyi is just fine openly flirting with him and Seheon is fine with being attacked one day and kissed the next.

And don't even get me started on the side couple, where we have a character who inexplicably loves someone who has been violently homophobic toward him, as well as assaulting others both physically and sexually in front of him. In episode 8 we learn that Taeyi's brother also loved a boy (Seheon's brother) who rejected him cruelly due to internalized homophobia. Every single pairing in this show is a dynamic of the abused party inexplicably desiring someone who has abused them. I don't understand why any of them like each other, and I straight up don't believe most of these scenes. There is no consistency either internally to the scenes or as part of a narrative through line, and the characters just do whatever the story decides it's time for them to do regardless of whether it makes any emotional sense. And all of this is playing out alongside a story of familial abuse with no apparent idea of what the story is trying to communicate by putting these plots next to each other. The show doesn't even bother to interrogate this before jumping to a bizarrely shoehorned in noble idiocy/romcom run resolution for the main romance that doesn't fit with anything that came before it, and then jumping to a music festival and montages of the two couples hanging out and making music together as if this has been a show about a nice group of friends in a jazz band all along.

And let me tell you, I wish that had been the show we got. I know this was adapted from a webtoon, but it seems it's quite a mess of an adaptation that took an already dark and dicey story and rendered it nonsensical by messing with the pacing and sequencing of events. I very much do not recommend watching, and between this and the strange mess that became of A Shoulder To Cry On, I will be giving this production company extreme side eye going forward.

#jazz for two #korean bl #shan shouts into the void

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inventedfangirling · 11 months

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PatPran & Sacrifice

This post is borne out of my genuine confusion about what people mean when they say pat's sacrifice (to stay in the closet to be with pran) is so great that pran will never be able to repay it.

First of all the universe of the show doesn't even have homophobia so the closet in this context is something that is uniquely made just for them and them alone and is not something that a person unfamiliar to their family dynamics will understand.

So then even if we do consider this closet that both pat and pran are in, why do we say that pat is in it for pran and has therefore made a huge sacrifice when pran literally has done the same thing for him?

Even if we assume that pat no longer gives ming the power to dictate things in his life and thus can see and be with pran as he pleases, and even if it's cos of dissaya's opposition to any association between their families that has forced them into this fake break up drama, it is still a decision that both of them took based on what they wanted alone.

Pat wants to be with Pran, whether he gets to be public with their love or not. Ideally would he prefer shouting it from the rooftops? Yes. But he also doesn't think its worth it if it means losing pran, like he showed in ep8 when he apologised to pran and told him he wouldn't post stuff on social media anymore if it bothered him so much. So here he was willing to give up doing that, to do what he actually wanted to do- be with pran.

Pran similarly offers to give up his need for privacy and living a lowkey non social media flaunt-ey life (free of threat of getting transferred and uprooted again) cos he wants to be with Pat more than he wants all of that. And in this context it is Pran who ultimately gives it up by allowing Pat to post pictures which he immediately does too.

And look at completely smitten babies smiling after having offered to give up something for the other, communicating through the shitstorm that is carrying all that intergenerational trauma.

That's love and that's love by choice.

Now flashforward to the fake break up and the continued pretense of being exes while being lovers. Pat has given up the chance to flaunt his relationship (like the heart on sleeve guy he is) to be with Pran. But the crucial thing here is he wants to be with Pran more than wanting to flaunt the relationship. He isn't giving up any alternate happy future with somebody else where he could be open about who he loves, because the one he loves is Pran and if he gives up Pran it is he himself who would be the most miserable. He loves Pran and he wants to spend his life with him and so there isn't any alternate in front of him for him to give up to be with him. This is his one and only option, the only choice he wants to make and he is evidently more than happy with that decision as we see at the end of episode 12 even if ofc he does miss pran terribly cos he's in singapore.

Coming to Pran, i dont understand if im reading it wrong, or if i haven't read the right posts yet but a lot of what i read feels like he doesn't sacrifice anything. {It is a whole different thing that Pat keeps offering help to Pran and Pran accepts it, but we also see Pran do a lot for Pat without being asked, and its just their way of expressing love being different. And them recognising that. This isnt about that}. What im so confused about is the way it feels like there is general acceptance of an imbalance (that Pat gave up so much more than what Pran did) in the ultimate sacrifice that is the fake breakup because if Pat sacrificed something then didn't Pran sacrifice something exactly similar too?

If Pat's sacrifice is giving up the chance to be in a relationship where he doesn't have to hide, then why are we ignoring Pran giving up the same? Or am i missing something? It's not like Pat is the only who can pursue alternate relationships. Pran could too. Dissaya would be very supportive of any other relationship he chooses to be in. And he could probably find somebody who is more similar to him who doesn't mind not flaunting the relationship and having it be lowkey and stuff. These are all possibilities that are open to him too, and yet, it doesn't even occur to Pran ( like it doesnt to Pat) because Pran loves Pat and wants to be with Pat and while ofc it is terrible to have to hide your love and a part of yourself, and while ofc it would be great if they didnt have to hide, if thats what takes to be with each other he would do that, they would do that .

Look at them yelling and teasing each other in full audio range of both their families, smiling from ear to ear having the time of their lives. The closet be damned.

That's 2 men who have gone through shit side by side and continue to choose to love each other daily. No matter how obvious (to eo) that choice might be. Let's never forget that it was intentional.

So to conclude, the fake breakup pretense was a mutual choice, based on their own self interests and any sacrifice was made for their own sake, and it was equally done from both ends. And if anybody disagrees with me, Pran has something to say to you.

#not but fr i genuinely am curious where this came from #no pran slander while im around #bad buddy #pran x pat #patpran #pran parakul #pat napat #closet be damned

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redclegane · 10 months

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Fire Meet Gasoline (Fanfic, link below)

Fandom: Call of Duty Modern Warfare

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” Mactavish/Simon “Ghost” Riley(Main), Alejandro Vargas/Rodolfo Parra(Side), John Price/Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Chapter number:1/16

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Mechanic Simon "Ghost" Riley, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, religious trauma, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Past Traumatic Brain Injury, Past Child Abuse, Blood and Violence, Fire, Alcohol, Smoking, the worlds saddest wank, the worlds saddest wank part two, Getting Together, First Kiss, Simon "Ghost" Riley Loves John "Soap" MacTavish, John "Soap" MacTavish Loves Simon "Ghost" Riley, Established Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas, situationship Price/Gaz, Minor Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas, Motorbike crash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish, Top John "Soap" MacTavish, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, Bottom Simon "Ghost" Riley, there be vers switches ahead, Blowjobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Misunderstandings, is it gay to stare into eachothers eyes under the stars, No Main Character Death, bike rides as proxy for foreplay, Internalized Misogyny, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Summary:

Soap has always loved the freedom of being on a motorbike but, when his is stuck in the garage following a bad crash, he learns a different kind of freedom.

Community can be hard to find and once Soap finds it he's loathe to let it go.

But when Shadows come knocking, can Soap figure out a way to protect the family he's finally found?

And what's the deal with the mountain of muscle fixing up his bike?

**********************

“You look like shit.” Ghost called, but Soap could hear the smile in his voice.

Soap smiled softly to himself before he turned back to Gaz.

“What?” He asked when Gaz rolled his eyes at him.

“You are not allowed to fuck him.” Gaz stopped by his own bike and pulled his helmet on.

“I’m no tryin’ to fuck him.” Soap yelped.

“Sure, and I’m Mother fucking Theresa.

(This is my first time posting a fic to tumblr so please lmk if this is wrong/bad)

Check it out on AO3 here!

#johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #cod mw2 #cod men #fanfic

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uselessheretic · 2 years

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Piracy is not Toxic Masculinity in OFMD

From what I can tell, the idea of piracy being a metaphor for toxic masculinity in Our Flag Means Death seems to be a prevalent opinion from critics and fandom. I strongly disagree with this interpretation and would argue that this as a takeaway relies on classist and racist biases.

So, what does OFMD say about masculinity?

When asked, creator David Jenkins has this to say about the role of masculinity:

In his response, Jenkins actually ties piracy together with freedom of gender expression and contrasts that against a modern day image of Fox News and Donald Trump, both of which are representative of a rich, white demographic.

Burlesque is a really interesting word choice here, evoking imagery of performance, exaggeration, and laughter. There's a falseness to it, but an expectation for others to play along, regardless.

It's noteworthy that when asked about masculinity, Jenkins doesn't go towards the violence of piracy first, but instead chooses to shine the spotlight on the upper class, while criticizing the heterosexual, whitewashing of the pirate genre.

Within the show, we most clearly see the question of masculinity centered around Stede Bonnet as he grapples with heteropatriarchy. I know that people describe OFMD as a world without homophobia, but I don't think that's accurate. It's less that homophobia doesn't exist, and more that it's watered down, and pushed just out of view. The show still engages with homophobia but does so through alternative means focused on an unspoken alienation that follows Stede his entire life as he fails to live up to expectations of masculinity as a child, and continues to fit uncomfortably within heterosexual family life.

The issue with presenting piracy as toxic masculinity, is that the comparison necessitates aristocracy having the inverse relationship which is obviously problematic for several reasons.

The thing is, yes, Stede is derided for his incompetency as a pirate and often mocked for his softness and failure at presenting as masculine. However, the root of Stede's trauma is firmly situated within the aristocracy. We do see plenty of moments of Stede being out of touch within the pirate world, where in the first episode he's met with resistance at something as simple as sewing a flag. It's interesting, however, that this opposition is short-lived where the crew picks up on sewing quickly and Wee John even admits to making dresses with his mother.

They then go on to talk about mutiny, but baby steps, ya know. Either way, although it's not instant, there is freedom within the ship to push the borders of masculinity and engage in new activities.

You don't see this same leniency within the aristocracy. At no point in time do we see that same openness among aristocrats. The only possible exception is the widow community Mary is friends with, but that community kinda literally necessitated the death of their husbands to occur.

It's interesting because the vast majority of the time Stede's moments of discomfort within the pirate lifestyle aren't because he's not masculine enough, but from being out of touch with the working class and doing stupid shit like showing up to Spanish Jackie's in all-white suits. It's easy to associate wanting nice clothes and soft material as the opposite of masculine, but it's important to remember that in Stede's world, these things aren't feminine. Yes, there are definitely times when he's mocked exclusively because he doesn't fit within gender expectations, but Stede not being accepted into the pirate life isn't a commentary on his gender/sexuality, it's a rejection of his class position. Oluwande says it in the first episode: "We don't do this because we want to, we do it because we have to." Stede is a tourist in their world, where most of them aren't there because it's fun, but because they're trying to survive.

In contrast, Stede's rejection from high society is consistently based on his "feminine" traits. He experiences cruelty as a child for things like crying too much or picking flowers. There's a purposeful isolation based on harmless behavior firmly rooted in his inability to fit in with the other boys. As an adult, he's forced into a loveless marriage by his patriarchal father as an obligation to fulfill a man's role. Something his father even highlights as his purpose as an aristocrat as "peasants marry for love." Aristocracy is a prison for Stede.

One thing that gets brought up fairly often is the idea that piracy demonstrates a need for violence, and that by moving away from this, Stede and Edward can escape this violence through assimilation into aristocracy. This is something that the show actively rejects, however.

There's two instances where we see this the most clearly. One is the episode with the French boat party. It's interesting because the French aren't what one would associate with toxic masculinity. Just like Stede, they love a fine fabric, music, food, and other softer things. They're in makeup and extravagant wigs, and I'm sure would all shudder at the thought of wielding a sword. This doesn't mean that they are a society free of violence though. Stede said it best, that pirates fight with their fists, and aristocrats fight using cutting remarks disguised as kindness. Sure, Ed had Fang skin someone alive, but the captain started it when he called him a donkey.

The violence of the aristocracy is simply hidden under pretty words and fancy dinner parties, and not even hidden particularly well. Simply look at the servants occupying the backgrounds.

We see this same violence demonstrated in episode one when the British come aboard. Until then, we only have Stede's point of view on piracy as a culture of abuse and how he's changing that, which is an accurate statement. But, what we don't realize until the British come, is that this is a facet of Stede's personality, not something inherent to the upper class. When the navy boards the ship, the culture of the crew shifts entirely, where they're briefly ejected from the world of piracy, and placed into higher society instead. And when this occurs, we see exactly how stifling and abusive that culture is.

Yes, the crew is dressed in fancy clothes, wearing wigs, and drinking tea. None of these are things one would associate as "toxic masculinity," but not engaging with that doesn't lead them to a world free of patriarchy or oppression. For the first time, there is a hierarchy aboard, where previously the crew interacted as equals, but now the crew of color are forced into roles of servitude. Is this not violence? Sure, the conversation around the table is polite, but it's a politeness that is obligatory where the rules of society forces them to engage with uncomfortable situations. Stede is obligated to give a tour of the ship even though he doesn't want to. Oluwande is unable to say anything in response to the verbal abuse directed towards him.

It's only when the crew sheds these costumes and react violently against the British that their humanity is returned.

The association of pirates as being held captive by their need for violence, inability to discuss their feelings, and general roughness or "uncleanliness" is a deeply hypocritical ideal pushed by the aristocracy. We see far more genuine human emotion and openness from the pirates, whether that be anger, joy, sadness, or love, than we ever do with the male aristocrats. Pirates are derided for their violence, but how many of them are escaping the confines of poverty, or even slavery? And when it comes to being rough or unclean, are these really virtues we want to associate with negativity?

And yes, there is misogyny within the pirate world, and whatever the fuck Izzy got going on too, but it's funny that this is the only place that gayness is accepted without a blink of an eye. Even when Izzy's bullying Lucius a bit, at least he's doing so for him being a lazy seductress with a smart mouth, and never as a way of punishing him for being gay.

There are definitely elements of the aristocracy associated as positively, but it isn't black and white. We see Ed long to belong to that world, and people are quick to want to fulfill that fantasy of being accepted into the upper class so he can be showered with fine things, soft fabrics, and as much lavender soap that he could ever need, but this is a desire that needs to be challenged. There is nothing wrong with desiring these things and I agree he should receive as much as he wants, but we can't mistake this for aristocracy.

Ed's desire for this life comes from the pain of a childhood of poverty. Of feeling lesser than, subhuman, and worth less than someone with money. He said it himself, he has more riches than you can shake a stick at, but he's not looking for more wealth, he's looking to belong in this rich, white world that will never accept him. The same world that Stede is fleeing from.

Wealth isn't the liberation Ed is looking for, what he desires is love and acceptance. Yes, he wears fine things well, but the focus isn't on his ability to adorn himself in riches that places more value on him. No, he's what's elevating these accessories. He's what's giving them value.

In the end, what we see throughout the series is Stede grappling with the weight of being stuck between two worlds: a pirates life vs that of an aristocrats. It matters that when he finally accepts who he is and who he loves, he follows this by renouncing any claim to his wealth. He gives up his place in high society, because piracy isn't a metaphor for toxic masculinity, it's an imperfect place that grants Stede freedom.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #stede bonnet #edward teach #ofmd

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