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you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 3 years

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I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here). The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion. Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies - “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point. Sigh. Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever.

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY! But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices? What is that sexual gaze?

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell. They need the other 1/2. Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered. I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember? But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression. Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie. Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone. Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab. Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point. We are introduced to two one off characters named

Smash (human/female presenting) - can crack any safe built by man

and Grab (demon/male presenting)- expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah. Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality. Human/Demon. Femininity/Masculinity. Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it. I’m not even going there here. I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked. 90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID. They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps. Something stereotypically associated with masculinity. Not feminine. Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female. But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda. They are The Same. She shares the soda with Dean. HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing -

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode -

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay.

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders. Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn. Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push. I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push. A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ - she gives him a p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would.

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.] BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop!

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ]

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice. The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push. And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked. The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality. Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice. He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different. Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push. That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it.

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley. It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk and @deanwasalwaysbi for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

#my spn meta #spn analysis #spn 13x08 #bi!dean #destiel #deancas #hellerism #spn #supernatural #spn fandom #spn family #spn meta

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reeree1500 · 5 years

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The Return- Part 10

Disclaimer: YALL IM SO SO SO SORRY.😭😭 I have been horrible and not updated this story for at least a month.😬 I can explain though... University has been kicking my ass and between that and my co-op placement at a law firm.😅 Ive had absolutely no time to do anything😩 BTW IVE MISSED YALL SO MUCH❤️And Ive read all your messages and asks. And yes my mental health is now better and y'all are so understanding and supportive 💕 honestly could not have asked for a better group of individuals☺️❤️

Part 1 part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9 Part 11

Anyways onto the storyyyyy.....

Warnings: ANGSTY AF (kinda figured out that im probably a smut and angst writer at this point🤷🏽‍♀️), sucky ass grammar and spelling like always, my cliche imagination and the fact that Im probably a horrible human being😬😩 Also made it extra long cuz I felt baddd

PLEASE DONT KILL ME FOR THIS ONE😬

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @camatsuru @youbloodymadgenius @calum-hoodwinked-me @cutegyrl927 @wuxiesalt @readsalot73 @cindy-exo @affection-rabbit @amy8220 @mel0nch0ly @queenofallthyfandoms @limbo-limbo-limbo @ragnarssonsbitch @supernaturalvikingwhore @ifihadwings128 @paintballkid711 @jenny-the-lover @funmadnessandbadassvikings @blonddnamedhandz @hallowed-heathen @pinkrockstar19 @ivarthethiccness

Sorry if I missed any of you💕 Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Also requests are open, and I’ve got a ton of them to do and finish. Hopefully Ill be able to post them soon enough

Arthur’s POV

“Arthur please! Open the door my love, I know what it may seem like to you, but I assure you that its not.” (Y/n) pleaded from the other side. I sat down on the mattress in our chamber contemplating whether or not it was true. Should I believe what my wife so desperately is trying to reassure me off. Or should I stick with my gut feeling and tell her how I have felt for the last 4 years. Her constant pounding on the door finally gets to me and I make my way to open it. “I wish to be left alone at the moment (y/n).” Her arms circle around my waist and I can feel her face wetting by back with tears. “Arthur please, talk to me. Why have you run off. You know that I love you. I do not want him, all he does is bring me pain and you take that away. So please, talk to me!” (y/n) murmurs into my back. As much as it pains me to do so I pry her hands off of me and sit us down on the bed. All I do is long for her touch, but this is not okay. I cannot keep feeling this way and go on pretending that I could have ever stood a chance against him. “(y/n), look at me. I love you and I always will. But its evident that you love him. and I honestly can say that I know I will never stand a chance against him, because the thought of you possibly running back to him has always been on my mind since the day we got married.”

Her eyes showed so much pain that confessing this felt as if I was driving a knife through her heart. “Arthur, I love you. What can I do to show you that. Yes I confess that I was in love with him, but that was long ago and I have left it in the past in order to build a future with you. Whom I love and who I share and will continue to share beautiful children with. So please don't shut me out, Arthur.” She says leaning our foreheads together and holding my face in her gentle hands. “Ok, however I want to be able to process things by myself. So I have decided to have the guest room across the hall prepared only until I figure things out.” With out giving her a chance to fight back, I place my lips on hers and savour the kiss as if it were our last. Meeting her eyes was something I wanted to avoid as I knew that just looking at her broken expression would make me change my mind. I hastily make my way out of the room, but sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to find my wife staring off into the direction where I once sat. With tears streaming down her eyes...

Your POV

What had I done? Why was I such fool to not see what my husband was clearly going through? Millions of questions rushed into my mind about how to go about this situation. I loved Arthur, I was clear on that. But he spoke the truth, there was something in me that could not let Ivar go and it took hurting my husband and Ivar to figure that out. As I sulked I forgot about the doctor whom I had asked to see me earlier. I was having really bad stomach pains and my breasts were more tender then they had ever been. So I wanted to make sure that I was not sick, as that would have been the last thing I needed on my plate at the moment. “My Queen, are you alright? Do you wish to push back this appointment, I dont mind coming by later when you're better.” The doctor spoke from behind me. “Yes, it seems so. Ill let the servant girl know if I need you doctor. Im sorry for the inconvenience.” “Nonsense your majesty, it is my pleasure to serve you.” With a bow the doctor retreats from the room and Im left to my own thoughts once again...

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“(y/n), wake up... its seems that you fell asleep on the floor. Come on I’ll help you up.” Upon hearing Hvitty’s comforting voice my eyes flutter open and I cant help the tears that song come down my face like a cascade. “(y/n)! are you alright are you hurt anywhere? Why are you crying?” Hvitserk’s eyes scan my face and my body looking for the source of my pain, which is held in my heart, but he’ll never know that. “Arthur... He...” I try to find the words to say. “What! What did he do! Did he hurt you? I swear ill kill him!” With that Hvitserk tries to let me go and run out the door, but somehow I manage to stop him. “Hvitserk, No! He didn't hurt me. I hurt him... He believes that Im in love with Ivar, and I fear that their maybe some truth to it...” I say just above a whisper, with my head held low. “(Y/N), Ive known that since before you were married. It was obvious, but I would never say anything to you because I found that it was best if I kept such observations to myself, before I found out about your father.” Lifting my head and staring directly at him, I move my head to the side with a puzzling look. “What do you mean about my father, Hvitserk?” Hvitserk now mirrors the same lost look that I have on my face. “I thought thats why you and Ivar had gotten together, because Ragnar’s not your father...”

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Ivar’s POV

“Aghhhh!”Is the sound that comes out of my gritted teeth when the medicinal herbs are placed on my face. “That hurts like a bitch, get out! Ill do this myself if I have to. GO!” I yell at the servant girl who tried to cleanse and tend to the cuts on my face. “Ivar, please let the servants tend to you. I still cannot believe that Arthur punched you in the face. Hehehe, you deserved it though, how could you question the paternity of his children and not expect him to want to kill you?” Bjorn laughs as he chugs the rest of his drink down. “Well, if you actually cared about your children and the heir to your throne, you’d also be quite upset to find a Christian King claiming to be their father. Those children are mine! And its pretty evident, just look at Marjorie. She's my spitting image.” I snarl at him as the anger begins to rise in me again. “Ivar, thats your mistake and why you’ll never get (y/n) back. You believe that everything should be yours. And that people are things you can govern over, but they're not. Because those are children. And yes they may be yours, but you cannot take away what they have known because you want to be selfish.” He says with a stern look on his face, whilst getting up from his chair and making his way to the door. “Now get ready and fix yourself we have a intimate dinner to attend to with MY sister and the love of your life.” Unbeknownst to us, there was Freydis on the balcony listening to our whole conversation. And little did I know that it would come to be the thing I regretted the most.

At the dinner I notice (y/n) sit on the opposite side of the table from Arthur. This wouldn't have affected me if it wasn't for the look on both of their faces. They seemed distraught and broken. Arthur masked it well, but (y/n) was an open book for all of us to know exactly how she felt at that moment. Not much talking happened, besides Marjorie and Erik shouting at each other on who was better at riding. They reminded me a lot of myself and all I wanted was to tell them the truth, that they were my children and that they would go back to Kattegat with me to learn about the true gods and not the fable that had been told to them about their so called ‘God’.” “(Y/n) are you alright, you do not seem quite like yourself tonight.” Bjorn states with a concerned look that we all share. Even Arthur looks a bit concerned, but his body language makes it seem as if he is alright and nothing is wrong. “Sarah, could you please put Marjorie and Erik to bed? Its getting late for them and they have their lessons early in the morning.” She says with a stern and cold look in her (e/c) eyes. “Su...sure your majesty. “ At that Bjorn stands up as if to accompany Sarah, but is quickly stopped by (y/n)’s icy glare and venomous words. “Sit your ass down.” At that we all look astonished, but Hvitserk only stares at her with sadness and what seems to be sympathy. He must know why she is like this then.

Bjorn slowly sits back down on the table. A shocked look graces his face, as he cannot comprehend why she is acting this way towards her beloved older brother. “How long.” Is all she grits out through her teeth. “What do you mean, (y/n)?” My eyes meet Hvitserk’s own and the realization dawns upon me. She knows...

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Your POV

“Stop with the bullshit! I cannot take anyone else lying to me!” I scream as I bang my hands against the table, stunning everyone in sight. “How long did you know that Ragnar was not my father! How long have you kept the truth from me! How long have you known that Athelstan was my father!” I could careless about everyone staring at me as if I was a mad woman. I had been lied to my whole life. All I had known had been a lie, and the people who I trusted the most in this world had been the ones keeping it a secret from me. “(Y/N)... I..I’ve know since the moment you were born. But father had sworn me into secrecy and I could not break a promise. This doesn't change anything though. You are still my sister and you will always be.” Bjorn says in a haste as tries to come closer to me, but I step back and move as far back as I can. “Did you know? Tell me! Ivar did you know that we were not siblings!” Ivar didn't even have to answer. I knew from the look in his eyes that he too had been lying to me.

“I knew.” Arthur says staring right at me. “I knew that you weren't his daughter and I knew that Ivar wasn't your brother. But I kept that information from you because all I wanted to do was have you by my side. I’m sorry, for the pain I have caused you (y/n). Im sorry for being selfish and not telling you the truth, but I now see that I was wrong and as of tomorrow you are free to go back to your country. I promise that your title and lands will not be taken from you or from the children. May they be mine or his. But I cannot go on with this facade anymore.” Arthur says in the most calm demeanour as he stands up and comes to me. “You hypocrite! How dare you make me feel like shit for harbouring feelings for Ivar when you knew all along and knew that my whole life was a lie.” I scream as I run at him and slap him across the face. But before I can get another punch in I feel a strong grip holding me from behind. From the shocks and the utter feeling in my stomach I knew it could have only been Ivar. As I try desperately to release from his vice grip, my whole world comes crashing down when Sarah enters the room. With blood all over her.

“Your highnesses...Erik.... he.. he..” She tries to say through her shock. “What! What is wrong with my son!” Ivar, Arthur and I scream at the same time. “He.. he’s dying!”

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We all simultaneously run after Sarah towards the doctors quarters. Ivar with his brace on, manages to run faster than all of us and busts the doors wide open. if I wasn't so worried about my son or upset about the fact they all knew Ragnar wasn't my father, I would've been impressed. “What are you doing! Get away from my son!” At that Ivar rushes towards the doctor who is bleeding Erik out. Grabbing him by the collar he slams the doctor on the wall and his sclera go into bluish hue, showing that he is in danger of breaking a bone. “Ivar stop it! Let the man go, he is just trying to help.” “Help my ass! I will not let you harm my son, do you understand me! I will not let you harm him!” At that Ivar lets the doctor go, but not without staring him down. And the doctor looking like he is about to shit himself. Rushing to Erik’s side I notice something strange. The colour of his skin is now fading and his eyes have bags under them. But what hits me the most is the memory of Uncle Rollo teaching me about poison. “He doesn't need to be bled, he needs medicine. He’s been poisoned...”

“Mama! What is wrong with Erik! He will be okay right? He has to be okay!” Marjorie begins to say as she shakes with fear. Before Arthur or I could say something to console her, Ivar bends down and takes her hands in his. “Marjorie, listen to me. Your brother is a fighter and so are you. After all were related aren't we?” Ivar says as he lifts her chin. “Yes..I suppose that we are. Is it true what they say though? Are you our father?” At that Ivar turns to me looking towards me for permission. At this point I think to myself how hard it was to learn my whole life had been a lie and that I would not want that for my children, so I nod. “Yes, Marjorie I am your father. And no your mother is not my sister. It was something that we had to say because she needed to be kept safe.” He says ever so calmly. “Safe from who?”She questions “From my mother. Your grandmother.”

Cough*Cough* Spurts of blood cover me in seconds. My attention becomes focused in on my son again. “Where is the damn antidote! Please someone hurry!” At that Hvitserk runs into the room with a small green vial. “Here take this it should help him. Lagertha gave it to me before her and father left. Something about it would come in handy some day. Here.” Shoving the vial in my hands I open it quickly and lift Erik’s head. “Drink this Erik. It should help you, my darling. Please be strong, I know you're scared, but you’ll be alright ok. Everything will be ok.” I say through tears. Today had been the worst day by far. “Mira... please help my son. I know you're always with me, but please help me now. Pray for my son and ask God to save him.”

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A few hours had gone by and nobody had moved from the room. Arthur sat on the chair next to the bed with his elbows on his knees, looking straight and focused in on Erik. Bjorn and Hvitserk sat by the fireplace and were wetting some towels so that we could place them atop Eriks head. I sat on the bed next to my son and caressed his beautiful face hoping for a miracle. I had dismissed Sarah and told her to take Marjorie with her, but she would not budge. Sarah left, but Marjorie stayed and sat in Ivars lap asking him if Erik would pull through. Ivar was sweet to answer as best as he could, and I could tell that he truly cared for his children even if his demeanour wasn't the greatest. I knew that deep in my heart I would have to let him get to know them, but it still hurt especially knowing that he now was married. “Wait, where is Freydis? I haven't seen her since yesterday.” I say looking towards Ivar. “I dont know earthier to be honest, she's probably looking at some damn flowers anyway. Its best if she's far away anyway.” “Why would you say that about your wi-” “she's not my wife, at least not yet. Were not actually married, (y/n). I just said that to piss you off.” Taking a deep breath I go to stand up from the bed in order to fetch a bucket of water and some new cloths. Instead I end up on the floor cradling my belly, with a burning sensation in my chest and blood pouring out from my mouth. “(Y/n)! Mama!” I can hear the shouts around me. “Fetch the doctor! Now hurry!” The voices around me begin to fade and not before long I can feel myself drifting away.

“My baby... Save my baby...” And with that everything turns pitch black...

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midnight-circus · 5 years

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another bullshit meme

from sidebloggable

answered for logan and lucius bc i dont talk about my big dumb idiot enough

and im actually gonna answer for their original Fable timeline bc ive been feelin nostalgic recently

Their physical weak spots

Logan - depends on his age and/or stress-levels. He has a fair amount of upper body strength from swinging twin swords around all the fucking time, but it wouldn’t be ridiculously hard to overpower him if you could disarm and get hold of him - however, he’s fast, agile and extremely skilled, and it’s getting hold of him in the first place that’s the issue. In the middle of his reign, on the other hand, his body condition takes a dramatic dive - he’s pretty severely underweight and loses a lot of his muscle tone, and it really wouldn’t take much at all to best him.

Lucius - Lucius is a big, heavy mercenary who fights with a broadsword, so it’s hard to get the best of him in a one-to-one melee fight. However, he’s missing his left eye and is deaf in his left ear - subsequently if you use a little bit of stealth and come at him hard and fast from the left, you’ve got a pretty good chance of getting the jump on him. He’s also into middle-age and despite having decent reactions, a younger man of the same build as him might just pip him to the post.

Their emotional/moral weak spots

Logan - oh god lmao. Logan’s a mess, but his primary emotional weak spot is his siblings - be they his original two (hey queenie and dorian) or Morgan. I think he feels a bond that’s closer to paternal than fraternal, and I think the only way he can really justify to himself the pain he puts them through is telling himself he’s doing it for them. ok honestly, he will do fucking anything for them. at the climax of the revolution, the primary thought running through his head is how fucking proud he is. be nice if he said it out loud every once a while - hell, itd be nice if he’d just asked for some fuckin help before causing the literal death of hundreds of people - but yknow. thats just going one step too far i guess

Lucius - he’s a bleeding heart. when Morgan and his little band of rebels rock up in the Dweller village, Lucius is already there running supplies up and down the mountain to them; he watches way too many kids starve to death, and joins up with the rebels in order to lead them through Mourningwood. then he gets a crush on morgan’s little bitch face and just like. never leaves lmao. He’s easily blinded by injustice and gets worked up really quickly when he sees wrong being done - it can lead him to act recklessly or thoughtlessly at times.

Scars or painful spots

Logan - asides from the obvious scars across his lips (fencing wounds when he was a boy), he took some nasty damage from the Crawler during the three days he was trapped in the Auroran cave - he’s got a network of scars on his back that look a little like lashmarks. they hurt when they’re touched and he Does Not talk about them. he’s also got a few other scars here and there on his arms and chest from miscellaneous scraps and scuffles, and he has a deep puncture scar on his abdomen from an assassination attempt, but the less said about those the better.

Lucius - lmao Lucius is literally missing half his face to scar-tissue. he was attacked by a dog as a boy and it left him heavily messed-up. he’s also a merc, as i said, so he’s got a lot of miscellaneous old wounds but nothing quite as obvious as the ones his face.

Best places to kiss on their body

Logan - oh, the neck, bitch. he’s also kind of a slut for being kissed on the insides of his wrists; anywhere vulnerable, basically. if you could kill him there, kiss him there. freak-ass bitch.

Lucius - dude just likes a nice traditional french kiss man nothing crazy. but also definitely give him a blowjob. i know this question said kissing but lets be real thats kind of a kiss.

Guilty pleasures

Logan - he reads really terrible novels. like…really terrible. he pretends he’s reading something highbrow and intellectual but its actually a shitty romance recovered with something suitably acceptable and nobody can know

Lucius - he doesnt have any ‘guilty’ pleasures tbh, he just enjoys stuff unashamedly. he’s too thick to feel guilty

Their vices (physical or emotional)

Logan - lets be real, he’s probably done, like. an impressive amount of coke. i guess the terrible sleeping and eating habits are probably also a vice but like. it’s mainly the coke

Lucius - he smokes like a fuckin chimney

Their tickle spots

Logan - not only does he not have any, but you would also die for trying. Elrick disagrees.

Lucius - his ribs, but he is uncontrollably violent when he’s tickled so its a real good way to get a broken nose. he doesn’t mean to do it, he just spasms.

Bad memories/experiences

Logan - lmao. I’ll skip the most obvious (the 3-Day Auroran Extravaganza) because i think that goes without saying - it left him with crippling PTSD and damaged his mind heavily and insidiously. he was already pretty traumatised by his childhood and i think being forced into so many responsibilities so young also messed him up a little. it’s more like….rather one one or two specific experiences, its more just a general feeling of Bad that has stuck with him throughout his life. It was worsened by his later experiences, and essentially primed him for failure.

Lucius - yknow i was thinking about how to word the answer to this question and i realised that i accidentally made Lucius into Batman. His family farm was attacked and burnt to the ground by bandits when he was about 12; his parents and siblings were killed, and he only escaped by hiding in the coal-cellar. Later, he joined up with the mercenaries to try and track down the group that targeted them. fuck hes batman. i didnt mean to batman

Humiliating memories

Logan - oh man his father was a pro at humiliation. mistakes or oversights werent just punished, they were fuckin learned from, and he figured the best way to do this was humiliation - generally through public displays of What You Did Wrong and repeated recitations of the mistake in front of the people whose opinions Logan valued. It was kind of the catalyst for his inferiority complex and intense desire to succeed without input from others.

Lucius - again, Lucius doesn’t really experience embarrassment - he’s kind of too laid-back for it. yes, it was embarrassing the one time he fell over carrying two milk buckets and threw them all over himself in front of the handsome boy from the next farm over and the guy started laughing at him but like. you live and learn and the dude turned out to have a really ugly laugh anyway so who cares

Fears/phobias

Logan - he’s always had claustrophobia, but after the Auroran Experience this intensifies to a whole new level, and he also develops crippling nyctophobia. part of this is due to his hallucinatory psychosis - he sees things pretty much constantly, but it worsens in low lighting - but it’s also due to the fact that there may very well be actual Things in the dark and he struggles to tell reality from hallucination

Lucius - dogs. fuckin dogs. he hates dogs theyre literally so scary even the small ones bc the small ones move so quick and you never know when theyre gonna come at you

Bad or petty habits

Logan - oh, he’s just a petty bitch. he’s also outwardly arrogant, even if his internal feelings don’t match up to that. drily sarcastic, too, tho a person only really sees that when they get past the walls he throws up - Elrick is very familiar with it.

Lucius - he’s constantly standing to the right-hand side of people and then he wonders why he cant hear them properly

Grudges and vendettas

Logan - he’d hold a grudge against his father if he wasnt dead. he also holds a pretty heavy grudge against Theresa for not just fucking telling him.

Lucius - at first, only against the bandits that killed his family, but once he deals with them hes kind of at a loss as to where to go next. fortunately Logan starts starving people shortly afterwards, so if nothing else it gives him a kickstart into the rest of his life. Subsequently, Lucius will hold a vendetta against Logan for the rest of his life, even after he has been in a relationship with Morgan for years - he will never forgive him for the shit he put the common people through, and he doesnt really give a shit about the ~pressures~ Logan was under at the time. fuckin excuses, man.

Ingrained habits/forces of habit

Logan - his terrible sleeping/eating patterns. even before trauma and night-terrors made it almost impossible for him to sleep peacefully, he didn’t get more than 5 or 6 hours a night, if that.

Lucius - if something is smaller than him, he’ll protect it. he’ll also protect things bigger than him, if given half the chance. hes basically a golden retriever in human form, which is ironic considering his feelings about dogs.

What it takes to make them cry

Logan - would rather die than cry, quite literally.

Lucius - his heart is softer than butter, he’ll cry at anything. he’ll cry at an injured pigeon on the street.

Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’

Logan - never, ever, ever talks about what happened in Aurora. The details die with him.

Lucius - he doesn’t really have any - he’s not ashamed of much in his life, and he’s never done anything terrible enough to render it a skeleton.

People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them

Logan - L M A O. yes, it affected him terribly, but tbqh however much its affected him kind of plays second fiddle to how much his actions affected other people.

Lucius - has killed a lot of people who deserved it during his mercenary years, and justifies it to himself by being absolutely certain that they did deserve it. sometimes he doubts this, though, and that doubt plays a big part in his eventually getting out of the game entirely

People who’ve influenced them greatly

Logan - Walter, tho he’ll never admit it in a million years and he still definitely kneecapped him right at the start of the game so idk what that says about him

Lucius - Morgan. it’s real gay, i know, but there it is.

#logan1 #lucius1

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dreams-for-the-apoplectic · 4 years

Text

something i will probably never finish but like enough that im posting it anyway

Bro leans in the doorway of your room,

(and you see him from your periphery: boxers loose on bony hips and patterned with hearts, no shirt, can of orange soda in hand with shades neatly tucked on the bridge of a strikingly crooked nose)

and tells you,

(over the sound of the fans, three, overclocked on some jury-rigged upgrades he threw together last year when the air conditioner went schizo cherry apeshit, just like now, again, for the second time this week spewing out mad fumes all grey-black and choked from its old, dusty vents)

that you and he should just ollie outie of this midsummer popsicle stand and move somewhere the sun don’t actively to attempt murder you in the crispiest degree, KFC style.

And you jokingly tell him sure, fuck it, anything is better than clawing my way up Fire Death Concrete Mountain aka Texas Mordor, clutching this bitchin’ ring of power and muttering all manner of rapturous obscenities and salacious innuendos for my precious. Sign me up Major Douchenozzle, I’ll shimmy my fine ass up this fabled air-conditioned igloo any day.

A week later and you've packed your shit, grabbed your ticket, and are hopping the next flight to Vermont.

(four hours, fifty-one minutes, seven seconds, and Bro practically jumps off the plane hyperventilating when you touch down. you didn’t know how much he hated flying. you’ve never been on a plane before; if you didn’t know better, you’d think he hasn’t either. and if you quirk an eyebrow just over the rim of your aviators, and the side of your mouth makes a confused downturn for a second or two at just how fucking strange that that is, well, that was just a trick of the light, and the light is a dirty liar.)

He and you stick out like sore thumbs here

(with Bro in a crumpled white polo and asshole jeans and dumb fucking anime shades, one hand in his pockets with an impassive, calculating kind of expression that you’re more used to than the panic, checking through tabs on Complete Bullshit for god knows what reason; you in the same shirt you wore yesterday, hair a meticulously crafted unkempt, posture slouching something awful as you bop right the fuck along to some sicknasty new bassline Jade dropped on you the night before, thinking of ways to remix it into this new beat you’ve been working on)

among a crowd of home-grown New England faces haughty white and upturned and staring down at you and Bro like some trash that just rolled in from Doesn't Fucking Belong Here, USA.

(the luggage belt is moving so slow, so, so slow, it’s like watching a retarded crippled snail attempt a marathon against the goddamn salt shaker, and you wish you could just shake off the lingering, disdainful stares these people give the two of you, and you can, and you do)

(except you don't.)

You’re rolling through Montpelier an hour later, crammed up in the shotgun seat of an old, dirty, piece of shit pickup Bro apparently had nesting in the airport storage unit,

(it’s a rust hulk straight out of the early eighties, all torn up vinyl and engine rattling, with tacky, outdated bumper stickers on the back and a pine air freshener that does nothing to mask the smell of two-decade old cigarettes, and somehow you aren’t surprised this is his car because it is exactly how you imagined it.)

(you want to ask why he had a car in bumfuck, vermont and not in houston. you want to ask him if he even knows how to drive, but you hold your tongue nice and pretty and settle into the split vinyl seat cover)

moving past the city limits and into the countryside, over the state border and into New York. You give Bro the ‘what the fuck are we doing out here, man, is this the setup for a horror movie or some shit, because I’m not down to being the unwilling accomplice to some new echelon of fucked up smuppet snuff’ look, your fingers tapping in 4-4 on the dash, not really nervous so much as habitual.

(he ruffles your hair with a smirking, mean kind of half-smile, all teeth and teasing and unnatural. you swat at him uselessly.)

And then the road is quiet, and the sky is misting grey. It’s all evergreen and shrubbery and dark soil here, and small towns by clear water: fishing ponds, creeks and rivers, and more wildlife roaming these secondhand backroads than you’ve ever seen in Texas. It starts to rain a bit, ghosting against the glass, and over the soft creak of the windshield wipers Bro asks you if you wanna put on some music, little man, heard you were working on a new track and can I get a sneak peak at that delirious biznasty? And fuck yeah you have, even if it isn’t quite done yet, and you plop your phone on the dashboard, and the drive is comfortable,

(and you cannot shake this feeling that something is wrong.)

---

It isn’t an apartment, it’s a house in the goddamn woods; no, a fucking mansion in the goddamn woods, the design of it ripped straight from the personal architectural smutjournel of Frank Lloyd Wright, complete with white-foam waterfall and neo-American art deco pretension. Your mouth hangs open, and you know, you just fucking know a fly is about to buzz in that shit and set up a cozy little cottage, but you don’t care. This is straight wack, man.

(it looks vaguely familiar too, like something nostalgic stuck in your mental gears, cracked and rusted from disuse; something you saw once, a long time ago, in a place you can’t quite remember.)

Bro gestures you along along the concrete path, and you tell him no, wait, put the fucking brakes on Anime Goldilocks, what the fuck are we doing here, because this sure as shit can’t be where we’re living now, and I don’t wanna piss off the three bears. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and tells you in that deep southern mumble of his that, shit, kid, did you expect we’d just take a plane and end up in the same shitty apartment? And of course you didn’t

(even though you kind of did)

because that would be ridiculous, but-- you don’t know, you’ve been sharing a seven-hundred square foot living space with him for the past fifteen years. How are you supposed to react to a fucking mansion that just suddenly up and settled before you on delicate foundational popliteals and a stark-white concrete strapless all alluring and sultry? Just stand there stone-faced morose and stoic and fuck, that is exactly what you should be doing, isn’t it, because that was what he taught you, to

(stitch up the cuts slowly, careful with the needle and don’t fucking rush it, lil’ bro, even if they’re shallow you can’t just take it and jab that shit in, and for the love of god you gotta work on your dodge game, how the fuck do you expect not to get your ass served up sunnyside in a real fight?)

(̶̥̘͗̉̾̊͝ ̷̦̙̦͌͊̒́̍͛̀̀̈́́̚͘̕̚n̷̨̜̲͓̹̪͎̒͋́̊̎̐̍͌̆͘͝ͅͅͅ ̸̤̥̏́̌̑͒̈́̿́̃

̶̧̝͎̝͔͔̣̬͈̗̥̠̔̀͌̈́͆̒̇̋̋́̈́͐̈̚͝ ̷̡̛͕͚̰͉̦̼̤͍̘̝̹̮̩̈́̑̇̃̔͝͠ơ̷̡̧͔̘͇̖̫͉̳̳͖͇̰̻͗͛̿̋̾̏͘͝ ̸̨̧͈̱̫̩̲̦̭͖̿̃́̔͛̓̓͌̌͗̍̔̾͜ͅ

̷̢̮̮̠̠̬̖̙͈͋̍͛͆̔̈́̓̌̂̀͌̽͝͠ ̸̨̗̯̓͐̿̇͂͊̓́́̄̃̚͘͜͜.̷̲̙͓̮̮̬͓̈́̋͂͒̓̃͘͠͠)̸̧̖̪̦̥̪͙̫͍͙̩̻̺̩̒̌̈́͒͋͝ͅ

̵̬̯̪͛̓̈́̎̒́̂

It isn’t our house anyway, he says,

(and your mind slams on the brakes so hard you think you might flip this shit frontways, slam the roof on that motherfucker into the burning asphalt and skid off the edge of this brutal synapse fuckup.)

(you can’t remember what you were thinking. it’s blurry, and forgotten, and everything is normal again)

moving forward in long, atypical strides that you scramble to follow. The rain is still coming down, you realize, in a softer drizzle that dampens your shirt. Friend of mine lives here.

Holy shit, he has friends?

Yes, I have friends, you little shit, and you flinch when you realize you must have said that out loud. His arms flex, shoulder blades audibly popping with the contraction of muscle, and you flinch, and nothing happens. Her name is Roxy.

And shit, you guess that’s all there really is to say on the matter, because he doesn’t provide any further explanation and you sure as hell don’t ask. You duck under the porch roof and he raps a fat bar of knuckles on the door.

---

Roxy isn’t anything like you expect.

You don’t know what you were expecting, actually, considering you’ve only just heard about her, but she is perky and kind-eyed and so fucking sincere that the saccharine emotional font of exuberant delight that straight up sparkles from her is making you real uncomfortable.

She hugged you.

She hugged you and you liked it.

(and she hugged Bro too, made his spine go all weird fucking c-shaped wrongness as she crushes him against her chest, calls him Dirk like she fucking owns him.)

You’re ushered in as she turns on heel and sways away with a tipsy strut, sauced and sauntering and high stilettos tapping on the dark hardwood. She tells you to drop your things by the door, she can set each of you up with a room in a bit, and Dirk, honey, we have got so much catching up to do, I haven’ seen you and the lil’ guy in ages, and god yer both so fuckin’ tall I forgot about that bit,

(christ on the cross, she can speak at a mile a minute, accent a thickly laced New York staccato that matches Texas about as close to the intersection of nil and fuckall as you can get without running head-on into traffic.)

and Dirky, Dirkle, Dirk-a-licious, oh my god come here right now, I gotta show you this badass shit I‘ve been working on, it’s fuckin’ lit as hell, it has got switches and gizmos and all of the cool techy shit I know you swoon over, and you need to check out this code I wrote because you know I’m not about to trust anyone else to parse my sick lines, so come ooooooooooooon and there they go, Bro dragged stiff as cardboard across the floor by the hem of his fucking shirt. He gives you a side-eye look that says crosses somewhere between ‘don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back’ and ‘help me.’

You shrug and flip him off and leave him to his fate. His death glare could kill a lesser man.

(holy shit.)

And then, quite suddenly, you are alone.

It’s not quiet, you notice - just a more subtle murmur than the scream of a city, made emptier without Roxy to fill up the room. Slow, churning movement below signals the languid rush of water as it tumbles beneath the floorboards and off the cliffside. Some woodland creature skitters in wet dirt beyond the window pane, which filters in ghost-grey light and shakes a bit when a particularly heavy set of raindrops hit.

You shuffle about awkwardly, and glance around for a second,

(the interior is lavishly decorated, you notice. posh white starkness for fineass digs. sir asshole the stone swamp wizard sits plainly in the foyer, nested in arcane robes of the dimwitted and tacky. a cat is nuzzled up at the foot of some kind of bronzed vacuum. the whole place smells like perfume and vodka. it’s kind of intoxicating.)

before deciding the panicked, lingering gaze is kind of stupid, and waiting for Bro to come back like a pining factory girl in the nineteen-forties writing sappy missives to the brave boys in Okinawa was lame as shit, so you flop down on the couch, all loose, gangly puberty limbs and feigned indifference and the muted light of your phone glaring back at you. You pull open a pesterchum window, shoot a few messages to Harley,

(some off-the-cuff rap cooked slow on these sick fires, like just put some whip cream and a goddamn cherry on that shit and call it a sunday. you also make sure to attach a file for the new sbahj comic you’ve been working on. you’ve lovingly dubbed the new arc ‘the spaztastic furry hatesex maelstrom,’ and you hope know she’ll love it.)

and Egbert,

(and you admit, muddled up in tangents and similes that take forever just to get to the goddamn point, that you actually took his recommendation and stuck through the bitterly tasteless cinema assassination of the week. you even wrote a shitty review for it on one of your ironically maintained critic blogs, and send him a link)

(you won’t admit you laughed at groundhog day. he will never let you live it down. never.)

and Lalonde,

(who is on, surprisingly, because you know she has school right now, and fuck if the flighty broad doesn’t take every swat of the educational ass whooping with a snide, condescending seriousness that has a way of getting just under your skin. she wants to go to Harvard, or Cornell, or Oxford, because she is smarter than you, and John, and maybe not Jade but damn is she close.)

(she doesn’t respond either, though, so you cast the thought away and send her some custom made memes deep fried in a hundred layers of crystalline jpeg illegibility and wait, fuck, holy shit)

and then someone is standing over you, peering with an appraising interest, like they’re looking at a slab of beef splayed out dumb on the chopping block. And you don’t flinch, you really don’t, even though you’re about five seconds away from flipping this shit backwards and kicking dust up as you run for the hills.

You can tell this girl is nasty. She is stygian lips and white-blonde hair and violet eyes that politely inform you that this is indeed the fucking slaughterhouse, that you guessed it right, and you’re about to get served up with a side of collard greens and barbecue sauce.

So of course the first words out of your mouth are 'sup, Rose.

Wait, wh

(you see her past the glow of a verdant sun, because even a double universe killing superbomb can't outshine her. cascading orange silk stitch wrapped in a star-shimmering supernova of violet eyes and pallid skin. it's like a goddamn angel come from the heaven; a smirk beneath the hood and fire in her belly. she is the fucking sun now, and nothing can even fucking compare.)

at.

(what the fuck.)

What the fuck.

(what the actual fuck dude.)

Do I know you? Her voice is just dripping contempt.

And you don't fucking know her. She isn't here. Rose is a billion lightyears off in the gay space commune, deep encoded digital vaporware that went out of style twelve fucking years ago. She is a string of chat logs and embarrassing Fruedian slips that didn't happen, no, Rose, you don't have undercover mother-lust.

And she is here.

You've never even seen her picture, but you know. You know far beneath the skin, something deeper than blood or bone or anything else seething something above that spiritual core. You know on a fucked kind of metaphysical. It's self-evident. It cannot help but make itself true.

Uh.

Shit.

Shit dude fucking say something. She’s just standing there, and the downward curvature of those lips is about to break out of the spatial plane and into some hyper paranoid fourth dimension. You guess she has a right to be weary. Your gangly ass is seated firmly in her territory.

#homestuck #dave strider #bro strider #rose lalonde #mom lalonde #decided i should probably fulfill the whole 'occasionally write things' part of my blog that has kinda been neglected since like 2017 or so #and this has just been sitting abandoned in a google docs since like early 2019 or so but i like it enough that i figured fuck it why not #so here you go #my requisite one writing thing that i post a year #it will probably never be finished #enjoy i guess?

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mzkeensmth · 7 years

Text

I just have to let you know.

I bet you’re way more happier with her than you were with me, and for that i am really happy for you. You’ve found your happiness, and the pain i feel is beyond explainable. Its inevitable. I’m relentlessly broken. It hurts every single time my thoughts drifts back to you. It aches a little deep down in my chest.

You were there to light my days, the one to guide me through when my days were down and low, you were the one to have picked me up when i come crashing down. I have to be honest with you, i blame myself for throwing myself at you. It was always me calling you nicknames, dumb, stupid, idiot. But now you’re gone, i feel like the biggest loser on earth. The biggest idiot to have lived, the most imbecilic to have breathed. It hurts so badly at the back of my throat every single time someone asks me about the love of my life, because i always find myself thinking of you when they do. But i’m forced to keep it to myself.

You were the one to always loosen the rope that ties up both my hands together. Look at how things change, cause now you’re the train and i’m tied to the tracks.

Is it my fault that my heart wants you. It wants what it wants and i cant do shit to stop myself from feeling this way and it aches me every single time i think of the impossible. Such like bumping into you in a couple of years from now, and maybe then will be the right timing. Maybe.

You were my almost.

“You were my everything but i was your nothing. You were my whole night sky but i was just a star to you. You were my whole universe but i was just dirt to you.”

I do not know what hurts the most. The fact that you left me. Or the fact that you left me unknowingly. Without a reason, without a clue. You got me stumbling, tripping over something that i did not do. You got me wandering at 2am in the morning, thinking of what i had done or what i did not do to get to this point.

You made me, and then you break me.

You reached your hand out to pull me out from this pit of fire only to have push me into a bigger pit of fire. You were hell in disguise.

You are cruel. Wait. Cruel would be an understatement.

You fed me fables which turns out to be lies. You fed me bullshit that i was too blind to see. Your love made me blind and you made a fool of me, you made it look so perfect when it was not meant to be. You treated me like a fool, you played me so well, so dirty. How could you have the heart, the audacity to do what you did?

I was so willing to pull you out of the misery you portrayed yourself as. I was so willing to have cut off my arms for you if it means helping you feel a whole lot more better of yourself. But how could i not realise of how big of a shitty person you are? If you were in my head and had to hear my plea, i bet you wouldn’t even give two shits.

Said you’d come right back, now you’re gone like that.

You played your pity game, hugged me tight and then pushed me away, You’re fucking indecisive. Well done for turning it to me, when all these while you know why i did what you did. I pulled a you on you, and you did not like that shit. You’re full of lies, I wonder a lot of how you feel about yourself. You’re torturous, You’re the sharpest knife i’ve ever fondled with. You’re the biggest most worst conflict i’ve ever meddled with.

You turned all the blame onto me. You played your game so smoothly yet so surely that i would fall into despair. You got the wrong girl if you think that i was going to fall for your games.

You’re full of fucking shit.

And i’m not saying this to try to bash you.

Im only saying this because you lost touch of what we had.

Without finding out what i really felt, you were so determined to have thought i would do you so wrong. Without a single bit of realisation that you were the one playing, the one trifling.

I tell all my friends that i truly do not regret having to know you. Instead i would like to thank you for breaking me. You made me the me i am now. Im a whole lot stronger now, you made me a whole lot braver to face danger now. But then again, you probably do not deserve these thank you’s. Because besides all of these, i would like to say fuck you to you too, for you are the reason i got trust issues with every boy that comes along and tells me i am their blessing. Because of you i look away when boys with warm hazel eyes stares me deep in the eye. You are the reason that i pull away when someone hugs me tight just because. You are the reason i listen to sad songs almost most of the time. You are the reason i push people away because i felt like they were just around because they are forced to. You are the reason why i lie when someone asks me if i’m okay, i lie and tell them i am okay eventho’ i am not. Because i am too afraid they might use it as an advantage to step over my head, to belittle me. And that maybe they asked because they just wanted to know without a single care in the world. You are the fucking reason i isolate myself most of my time venting out my feelings on Tumblr, for instance this post. So fuck you.

Fuck you.

Nonetheless, i do not hate you. You were still something/someone i really loved for a short period of time. I do not hate you now, in case you were curious.....

I just really, really, really, despise you.

Im better now. I do not care as much as i used to before. Or better saying, i do not even give a single fuck anymore.

Now when people mention your name, it’s just a word to me that means no shit. Your existence is nothing to me now. I am not even bothered. I should’ve known....

You were just the same.

But i’m good now.

I wish you well, stranger.

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