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jellydishes · 5 years

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dragon age characters as gods: origins edition

the first post in this series, which ironically covers dragon age two characters, can be foubd here

the warden is not actually the name of one god, but a title shared among a group, and their individual origins’ differences impact the way their stories are sung or whispered. they are just as often worshipped as psychopomps, carriers of the dead to the afterlife, as they are a source of comfort and guidance for those who had to grow up too soon; whether to war or illness or abuse or the loss of a parent or a thousand other personal stories that can fit within two syllables. warden. guard and guardian, those who sacrifice everything in order to carry the hope for others. how much more can i give? ask the weary and the grieving. “always at least once more,” say the wardens. “one more inch, one more battle. and then one day you will look up to see you have walked a thousand miles in single steps.”

in many ways, alistair fits what some call the classic ideal of a demigod; an isolated youth spent unknowing of his true parentage, one that made him humble and hungering for true respect. many turn to him for this reason alone, including orphans and the abused. many more sing his name in the dark times of their lives because of what came after that- a lifetime living with a brain that operated just a few steps to the left of the rest of humanity. a life filled with doubt and grief and loss, one filled with moments in which he could have given up. but he didn't, and he didn't, and he kept on finding beauty amid the horrors of war and the heartsick times of rebuilding that come after. “it seems so much easier to lie down and die,” he whispers to those who chose him, “but there is work to be done, and you can do it. but not alone. you are never alone where i can walk with you. when you chose me, i chose you. you earned a hand in the dark. all you need to do is reach out and hold tight.”

morrigan is a goddess in flux. in one aspect, she is a goddess of magic and of vengeance, of turning your pain outward to protect yourself when no one else can, has, or will. some say the doubters are the hopeful who've had their hopes dashed time and again, and that both is and isn't true with morrigan- she would insist to anyone who cared to ask that hers is the domain of realism, of looking at a harsh world and seeing truth. all the same, morrigan looks kindly on abused children and adults, on the lonely and broken hearted. she is a goddess who will rarely reach out first, until she knows she can trust there to be someone ready to catch her, too. in her second aspect, morrigan is the protector that she never had: a mother. she has learned that trust now, if has yet to lose all of the wariness that came before it. that wariness bleeds away when she recognizes one of her own, one she might not walk in front of, but has no issues walking beside. “the world may not be brighter for my presence,” says morrigan’s voice at her pilgrim’s ear, “but i will ensure that the night’s terrors have good reason to fear us back. it is my turn to give back the courage you kept inside, the same way i did. you have me, and i have you. that might not seem like much, but i would say it's a damn good start.”

leliana is yet another goddess who is underestimated by many. she's seen as a minor deity favored in the cities and temples belonging to the rich and comfortable, which she often is. however, thinking that is all there is to one who began her existence as a death goddess would be a mistake, one that some only made once, many years ago. as harsh and unforgiving as the smiles she was often depicted with used to be, these days leliana has grown to value finding the small joys in life when others would become bitter and withdrawn. of enjoying the creature comforts, of loving to sing and dance and marvel at the beauty of a shoe or a creature often ignored or considered a pest. these two aspects are not mutually exclusive- leliana lives in pain borne just as she is in pain transformed, as many of her faithful do. “not everything must be an uphill battle,” softly calls leliana’s warm voice. “being kind, and extending a hand with outstretched fingers can be an act of courage, when all you want to do is form a fist with it. take a breath when you're going through your darkest hour, maybe two, and come out singing with me.”

sten is a deity that many find frustratingly inscrutable, if not impossible to understand. his is a religion that seems to be very rigidly bound to duty and rules and observances and a hierarchy that dominates the conversation of almost everyone who comes across him or his worshippers. and to many, that is all there is. it takes a very determined soul to grow to understand that there is a sort of comfort in routine, in knowing what is expected of you and who you are, in knowing exactly who you can turn to if you question or need help. in sten’s service, you are considered to be undertaking a journey to understand the world in which you live, either writ large, or your own. rigidity can bring comfort, confidence, and a chance for many who had been lost to breathe. it is discovering new things, change, spread out to a pace that is less overwhelming to many for whom change in routines or simple fear would make it daunting. he approves of surpassing expectations, of growing within a box that used to bring you comfort before seeking out one that you yourself have picked out that means you. those with borderline personality disorder and autistics and the abused are common worshippers of him, and he extends a hand right back, just within reach. “i cannot pull you up,” he would say in a voice that sounds as sure and solid as the sun, “i cannot reach for you. but i am here as a wall to brace against whenever you have need. and in return, you remind me why i have respect for the lost and the heartsick. together, we will find better ways to be.”

wynne is a quiet diety, one who seemingly performs the functions expected of her and little else, but in truth wynne simply works in quiet ways, helping to inspire quiet victories over troubles large and small. it is known that in her own legends she was a prisoner for many years simply because of a trick of birth. that she lost and lost and lost again, all of her life, and had been tempted to give up just as often. and yet, wynne never gave up on those around her who couldn't speak for themselves. the children and the dead and those who had become too traumatized or afraid to lift their voices any longer. wynne is a warm presence for prisoners and the institutionalized and the disenfranchised just as often as she is for the physically and mentally disabled, and those with any sort of neurodivergences in general. she understands, whispers her worshippers, and she still, always, loves you. “i cannot save you on my own,” she whispers back to those who call her name. “it is up to you to take the first step and the last and all of the ones in between, but i will be right beside you with my hand in yours. together, we are stronger for each other, and that is how it is meant to be.”

zevran is dismissed but many who don’t care to look beyond the stereotypes assigned to both him and his worshippers as a harvest deity, one associated with sex and death and glorying in temporary joys. some do indeed turn to him for such things, but that only behind to scratch the surface of all that zevran and his worship are and have become. zevran does indeed preside over death, but just as often the deaths he presides over are more alike to changes. endings that lead to new beginnings, or how one can gradually move from being locked a suicidally depressed state into a journey towards recovery. the death of who who no longer wish to be, and the birth of who you wish so much to become. as often as he is depicted as smiling atop the coins that are both his symbol and currency, his worshippers know that smile to be a sad one, and press that currency into the hands of the abandoned souls who most need it. the orphans and the slaves and those lost to the ravages of their own neurodivergences/trauma. he looks kindly upon those who struggle with relationships ships of any kind after a life where that always meant danger. “life is full of risks,” he murmurs to an orphan warily eyeing their new foster family. “it is up to you to decide whether those risks are worth it, but you cannot say ‘no’ forever, or one day you will look up and you will be surrounded by high walls with no one left to hear you on the other side, save for me. let me help you, the way others helped me. the way you helped me, and we will emerge from this together.”

oghren is defined by contradictions. many see him as a simple god of drink and revelry and battle, of simple pleasures that exact simple joys and sorrows. however, as with many from his pantheon, that is not nearly all ghay he is. oghren is, first and foremost, a god for those who grieve and those who are afraid. those who turn to alcohol or drugs or other addictive behaviors in order to cope with a life that took and took and took from them, with a life where they are deeply unhappy. he does not judge those he presides over, no matter how often they backslide or break something that may never be fixed again. “you're mine, and i'm yours,” he says to the suffering in a gentle voice many wouldn't think he had. “and that means that i will stick by you every time you can't reach where you want to go. and you know why? every time you can't quite make it is proof that you can come this far, and can do it again. you are mine, the heart of my own heart, and i will stay with you for as long as you need and want me to. know that i am proud, and that together, we will see this through.”

shale is an impatient deity, and one with no patience for insincerity or creating and spreading cruelty. transgender and nonbinary people in particular turn to the steadying presence of shale in their lives, as do prisoners and the poor imprisoned by society into overwhelmingly literal chains. her comfort can be a stirling thing, as all of her tales whisper of how she moved from one prison to another and so learned distrust and fear externalized as anger. but so, too, did she learn compassion. shale listens just as deeply to a prayer by a child sentenced to prison for a crime that they had no chance to avoid, as she does soldiers who know that the acts they will commit will be frozen in time in their memory. “everyone is born in a box,” shale tells those who ask for her watchful gaze to settle over their shoulder. “it is inevitable that eventually you will grow and change, where the box will not. it will grow uncomfortable, then stifling, and then a wound. i cannot give you the key, because you already have it. the only thing to do is to stand beside you, ready to catch you if you fall, to steady you as you feel the turning of the world beneath your feet again. i cannot bear this for you, but i can make sure that you do not have to be strong all the time. not when i can give you the time and safety to put down your burdens for an hour, a night, a day. breathe, because you can. because you must.”

loghain is an old god, and his stories changed along with the shifting values of the societies around him. as they did, his devotion to duty above all else fell out of favor. instead, the tales took on a darker tone of disloyalty and treachery. kingslayer, they called him now. even so, voices still called out to him. soldiers and conquered people, children who have seen war and the furious, wearied people those children grew up to be. “the beat of your heart is the lifesblood of everything that defines you,” says loghain’s voice from between the clench of your fist. “stronger than blood, stronger than love, stronger than your very bones. do not give it up, or everything you have seen and done will be for nothing. do not give up. i am the hand on your shoulder, the hand clasped in yours. comrade and father and traitor, i am what my duty needs me to be and so are you.”

#hey i'm not dead #long post #Dragon Age #alistair theirin #morrigan #leliana #oghren #zevran arainai #wynne #shale #sten of the beresaad #loghain mac tir

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carol-effing-danvers · 4 years

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where we grew up

this is part two of the series “run long, roam far, return soon” part one: “knock me the fuck out (i dare ya, babe)” (cont.) (fin.) part three: “push me, pull you”

(click here if you’d prefer to read this in AO3′s format)

Steve assures her that he’s done all the right things, followed all the right procedures. He’s calm, he looks…not relaxed because no one could possibly be relaxed in this situation, but he looks like someone who is collected and has control of the situation.

But Robin knows him, and she can see in his eyes that some piece of him has quietly died – maybe not forever, but this day has wounded him deeply.

So, she tells him he’s got this and when their lunchbreak is over, she goes back to the high school building and immediately goes to the main office. Impatiently, she dials and waits for someone to answer, anxiously hugging herself with one arm.

“This is the 11th Hour,” El answers in her best ‘customer service’ voice. “I’m Jane. How can I help you today?”

“I need you…” Robin sighs, closes her eyes, and puts a hand over her face. “Is Hargrove there with you?”

“Yeah, Robbie, hold on.”

There’s a clattering in the background before Billy’s gruff tone says “Buckley. What’s up?”

“You…you need to pick up Steve from work, today.”

“Car break down? Didn’t sound like it was in bad shape, last I heard,” Billy observes cautiously.

“No, Billy,” she says with quiet pain. “He’s-he might be there late. But he’s going to need you, when it’s finished.”

“Okay, Rob, you need to back up here. What’s going on?”

“Steve had to call CPS, Billy,” she whispers, “One of his kids came in with belt marks all over him, and while the school nurse was looking him over, Steve brought his older sister up and started asking her some questions, and he and the nurse realized very quickly that someone has been beating her around, too.”

Billy’s stomach drops. “But they’re-they’re five year olds,” he says numbly. “Little kindergarteners…”

“Yeah.” It’s amazing how much pain and anguish can be packed into a single word. “They are.”

He is, at this very moment, imagining anyone attempting to do that to his sweet little Lulu and the blind fury that left him for so long suddenly comes back with a fiery vengeance. “What kind of monster beats a five year old with a belt?!”

But the thing is…he-he knows. He was raised by that same kind of monster – Neil Hargrove absolutely beat Billy with a belt, more than once throughout his childhood. He has no idea how Robin is managing her side of this conversation so calmly.

“Their mom is an addict, and it seems she doesn’t pay a whole lot of attention to how her boyfriend treats her kids. Steve mentioned a couple of times throughout the year that he’d noticed both of them looking a little…unkept, but Rosie is a single mom and times are hard, so he gave her the benefit of a doubt,” Robin says grimly. “Turns out, they were looking unkept because the sister was the one trying to do the laundry and making sure they both got a bath and she wasn’t always so great at it. Not surprising, since she’s only nine.”

Swallowing past the sick feeling in his guts, Billy asks “Okay, so what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to be there when he lets himself freak out. He was acting super calm when I saw him because he has to finish class and wait with them until CPS can contact their aunt, but I’ve known him for a decade – the moment a child doesn’t need him, he’s gonna fucking lose it, Hargrove, and I know you’re the person he wants the most right now.”

Billy’s eyes go wide. “I’ll be there.”

“I know.”

Even with Robin's helpful warning, Billy doesn't really know what to expect when he walks down the Grade K hall. There are no children left in the classrooms here - school let out twenty minutes ago and these kids are too little for extracurricular activities.

He is expecting what he sees in Steve’s classroom least of all.

Steve and the other kindergarten teacher, Melanie Dohr, have rooms that mirror each other – boxy spaces slightly wider than they are long, with a doorway at one end that faces the children’s cubby stations, except that Melanie’s desk and chairs are to the left of the classroom door and Steve’s are to the right. At the very end of this room is a little sofa and an open space where they do story time and nap time and when he leans his head in to check on Steve, this is where he is sitting.

Squished right up against him on that sofa is a little girl with brown hair in two long braids. She’s a little girl, but she’s still too old to be someone Steve teaches. As Steve reads aloud, one arm around her, she listens intently as she leans into his side, a tissue clutched in her fist that she holds near her mouth as she silently cries. She’s heartbreaking and what’s worse – Billy actually recognizes her.

“Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of – or perhaps because of – their dissimilarity...”

This is Marcy Roberts, Martin’s big sister. He’s seen her many times, because Marcy walks her brother down to the kindergarten hall every morning before she goes back to Mrs. Webster in the third grade hall.

On their very first date, Billy had overheard Steve having a talk with Martin outside the classroom when he hit a classmate who called him names, and it reminded Billy so vividly of himself it was nearly painful. Of course Martin was the boy who’d taken a beating with a belt. He didn’t know why he hadn’t guessed it was Martin in the first place.

Silently, Billy makes his way into the room – he knows when Marcy spots him, because the fourth-grader immediately becomes tenser and tries to shrink into Steve’s side, her big blue eyes watching him wearily. Steve’s arm tightens around her, eyes briefly flicking upward before he serenely continues with his reading.

Old Billy would’ve been furious that Steve was deliberately choosing to ignore him – Old Billy was furious when Steve ignored him. New Billy slowly crept his way around to Steve’s desk while being watched by a little girl, settling back into the teacher’s chair and trying to look as innocent and nonthreatening as possible.

He wouldn’t consider himself a natural with kids, not like Steve was, and he’s definitely never had to interact with a child whose been treated…well, the way he’d been treated, he supposed. Lulu has never been afraid of him, but she also doesn’t really know any better. Uncle Billy is Uncle Billy, and he’s always been Uncle Billy in her eyes. And Justin is a worthless father, but he’s never actively tried to cause his daughter physical pain or mental anguish – though his complete disregard for her existence could hardly be called any better.

Steve is beloved by all of his students, of course, but for Marcy, he may literally be the only adult that she trusts. Marcy and Martin need him and that will hold his entire focus until they can be settled.

For a while, Billy wonders what happened to Martin, and then realizes that he probably had to stay in the nurse’s office. He knows from hard experience that sitting was likely painful and difficult at the moment if Martin got the belt. With any luck, the nurse has given him a light sedative, something to put him to sleep or even just make him a little more comfortable.

When Marcy’s focus is no longer dedicated to waiting for Billy to suddenly attack her, he takes the time to really look at her. Has she always been so small and thin? Is he only really noticing this now because he has some idea of what her home life is like? There’s a wrapping of gauze around her right forearm hinting that Marcy didn’t entirely escape the mercies laid upon Martin. Her hair – brown to her younger brother’s toe-headed blonde – is looking a bit unkempt and her clothes aren’t dirty but they are also certainly not new and Billy knows he wouldn’t have noticed any of this if Robin hadn’t already told him that their mother has been neglecting them.

But Steve had noticed.

Steve has been noticing, maybe the entire year, probably watching with helpless dismay as Marcy and Martin’s condition deteriorated right before his eyes as their home situation got more and more unhappy. Billy wonders what finally led him to the proof he needed to get CPS involved.

In hindsight, Billy now realizes that more than one of his own teachers had tried to get him to open up to them about the way Neil treated him at home, but he had been a scared and angry child and in early childhood, he hadn’t understood what they were asking for. And later on, he hadn’t trusted any adult enough to do that, until he’d become a sullen and violent teenager that everybody wanted to write off instead of an energetic and overeager child.

Marcy is still half hiding against Steve’s side, listening to him read – or maybe just letting the sound of his voice wash over her the way Billy is doing. Her hand is up near her face, fingers reflexively curling but she doesn’t actually put any of her fingers in her mouth. It’s not normal, is it, for a nine year old to still have the urge to suck her thumb?

He loses track of time, letting the murmur of Steve’s voice soothe him into something like a doze, though his eyes are still open, when there is suddenly a knock on the classroom doorframe. A slim blonde woman with a briefcase wearing a navy blue pantsuit stood in the hall, standing beside a brunette woman with her hair cut into a short bob. “Hello, you must be Marcy!” the blonde says, just a little too bright to be entirely natural. “I’m Mrs. Rhodes, but you can call me Vicki.”

“Uh…okay,” Marcy says nervously, still glued to Steve’s side.

Steve gives Vicki a very charming smile – though now that Billy knows him so well, he can see that it’s a bit insincere. “Can I talk to Marcy for a just a second? Nurse Downing’s office is just down the hall and to the right if you’d like to check in on Martin. He might still be asleep, though.”

“Alright!” Vicki said, though the brunette looked like thrilled about this, she followed her back down the hall to the nurse’s office.

As soon as the woman’s footsteps had dwindled down the hall, Steve gave Marcy the worn down copy of Anne of Green Gables. “Keep that with you,” he tells her quietly. “It has my address and phone number inside. I think your Aunt Rachel will take good care of you, but if someone hurts you again, if you don’t feel safe, or if you just want to talk to me, call me, okay? Even if it’s really late at night, even if it’s not a school day, even if it’s the middle of summer, alright, Marcy? Any time you want to talk to me, call me. Alright?”

“Okay.” Marcy repeats, louder this time but with a wobble in her chin. She clutches the book to her chest like a shield, fingers tightening on the spine now that she knew the truth of its importance.

She surged forward, embracing Steve desperately, which he returns before plucking up her faded purple bookbag. “Let’s go find Mrs. Rhodes and Aunt Rachel. We’ll see how Martin is doing.”

---

The hand off was just as hard as he knew it would be. Martin was emotional and weepy, throwing something like tantrum – or Steve would’ve called it a tantrum if he didn’t know how scared and confused and traumatized he was – but Helen handled it pretty well and managed to calm him down. Marcy practically had a panic attack as they were leaving but Steve could almost see her reminding herself to be the responsible big sister.

Fuck.

Steve has to remind himself for the hundredth time that the state won’t let a single man with his history and his salary have one child, never mind two. No matter how much he loves them. No matter how torn up he is to watch them leave.

Rachel will do a good job, he tells himself firmly. Truthfully, Rachel couldn’t do much worse to them then her younger sister already had. Even after his gentle question of Marcy – something Vicki and Rachel will probably follow up on in more depth later – Steve isn’t exactly sure when Rosie checked out on her job as a mother. What little Marcy had admitted to, beyond the evidence directly on her and Martin’s bodies, left him believing that the real problem had been that Rosie was never checked in.

Rachel had looked unhappy with the development of this whole situation – unhappy, but not at all surprised. Steve thinks that maybe Rachel has long harbored some suspicions of her own.

Steve walks back to his classroom like a sleepwalker. He feels drained, like some kind of vampire has been sucking on his neck all afternoon.

Billy leaning against a corner of the hall, waiting for Steve to return. His eyes, so stark and vividly blue, remind him painfully of Martin and Marcy. Reminds him of a hospital bed, and a monster made of a mountain of corpses and carnage. Reminds him of the way Billy had looked against the starched white linens, and how for the longest time, that was the last image Steve ever had of him.

Deep in himself, he feels sick down to his soul. With time and practice, he’s gotten the hang of dealing with other people’s pain, but Steve has never quite gotten the knack of looking directly at his own. His voice crawls from his throat, falsely bright and without any warmth. “Picked a wild time to surprise me.”

“Wasn’t a surprise,” Billy grunted, watching him closely. The way he always seemed to be watching him. The way, Steve now realizes, the way Billy literally always had watched him. “Buckley asked me to take you back home.”

“I don’t know why,” Steve says, frowning at his desk as he idly tidies up before reaching to shut the lights off. “You don’t have to. I can drive, it’s not like I’m impaired or something.”

“Humor me,” Billy replies shortly, in a way that tells Steve he won’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer. Not that he ever really takes ‘no’ for an answer. Steve finds it both aggravating and charming, and he knows that combination is going to get him into some serious trouble one day.

Steve shrugs, though even that’s half-hearted. “Fine, I guess.”

Maybe Billy and Robin are right – he doesn’t really remember the drive back to his apartment and he’s sure that he opened the door at some point, but Steve finds himself in the kitchen, just…staring at the cabinets, and he can’t quite recall how he got here. Standing there, with no Billy in sight.

“Billy?!” His voice cracks, his voice going shrill with the same panic that’s making his palms sweat.

“What, what’s wrong?!” Billy shouts from the bedroom. His bedroom. Their bedroom? “Stevie?”

“I-nothing.” Relief suddenly makes his legs so weak that he nearly just collapses right down to the ugly linoleum floor. “Nothing!”

Come back. Come back and hold me and don’t leave me – not now and not ever. Tell you love me and tell me you’re okay. Tell me everything is gonna be okay.

Steve slid down the side of fridge and on to the floor, breathing deeply in and out.

Back when they first began living together, Robin had very quickly caught on to the fact that sometimes Steve was…not okay, so she made him get some time with an anxiety specialist – paid for by the US government, because part of the cause of this condition was a secret interdimensional hole under the town that occasionally produced violent alien entities that killed and ate people, which Steve and Robin were both not allowed to talk about with the outside world. They taught him breathing exercises, meditation techniques for moments like this one.

When he can get his legs beneath him again, Steve hauls himself off of the ground and searches around for the cast iron skillet. They have the ingredients for cornbread around here somewhere.

It will probably still taste like sawdust to him, but the activity will occupy his mind, at least for a little while.

He feels bad that he can’t pretend cheerfulness, even to Billy. Beyond the aching numbness that has penetrated into his very bones, Steve’s anxiety is shrieking at him, telling him that if he keeps acting this way, Billy will leave. A voice in his head that sounds like Robin warns him that his inability to give a shit about even that isn’t a good sign.

They eat dinner, and Steve tries to answer like a normal person would, but he can tell by the way Billy doesn’t quite meet his eyes that he’s not doing a good job. A much less helpful and comforting voice – one that sounds more like his mother or his father – tells him not to be so sensitive. To stop overreacting.

That other voice, his Robin/common sense/better angel voice, won’t shut up. Won’t leave him alone. Tell him. If you don’t tell him, you’re always gonna feel like shit about this. Tell him, dingus.

In the end, it’s Billy himself that breaks that final barrier on his silence.

---

Billy knows how to solve this – or at least he knew how Henry solved this when he found Billy wandering around fucking Silver Lake in the rain. But he doesn’t really want to put Steve in a bath of ice cold water and pour whiskey down his throat until he gags. Lost white boy. Hey, lost white boy! Why you walkin’ round lookin’ like somebody whipped yo dog? Huh?

He never did give him a real answer. What could he have possibly said?

Part of the problem is that if Billy didn’t know him so well, Steve would seem almost normal. But he seems a little extra vacant throughout dinner, while watching television, even while brushing his teeth. Like somebody replaced his boyfriend with a friggin’ Stepford Wife or something.

As gently as he can, Billy removes the remote from Steve’s nearly limp fingers. Steve barely blinks at him – though it would usually garner at least an indignant squawk from him. He tries to think of a way to say it diplomatically. Fail, because he’s Billy Hargrove and he has no diplomacy – and says: “Are you going to talk to me about this or do I have to torture it out of you?”

He’s entirely joking, but Billy flinches when Steve absently replies, “I doubt you’ll have any better luck than the Russians,” blinks, and then says: “What?”

Swallowing down his queasiness – Max has passionately defended Steve’s bravery at Starcourt before he ever even returned to Hawkins – he sweeps back the bangs hanging into his eyes. “Your kids,” he says, still clumsily attempting gentleness. “Do you want to talk about that? What happened?”

Steve smiles weakly, giving Billy a hug that held maybe a tenth of the strength he normally possesses. “No,” he whispers, face hidden away against Billy’s neck. “No, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Billy swallows again, wondering why he feels so disappointed. He doesn’t really want to hear the grisly details – he’s probably got firsthand knowledge of most of it already – but at the same time, it feels like part of Steve doesn’t fully trust him. Though that idea should sound ridiculous, an insecure part of himself – mostly the part that still remembers his dad calling him a fuck-up all the time – wonder if Steve is actually as serious about them as Billy is.

Because Billy is like…insanely serious about them. A hundred times more serious than a heart attack, serious.

If a single pastor in Indiana woulda let him, Billy would put a ring on the long white second finger of Steve’s left hand tomorrow. That’s how serious he is. They’ve been together less than a month, but a part of him has belonged to Steve, with Steve, for more than ten years now.

Beyond even his own paranoia and insecurity though, is just…plain old worry.

He’s pretty much always known that Steve has a heart of hold, but it’s starting to look like maybe this day has hammered it to pieces. He watches Steve brush his teeth mechanically, unaccompanied by any of his usual chatter, moving like someone twice their age.

At bedtime, they usually trade off being the big spoon and little spoon, but this time, Billy stays facing Steve, gently strokes his cheek. A part of him feels a flair of love and hope when Steve leans into the touch. “Take it easy, heartbreaker,” he whispers, sweeping back Steve’s bangs again. “I’ve got your back tonight.”

The streetlights outside spread across their bed in a warm orange glow, allowing Billy to watch Steve blinking in a heartsick daze. Faintly, Billy hears him say “He was just crying. Just crying the whole morning, and I couldn’t understand why. By the time I took him to the nurse’s office, I-I think I already knew.”

Steve is the one crying now – crying and hangin’ on to Billy like he’ll disappear.

Billy’s just stunned, stunned and heartbroken by how utterly devastating this has been for Steve. He’s speechless, and the only thing he can do is hang on and be here for him. So he does.

---

The next morning is one in which Steve is allowed to sleep in, both because it’s Saturday and also because it seems that Billy has already gotten up to feed Angie for him. Normally she wakes him up whether his alarm goes off or not. He felt the mattress move just before dawn, but Billy is in bed with him now, wrapped around Steve’s back. He’s got a lowkey headache from all the crying – or trying not to cry – that he did yesterday, but he feels calmer about the world today. Marcy and Martin are safe, and Rachel will make sure they stay that way. Billy is here.

Relaxing back into the pillows, Steve finds Billy’s hand resting against his belly and laces their fingers together. He can tell that he’s already awake – his fingers squeeze back at his own too readily.

“I thought about you,” he admits quietly, tracing over Billy’s knuckles – rougher than his own, belonging to fingers shorter and thicker than his own. “The head nurse probably thought that I was going crazy. He was just…staring at me, on the bed. And I kept thinking about the last time I’d seen you before you left town.”

“What happened to me…it’s all in the past,” Billy says simply, and the ways his arms tighten around Steve’s body is comforting but the words don’t soothe him.

It’s all in the past.

But it wasn’t. Not for Steve.

“I use to wonder where you were,” he whispers, lifting Billy’s fingers to trace his lips over the scars on those knuckles. “No…not wonder. I use to worry. About you – where you were, what had happened to you.”

And now that the words had were finally coming out, Steve couldn’t hold anything back. “I’d worry myself sick, because the last two times I’d seen you-” He chokes, surprised anew that even with Billy right beside him, those images held just as much power over him as they had before. “-the last times I’d seen you, you were dying or you were-you looked so hurt and lost…”

“I’d wonder if you were even still alive – were you okay? I used to have these-these really vivid night terrors about that night in the mall…” He closes his eyes and swallows past the hard lump sitting in his throat. “Robin made me see a doctor, it got so bad – she didn’t know the specifics, but she did know that it wasn’t getting better.”

And for ten years, he hadn’t been able to say the name of his crush out loud, like there was a terrible curse placed on Steve. He laughs weakly. “I-I remember nearly fainting when El sad she’d seen you at Max’s wedding, and you looked well. You were happier. Calmer. It seemed so silly after that – though I still wondered what happened to you.”

“That’s not silly at all,” Billy murmurs, and he sounds thought, squeezing Steve around the middle and warming him right through. “Was I okay? I wasn’t. Not for what felt like a long, long time.”

To Steve’s surprise, Billy hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder and continues speaking. “After I tried going back to my mom’s – I was kinda homeless. I mean, I had the truck, but I’d just got out of the hospital and I could barely sleep for more than an hour or two at a time and every little noise made me wanna crawl outta my skin. I didn’t really notice much back then, but I’m sure anybody who walked down the street crossed to the opposite side when they saw me coming toward them.”

“This guy – this random black dude named Henry found me walking around Silver Lake, just wandering around by myself in the rain. I’m still surprised nobody called the cops on me. Anyway, Henry took me back to his apartment, poured whiskey in me until I gagged and threw a bucket of ice water over my head.” Billy chuckles slightly. “Miguel was so mad at him for that.”

“Miguel?” Steve repeats in a whisper, terrified that Billy will stop talking.

“Yeah, Henry’s boyfriend, Miguel. He was a nurse. I called them Harold and Maude just because it drove him crazy. They, um,” Billy took a deep breath in, held it, then exhaled hot air down Steve’s neck. He shivers and Billy cuddles closer, Steve’s heart thump, thump, thumping for him. “They were part of the group of volunteers who like…took care of people with AIDS. A lot of their families just kind of…abandoned them.”

Thrown them away, Steve thought, heart sinking. Just like Billy’s mother had (repeatedly) done to him.

Quietly, Billy says “For my first couple years, that’s what I was doing. Helping Henry and Miguel and the other volunteers. Looking back on it, they probably thought I’d lost someone to it. Most of us had, it seemed to be everywhere.”

He’s silent for so long that maybe Steve thinks that this is it, these tantalizing hints are all he will get of Billy’s past for right now, and Steve continues obviously stroking at his knuckles. He aches at the idea of Billy, still injured and hurting from the rejection of his mother, wandering through California all alone, until a good Samaritan was kind enough to take care of him.

Then Billy says, “Sometimes, I wished…I wished that had it.”

And Steve can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t think. With five short words, Billy had wrecked his whole thinking brain. “You…that you had…”

“Yeah,” Billy says, very softly. “I didn’t want to die, I didn’t even want to be sick. But HIV was a concept Henry and Miguel would’ve known how to understand. I know that they saw the bandages, that first night, and the scars later on. I think I spent the first year there wishing that I were sick instead, just so that I would be able to tell someone what had happened to me.”

Steve can’t stand doing this without seeing Billy anymore and rolls to face him. “You shouldn’t have had to do that by yourself,” he says, nose trailing down Billy’s neck. “Nobody should have to do something like that by themselves.”

Willing his anxious stomach to settle, he adds “I hate that you went through that and that you were in such obvious pain that a literal stranger could see it. I hate that it took meeting two complete strangers for someone to finally care about when you were hurting. But more than anything, I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed someone.”

Billy’s freckles show in the morning sun, and the light makes his eyes bluer. He leans into the touch as Steve holds his cheeks in both palms. And what he says next makes Steve love him just that little bit more: “Maybe not. But I used to be a little boy, just like Martin Roberts. And you were there when he needed you, when Marcy needed you.” Softly, painfully gently, Billy kisses his mouth. “Because of you, Martin doesn’t have to grow up into me someday.”

Steve caresses down Billy’s cheeks with his thumbs, palms tickled by all the bristle. He whispers, “I don’t see growing into you as a bad thing, Billy.”

Billy huffs out a laugh, long eyelashes falling to his cheeks. Just the lightest of flushes touching the tips of his ears. “You were there, y’know.”

“Hm?” Steve murmurs dreamily, caught in the spell of those freckles and lashes.

“Every pair of big brown eyes were your eyes. Every lanky brunette with a sweet smile was you. I saw you everywhere I went. Trust me, even if you didn’t know it – you were there, heartbreaker.” His eyes devour Steve’s face, gaze lingering at the curve of his lips. “You're here with me right now."

When Steve cuddles closer, he rests his head right above the scars that mark the place where the Mindflayer pierced his chest. He has never been more owned, more possessed by anything than the feeling of his bare hand on Billy's chest. "Wild horses couldn't drag me off."

#harringrove #knock me out babe #teacher steve #soft billy

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time-is-restored · 2 years

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Psych, 5x14

As comical and completely shrouded in shawn-spencer-typical insincerity episode 5x14’s dream sequence is, i do think there are actually a few crumbs of truth scattered in those completely ego-driven visions of this life without shawn coming back to santa barbara, as told by shawn’s subconcious. Specifically:

- Shawn, at least on some level (probably that inner child version of him again, lol) thinks he’s responsible for keeping his parents together. Yes his dad falling apart without him is ridiculous - we’ve seen henry without spencer, explicitly in the pilot and implicitly as their relationship stayed quite strained throughout season one. His household was in order, and he had plenty of friends + hobbies. and yet, the thing that seems to have made henry lose it so thoroughly (in this dream) is madeline remarrying. On paper, this has nothing to do with shawn! he’s barely seen her since coming back to santa barbara, and in fact put in quite a bit of effort to keep her away from his dad and to keep the pair from reconnecting. However, they are still in each others lives - hence, without shawn being present, his dream-mother is whisked away by a scam (he feels he needs to protect her, as we see in 3x1), and his dream-dad fails to recover.

- Shawn sees himself as responsible for managing gus’ interpersonal relationships, which tracks, tbh, considering how intensely we seen him scrutinise any of gus’ love interests before giving them the ‘all clear’. I wonder where that impulse comes from - is it simply over protectiveness? Considering just how dire dream gus’ marriage is, the whole scenario is at least a little bit at gus’ expense - this is a situation that shawn thinks gus could get into. While practically we know that gus is generally more capable than that (w exceptions definitely applying to certain pretty women), Shawn seems to view himself as his friends’ protector - or perhaps more accurately, the founding member of the burton guster fanclub. After all, the problem that Shawn vocalises, in the end, is not that dream-Gus has ended up with a terrible, loveless family in which he is blatantly unhappy, but rather that Gus is unappreciated. That’s definitely a bit of projection, considering it is so often through ignoring Gus’ advice that Shawn ends up in trouble. 'How terrible it is that these fictional characters aren't appreciating my friend!’ He says, having just not appreciated his friend*. Truly, the call is coming from inside the house.

- He still considers himself largely responsible for chief vick staying at the station (which is, surprisingly, one of the few accurate things about the dream - though of course its unlikely vick would’ve stayed at santa barbara post being demoted), but simultaneously considers himself responsible for lassiters career not advancing. While this isn’t how the situation shook out practically, emotionally it appears that he considers himself to have chosen between lassiter and vick, and feels guilty about said choice.

- Juliet's part of the dream doesn’t seem too complicated - he clearly likes her working relationship with carlton, and worries that she would otherwise be held back by a coward, or a (however impossibly) bigger stickler for the rules. he also worries about her safety, though less so than with the others, as most of this section is juliet being a badass (good for her <3). Still, the fact that that fear is there at all is fascinating, because it again places ownership on Shawn to prevent this danger from happening - but why? Juliet is a competent cop, as Shawn well knows considering how many times he calls on her for help. Betwen the two of them, she’s MUCH more likely to get out of a dangerous situation in one piece (bullet proof vests and body armour tend to have that effect). And yet, Shawn still extends a sense of responsibility towards her.

That’s really the common theme in this dream - responsibility. Which, of course, makes sense, considering how often people in this episode are begging Shawn to take responsibility for his actions. But I think we can go a little bit deeper than that:

The schema that makes Shawn feel like he is the only one who could, or should, solve various crimes, and thus often leads to him endangering the people around him, is the same schema that makes him feel like he is personally responsible for the physical + emotional well being of all the people around him.

I’m tempted to call this type of thinking 'main character syndrome’ - he thinks the world revolves around him, but not in a purely selfish way. It’s not that his friends don’t have autonomy, or can’t control their own lives… it’s that Shawn should have managed those problems for them. He has, after all, been trained practically since birth to consider his skills as a 'responsibility’, and to hone them to the point of absurdity - why wouldn’t he extend said vigilance, with which he constantly tries to analyse and solve everything, to the people he cares about?

---

*[I jest, but seriously, there’s only so much - coherent - information that a brain can hold at a time. And as magical as Shawn's brain power is, it has a lot of downsides, several of which are explicitly addressed in the show. So, when we extend the type of mistakes Shawn makes with practical things, like space and time (repeatedly not knowing what time it is, from the hour to the year, misidentifying common place objects, not knowing the right names or pronunciations of things), the types of mistakes he makes in his interpersonal life certainly seem to fit into a larger pattern (getting caught up in one, often minor, emotional response someone is displaying and ignoring the others, being surprised when people don't react how they 'always' do, forgetting he was supposed to spend time with someone, taking core relationships for granted (Gus, and arguably also Henry)). He's still responsible for his social gaffs, just as he was responsible for the time he poured coffee into a humidifier (lol). But I do genuinely think that these type of mistakes aren't just Shawn being a dickhead, or careless, or immature (all traits he is 100% capable of expressing, for the record), but rather an expression of his issues with object permanence. After all, if you can recreate any moment from your life in near perfect detail, seemingly at will, I think it makes sense that you would lose track of time, space, and people.]

#sophie watches psych #my writing #psych liveblog #ive changed my thoughts a bit on the shawn -> gus dynamic since writing this but this episode is where i started *really* analysing shawn #through the lens of. he thinks *everything* is his responsibility #because he - at least from his pov - kind of has the ability to do anything #and it is therefore his right to interfere #w failure being written off before he even starts a good chunk of th time #like. if you thought that you had a 100% certainty of being able to fix a problem. wouldn't you? that kind of thing yknow #and i rlly like that angle for him :)#the juliet moment was the most illumminating irt that #but the henry scene isn't far behind tbh there's. a LOT to unpack there LOL

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swordsandparasols · 6 years

Text

One interesting thing about Hwayugi is that it takes the literally forced romantic set up-one half is magically compelled to love and protect the other, while the other half is unable to reject them-to use other tropes and “romantic” figures of speech and give them literal interpretations, often to highlight the toxicness of some romantic tropes.

“The love of a good woman will control and redeem a bad man” not being a real thing was a heavy focus of this weekend’s episodes.

He’s only “doing good” because she’s in danger. It’s hollow and isn’t real. Son Oh Gong’s only interest is in keeping Seon Mi alive. The easiest allegory for their situation is that Son Oh Gong is a dog on a leash. But he isn’t a dog that’s behaving. He’s pees on all the trees and grabbing the purses of old ladies and ripping them apart with his teeth and biting heels. He’s restrained but he isn’t being good, and he doesn’t want to be restrained. He is literally lashing out at everyone over this, concocting cruel plans as an outlet.

Son Oh Gong’s love is shallow and selfish. If you love someone you don’t want to love, you’re miserable and make everyone else miserable. Son Oh Gong is forced to love Seon Mi by the Geumganggo. He knows the love isn’t real, and he tells her that every chance he gets, usually in the same breath as professing his love. He’s both completely sincere and wholly insincere at the same time. Seon Mi doesn’t want his love, but she can’t reject his love or she will very literally die. All consuming love is horrible. Loving someone you don’t want to love is horrible. Being loved by someone you don’t want to love is horrible. The unwanted “love” isn’t romantic, it isn’t swoony, it isn’t love winning out against all odds. It’s unhappy and toxic and misery inducing. (Son Oh Gong deserves all the misery and suffering the show cares to throw at him because he’s earned it, but Seon Mi deserves no misery at all. Ever.)

A conversation early in episode 5 lays out the selfishness of his love, and also sets up the probable final conflict for Son Oh Gong;

Seon Mi: “But still, this world I love shouldn’t be destroyed.”

Son Oh Gong: “What you love isn’t important. The only thing that’s important is that I love you.

And there it is. At some point in time, Son Oh Gong will have to choose between what he wants (Seon Mi, though for real by that point, as opposed to because of magical compulsion) and what Seon Mi would want him to do, and what will make her happy (saving the world and the people in it).

And then to drive the point home, we have the tail end of the episode. Variations of “he’ll burn it all down if she gets hurt” are a popular figure of speech, but here it gets quite literal when the “he” in question is a chaotic trickster god who got kicked out of heaven. Son Oh Gong literally burns an entire world (a sort of pocket world that exists within a 1930s film) into nothing when Seon Mi is hurt in it. Mind you, he doesn’t do this to save her-he could have easily extracted Seon Mi and left everything intact-but to destroy it for hurting her. It’s visually striking (many of the special effects in the show are deliberately-and sometimes less deliberately-goofy, but this wasn’t one of those times) but portrayed as frightening rather than romantic. It isn’t proof of love, it’s evidence of how dangerous he is. (ETA: Someone pointed out that he burned the 1930s world into nothing to erase what had happened there so that she’d no longer ever been shot. My bad.)

Among all the misery, though, there’s also hope. We saw last week that Seon Mi has started to get used to and expect Son Oh Gong’s company. She’s lonely and isolated, and the only real human connection we know of that she has is her assistant, Han Joo, who is a far cry from a confidant. And then a good looking guy starts hanging around, one who already knows her secrets and issues, and who she doesn’t have to worry about confiding in. He’s also completely honest about his intentions, both good and bad, and comes with the added bonus of showing up to kill evil spirits that threaten her. Of course she’s going to start to want to rely on him and start anticipating his company. Except she doesn’t really want to, because she knows it’s fake. She’s still only one magic bracelet away from being lunch, and she tells him that she doesn’t want to like him, and liking him is bad for her. It’s a sort of honesty that many dramas, regardless of country of origin, often don’t allow their female leads with their designated love interests. Son Oh Gong, for his part, has accidentally started to be interested in her as a person, even though he doesn’t realize it yet. He’s learning about her interests and going out of his way to do things, even if they are minor, that make her happy. He’s also opening up to her, taking her to his actual home (which I did not realize was actually a house and not somewhere in Ma Wang’s building until now) and letting her have some of the wine and beer he’s been saving up for years for when his restrictions against being able to drink alcohol are lifted. He also appears to be somewhat paying attention to what Han Joo is up to when Seon Mi isn’t around, something he doesn’t really have any reason to do except that Seon Mi will be upset if Han Joo is hurt. These are fairly minor things, but definite progress for a completely amoral being. On the less minor front, he’s also starting to sabotage his own attempts to be free of the Geumganggo.

Will the Hong sisters be able to successfully transfer this setup to a convincing romance? I don’t know. Based on what we’ve seen so far, I think they can, and as I said in this post , I think there’s enormous narrative potential for it all around, along with a lot of hilarity. (Did I mention Song Oh Gong deserves every hilarious moment of misery and torment? Did I mention that Seon Mi deserves no misery or torment ever?) My history with the Hong Sisters is both limited and mixed. I’ve seen three of their shows and enjoyed all at the time, but only one (Master’s Sun) that I can say with certainty that I’d still adore today. Their other shows have either been shows that didn’t sound good, or (more frequently) shows that sounded perfectly decent, but didn’t interest me.

This week also sees the introduction of a second potential love interest for Seon Mi. Given the show so far, it would not surprise me at all if this guy’s company is called “Dragon Studio” because he is, in fact, an actual dragon, but we’ll see how that goes. An actual love triangle isn’t really something this show needs, or has much room for, so hopefully it’ll work, or at least not be too intrusive if it doesn’t. We also have Pal Gye accidentally having a case of feelings for our resident adorable zombie girl (Romantic? Fraternal? Favorite new pet? Who knows.) which promises t put a kink into the plans of some other characters, as well as more development of Ma Wang as a more conventional tragic romantic figure, without actually making him a tragic romantic figure. Related: I knew Hwarang did Kim See Joo no favors with that dress and hairstyle meant for a character half the age of her character, but I didn’t realize how much so until I saw her with clothing and hair that actually suited her.

#kdrama #hwayugi #kdramanetwork #as usual with these posts i started writing at almost bedtime and finsihed about an hourafter bedtime #meaning there are probably a lot of typos that i won't see until after people have reblogged it #alas #fanfic woes #oh well

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reelerholic · 7 years

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too late

summary : you love him, you love him too much, that you know that you will forgive him for what he has done but, in the end, it led you to a dead end. to get away from the living nightmare you created, you ended it.

characters : jimin x you

genre : angst

masterlist

you were there in your bed, trying to look back on the past nights where he was here. his presence lifts the atmosphere up, he’s a walking sunshine. a smile will be enough for you but as time passes, he started to frown more, the small arguments will become bigger and slower to resolve and he is always away.

whenever he will come to your house, you will notice the smallest changes in him. he smelled flowery and sweaty at the same time, he tends to avoid your eyes, his smile is becoming insincere, he is always on his phone, at time he has bruises on his neck and chest and he started to not care about you.

but you let it slide. you trust him a lot and maybe, just maybe, he is busy with his practice. that’s what you said to yourself lots of times now.

you try so hard to deceive yourself, lying to your heart that he is still there, that he still cares when your mind knows that he does not anymore.

you call yourself foolish, foolishly in love with him. you were whipped for him and he knew that and he took advantage of it, or so you hoped that he did not.

your best friend’s caller ringtone was heard from your bed. you got up, answering her call. “what is it, joohyun - ah? i’m still sleepy.”

“it’s the middle of the day and you’re still sleeping?”, she tsk - ed. “nevermind that. you and jimin are still dating, right?”

you raised an eyebrow at that and answered a yes to her. “(y/n)-ah. i saw jimin today with a girl.”

“maybe she’s his cousin, joohyun.”

“do cousins french kiss? he took her to the movies and ate lunch with her in this restaurant.”

you hitched a breath. “you’re just joking.”

“i am not! i have proof for you, (y/n)-ah. i’ll hang up to send you those.”

she hanged up and you received messages from joohyun. they were pictures of jimin, his hands on the waist of a woman you’ve never seen before. there were pictures with suggestive meanings. there was a picture were she seemed to be gliding her hand on his chest with a suggestive look on her face. there was even a picture of them kissing.

and a video file was sent to you but in the middle of it, you quit watching it. by that time, fat hot tears were streaming down your face. you quickly typed in a message to joohyun.

and you knew what to do. you took a piece of paper, wrote down everything that you’re feeling. you left it on top of your shared bed. you took all of your belongings, settling them in your bag. you left all the gifts he gave you for the past years you two were together.

with one last look, you walked away from your shared apartment, walking away from his life.

jimin pushed away the girl infront of him, tears brimming in her eyes. “are we really ending this, jimin?” he nodded and closed his eyes, an image of you greeting him. you were sleeping soundly, a peaceful smile etched on your face. you were his home, you are his home.

“i love her, not you. this is our end, sooyoung.”

he walked away and started his car, driving off to get you your favorites. he smiled to himself. he knew how much you prefer white roses and baby breath among other flowers so he got a bouquet of them. he knew how much you love white chocolate so he got a box of white chocolate.

it was time he will tell you everything, confess his mistake and hopefully make you his again.

he arrived at your shared apartment when the sun just set and he found it weird that the light was not on. jimin shook his head, thinking of you sleeping again and that brought a chuckle out of his lips. he opened the door and felt cold as soon as he did.

“(y/n)-ah, baby, i’m home.”

he went to the kitchen first and found it empty. so he decided to go to your shared bedroom and felt his heart sank, your closet door was open, letting him see that your clothes are no longer there. the gifts he gave you during the duration of your relationship were scattered on the floor. your make up kit was gone too.

realizing what happened, tears started to fall from his eyes. he went down on his knees before making his way to sit on the bed, only to land his gaze on an envelope, your beautiful handwriting on it and it was addressed to him.

he tore it open and took the paper to his hands, unfolding it and he was greeted by your neat handwriting.

my dearest park jimin,

i would like to say thank you for the past years that you were beside me. youare everything that i can wish for someone. you make me happy, you make me complete. i am thankful for having you come to my life but my love, i knew it, your little secret. i knew it for the whole time.

you smelled flowery and sweaty, you avoid meeting my eyes, you are always on your phone, your smile is slowly becoming insincere, you had bruises on your neck. you turned to the opposite of the man i once fell in love with. yet, even that happened, i stayed, all because i love you. i waited everyday, waiting for you to tell me.

if you had told me, i would forgave you and stayed still.

but i can’t wait anymore, park jimin. i gave you enough time to tell me.

was i not enough for you to find someone else? did i make you unhappy? did i became boring?

with this letter, i bid you goodbye. we are now over, park jimin. again, thank you for the three years and happy third anniversary. you will not hear from me again. i will forget these feelings i harbor for you.

farewell.

sincerely, (l/n) (f/n)

his tears continued to fall and sobs left his lips. the bouquet of flowers and the box of chocolates laid messily on the floor and jimin knew that he was too late to fix the broken you.

#jimin #bts jimin #bts jimin angst #bts angst #bts drama #angst #jimin angst #angst bts #kpop angst #park jimin

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siliconwebx · 5 years

Text

How to Turn Customer Complaints into Positive Opportunities

Three hours. That’s how long I sat in the empty waiting area at Firestone for an oil change I had scheduled in advance. The guy who had checked me in was right there the whole time, so I knew he saw me. I could not imagine that they forgot about my car. Until another guy walked in, chewing a sandwich. “Uhh, what Altima?” Yeah. Mine.

Fast forward: I sent an email and the owner called me personally. He said, “I know all about what happened. I’m so sorry. I’ve put a gift card for $100 in the mail. Is there anything else I can do?” I’ve been to that same Firestone several times since.

Companies mess up. Oil changes sometimes inexplicably take three hours. Bad customer service experiences leave a lasting impression, but if you can pad that memory with, “Well, they did fix it…” you’ve done the best you can with a crummy situation. Your customers will remember the service they received more than anything else.

Gathering and Confronting Customer Complaints

Monitor all of it.

You have to monitor any avenue where your audience may be talking, regardless of whether you have a profile set up or not. Your customers could be discussing your brand on Twitter whether or not you have an account.

When it comes to the platforms you are on – or the ones you need to get on – setting up a dedicated support channel can silo must-deal-with messages. You won’t have to carefully watch your regular feed and risk missing a complaint buried under chatter.

One more thing: unless public image is the only thing you care about and you’re unconcerned with keeping the customer or influencing the word-of-mouth they spread, you have to act the same during a private conversation as you would during a public one. I’ve caught the eye of brands once I post something on their Facebook page, but that’s not caring customer service, that’s damage control.

Don’t let grievances linger.

Since the most frustrated customers have to be answered ASAP, set up a separate folder in your support queue to filter those high-priority messages. Team members can jump in to help out those customers before the issue escalates. Look how quickly ClassPass responded to upset customers on Twitter:

Know what the complaint is not.

Being the person who has to deal head-on with an irate customer is kind of like being a parent. Your kid may kick and scream and act unreasonably, but you have to still act like the adult you are, even if you’re kicking and screaming on the inside. Before you get worked up, remember what customer complaints are not:

Deep insight into your business. According to Phil Libin, co-founder of Evernote, “Customer feedback is great for telling you what you did wrong. It’s terrible at telling you what you should do next.”

A fight to the end. Who is right or wrong isn’t the point – your customer is unhappy and you have to look for a way to make it right, whatever “it” is.

Stipulations that you have to follow no matter what. You should find some way to resolve the issue, but it doesn’t have to be their way.

Don’t be too casual. Or too professional. Or too pathetic.

Balance conversational speak with professionalism. Overt sincerity swings the other way to insincere. You have to be accommodating and respectful, but you don’t have to be a puppy dog. This isn’t the customer’s world, this is the real world and you can both be treated like human beings while working out a problem. Keeping a customer but losing their respect or setting up a dynamic where they bully you to get what they want isn’t so great for business either.

Solving the Problem

Apologize.

“I’m sorry.” That’s all. Just apologize. Apologize if you don’t want to or if the customer is way more wrong than you. This is business and sometimes you have to do the “right” thing even when it’s, you know, the wrong thing.

P.S. These statements are not apologies:

I’m sorry you’re upset.

I’m sorry that you’re having this problem.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

These statements are passive-aggressive and infuriating. All I can think is, “Yeah, thanks, you caused this problem. I don’t wanna hear it.” And since you don’t want to get into, “Yeah, I know, our system’s the worst, we’re trying to fix it, you’re totally right…” just say those two little magic words.

Unearth the real problem.

Emotion-charged customer complaints are red herrings – there’s a problem buried under all that noise. What’s the real issue? Sometimes saying, “What can I do to help?” is all it takes to figure out the solution the customer is after, which will clue you into the deep down issue they’re having. If that doesn’t help, give Socratic questioning a try – it’s a way of asking probing questions that get to the heart of a problem.

Solve the issue where it lives.

Wherever your customers are complaining, solve the problem there. Don’t transfer a calling customer to three different agents or tell someone on Facebook chat to send you an email. Start and finish troubleshooting as swiftly as possible and in the same location.

A lot of this relies on how empowered your customer service agents are. If they’re not allowed to make decisions – offering a freebie, granting an extended trial period, giving a full refund – the entire problem-solving process slows down.

Be transparent when you’re mid-troubleshooting.

Some problems are going to be more difficult than others to solve. As you’re working it out, you’re going to keep getting customer complaints. Create a landing page or email template that explains what’s happening, what you’re doing and when you expect to have a solution, then update it as the situation progresses.

Don’t be so transparent that you provide premature updates, though. Did any of you have MoviePass? They gave daily updates about how the company was going down in flames, which resulted in changes to terms that stopped before they’d gotten off the ground, refund promises that never happened…it was a mess. Their customers knew there were fundamental problems, but itemizing those problems and the solutions-that-never-were was more off-putting than the service not working.

Follow up.

The follow-up is essential whether you spoke to the customer on the phone or through another channel. As much as possible, you want to ensure that the issue was dealt with and the customer is satisfied. “What else can I do for you?” is a nice way to ask, “Are we done here?” and to keep the door open in case they’re still not thrilled with the outcome.

Look how Xbox Support handled a problem customers were having:

They didn’t just pop into Twitter to see what upset customers and then disappear after fixing it, letting everyone find out on their own. They sent an update, thanked their customers and reminded them that they’re listening.

Give up.

When you’ve done everything you know to do and the customer is still not pacified, it’s time to move on. Stay friendly and professional, but finish the conversation. Similarly, if the customer asks to cancel their account, don’t try to persuade them to reconsider. That’s a surefire way to get rid of them forever instead of temporarily.

Self-reflect to determine if the customer had a point.

Loudness does not equal rightness and quietness does not equal wrongness. Volume doesn’t determine how accurate a complaint is. You’re looking for this: recurrences of the same problem. When multiple customers are telling you that they’re having the same issue, it’s a red flag. Here’s how to conduct a complaint analysis (I’m assuming that you have a system for cataloging feedback, but if you don’t…do that):

How many times has this complaint come up with this customer?

How often has this complaint come up with other customers?

How frequently does this happen?

Is there a pattern? For example, does it always happen during the same time of year or does it go through the same communication channel? If you get the same customer complaints through Twitter but never on your website’s live chat, there may be something up with your mobile app.

You don’t have to solve every problem right now. Small changes matter – even a small improvement to the customer experience can increase your average revenue.

Last Thoughts

Businesses need their customers more than customers need that business. The angry customer will move on and find another place to get their oil changed, pay full price for a movie ticket, unfollow you on Instagram and never think of you again (other than to tell their friends about that terrible, horrible, no good, very bad experience).

Your business will be the last to suffer – without loyal customers and with negative social proof flying around out there, your profits can dwindle (by $62 billion, apparently) and your doors can close.

Now that you’re on the keeping-your-customers-happy bus, check out this article about the right way to use social media buttons on your website.

The post How to Turn Customer Complaints into Positive Opportunities appeared first on Elegant Themes Blog.

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