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#there comes a certain point where there’s subtext

foe-of-fate · 2 years

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Two characters will literally say stuff to each other like “I want to rail you” and then people outside of the fandom tell you that you read too much into subtext when you ship them

#merlin #bbc merlin #good omens #bbc sherlock #Sherlock #supernatural #ignore me I’m just tagging the fandoms that I definitely do not read too much into #there comes a certain point where there’s subtext #and then there’s gay without using the word

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sunderwight · 3 months

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SVSSS AU where Shen Yuan's younger sister does a villainess transmigration.

The world she ends up in was originally a dating game and visual novel with some light RPG and crafting elements. Playing as purehearted main girl Qiu Haitang, one could choose any number of routes to pursue, from dashing Liu Qingge, to scholarly Mu Qingfang, sexy ice demon Linguang Jun, cute-but-domineering younger half-demon Luo Binghe, and so on. It was an interesting game, though it notoriously inspired some frustration when some of the more interesting side characters (like Yue Qingyuan) were completely unavailable as romantic options, and inspired at lot of rumors about hidden content and demands on future DLC expansions.-

Shen Meimei hadn't particularly liked the game. Sure, she played every route to 100% completion, bought all the extras, the official soundtrack, and the merch (fanmade as well as what slim-pickings existed officially), but that shouldn't be mistaken for approval. Much of that was in fact a desperate quest to figure out what the hell was even going on! Ignore the play time listed for this scathing Steam review, everyone! It shouldn't be factored into any assessments!

The game had several problems, in Shen Meimei's opinion.

The main issue was the lack of follow-through on the buildup of the backstory. Qiu Haitang's whole family was killed one night, maybe-probably by her sketchy as fuck ex-fiancee, who was also a hostage being kept by the Qiu family as leverage against a rival family. Which begged so many questions! Shen Meimei had suspected all along that there was more to it than met the eye (not just because the evil family shared her surname) but it was never deeply delved into. The whole thing only even got resolution in some of the routes, and the most thorough was Luo Binghe's. Luo Binghe had a huge vendetta against Shen Qingqiu, Haitang's sketchy former fiance, which left a lot of room for doubt about his investigating the issue. Was Shen Qingqiu really to blame? Or was Luo Binghe just taking advantage of an opportunity to pin SOME crime on him, since he couldn't really get him for the shit he actually did to Luo Binghe himself? What about the hints regarding that Wu Yanzi guy? Why did those never seem to amount to much? Were the Qiu family really stupid enough to betroth their only daughter to a hostage, or was something else going on? And what about Xiao Qi, the slave boy servant of the Qiu who was mentioned a few times as another possible survivor or witness, but who never comes up again?

Shen Meimei played through everything, certain that there had to be some way to actually solve or gain clarity on the Mystery of the Qiu Family Murders, but even after completing the main routes and unlocking and completing the hidden ones -- nothing! It was all just swept aside in favor of tepid romance arcs, made all the more insufferable because of the compelling subtext between the male love interests. Like, why were any of these guys even interested in Haitang when they so clearly had more going on with each other?

Annoyance over a game Shen Meimei lost too many hours of her life to was one thing, of course.

Transmigrating into the younger sister of notoriously sketchy ex-fiance Shen Qingqiu was another!

Bad news: in the routes where Shen Qingqiu is prosecuted for his crimes, his whole family goes down with him. So if this goes poorly, not only will he be punished, but so will Shen Meimei!

Worse news: this fictional version of her family is almost identical to her actual real family. To the point where she would be checking everyone else for transmigration, except that no one but her seems aware that anything is odd. Shen Qingqiu acts exactly like her older brother, right down to his particular flavor of prickly social behavior and cynicism. And their middle brother is a chronically ill nerd who hate-reads trash novels and is completely fascinated by weird monsters (a much more worrisome trait in a world that actually has a lot of those...)

In short, her life is on the line, and so is her family's!

Damn you, Veiled Heroine Games! If you hadn't abandoned so many plot threats, Shen Meimei might actually know what was going on and be able to neatly circumvent everything! But now she has to figure out how to win the protagonist back over, rescue her brothers, and solve (and possibly further cover up...) the mysterious Qiu family murders, all while keeping Luo Binghe away from Shen Jiu, and preventing Qiu Haitang from completing any of the romance plotlines that will cause troubles for them! Which is most of them!

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #shen meimei can take after shen yuan #as a treat #also i think it would be funny if sj's siblings just kept accidentally seducing the antagonists who strung him up in pidw

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thatlgbtqfandom · 10 months

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I've watched a few interviews with the cast and crew of Good Omens and can I just say that, as someone who was a BBC's Sherlock fan back when it was still airing, it makes me so incredibly happy to finally have a show that not only doesn't queerbait (yes, the bar is in hell), but where the actors seem genuinely happy with and open about the queer direction the show is going in, and where they don't shame the fans for also being happy about this development. I just watched an interview with Michael Sheen where he, almost unprompted, brought up fanfiction and said that he thinks that it's a shame that people used to be weird about fanfiction because he thinks it's amazing and shows a love for the show. And... as someone who kind of still gets upset whenever I'm reminded of certain interviews and panels with the cast and crew of Sherlock (if you were in the fandom I'm sure you know which ones I'm talking about), this unabashed celebration of queer joy from the cast and crew of a big show like this is just something I could never have imagined as a young, queer fan!

I get that there are different circumstances, Sherlock fans could definitely be a lot sometimes, and maybe it's cruel of me to compare shows like this. But I genuinely believe that Sherlock did some actual damage to my (and many others') trust in media and in creators. It's one of the main reasons I absolutely didn't believe Our Flag Means Death would do what it did even when I was seeing it play out before my very eyes. It's why I didn't believe Crowley and Aziraphale would ever even come close to actually expressing their feelings for one another despite all of the queer subtext in season 1 and despite the cast and crew calling it a love story. Maybe all of this even added to my suspicions that they weren't going to follow through because we've all been let down time and time again.

And I'm not trying to pin the fault of queerbaiting solely on Sherlock and the team behind it - I am aware that there were many other big shows and movies that also queerbaited at the time. But out of all of those shows, I mainly watched Sherlock and it, along with the interviews with the cast and crew, were my main points of reference for what to expect regarding queer representation in (especially mainstream) media at the time. Which is why I'm mainly using Sherlock as an example of this unfortunate trend.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that with all of these shows now subverting our very, very low expectations for what kind of space queer characters and queer stories are allowed to occupy in (especially mainstream) media, I feel like my teenage self is starting to heal just a bit. But, both back then and in hindsight, I'm also completely baffled that a few shows in the late 2000s and early 2010s were able to get away with the shit they were pulling and completely ruin young, queer fans' trust in both creators and in their own media literacy.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #go2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #go2 spoilers #bbc sherlock #sherlock #our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd spoilers #queerbaiting #queerbait #fan culture #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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canmom · 1 month

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reading Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt. it's interesting. clearly part of the post-Topside wave of trans lit, with the same 'plugged in to twitter' energy, but way more British about it. which means most of the allusions are very transparent to me. it's a combo of... hardcore kink driven romance as the main arc, in a near-future setting in which TERFism goes further to the point of outright bombings, and a scifi element with alien brain parasites that it's gradually building towards.

compellingly written, I'll give it that for sure - I lay down to read for a bit and before I knew it I'd read like a third of the book. the main character's disaffected, traumatised air is well observed, and the kink doesn't hold back.

I think my reservation with it so far is that it feels a little too much like a polemic blog post about the way things are going. the MC Frankie is a trans woman with a pregnancy kink who survived a bombing at a GIC and now works in social media moderation - it's all stuff that is blatantly Relevant To The Argument, as it were. it's tricky to criticise it for that because it's like, what you're saying is that it's tightly constructed and thematically consistent and that's bad somehow? but I think I've come to feel that I like fiction to bring me something a little new and unfamiliar.

the chapter I most enjoyed so far was actually a more metaphorical, abstract interlude, in which resistance to fascism is cast as becoming 'one mass of queer flesh, which now grabbed and clawed...'; 'faces locked in kisses until they became one face. the cops would try to pull at this mass, but to no avail'. very 'faggots and their friends between revolutions' stuff.

the chapters which are presented directly as social media posts and articles are also sharply observed. i think a lot of fiction in which the internet features heavily suffers from not understanding the internet very well (Hosoda's Belle for example), but for example the chapter 'Curious Cat' where an anonymous person (blatantly Vanya) is sending messages asking for help with a parasite, and getting rebuffed or misunderstood, and the chapter where Frankie relates a murder of an instagram model by a stalker who posts about it to a reddit community devoted to her, read as very real.

a lot of the story is about responding to a terrifying political situation in sexual terms - a flashback chapter depicting Frankie having sex with some terf's pretentious brother ("with each thrust from him, she thought to herself, I am a traitor, I am a traitor to the cause"), or the preface which jokes about how in another world the author would be writing 'cool horror stories about vampires raping werewolves, ones with no subtext at all'. I prevaricate a little on whether this is a compelling examination of a theme that I do find interesting (the mysterious origins of sexual desire) or just edgy for its own sake.

this is an odd novel for me in some ways because while on one level, this is about people who I could very easily be a single degree of separation from were they real, it's also about a facet of life that is still quite alien to me and in many ways I only know about second hand. I've never been to a kink club (that wasn't in an MMO anyway lol), I'm way too much of a nerdy autist shut-in to know what it's like to be someone who would feel put out if she hadn't had sex in a week. so even before the parasite stuff, it's hard to know how much of Frankie and Vanya's stuff is real, and how much is fantasy. is this really how things go between people? it sounds kinda fun, but unlocking the door this far has already taken years.

when I've read books about the crazy lives that American trans girls supposedly live and interesting sex they're apparently having, they've been at a certain remove, the other side of the Atlantic. and this book feels sort of similar, even though I know it's set right on my doorstep. idk, I've never been good at this.

anyway I don't think I want to write fantasy novels so directly about The Discourse of the day, but it's probably good that someone is. that said, it's hard to parse like... ok, it's titled brainwyrms, and 'brain worms' is a common way of describing an obsessive, cultish idea you receive from the internet.

and like if you look at the newspapers, or twitter trans discourse, you certainly could believe that this country is on a rapid slide to putting us in camps. however, my day to day life has been... it's not without hostility, but the average street harasser isn't doing it because of a Guardian or even Mail article. this country has a subculture of deranged weirdos who hate our guts, and a political class who will happily stoke culture war shit to score points, but most normies I've met don't care one way or another that I'm trans - they might mention a family member or friend they know who's also trans. the day to day conflicts are over way more prosaic shit, the landlord vs tenant forever war, or how the kitchen should be cleaned. which of these windows is more informative of the 'overall' state of affairs? not that a more violent terf cult is a bad premise to write a novel around, but a sense of impending doom is a pretty powerful mechanism to keep you scrolling, right?

like in 20, 40 years - will the terfs really be bombing the Tavistock and banning transness, as Rumfitt imagines in her near-future setting preface? or will they go the way of those newspapers in Thatcher's time who smeared the gay movement, just as they smear us today? of passing political obsessions like 'new atheism'? I don't know the half-life of cult shit.

anyway, time to read the rest of the novel, and see how it handles this brew that it's concocted.

#fiction #sff #novels

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tyran-the-tyranical · 2 months

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That one line from Raphael's Second Diary will never cease to get me 🥺 LIKE MIGHT I ADD- these are his private thoughts, separate from his manipulation attempts and so he, with his full chest, admits so much in his second diary, like when he says "never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole." AHH, (my delusions are so real, trust)

BUT WHEN HE SAYS "They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me." look, I get the subtext behind all these quotes, but a girl can just ignore all that media literacy and take it for face value, OK? 💅 but also reading into it, he does admire Tav to a certain extent, and I have to wonder, why? Tav isn't an origin character and Tav's actions and character basically changes with every playthrough (Same with Durge, as they can change too) So I have to wonder if it's because Tav is controlled by the player, since, Raphael does end up breaking the fourth wall in his epilogue speech, so perhaps that's what he sees.

Another way to look at it is, either way, no matter what the playthrough, he sees something in Tav, something that makes them stand out much brighter than their companions (For some reason???)

To further that statement, what is the best of Raphael? I mean, if its an evil playthrough, that would be obvious, but if you're playing a good playthrough, what then? perhaps what he sees is someone he can finally use to get the crown, that's also very likely. Still though that's a very to the point (IMO) not as interesting of a reading since it's literally just his end goal for us, BUT STILL A VALID ONE, because, it is true, that's what he wants from us the most.

Also his third diary where he just straight up admits that he's being so honest with us so he can manipulate us, love that for him, "I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted." Which also makes me wonder, is Raphael actually an honest person? I mean, Korilla thinks he's at least decent, but honest? outside of helping us, if we look at Yurgir, he really fucked him over lol. Obviously, Raphael isn't what he seems, even if he's honest with us, to what extent? he says it himself, he's honest about "...sublimely obvious truths..." but what about when he says he's grown quite fond of us in his own way, HMMMM?

I wish this man got a proper story arc in the game, outside of the whole deal for the hammer and House of Hope, that's all plot related for the hammer, but a storyline about Raphael as a character? I mean yea, maybe that would whisk away some of his mystery, his intrigue, but I'm sorry- you cant just end it with him fucking himself (poorly) and trying to break Hope (making her a metaphorical symbol of hope anyway, I think....) AND LEAVE IT THERE?!?!? at the same time, I do like the ambiguity of his character, you could think of him as a cruel bastard after seeing what he's done in the House Of Hope to his debtors and Hope herself or perhaps just a Pathetic lil guy who's shit in bed lol, or maybe even soft, if you go off Korillas words and what he does for us in game he can come across as quite nice, especially after we've interacted with Mizora who's is the only other Cambion example we can go off of.

I also just think it's interesting that he sees anything in Tav/Durge at all. Ofc he says he sees the best of him (Always gotta relate back to himself lol) but that especially a mortal is what he could see himself, the best of himself, but then again he does see potential and ambition as admirable (?) or just something he appreciates, you can see that with Mol and Gortash to some extent anyway, But what ambitions does Tav have outside of just trying to survive? Like, the obvious answer is he wants us to give him the crown and we're the underdog in the story but then why does he refer to Tav so differently then? I fear this has turned into another rant again, lol.

Just a final thought here, but, if he did ever get a story arc, similar to the companions, would they give you multiple directions to take his character? i mean with Shadowheart for example, you could help her break from shar or have her fully convert into shars chosen, but even then, if you free her from shar theres the point of saving her family or freeing her from Shars (curse?) there's multiple ways for her story to end. Though, Raphael isnt a companion, so would he have something similar to idk a minor companion like Halsin or Minthara, who don't really have that much of a diversion (I think) in their endings, they don't really have the option, only really if the player decides to be evil or not, they kinda just follow them either way, it doesn't really impact their own stories. Obviously, I would prefer something with nuance but also, HE ISN'T A COMPANION 😭 and pressingly some of the companions need more work done than he does atm lol. Maybe that's me just projecting lol, once again, me wanting to have my cake and eat it too, anyway, that's me done... for now lol

#baldurs gate raphael #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 raphael #baldur's gate raphael #raphael the cambion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 korilla

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welivetodream · 3 months

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BSD and Shipping

Since Valentine's day was coming I was interested in discussing a huge part of the BSD fandom: Shipping

( ⚠️ RANT INCOMING. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED ABOUT OPINIONS ON SHIPPING. PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL TOWARDS OTHER PEOPLE'S OPINIONS IN COMMENTS AND REBLOGS. ⚠️)

So where to start?

For a long time I have been noticing one specific trend in the BSD subreddit. And that are posts that talk about unpopular opinions/Headcanons/fav or least fav ships etc.

What I find interesting about these posts is that one thing is always in the forefront, and it's the debates about the sexualities of the characters in BSD. While Headcanons can be annoying and some people do push their opinions on others, there is nuance that is lacking in the community when discussing some topics. Finding posts about Mori being a pedo and how Dazai is unlikable or overrated is very easy and the discussions surrounding topics like that are always the same. People would pick sides and end up writing a lot about what their opinion is and while that's valid, it also ends up in fandom wars where it's hard to like or dislike something without your head being in the chopping block.

Now let's go to the original topic: shipping. To examine the environment of shipping culture in BSD fandom we have to start with the headcanons that people have adopted for sexualities of the characters.

1. THE PROBLEM WITH HETRO-NORMATIVITY

Now, the posts about shipping often contain a lot of people writing paragraphs and paragraphs about what ships they like or dislike.

One of the ships that takes the most bullets for its existence and popularity is Soukoku or Shin Soukoku. There are lots of comments about these ships that "remind" us that canonically Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi and Akutagawa are all straight. They should not be shipped with each other because they are straight.....

Dazai flirts with women and wants to commit a double suicide with a beautiful woman. Atsushi is very clearly set up to end up with Lucy. Akutagawa couldn't care less about romance as we see how dismissive he is with Higuchi. And Chuuya.......wears fashionable outfits and has a slutty waist, but we won't comment on that.

Dazai and Chuuya have a lot of queer subtext that anyone can see. Akutagawa and Atsushi are pointed out to complete each other and complement each other several times. These ships don't exist out of thin air.

Now there is nothing WRONG with anyone having the headcanon of any of these (or any other) characters to be straight, after all we are not given enough information about their sexualities. But by stating "Dazai is straight, he likes women" or "this ship doesn't make sense because they are not gay" not only does it imply that characters can't have other preferences but also that being straight is the default, which it isn't.

This is coming from a straight woman from a very conservative country where we don't have exposure to queer media. It took me a long time to stop being so heteronormative. I think assuming someone is straight until they prove to you or tell you directly is just as bad and as assuming someone is gay. I think we have come far along as a community to understand that it shouldn't be our first instinct to assume everything is heterosexual until we get some sort of proof or stamp of approval from its creator.

Asagiri isn't going to stand up in a stage in front of the world and say "yeah Dazai and Chuuya have gay feelings for eachother" because the manga is from Japan. If there were explicit queer characters then BSD would no longer get the label of being universal because of certain censorship laws. Even if it's getting more acceptable in Japan to show queer characters in manga and anime, BSD isn't a romance or slice of life story. It's a seinen, not a BL/GL. Besides, Asagiri shows little to no interest in romantic relationships in his story.

So by saying "______ character is straight because we don't have any other information proving otherwise " isn't a valid excuse to tell shippers not to ship certain characters, it's making it seem like heterosexuality is the default state of being.

That also doesn't mean you can say "Dazai is gay, don't ship him with women" because that's the same thing. If you think Dazai is gay/bi/pan/etc. then that's your opinion, pushing that on others only worsens the rep of skk shippers especially.

You have the right to like or dislike certain ships or have your own Headcanons. This is why even feminising certain characters also isn't as problematic as people call it. It's just a different take on a character (but that time people were correcting those who called Sigma a "he" instead of "they" was genuinely wrong). Headcanons of some random online stranger doesn't make anything canon. So if you find yourself around annoying people like that, just leave the conversation.

2. WHY SUBTEXT MATTERS

Subtext is really important when discussing media; in case of BSD whether it is the anime, manga, anthologies or LNs. BSD is not new to subtext, even from the start of the story there is a lot of queer subtext that people can figure out easily.

When we are introduced to Dazai and Chuuya's partnership in the first season, it's clear as day to see the dynamic and its underlying tension. We can see how close those two are that their relationship can't be explained just as simple partners turned enemies. Time and time again we get so much queer subtext between Skk's interactions. The entire 15 arc and well as Stormbringer shows us the bond and trust between the two as well as the intense amount of gay scenes. At this point I am sure Hoshikawa is a hardcore skk shipper. All of their official art is also gay (that could be queerbating though). Asagiri must know what the public thinks about Skk and still writes subtext about them. It makes sense why this would be a popular ship; it's not made out of thin air with no context (*ahem* Kousano *ahem*) but has actual roots and the proof to back it up too.

SSKK is a similar story, it's not my favourite but it has been growing on me ever since S5. Similar to skk, we get a lot of subtext and homoerotic moments between Aku and Atsushi. They are yin and yang. They are enemies that sought to kill eachother but still team up to fight together. Atsushi is literally the centre of Akutagawa's life since the beginning. Atsushi and Akutagawa grow together as characters and as different as they appear are similarly looking for one thing: validation and acceptance. Their relationship is so compelling in so many levels that it too makes sense why their ship is as popular as it is (especially regarding recent events in the story)

Ranpoe.....let's be real, those two got married a long time ago. They are the definition of "be gay, solve crimes". They are undeniably a cute ship regardless of whether it's one sided or not. Fyolai as well makes complete sense with the context behind Fyodor and Nikolai's relationship, while I also consider it quite one-sided as it's mostly Nikolai that is fascinated by Fyodor (and wants to kiss kill him) Fukumori isn't my cup of tea but it too has enough subtext to back it up, same with FukuFuku.

While I would love to talk about other ships, I wanted to show the reasoning behind the most popular pairings.

Personally, as a multishipper, it's very fun for me to have so many characters to examine and spend time obsessing over.

Now, there are straight ships that I like too as well as ships I don't ship for myself.

The reason I don't like Yosano and Ranpo together is because I see them in the same position as Kyouka and Atsushi. The scene of Ranpo recruiting Yosano (who worked with Mori) into the ADA parallels Atsushi saving Kyouka (who also worked with Mori). I consider them siblings and like how they are platonic instead of it being the typical "a boy and girl can't be besties". Another ship I love and cherish is AtsuLucy because it's so adorable, Lucy is my fav Guild member and her and Atsushi are "Girlboss and Malewife". I ship Tachihara with Gin, Higuchi and Gin as well as Kunikida with Yosano (surprisingly I don't find the appeal of Kunizai; though I still like that ship from time to time, just don't ship it actively). I prefer not to ship Sigma with anyone (he is still a baby to me)

So it's not that BSD doesn't have straight ships, when you make a majority male cast and have them be rivals or enemies, obviously people will ship m/m more. Especially if there is more subtext and tension behind the male characters and they have little to no interactions with women.

And I might get some heat for saying this:

It is okay for most of the BSD characters to be considered queer because if comp het is so normal in anime/manga then why can't the opposite be the case? We already have enough series with little to no representation, so why can't we have a bunch of queer characters?

3. TOXIC SHIPPERS AND THE FALL OF FANDOM CULTURE

I have been raving for the past two sections and defending the shipping community. But it isn't a conversation with nuance if I don't address the problem of a small group of people that take shipping too seriously. The reason why fandom itself gets a bad rep is because of shipping more often than not. I will admit, it's not all sunshine and rainbows when people argue about their fav ships. And a lot of the aforementioned ships are to a point, toxic. Yes, some shippers are annoying and ruin everyone else's fun. There are ships that don't make sense at all.

But that doesn't mean that a small part of people should represent others who are just having harmless fun and don't even believe their ships to ever become canon. Let's be real it's highly unlikely we will have any couples by the end of the show (the closest could be AtsuLucy). Sometimes people are too intense about ships and that goes for both antis and pros. Both of the extreme are toxic. And instead of shoving down our opinions down other people's throats, we should be celebrating the very story that brought us together in the first place.

Yeah it can be hard for those who don't like shipping at all to enjoy the story and have discussions. But we have to remember the roots of fandom culture start with shipping. It's always been the case and it's always been the most popular way to discuss one's favourite fictional work. From Sherlock to Genshin to boy bands to streamers, everything has been shipped and will always be. There is a reason why AO3 works so well.

4. SO WHAT?

The ships are what brought me to BSD in the first place. I wanted to explore the world of BSD because of its characters and their dynamics. And a lot of other people have gotten into this fandom for the exact same reason. While there are unflattering moments in our fandom, that doesn't mean it's not a place for people to come together and have some fun. Whether you ship or not. Whether you like fanfictions or not. We have to accept that there are a lot of pros to shipping too. It brings our ideas together, makes us feel giddy inside or tears our heart apart, it produces beautiful fanarts and fanfictions, it makes us analyse characters, it makes us look deeper into the story....and it makes us wait for what's next to come.

And I want nothing more than to be able to enjoy shipping without the guilt that comes with it.

Shipping isn't free from its flaws, but it is not defined only by its flaws. It might not be for everyone, but it is someone's everything. So even if you don't like it in particular, let's not spoil other people's fun. One's trash is another's treasure.

~Peace out 🕊️✌️

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utilitycaster · 6 months

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Unpopular opinion: the tower conversation between Caleb and Essek was a define-the-relationship conversation on a 20+ intelligence level and with the context that defining a relationship does not inherently mean "we have decided whether or not we are dating from this point onward with the only options being a static yes or no," and if more of the fandom read it that way, there would be significantly less equivocating over their relationship and how often Essek is mentioned in regards to existing and potential post-canon content

This is very funny to me bc if you were not off anon I'd be like "man what does Megs say about it, she'd know more!" Anyway, after this one I'll be taking a break bc I do need to do a bit of D&D prep and this is going to be a slightly long one. To that point, it's below the cut.

Anyway, thank you, because I very much enjoy Shadowgast but I don't know if I've made as much of a study of it as others have, or as I have for other ships, but this led me to rewatch/reread the transcript for this speech (2x133, btw, starting around 3:26:00 for those wondering) and: yes.

I think this is definitely the 20+ INT level version; it is entirely about theory, and the arcane, and everything is subtext. But it's not unprecedented. If I were to do the mathematical thing, and I will, and reduce it to a problem I already know, this is akin to Fjord and Jester's conversation in episode 2x72. Compare:

LAURA: Would you do anything to get them back?

TRAVIS: No. No, but, I feel like I knew what I was doing, and I realized I have no idea.

MATT: "You spoke once of intent, lot of fortunes have changed since. What is your goal? Ultimately?"

LIAM: I think my priorities have mostly shifted since we last spoke about things like this. I think what's going on right now is more important than my petty, earthly grievances. Still very much fascinated with and attracted to ability and skill. And it's not fashionable to say, but to power. Who doesn't feel the tug of such a thing? But, uh-- yeah, I said it knowing what your reaction was going to be. I see you outside. (laughs) But it doesn't matter. There are bigger things than you and I.

MATT: "I think that's the key. The pursuit of magic, in the ways that we know it, in the ways that we've been disparately, but in some ways similarly raised and studied. At a certain point, it becomes about the self. It becomes about what I can do. And it's impressive that you've deviated at your skill level. I just hope it holds."

LIAM: That's the key, isn't it? Because if you were to put the very thing that I have wondered about for so many years in front of me, I'm really not sure what my reaction would be.

It is, as you say, a definition of the relationship. It's not "we are now dating;" it's them figuring out if they want similar things; if they will be not just compatible but good for each other. It's foundation laying and setting boundaries for something that won't come to fruition for some time yet, but it's undeniably something more serious than mere friendship.

I think the tower conversation is also uniquely important because it's Caleb's first romantic overture after meeting with Trent. He volunteers the information about his past not just willingly, but specifically in order to connect with Essek rather than to protect him or push him away. They are even able to laugh about it together, and that's really it. This is the point where romance becomes an option.

There's more - I think that Essek admiring Caleb's ability to set aside himself despite his rapid progression as a wizard is absolutely a flirtation, as is Caleb saying he's attracted to "ability and skill" - but really in the end it's them saying "this is my condition, and you have met it." I think the relationships that lack some kind of condition and stakes like this - and to be clear, it's okay if, as with several relationships I don't cover here, those stakes and boundaries are set not through a clear conversation that serves as a turning point but rather more implicitly/through actions - end up feeling fundamentally empty and lacking in possibility because there isn't that tension and that recognition of each other.

#answered #essektheylyss #opinions rating ask meme #cr tag

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l4long-winded · 7 months

Text

step #1: move in with your ex's best friend

summary: having just broken up with your ex, you're left with little options. you turn towards a mutual childhood friend who is reluctant to receive you for a myriad of reasons. the top one is surely how he looks at you (austin butler x afab!reader)

reflection: i posted this on my other account before, but seeing as that is now gone, i am starting to look at my works and which will be suitable to reupload. this piece is still up on archive so i want to make it even more convenient and post it here. please enjoy and feedback is always encouraged and appreciated.

warnings: cheerleader!reader, college au, drinking, alcohol, cynical!austin, somewhat bitter!austin, objectification, slight obsession, oral, degradation, filmed, dirty talk, dom!austin, naive!reader, childhood friends, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, cursing, pet names, austin's pov, reader's ex is an ass (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 15,081

( this work has been cross posted on ao3 )

Austin isn’t exactly sure what comes over him seeing one of his best friends in the world consistently flirt with other girls with you, his friend’s girlfriend, sitting at home waiting. He’s loyal to perhaps a fault; he’s grown up with these people, their parents acting as parents even to him, so it’s the least he can do. To think the thoughts he thinks about you, to sit in a bar where he spots the same magazine you were reading this morning, to catch the dull lighting shining in his oblivious friends’ faces as he commits silent betrayal—guilt lingers alongside the condensation seeping off his cold beer’s glass. It’s a combination of his hand’s sweat and the sweet alcohol allowing him to try and forget.

He shouldn’t even be feeling these things. Not just because of the principle of the fact, but because you’re also all kinds of wrong for him. You’re combative, a bit materialistic, and bratty because your father’s got an edge in the political regime that’s spoiled you rotten.

But goddamn it... he wishes he didn’t think of the berry gloss that stains his friend’s lips every time he steals a kiss away from you. Austin is tired of being envious of someone he’s supposed to be there for, of gloss smearing his mouth in his guileful dreams.

He drinks to try and muddle the angelic tone of your features sitting on the permanent photograph his mind lingers to against his best wishes. You’re there no matter how hard he tries to dispose of you with his liquor and it doesn’t help that his friend is chatting up a storm nearby about how good he is in the sack, the subtext lost on him in definition as he gets bolder and bolder by the passing seconds. It’s to the point where Austin can no longer stand to hear about it, shifting up to his long legs and dropping cash onto the counter. Typically, Fabian doesn’t notice Austin deserting him with the two women hanging off of his arms. Austin walks until he reaches the designated driver appointed for the night, Wesley glancing up from his beer and from his girlfriend Veronica he seemed to be in a deep conversation with.

“You mind driving me home or are you as busy as Fabian is over there?” Austin doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness latching onto his vocal chords. If anything, it appears as if he’s jealous of the attention Fabian is getting over him and definitely not the intimate secret of how he has you at the forefront of his mind. Wesley can’t see through flesh and skull, not that anyone can, so Austin’s in the clear to think about you in any which way that he pleases without stepping on anyone’s toes or crossing any boundaries.

“Yeah, man, I got you. You don’t mind me dropping off Veronica first, do you?” Wesley steps from the stool, his jacket coming off his lap to then wrap around Veronica before Austin could even answer his displeasure. His tolerance for his friends and their romances while being the fifth wheel could only prevail for a certain amount of time. Under the influence, he’s not completely stone faced, rolling his eyes at the “sweet” gesture. Veronica sticks her tongue out.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Oh, not a chance.”

Somehow, Austin survived two duets and several solos among Wesley and Veronica in the duration of the car ride from the bar to Veronica’s house. He clenched his fists in his jacket’s pockets watching the two of them give each other a liplock as if they would never see one another again, prolonging the time before he could get out of the car to transfer himself in the passenger seat that Veronica left behind. This is the reason he usually went to places in his own beat-up car, but he also wanted to drink without putting a limitation on himself. The day wound up being shitty from start to finish, something he could have predicted if it weren’t for a gnawing need to numb his brain from thinking so much.

His factory job is in the midst of laying people off and labor never guarantees your spot, his cynicism with his boss as of late causing him to believe that he would have to embark on the job hunting fiasco soon enough. Hanging out with friends used to alleviate these kinds of stresses, but now he can’t see them doing anything other than aggravating with the state his head’s in.

He enters his small apartment after climbing several flights of stairs. The exercise gives him the sense of a pre-hangover so he lifts a hand up to grasp at the ache and switch the light on. He blinks through the new balance, the sound of sniffling quietly filling his ears in his efforts to adjust to the state of the climate around him. When his eyes come through, he sees your recognizable frame sitting on his couch, a pink pillow with your name on it in contrasting crimson thread adorning the front of it. It sits between your arms held tightly against your chest, your chin at the top of it with dead streaks of tear tracks rounding the apples of your cheeks down to your plump, pouting lips.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He grumbles, marching on over as steadily as a tipsy person could possibly manage. He didn’t expect to see you there, especially not since you didn’t live there and he owned this place on his own. The overwhelming images of you throughout the night seemingly intensify in your presence. He’s better off ignoring your existence than it is to risk implicating himself.

“Fabian, he… he…” You hiccup your words. It’s obvious you were crying in here before Austin arrived, but you continued where you left off and he visibly sees the fresh tears forming above your lower eyelids. Who knows how long you’ve been in here on your lonesome. “He cheated on me. After I confronted him, he kicked me out and I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Austin scoffs at this, a lack of remorse stemming from his alcohol stunt and from his need to look as if he couldn’t care less about the situation. Despite growing up together alongside him, Fabian, and Wesley, you two never explored a decent realm of friendship. You came from different worlds entirely, your dad being rich and his dad being nowhere to be found. It’s a miracle private school didn’t separate your two lives any further, but you attended public school and began your on and off again relationship with Fabian. Apparently, it’s off again. It would explain Fabian’s unabashed behavior earlier. He was technically a free man and Austin’s jealousy streak suddenly seemed foolish. “Last I checked, you had a bigger house than any of us combined.”

“I can’t go back there. My dad thinks I pledged to a sorority and I lied to him so I could stay with Fabian. Besides, it’s too far from campus and you’re not.” You’re quite the sight rising up onto your knees, your hips suspended in the air just the right amount to see the chosen pair of oh-so-short sleep shorts riding above your thighs. He’s quick to flicker his gaze down and then back up to the lost expression on your face. He’s positive he wasn’t your first choice in this decision given the severe lack of history between the two of you and those shorts of yours are reminding him of the loyalty he ought to be committed to for his dear friend.

“You can’t just stay with me. This isn’t a hotel for you to come and go as you please. I have had one hell of a day and I shouldn’t be arguing with someone about whether or not they can stay in the place that is supposed to be mine alone.”

Austin throws his hands in the air to get his point across, anything for you to take it into your head and accept the circumstances as they were. If you weren’t so heartbroken, he would’ve daringly added salt to the wound by commenting on how things weren’t going to go your way like you were used to. He told himself he refrained because you’ve undergone a lot in the last twelve hours and not because of a deep rooted feeling tearing away at him within. He never has done well with crying in general, never the one to comfort, and never the one to be comforted. He’s not sure how to handle you in this state.

He turns his back to you to rummage through the ashtray he utilizes in a duality as a key tray. It’s a bad idea to leave at this hour, and given how much he’s drunk, he shouldn’t even be operating a vehicle. Soon, the ring belonging to his keys slips onto his index finger when he hears your voice in a whisper.

“... Did you know?”

Silence. It’s pure silence as he slightly tilts his head to the ceiling and guilt sobers him to see through the thick cloud of irrationality attempting to send you away in this vulnerable position. The truth is that he’s considered plenty of times where he could have put an end to all of this by ratting his friend out, but he never followed through on such plans. It’s Fabian’s parents who guided him away from the same path his father was once on, and so Fabian’s actions may have been shitty, but that didn’t grant Austin the right to be a shitty friend in return.

But as Austin slowly turns and drops his keys back into the tray, he focuses on the aftermath of his indecision and the hurtful consequences of his silence matching Wesley and Veronica’s. It’s written in swelling glass in your tear ducts, in the drops sliding over your chin, in the gentle and tragic way your nose quirks to accommodate the light sniffles you could barely breathe from. Austin’s seen you cry plenty of times because you were a sensitive girl, but he knows that this is different than the times before. He can tell by how you bow your head in shame, opaque spots littering your pillow from where you’re soaking it with your pain. He’s not privy to what occurred between you and Fabian this time around, but it’s evident it’s cut you deeper than before.

“Austin… I don’t want to be made a fool of anymore. Please, please do me this favor. I just need somewhere to stay until I figure things out and then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.”

He wants to protest. He wants to ask why it has to be him (he just knows that the universe has it out for him at this point setting this shitstorm waiting to happen up). It’s just that he’s exhausted, under the influence, and his cold exterior always gives the slightest way for you. He’s got to be as bad as all the other people who enable you in your life, but he continues to blame the lack of energy and his waning patience.

“How did you even get in here?” He asks in lieu of giving you a proper answer, his way of welcoming you to his home without really having to do so. He doesn’t miss the small curve of your lips through your pout as you play with the fringe of your pillow. Austin removes his jacket a sleeve at a time, anything to help how constricted he feels in heat (thanks, whiskey) and from how close you are to him. He can’t remember the last time the two of you were alone together. It’s odd how it’s in this capacity and you’re simultaneously about to spend the night for the very first time. He realizes it’s also been a few weeks since he last had a woman alone in there, a long streak for him compared to average.

You tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, that innocent shrug of your shoulders coming through that tells him your words will be anything but: “I sorta’ told your landlord that I was your girlfriend and I got locked out. He got his keys and let me in.”

Austin bites his tongue so hard that he swears he tastes metal, anything to refrain from talking about how spoiled you are. You currently have a free pass, but it’s not going to run for an unlimited time. He can quip at you in the morning when he’s more coherent and feeling less generous as normal. He hates how much you’re already affecting him. He hopes to everything that you will get this fixed within a day or else there’s his loyalty, bachelorhood, and self-control at stake.

Austin startles awake hearing the sound of pans clattering in the kitchen. He stupidly stumbles out of bed and picks his bat up from the corner of the room before he moves to check where the noise came from. He’s got it resting on his shoulder as if he might just swing wildly as he walks into the area and sees you turning the island into a personal mess. He forgot that you were there, but the conversation you had the previous night comes back to him in images at first and then pieces of audio connect into place. Right, he’s supposed to play host while you figure your shit out.

“Woah there, Babe. Put the bat down, I’m just making breakfast for us.” You scoop the scrambled eggs onto a plate. The smell fills the apartment along with that of smoke that Austin sneers at. He waves his hand to try and whisk it out, the window opened to help with the dilemma. Birds annoyingly chirp and he huffs in retaliation.

“What did you call me?”

“Oh, you know… Babe? Like… like Babe Ruth. He’s the one who played baseball, right? Or did I get that wrong?”

Austin’s expression towards you is serious. He grimaces, but he says nothing in return and sits onto his futon that you’ve transformed from your bed (that you insisted on) back to his couch. A large hand comes down his features, the migraine unrelenting as it digs into his skull. When he’s scrubbing his face with his palms, he brings his hands away to see you there in front of him with a plate and a glass of water. The water comes closer to his features, a gesture for him to take instead of gawking at you and the surprise food.

“It’ll help your hangover.” You smile at him, that damn way of yours too that he has to peel his eyes from or else he’ll resemble a deer in headlights. But even facing away from you, he can see the remnants of your smile in the same fashion of a blob chasing his vision after staring at the sun. He grasps the water and drinks without saying a word, hesitantly delivering the plate to himself to start eating his first home cooked meal in… in probably ever within this apartment. Scanning the kitchen, he spots his counter full of grocery bags. You must’ve gone while he was knocked out cold.

“How’d you know I was hungover?” Austin questions it through a mouthful, noticing that his television was playing what appeared to be a cheer competition. He’s well aware of your college cheering, but he didn’t think it extended to where you would watch it for fun or for studying or maybe even both. It’s at least something to distract him, his eyes narrowing in on a skirt, unable to help himself.

“Uh… Fabian posted on his IG story from the bar last night. I saw your jacket in the corner of the picture and knew I’d have to wait longer for you to get here.”

He can hear the subliminal Thanks for the invite in your tone and he sighs. The division in the friend group is clearly evident, however this may be the realization for you that it definitely leans one side more than it does the other. He reminds himself that he isn’t close to you, that this is something out of an alternate reality in the thick of his own compromising reality and he’s not letting his guard down for a second. In actuality, he doesn’t owe you any kind of explanation since he went out and had fun according to his autonomy.

“You didn’t miss much. Wesley and Veronica fell into their own world like they usually do and Fabian…” Despite trying to stay loyal, he stopped himself from stomping on your feelings any further than they have been in the past twenty-four hours. He sees how your face drops at the slip of Fabian’s name in his peripheral as you plop on the seat right next to him. You’re on your phone, your mouth slanting to one side in disappointment.

“I know, I see it right here. He posted some girls he was with last night. Funny how no one would’ve told me about it.”

Your eyes are glued to the phone. Austin watches you click back and forth among the photos and videos making up Fabian’s “wild” night on the IG story. Austin’s not technologically challenged by any means, but he’s not a frequent poster. Therefore, he doesn’t spend a lot of time on social media in general. Witnessing the effects of it in real time messes with his head, that pretty face of yours sullen and defeated in a way that also doesn’t sit right with him. He may not have time for this relationship nonsense, but he can’t turn away from how sorrow is hitting at you hard. He would like to, but his damn conscience won’t let him.

“Stop looking at that,” Austin advises as he takes your phone away. You whine trying to retrieve it back, but he gets up from the couch and sets it on the coffee table. He grabs his glass of water and heads to the fridge for a refill. “If you want to get over him, you can’t be looking at his accounts. You’re just torturing yourself and I can’t stand you crying all over my furniture.”

He sets the water jug back into the fridge before he maneuvers to have his drink at the island. He didn’t expect you to actually get up and follow him. He notices how your phone is still on the coffee table and how you’re nervously tapping your manicured nails on the surface of the counter. Something’s on your mind clearly, an anxiety in your expression that you don’t know how to voice to him. He can’t blame you. After years of knowing one another, conversations such as these evaded you on more than one occasion. It’d be a miracle if the two of you understood how to talk to each other without any kind of misconception sitting between.

“What?” He breaks the ice, eye level with you as he hunches over the counter and awaits an answer.

You inhale a steady breath, but Austin can see you’re close to crying again. “I-I don’t know how to get over him. I feel like we fight so much and I always forgive him and I always turn back and… Austin… Shit.” You didn’t really curse. At least, beyond the occasional use of “damn” and “hell”. This was certainly messing with you. “I don’t want to forgive him this time. I don’t want to turn back. I just want to move on.”

Austin’s warnings didn’t do a damn thing to stop you from openly crying in front of him again. Your pajama sleeve lifts so you can messily wipe your eyes away and he feels discomfort wash over him. He cautiously rounds the island, a hesitant hand moving to gently grasp your shoulder. He’s not completely useless with this kind of thing having seen good examples of guardians being warm and inviting growing up, and if those references failed, there were always the life lessons of the melodramatic television shows and eccentric films at hand. He tries to ask himself what Dan Conner might do in this instance and how Veronica may give you advice.

The overthinking he engages in is soon silenced by how you utilize the advantage of his open arms and scoot yourself into the empty space. He’s not wearing a shirt, but you don’t seem to care as you cry into his chest and leave behind warm tears trailing his pectorals and then his abdomen. Your arms capture him next and Austin is reeling from the amount of touch you’re attacking him with, slight pressure on him that he deems worse than a punch to the gut because at least then he could respond with a cocked back fist and an eager jab. He has no idea how to react to this besides patting your back and then the hair at the top of your head.

“Hey, princess, come on…” This is probably the first time he uses that moniker without a lick of wit and sarcasm dripping from it. Austin used it to tease you, spoiled brat in his vocabulary in your presence at all times. He feels awkward at this moment, to have it sound so affectionate is foreign for him. “Hey, hey, look… I know this fucking sucks, but it’ll get better. You’ll move on, get over him, and graduate. It’s just a matter of time.”

It’s difficult not to stray away from your frame. He knows he’s rigid, but his statuesque form is still not being pushed away by you. Slowly, you lift your head from his chest about the same pace that you reduce your sniffling. A cherry tint coats your cheeks and nose, your lips dry from how you’ve bitten them bloody out of nervous habit. He hates that you’re such a pretty crier, how spellbinding you are despite having puffy eyes and an equally as puffy mouth he wants to swell further by bruising kisses onto it and prying it open with his fingers and then cockhead. To objectify you while you’re struck with such hurt is wrong and he knows it, but he can’t stop the thoughts telling him he should give you something real to cry over, something worth hiccuping sobs and whines over.

“H-how do you know that? What if… what if I never get over him? What if I always feel like this and the only way to stop it is by having him around?” Your distress is beginning to stress Austin out. This topic is about one of his best friends, someone who will come to their senses in a few days if history has served you both well enough in Austin’s memory. Mind you, he never heard this perspective or thought of it before, the reluctance to accept a relationship because of the avoidance of mourning it for too long. Is this why you’ve ran back to Fabian in the past? Because you can’t undergo the shitty and difficult sadness that comes with a breakup? It’s starting to make sense to him that you’re looking for remedies to prevent this from happening before a weaker and more vulnerable version of yourself accepts Fabian’s hand again.

Austin sucks in a breath, his hands coming in front of your face to clasp together. He’s not sure which route to take, a limited array of options. He can advise you to go back to Fabian and clean this mess up before anything else could happen. He could have the place to himself again and things would be normal until the next inevitable separation between the two of you.

Or… or he could do something else that could save him the future headaches and the misery of having to watch you two get so up close and personal. That’s the selfish solution, but a solution nonetheless that might even benefit both you and Fabian in the long run. By how much Fabian strays and how much he winds up putting you down, Austin doesn’t think it to be real treachery. Ruining your relationship together is one thing, but attempting to save future damage is another… right?

“When I was about fourteen, I had my first girlfriend. Remember her?” Austin sees your face dip into confusion, but you nod your head. There’s a point to this, as left field as it may seem. He doesn’t talk about this anymore, hell, he barely talked about it when it happened, but he feels like it’s necessary for this conversation.

“Well, she dumped me to date this other punk named Ben. I was fucking pissed so I drank a lot, distanced myself, listened to angry music, all of that. And eventually, one day, I saw them together at the central mall and I didn’t feel a thing. No anger, no love, no nothing. It took time, but it worked. It felt endless when it was happening, but an end did come around. I’m telling you that you just have to wait it out and soon enough, those shit feelings will quit fucking with your head.” For good measure, Austin’s knuckles form a fist and tap the crown of your cranium with a shockingly contrasting pressure, soft to go with the overwhelming weight of his honest words. There’s not a lot of things that he expects to happen by doing any of this, but the very least of those actions had been the one you embarked on and that was the sheepish smile you let break way despite the veil of tears still slipping on down and down.

“T-Thank you, Austin.” Your voice is feeble, and the weeping is reducing ever so slowly. He counts it as a victory, his reassurance. But solely a small one since realistically, he doesn’t know if you’ll listen, if everything he just said will go in through one ear and out the other. He just tells himself things will be okay as he anxiously runs a large hand down your back, your frame fitting back into his still-hesitant arms.

“She had ugly shoes.”

“What?” He glances at you and shifts you to where he can get a better look at your face. You stare up at him with amusement spreading from the crinkles around your eyes and the curve of your mouth broadening.

“Nancy,” you begin with his ex’s name, the very one he just spoke about, “She had ugly shoes. I was glad she was gone so I didn’t have to look at them anymore.”

Austin rolls his eyes and hides his laugh because of course you would remember such a trivial thing, anything that has to do with fashion and not at all how Nancy contributed to Austin’s corroded trust issues.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to come with me? I promise it’s a lot more fun than wasting a Sunday night drinking a beer.” Your tone echoes from Austin’s bathroom, the slightest creak in the door since you insist on speaking with him through it as you do your makeup. After your conversation yesterday, Austin found it easier to talk with you. That’s scratching the argument the two of you fell into over switching the television to an action movie he wanted to catch instead of the modeling videos you spammed on YouTube, but otherwise, you two got along better.

You made dinner, unsurprisingly since you got up to make breakfast so early. He thought it was a means to repay him, to show some kind of appreciation for allowing you to stick around, but then you were bouncing about his kitchen the next morning at the same hour with the same cheer competition footage playing. He realized it was a routine you fell into out of habit, another reason to curse his friend in the confines of his mind because who the hell would turn so easily from housewife material. The kind of housewife material who could bake a pie, who doted on their beloved husband, who wore those fitted aprons scattered with red and pink hearts to stand out against the quilted white background. The very one in your possession that shot the bullet igniting the race of his rapid imagination running wild. It’s just the right size to hide your skimpy pajamas, for a fantasy to plaster itself into his cognitive files (joining the rest) involving nothing underneath the apron that has the potential of catching his release.

“I’ve had my fair share of socializing Friday night,” he grumbles back, “I don’t want to be around any crowds. Especially not with a bunch of college kids.” That would mostly be around his age since you were only a year younger, but he can pretend he’s more mature because the hard labor he indulges in leaves dirt under his nails and soreness in his back muscles. Bitterness is rightful here, the path his friends took being in books while he decided to go a different route. He’s still thinking of what he should do, but surviving is always number one. Figuring how to stay afloat is a priority.

“There might be cute college girls!” You try, but that’s not something he needs either. Austin’s never been one for the dating scene. If he needs to hook up with someone, he’ll go to a bar or a club. A college football game didn’t sound very entertaining for him. The entire premise of attending anything with you still sat sour in his mouth, anyway. Soon, you’d be moving out and then you two could go back to barely talking to each other sans for when you’re together with Wesley, Veronica, and eventually Fabian. He doesn’t think you’ll back out of the group due to this recent betrayal, but there’s bound to be impending awkwardness coming as a result.

Sitting at his couch, he lifts his bottle opener to work open the cap of his beer. The satisfying thsk resounds, the cold smoke beckoning him in that he quickly attaches his lips to. He dips his head backwards to get his first swig, making it a proper one at that to fill his cheeks with and coat his tongue over. It’s then that he hears the bathroom door come open from behind him and he turns in that direction from the simplest reaction of sound detection.

“How do I look? Be honest.”

Austin swallows the drink in his mouth with a difficult gulp, one he feels expand as it travels down his throat. It takes effort not to cough, but he wills himself to sit still as he takes in your appearance, that small cheer outfit of yours not helping the thoughts he’s carried for a long while. It hugs your chest, your hips, your thighs, and it’s not fair. It’s really not fucking fair looking the way you do, batting your long lashes at him, awaiting an answer from him like you don’t know how much he wants to cross the room and test the access capabilities of that skirt slimming not even past the invisible equator of flesh dividing the portion to your mid thigh. From how form fitting it is, he wouldn’t have any choice but to bunch it upwards in his curling fingers, offering himself leverage in the process of pushing into you from behind.

Austin swears in his head and he commands himself to look away from the little number to give his opinion on your face, the makeup you’re actually asking about. He gets a final glance of the golden Cal bright and bold against navy blue across your chest before his eyes land upon your facial structure. There’s the slightest wisps of blue glitter over your lids, a sheen on your nose and cheeks cool toned and shimmery that he knows will glow luminescent under the football field’s beaming lights overhead. Curiously, a black, tiny heart rests beneath your left eye, something you most likely drew on to complete your look. He can’t ignore any of it, not how complementary it’s come together for your features, not how glossy your lips appear, and definitely not how you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth with his obvious gaze attached to every detail.

“Is the heart too much? I thought since my hair was in a ponytail that I could pull it off, but I can just take it off if—”

“Don’t, it’s… different. You don’t look bad.” You don’t look bad? Seriously? Austin thinks to himself, that piss poor excuse of complimenting you without being too forward sounding jumbled and meaningless because of a few seconds of overthought filling his brain to the brim. He could’ve just given a simple nod of his head to show his approval, but of course his big mouth had to relay the warped images in his mind through his ditching effort to show care and no care at the same exact time.

But miraculously, your lips spread into a wide smile, your white tennis shoes squeaking over the floor as you bounce a path to Austin and wrap your arms around his neck. His beer rises towards the ceiling to protect it from spilling to the floor, jasmine and orange blossom invading his nose due to your perfume wafting from your neck to it in a direct attack. Against his better judgment and before he realizes what he’s doing, he inhales deeply and suddenly you’re just about in every one of his senses. All he’s missing is… oh God, he’s just missing taste and he can’t believe that his mind would roam there to remind him of it. What flavor is that lip gloss that you’re so obsessed with swiping over your lips to resemble a cushioned aphrodisiac? What mix of lotion and perfume and you would coat his tongue if he traced it right along your neck to locate your pulse point so he can feel it quicken in real time? What sweetness will drip into his open mouth if he sits you atop of his face and smacks the supple flesh of your ass to begin riding at his command?

Your embrace becomes loose as you stand back from him on the couch, “Thank you, Austin,” short and soft on your tone. You step away and grab your purse and gym bag in the process of heading to the front door, Austin sitting in confusion of how you got so close to him in proximity so easily and why you accepted his barely-there validation.

He tries to bring himself back from the place you led him to, your face and body being the real culprits here in all their temptations corralling him in. Saliva returns to moisten his dry mouth as you’re putting your coat over your shoulders.

“No one will even be able to tell that you’ve been crying,” he retorts against his own sentiment, anything to make it seem as if he just complimented you to throw you off and not see a planned insult fitted within. It’s discomforting to get too along with you, to alert you of how he sees attraction in any kind of regard.

“God, I hope not. Fingers crossed!” You say with a roll of your eyes, relief un-strangling the firm grip on his throat and he finally exhales the scent of you away from him and out of his nostrils. But the relief doesn’t last long because as you open the door and step one foot out of his apartment, your head peeks back to him with that same smile on your face resting there. “I’ll try to bring you back a hot dog or something.”

He gruffs out a noise in the form of a reply and firmly stills his attention on the television ahead of him playing a movie he all but forgot about. He doesn’t look at the front door until he hears it close, your footsteps marching away, and the distant sound of fading walking beneath descending the stairs.

Austin rubs the sleep out of his eyes hearing the knocks at the door. The television’s glow is shining right into his pupils and he has trouble acclimating to the atmosphere despite the rest of the apartment being dark. He must’ve fallen asleep before he could go and get ready for bed for the night. He had an early morning shift, another reason why he didn’t wish to spend his Sunday night with you at a football game with his social battery already so low and slowly recharging. He supposes it’s semi-a-good-thing since he would’ve been groggier waking up from his bed and even more annoyed with you than he currently is, trudging on to the door to unlock it for you and let you in.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he grumbles down at you half-lidded, probably half-asleep as well as he turns from you and walks to the couch in the similar fashion as a zombie. Two large hands come up to scrub down the length of his face, the technique of rubbing his eyes conducted to push the sleep away without the hurtful ray controlled by his living room’s light switch.

“You could’ve given me your keys, but nooo, ‘This is a temporary stay, brat’.” Your voice drops an octave as you mock Austin’s voice, the jacket over your shoulders being slipped off. The material falls over the armrest opposite of Austin’s frame and then you plummet yourself to sit next to him, one arm and thigh curving on the couch to face him properly. His head slips backwards, his eyes shutting in what you think is the first of his actions to fall back to sleep.

“It is a temporary stay, brat. If I give you keys, how the hell am I supposed to lock you out?” crushes that doubt, the conversation carried in the usual quipping. Austin only slightly flinches after your hand lightly smacks at his shoulder. It’s with no pressure so he quickly lets both of his hands come up to cradle his head. Letting it remain limp on the cushion would cause a strain in it, but he also wanted to continue laying without any effort applied.

“So, I, uh… this guy asked me out tonight after the game…”

That captures Austin’s attention. Annoyance bubbles up in his chest for several reasons, some he won’t bother to confront since he would much rather deny them, others he isn’t aware is his brain trying to form to correlate further with that denial. For example, the idea of you moving on so soon from one of his best friends is going to be like a stab to the chest. The prospect of having to tell Fabian emerges, but then Austin would have to explain why the hell you were sleeping there with him in his apartment. While he only plans for it to be short term, Austin could not beat the allegation of having you so close to him in any capacity. You’ve stayed with him for a total of two nights and nothing could be said or done to take anything away from that cold, hard fact. Then, would it look like he was picking sides when he was trying to do the opposite? Staying out of it entirely was the best option and yet, he’s already offered you shelter, company, banter, and worst of all, advice on how to rid of your feelings for Fabian.

He peeks at you through one eye, the image of your bottom lip tucked between your teeth coming into view as he stares at you with a nervous anticipation of where this is going. By your silence, he could tell you searched for some kind of reply.

He bites the bait and asks, “And what did you say?”

Your lashes flit downwards and follow your gaze at the slightly empty space sitting between you and Austin. That alone conveys to him of your answer and so he closes his eye back up and reinforces his position on the cushions, his shoulders and neck adjusting into it to seem relaxed instead of agitated by this news.

“I said I would think about it,” surprises Austin, the only indication he gives that it does being how his eyebrows arch upwards and then immediately come down. Luckily for him, you didn’t catch it in your casual and anxious summary of the hours before your return to his home, “I mean, he was a stranger I just met, but I also didn’t want to turn the opportunity down. I saved his number on my phone.”

It’s not totally what he initially thought, inwardly scolding himself for jumping to conclusions. However, it barely changes the weight of responsibility on him from his spiraling contemplation before. The regret of allowing you to stay has surfaced due to conflict overtaking his head, the mix of emotions attempting to be repressed to the point of where the worst possible case scenario pops into his doubts. You could say no to this mystery guy and yet here you are maintaining a residence with him, temporary or not. How could he explain this to Wesley or Fabian if either of them walked through his door? He’s positive they would think something happened between the two of you no matter what he could possibly say to salvage the pretend and yet very real event.

Despite all of that, there’s still a chance that you would agree to the rendezvous. At least in that route he could get rid of you sooner. Your… new boyfriend could hold the mantle of giving you somewhere to stay and then Austin wouldn’t have to deal with the problems of his friends finding out about his loyalties lying elsewhere. It’s complicated. He knows it. He also knows that it would be a lot less complex if he didn’t harbor any affinities for you. He fears being caught because maybe the accusations that would come with it would just unveil truths to everyone. Austin could argue with Fabian and Wesley that the two of you did nothing, but there was no guarantee that Austin could hide how he wanted something to happen, how he wished for the imagined things they pointed their fingers at him with. He didn’t trust his facial expressions for that task, much less whatever oral speeches he could muster.

After his delusions stew for a moment, arguments playing and then replaying on the projector screen of his eyelids, he realizes you’ve been quiet this entire time, for as long as his thoughts ran rampant with pessimistic plots nagging at him. His eyes squint to look your way, expectancy in your features that he doesn’t understand. You drive logic from his head and in its wake, you replace it with curiosity. He wonders why you’re looking at him like that and why he didn’t have the ability to read minds so he wouldn’t have to communicate beyond his emotional intelligence level.

“And…?” He questions and expects you to carry on with your story. You nudge his arm, a bright laugh coming off your lips. Austin thinks it might be the most genuine laugh you’ve had this weekend with him. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s heard it, but he remembers the first time vividly. Before puberty hit any of you, when he hung out in Wesley’s garage fucking around with his friend’s father’s guitar talking about starting a band despite there being nothing but makeshift drums made out of trash cans and Fabian being unable to hold a note, you giggled from the other side of the fence and revealed you’d been watching their ‘band practice’ the entire time. You and your sly grin that you turned into a sneer when Fabian flexed his arms to show off for the female attention. Wesley called you the annoying little girl next door and Austin scrambled for reasons to hold the same sentiment while Fabian completely ignored it and flirted with you anyway. It was simpler when he didn’t have to worry about the ongoing situation and only had to worry about why he enjoyed your laugh as much as he did, finding it anything but annoying in actuality.

“And? And what do you think? Do you think I should go for it?” You continue to surprise Austin. In how much he drowns himself in a silent accountability, you’re reminding him of where he currently sits, where you currently sit next to him, where your knee brushes against his as you await his answer in earnest and not sarcastically.

“Why do you care what I think?” He sits up straighter, his head shifting up from where he previously laid it back on the couch. He finally looks at you, albeit through groggy eyes, but he looks at you nonetheless. That same excitement and intrigue is still there. You’re sure of yourself in this decision.

“Because since I blocked Fabian, I haven’t looked at any of his recent posts. I caught myself navigating there three times today and it’s like it’s a reminder. I don’t feel any better than yesterday, but I had fun at the game and forgot about him for a little bit. I don’t think I would’ve been able to without what you said… so, thank you.” This gratitude is genuine. He almost wants your nose to scrunch and you to burst into laughter so it could just be some kind of weird joke, but none of that ever happens. You withhold your ground, not breaking the eye contact that isn’t in full effect due to the television being all the illumination the room offers. It’s a good thing, too. If the light was on or if it spilled naturally from his windows, he would have to face the depth of your eyes and each fan of your lashes.

“I never told you to block him,” he tries to deflect, but you scoot closer and it shuts him up from further dismissing your acknowledgment and appreciation.

“You didn’t have to. I’m creating that distance you talked about. You were right. Looking at his stuff is just torturing myself and I just want to get this hurting period over with. So, please be honest with me: should I wait or take the plunge? Is a rebound what I need?”

A rebound. Sometimes they worked, sometimes they didn’t. Austin figured early on how feelings could get attached even if arrangements were made to stop that from happening. The casual flings he has run into women looking for more, ones he leaves and turns away in their own disappointment because that’s not at all what he’s searching for. He’s clear of his good time and then he can get back to working his stupid job and then hanging out with his friends to pass the time and make life less suckish.

He doesn’t want to envision you with anyone else. He already had a hard time seeing you with Fabian throughout the years, but he can’t be involved with you more than he currently is. As his earlier thoughts indicated, you could move to another relationship and dump your ex-related issues onto him instead of Austin and sleep on his couch or bed, whatever the hell mystery guy had at his place.

“I think that… it might do you good to put yourself out there again,” he reluctantly chirps and stares at the television ahead. He has to or else he’s going to advise you that this isn’t a good idea. “You’ve only been with Fabian, right? You could see what’s out there and if it goes to shit, then you can stay out of the dating pool until you’re ready.” He doesn’t miss how you lean forward and that top of yours hugs your chest tighter from the compromising position. Your cleavage swells and he wills himself to lean his head back again, his eyes shutting. That’s how he managed not to be swayed by your subconscious charms before.

“Oh, okay! Yeah, that’s good!” Austin feels the couch shift as you stand to your feet. Your sneakers squeak on the floor and air hovers over his feet. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know you’re pacing back and forth. “I don’t even know what to wear. I haven’t been on a first date in… in years. How do I entertain a grown man for that long?”

Austin makes a sound resembling a tsk as he clicks his tongue. A laugh filters from him and he points his chin up to the ceiling to try and get more comfortable.

“Blow him.”

His guard’s lowered staying out of his head and focusing on not staring at you for too long, for the afflictions that it may cause. The statement slipped from his mouth easily because he fell into banter with you without thinking and suddenly, by how quiet you are and how he can no longer feel gusts floating over his skin, he comes to the revelation that you’ve stopped in your tracks. His joke must’ve offended you in some way. Here you were seeking out his opinion and he ruined it by being blunt and a typical man. Austin sighs and forces himself from where he is to lean onto his elbows. He looks from your face, those lips parted and eyes of a doe, down to your shoes.

“Sorry, I was just kidding and I didn’t m—”

“Austin, can I tell you something private? It’s about me and Fabian.”

Austin’s eyes skirt from your shoes up to your eyes and he gazes at you with nothing but suspicion. He’s not sure how the two of you wound up circling to this premise on your mind, but he’s also too inquisitive for his own good. He’s debating on waving you off and just forgetting about this whole conversation, but you seem to take his silence as a means to continue talking.

“We never really did… that kind of thing. We fooled around and I’m not a virgin, but that? No… Ha. I wouldn’t even know what to do if someone asked me to.”

Whatever god or gods were out there if at all did not like to see Austin comfortable in any capacity. He didn’t ever think he would be here talking with you about getting over Fabian while you stayed at his place, much less about sucking someone off you planned to use to move on. He almost doesn’t want to respond because it might be his brain still dreaming and dream-you was setting him up for the embarrassment of the rejection his masochistic subconscious warned him about in the past. He tries not to acknowledge the sick thrill that runs through him knowing that you and Fabian didn’t get to that level of sexual activity. It pisses him off that Fabian took your virginity, but from your skittishness, Austin surmises you’re not sexually experienced and that means that Fabian’s filthy hands didn’t taint you, at least, not like how he thought. Relief floods him at that since the idea of you and Fabian in bed used to churn his stomach the wrong way.

Those lonely nights when you came to mind, Austin came over his hand imagining himself with you. Fabian wouldn’t ruin his need for release.

All of this is evidently troubling you. Your shoulders keep rising and falling as you fidget with your thumbs shyly in front of Austin. This information was told because you needed to confide in someone over it, but your concern isn’t relevant to this future date.

“You don’t have to blow anyone, I was joking, alright? You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to.” And if the guy didn’t want his teeth down his throat, he wouldn’t try to pressure you into anything.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right. This is just a first date. I’m not even planning on sleeping with him, I don’t know what came over me.” Your arms swing from one side to the next, the atmosphere becoming cumbersome with the thick absence of sound between the two of you. Austin watches you sit yourself back next to him, your elbows coming to rest on your knees in the same way his own did. Seeing that you two were at the same level in that regard, Austin leans backwards and outstretches his arms over the waterfall back of the sofa. He’s not sure if he should bust out some kind of apology for reacting that way to your confession, but he’s clueless in this circumstance. He doesn’t know what you wanted to hear and it’s clear to him it was something specific by how you gradually hug yourself and fight off inner demons batting around the circumference of your cranium.

You chew on your lip and soon, your leg starts to bounce. You’re lost in a contemplation and now neither of you are trying to ease up on the tension surrounding. Austin considers standing up to leave you to get ready for bed without any disturbance and because he has work in the morning, but he can’t seem to move from his spot. He’s glued to the cushions, finding other places to stare off at and unfocus his eyes so he doesn’t linger them for too long on you. If you were to turn to him and see it, it would just make everything more awkward than it already was. He’s silently praying you’ll stand up, that you’ll tell him goodnight, anything for him to just get to bed and get out of this weird trap you’ve fallen into.

“Can you teach me?” You whisper, your head turning solely a few degrees from where it hung to stare at the floor. Austin’s bewildered by what you mean, unprepared entirely for the request since he was trying to find ways to slip out of this mess without further damage.

“Teach you what?”

He racks his mind for what you could possibly mean. If you were referring to how to go on a first date, he could somewhat help. He’s been on plenty of those. If you were referring to remaining cool under pressure, he could help you with that too. But it’s the way you swivel where you’re sitting and flutter those lashes at him. You release your bottom lip from where you ensnared it between your rows of teeth and it juts out in a fullness he wants to touch with his thumb. It’s a gentle pout, your head slightly tilting as you say nothing and just wait. Austin almost asks what exactly it is you’re waiting for when it hits him with the weight of a 1,001 bricks upside the chest, a puff of his breath punching out of his mouth in a gasp.

“Are you serious? You want me to explain how to suck dick?” He doesn’t blink an eye being that explicit, not like how you do with hair falling into your face for the purpose of hiding it away in a sheepish manner. That part he also doesn’t understand since you were the one coming forward with this odd request out of nowhere. He hates how the image of your mouth being stretched open by a cockhead springs to life in his brain. He especially hates how he feels himself twitch in reaction.

“Well,” you turn from him completely to look at the floor again, like it’ll help you gather the courage to carry on. “I don’t want you to explain it to me…” For a moment, Austin thinks that he misinterpreted everything. That or his shock caused you to back away. Either option, he holds hope you’ll drop this until you inhale a deep breath and face him with determination in your irises and a confident rise of your shoulders. “I want you to show me.”

Austin’s heart races as you place your hand onto his knee. It’s underneath a layer of his sweats, but somehow, the heat from your palm reaches past the cloth and singes him regardless. You don’t make any further motions, but Austin believes it worse, holding still when his nerves are bouncing all over the place. Touch could chase away doubt and anxiety, but there’s currently too much room for self-aware thought. He even thinks that you could mean some kind of porno that he could refer you to as a possibility, but you both know where you’re going no matter how many hoops he’s diving through to justify this behavior.

“I want you t-to… I want you to guide me. I know I probably won’t need this skill for a while, but I don’t want to embarrass myself. I need practice and… and I trust you.” It has to be you, is unspoken, but it’s flashing loud in your gaze on him. He gulps as you squeeze him in reassurance and then fold your hands in your lap. He gawks at you with a hardened stare, not sure if he should kick you out or grasp your face to kiss your mouth until you plead for air. Of course he wants it. He’s thought about it, dreamt about it, and now there’s an opportunity for it to happen, but he cannot capitalize on it because his damn friends arrive on both of his shoulders to reject the offer. Only rejection doesn’t come off his lips. Nothing does. He’s watching as you nervously clasp and unclasp your fingers in anticipation.

“Come on, we’re both adults. I would greatly appreciate it.” Oh God, Austin needs you to shut the fuck up or his brain is going to short-circuit. He couldn’t believe you were the one trying to convince him, the one even expressing gratitude for it when he’s desired it for so long. It’s surreal hearing it in real life, how you’d be grateful to have his dick in your mouth. “Are you really going to make me beg to suck your dick?” There’s playfulness in your tone and he flexes his hands on the sofa to restrain himself. You’re not making the right thing easy to do by any means. Austin doesn’t even know what the right thing is since all he could think about right now is your bratty, little mouth being filled with his girth.

He forgets to answer you because he’s overthinking. His eyes follow your frame as it stands from the couch and then maneuvers towards the wide V his manspreading legs are creating. As you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, his eyes drift down and his jaw locks seeing you so willing and eager to do something you know nothing about. You’re being naive and he should push this all away for the sake of his friendships and for a less complex of a web being weaved, but your hands land on his thighs and he’s steadily pitching a tent in his sweats from how turned on he really is.

“Please, Austin. Please, I want to. I want to learn how to—”

As much as Austin wants to hear you beg, he can’t halt himself from roughly grasping your chin into his hand, the first pleas on your tongue snapping the resistance band that’s kept him back tonight, yesterday, and for the majority of time that he’s known you. His doubts may have been a little ridiculous and off the mark with how Fabian may react to you staying in Austin’s apartment, but this is an act that would be completely unforgivable. It’s wrong and Austin knows it, but Fabian fades away from his head staring at your timorous features shifting from enthralled fear to innocent lust, a dichotomy he believes only you can manage. Well, if his friends believe that something happened between you and him even if it didn’t, he might as well let that something occur.

“You’ll learn. But you have to do everything I say, princess. Everything. None of that backtalk you always give me or I’ll leave you on your knees and finish myself off in my room.” He pauses and although he just gave you a warning about it, he does expect you to reply with something snarky. Oddly enough, you don’t say anything in retaliation and astonish him with an eager nod of your head, as if his cock is the reward and he was the one being the stickler for not letting you have it sooner.

He releases your chin in satisfaction, his arms moving back to their place stretched along the couch. He’s thinking of what he should tell you to do first, but he’s cut off watching you scramble to sit up higher on your knees as you fumble for something in your skirt. There’s no pockets in it, so he sees more skin appear as you lift your top and retrieve your phone tucked in the waistband of your skirt. Austin’s about to ask if you need him to set it aside when you turn it on and then thrust it into his lap. He blinks down at it in confusion, the camera app open. He sees part of his couch and the opaque silhouette of his thigh facing it from where he sits.

“Why is your camera on?” is what he decides to go with, Why’d you give me your phone being another that he plans on asking. He raises the phone up, but before he could turn it off and place it down, your hand takes his wrist. His eyes lock onto yours, an eyebrow coming up quizzically.

“I want you to film me.” Austin’s eyebrows must hit the ceiling from how far they fly up. You’re not letting up on him whatsoever. “I don’t just want to be good at this, I wanna look good too. I can watch it back after this and see what I need to work on. Is that okay?”

The throbbing in his sweats is more prevalent than before from how this is going. He’s fulfilling desires he’s put on the backburner for so long now that you keep finding ways to catch him fully off guard. This is everything he could ever want, stressors melting in the background as he chooses not to reply and simply raises the phone up and presses record. He watches your face through your phone screen, the shy smile once there morphing into one of glee that is too sweet for the context of all of this. With the knowledge that he started the video, your hands reach for the drawstring of his sweats, but his opposite hand not holding the phone stops you from going any further with a simple hold on your wrist. Confusion dawns on your pretty face, the look plastered there forewarning him of all the questions you’re going to summon during this process.

“You don’t want me to take off your pants?” Worry encompasses your features as if Austin has changed his mind and you just made a fool of yourself in front of him groveling. He quickly chases that away by shaking his head.

“No, not yet,” he reassures and feels the bones in your wrist shift in accordance to your visible relief, “First thing’s first, I need you to take off that hair tie.”

“What?” You blink at him in confusion, a speck of glitter flicking off the tip of your lashes down to the fabric of his sweats. By the end of this, he expects to find specks of the shiny monstrosities all over him and his couch, a downside he’s willing to accept recalling the nature of what you two were about to do. “But I thought it’d keep my hair out of the way.”

“What I’d say about backtalk?” Austin clicks his tongue and he watches in real time as your mouth shuts immediately. He’s never had anything close to this kind of power over you. He’s emboldened by it, by how willing you are to learn from him, and by how he notices how you shift from one side to the next. While his own arousal is on display in front of you, yours isn’t as obvious. But those shifting hips, those give away how uncomfortable that underwear of yours must be getting underneath that stupid, short skirt. “Now, as I was saying, I want your hair down. Sure, it’d be easier for you, but I like something to grip at. I like something to pull on. I don’t think any woman should look clean after giving a blowjob. I like ‘em to look downright filthy when they’re done.”

He illustrates your future with what he deems as simple words, but somehow, the inorganic flush you painted on your cheeks earlier has deepened in reaction. His thumb drifts along the rouge experimentally, this being the first time he touches your face in any kind of capacity and as he imagined it plenty of times before, it’s soft under the pad of his finger. He doesn’t stop bringing it back and forth until one motion in particular nears your mouth and your lips gently part from one another, a silent invitation you grant him for entry. If he angles his thumb to the side, your welcoming mouth would embrace it immediately. He knows it just from how your breath releases from the back of your throat and ghosts over his skin, quietly beckoning him in to use it to his liking. While he would love to feel your slick tongue on it, that’s not what this was about. He was doing the noble honor of honing your oral skills and you’re eager to be filled with another one of his appendages begging for some kind of attention in the confinement of his sweatpants.

Gradually, he lets go of your chin to resist the temptation of sliding his fingers into your mouth. He can see the confusion in your eyes, but you’re quick to sit up again and reach your arms up to the back of your head to fulfill his request in due time. The hair tie soon evades your hair and you present it to him. He thinks you’ll put it aside, but as you have been doing these past two days, you surprise him and reach for his hand, slipping the band onto his wrist that only makes a small appearance in the camera shot. He doesn’t comment on it, just flexes his jaw as you sit back into place with your hands on your thighs as you await his next instruction.

“Good… Now you’re ready to go. You can start by taking me out of these fucking sweatpants before I poke a hole in them.” He gestures with your phone to himself to emphasize his point, watches as your eyes follow the movement and glue to the length protruding stiffly against the gray material horribly covering him away. You don’t waste any time scooting closer to him, your dainty hands latching onto his waistband to maneuver it out of the way. He lifts his hips off the couch to help your movements and soon enough, the surrounding air touches his girth, his cock and balls sitting on the outside of his pants that you try to pull further down. Austin waves your hands away and you pull them back as if he slapped them, wanting to be obedient in every sense to where he can’t help but slyly smirk. Your hands fall to your lap, but he sees your eyes are on his, widening from the sight, perhaps his size, but whatever the reason, he can tell you’re intimidated.

“Relax, brat. We’re taking this slow. Go ahead… touch me.” Austin purposely maintains a vagueness to this direction because he wants to see what you’ll do naturally, that way he can gauge where you lack the skill and how he can help from there. You’re hesitant as you lift a hand out of your lap and reach for him, your palm meeting his bare flesh, fingers wrapping around him in a loose hold that sets his senses ablaze. He gulps down to keep himself at bay and under control and you gulp down because you’re wondering how you’re going to fit him inside of your mouth. His length pulses against you, throbs rhythmically and then speeds as you barely tighten your grip and shift your hand upwards. He groans out into the air and you’re encouraged to move your hand a tad faster, slightly more confident as you look up at him and not at the camera pointed at you.

“Is that good?” You ask, not stopping your motions enough for coherent thoughts to form in Austin’s brain at a regular rate. It takes him longer to answer by a few seconds since he’s flickering his attention back and forth between your face and your hand on him.

“N-not bad… Grip should be a little tighter. S-should feel l-like this.” The hand not holding onto the camera comes down without second thought to engulf yours still locked onto his cock’s base. The veins in his hand bulge as he guides your hand along him, the vise on yours increasing in pressure and when you attempt to mimic it, he emits another groan. You’re a fast learner by the look and feel of it. He curses loud and steadily lets go of your hand to grip onto the couch cushion for purchase.

“Yes, fuck, that’s good. That’s really fucking good, princess. K-keep going. All the way to the tip.”

He didn’t even have to tell you twice. You adopt the grip he showed you and pump your hand from his base to his tip as he says and he can feel his breath shortening, his camera work becoming shakier and shakier by the second. For someone who hasn’t done this before, you seem to be poised and up for the challenge, still looking up at him through impossibly long lashes in an eager effort to please him. To please him, to please Austin. He thinks for a moment that he’ll wake at any point, but this isn’t a dream. This is real and it feels better than any imagery his brain can muster while he’s out cold. There’s nothing that can beat the sensation of actual touch, the sensation of your hand curled around his cock, a fist for him to fuck without doing any work besides the occasional buck his hips push out against his awareness.

As much as he’s enjoying himself off this alone, this isn’t exactly what you asked for. He can see you’re waiting for him to tell you what to do and that fact turns him on in more ways than one, but there’s still the main subject matter to attend to that has yet to be addressed. Freeing the cushion of his clutch, he props two fingers up to point at your lips, to which he then crooks in a motion towards himself. That’s when he witnesses your face light up, your lips parting further than they have all night in a lustful thirst that can only be quenched by what’s currently thrumming with need in your hand. You stumble slightly coming closer to him, where your elbow rests on his knee and your left hand eases onto his thigh to stabilize your form.

“Look into the camera.” Austin’s command is stern and it slides off his tongue with a force that you comply with without a lick of protest. As your mouth opens and your tits press against his leg, you daringly look up into the camera lens through your lashes and bring his swollen tip inside. He’s hot and heavy on your tongue, spongy and throbbing in a matter that you try to widen the entry so your teeth will be out of the way. The contact has Austin slam his fist into his couch cushion, an action to keep himself in the continued position. If he listened to his instincts, he’d be pushing your head down until you choked on him.

“Deeper… until you can’t anymore.” Tension collects in his muscles holding himself stationary, crescent indents creasing into his palm from how taut his fist is clenching into itself. His short, blunt nails stop it from stinging as much as it would if they were long, but everything is being drawn like a bow to accommodate your lethargic pace descending on his length. Never mind how your tongue proceeds to curiously swipe at him with every inch glissading into your mouth, his cock twitching against the miniscule mounds of your tastebuds. And while all of this feels like a sensory overload at this snail’s race, the part that persists in aggravating the difficulty of being immobile and ignoring his own insisting pleasure is how you defy his order and stray your eyes from the lens to lock them with his cerulean that he bets appear royal from the lechery traveling throughout him. He can see himself in the reflection of your eyes, his jaw slightly agape from every breath he’s consciously exhaling and inhaling back in. When he focuses past that, he notices the dilation of your pupils, how glassy and moist they appear because of the long forgotten television light in the background. The silhouette of your body bent over him is a shape that will haunt him going forward.

Eventually, you have to stop. You stop with a mouthful of cock, clinging closer to his leg, drool seeping from your bottom lip down the underside of him, the remaining girth not inside, that he feels seep to his balls. Austin unfurls the fist of the hand not holding the camera to finally part your hair with his digits, the pads of them shifting against your scalp as the pleasant and silent job well done. He registers how you hum on him, it vibrates your teeth on his skin and he shudders watching you lean into his fingers to relish in the praising contact. In a turn of events, he’s learning about you and what you like just as you’re learning about him.

“Almost all of me, not bad. Not bad at all. But let’s see if this is really your limit.” You blink at him bewildered to what he could mean, but he gives you no time to figure it out. Austin’s hold on your head reaffirms itself as he faintly lifts his hips to drive himself in further and immediately, you sputter around him, your eyes shutting and your neck straining in the instinctual motion of trying to pull away from him. Your lips drag only a centimeter backwards because of how Austin keeps your head in place, throat tightening and constricting him to where he lets out a satisfied moan. Soft tears collect in your eyes, the very same ones you blink up at Austin in a plea to be released, but he only returns said plea with an open-mouthed grin and a rising and falling chest.

“I guess it really is your limit… but that’s where it’s supposed to be.” He leans forward from the couch to get closer to your face. He can tell you’re barely getting over the gagging he just subjected you to. “You should take it until you feel you’re about to choke. The closer to the throat, the better. And don’t worry about the gagging.” His fingers nuzzle against your scalp, affectionately massaging your head despite the predicament being anything but gentle. Still, you flutter your lashes at him in a hope that shows you’re still game. You’re still up for the task, even with the praise, and even with the manhandling. “It feels good for me, looks good too. You’ll have to watch this back to see what I mean.”

Eventually, Austin’s fingers deviate from your scalp and tangle themselves into your hair. They’re still relatively close to your head, enough to hold the reins on your hair and guide you according to his desires. “Suck, princess. Suck my cock like a good, little slut.” His words are nothing short of bold and exploratory at best, but your eyes glaze over, and he can tell you’re close to downright humping his leg from how much you’re unashamedly enjoying yourself. You suck at him as he told you to do, whimpering in the process because Austin pushes his hips up again and tests your gag reflex. Taking the hint, you begin to move your head along with how you’re sucking him, back and forth, tongue gliding under the underside of him, your hand steadying at his base to ensure he wouldn’t slip out. “Yes, yes, fuck, fuck me… T-that’s it. From your choking point back to the h-head. J-just like you did with your hand.”

That seems to be the right form of technicality to direct you with because you move and bob your head faster on him. It’s harder to suck at the same time of the movement, but you work diligently to suck in tandem with your lifting and falling head, spit trickling and slicking him up to where it coats over your fingers sitting at his base. To try and alleviate the sticky feeling forming, you wiggle your digits, a motion that Austin moans louder for. For him, it’s further friction on him, a neglected portion of him not being stuffed inside of your mouth. The remainder is attended to with a clumsy fist, but in his eyes, something’s better than nothing. You attempt to pump him at the same time that you’re bobbing on him and he rewards you with a harsh tug of your hair, his head thrown backwards to moan towards the ceiling.

“Fucking n-natural. Come on, close… lemme fuck your throat.” The restraint he’s practiced is beginning to evade him. His hips are meeting some of your pushes downwards and he can tell you’re struggling to keep up when that occurs. That bit of speed, coupled with the reverie of always wanting to fuck your mouth, he needs it to hit that sweet edge, the one that he knows is going to be colossal for him because it’s never felt this fucking good. For someone who’s never sucked a dick in her life, you’re quickly getting the hang of it. But that didn’t matter. He could help you practice tenfold, whenever and wherever, he didn’t even fucking care if it was in front of Fabian—your mouth was made to take Austin’s cock. He wonders if your pussy was made for him the very same.

He can’t possibly receive audible permission with his dick in the way. He also doesn’t want to pull out being on the brink of an orgasm. Fortunately for him, you look up at him through wet lashes and slowly remove your hand off his base, both of your palms planting onto his thighs. It’s your way of being receptive, something in your irises conveying that he could go on with what he requested and he doesn’t hesitate to do so.

Using his hold in your hair, Austin pistons his hips upwards and presses down on the accelerator to deliver that extra bit of speed and momentum he requires. The tip of his cock meets organic flesh with every thrust into your mouth and the back of your throat tickles to the point of where you cough around him and grasp his wrist to slow him down, and he does, but he continues with the force he has. He pushes himself until he smothers your gag reflex, tears sliding down your cheeks as he holds you in place and gives you no room to breathe from your mouth since it’s filled to the brim with his girth. “Relax your throat, it’ll be easier.” He brings his hips backwards, his cockhead suctioned by your lips. He senses your hesitation to try and pull off of him, a denial of simple instinct to breathe since he’s made it clear that you need to stay on his cock at all times during oral sex. He appreciates your resistance to place your needs first and your insistence to prioritize his, a lesson in cock sucking that he’s been more than happy to literally drill into your head.

“Your mouth’s for fucking—not for breathing. B-breathe through your nose.” Austin’s hand slides along the side of your head to cup the curve of your jaw into it. He focuses his gaze and the camera on your features, mascara running down the paths of the tears that passed through. Your lips are crimson from how swollen they are, from the suckling and from how he’s pried them open and stretched them to mold over his length. Even that tiny heart from earlier has been ruined. It’s smeared at the bottom and resembles a miniature mountain more than it does an accented heart. As he observes you with a glowering intensity in his eyes, he repeats his actions from before and lifts his hips until the tip of him approaches the hilt once more, your eyes filling with more tears. You struggle to meet his gaze this way, going as far as closing your eyes to endure what he’s bestowing upon you, fresh tears falling freely down your cheeks, some falling to his thighs, others caught by the palm caressing your face. His thumb runs up your cheek to catch a free falling tear before it can make it past the hollow of your cheekbone. The pink blush you powdered to the area coats the pad of his thumb along with the moisture of the tear he rescued from its dive downwards.

It’s shuddering and shaky and you’re trembling to where the uneven bone of your kneecaps shift uncomfortably on the floor, but you breathe through your nose as Austin instructed you to do before, all while watching as he brings his thumb to his mouth to suck off the blush and the salt of your tear away. You whine at the sight, your tongue somehow flicking despite the lack of room in your orifice, but the light-headed feeling collecting in your skull floats away with the filtering of oxygen returning back. After that initial breath, you’re inhaling heavily through your nose, straining yourself to stay coherent and suck on him with every pull backwards. Once he realizes you’re not going to pass out on him, he resumes that brutal pace from before and slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck. Your hair strands are wildly flying with every thrust of his hips, some sticking to your face due to the wetness gathered there from light perspiration to the tears that have dropped by and are still dropping by since relaxing your throat isn’t as easy with Austin downright pounding into your mouth. He sees your thighs squeeze tight from this angle and the image pops into his mind of how wonderful they would feel squeezing at his head as he slotted his tongue deep inside of your cunt. He could use that and his fingers to spread you as wide as possible for him so he could fuck you just as he’s fucking your mouth. By the looks of it, you’re already delirious from how much he’s giving you. You’d probably go cock dumb if he split you open with his dick and played with your little clit.

“I’m so fucking close, princess, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, holding himself off, unable to stop from maneuvering in and out of you in the process of how fast he’s talking. “I-I’m gonna’ cum in your mouth. Swallow what you can, Jesus Christ, fuck—”

Your whimpering has actually transitioned into what Austin can only describe as desperate moaning around his cock, the sounds vibrating on his girth, the sounds alerting him of how much you want his cum in the place he promised to do it. It does him in, everything does. From how wrecked your face appears to the images littering his mind every time he closes his eyes to raggedly take in air to the absolutely delicious feel of your warm mouth wrapped around him and the tightening of your throat each time he pushes himself past your breaking point, he hits his peak sooner than he would like and compresses his hold at the back of your neck to manage your position completely still. Cum spurs from his base to his tip, gushing out to meet the taste buds at the back of your tongue and the wall at the back of your throat. You promptly gag in reaction from the thick liquid drowning you and from the overload of the max capacity sitting inside of your mouth. Part of his cum leaks from the corner of your lips, but you wrestle to swallow what you can with his girth still pulsing and spurring with more to glaze your mouth with.

Solely when he’s finished does Austin release your neck, panting above you, coming down from his high. He almost drops your camera, but in his haze he somehow manages to remember his task and he props the phone up to film your face, groaning as you remove him gently and cough sporadically from the heaving and hauling you just endured. He glances down at his cock, a ring of that berry gloss near his base as evidence (along with all the spit) that it was you who just gave him the blowjob of his life and not some whore who’s sucked 1,000 cocks over. That truth causes his cock to twitch, another desire quickly coming over him to bend you over his armrest, but his orgasm has given him some clarity and he remembers that you asked for this and not for penetrative sex. Assuming when this was for your own practice would be crossing that line further and he wouldn’t do that… not unless you asked him again.

“Make sure to get all of it,” he grits, his voice raspy from the moaning. He leans to use his thumb again, pushing the drops of cum that fell past your lips into your mouth. From how you were just spluttering in your recovery, he doesn’t expect you to drape your tongue over his thumb the way that you do, but as tonight has proved, you’re astonishing in action just as you are in looks. He clears his throat when you’re done, his back falling into the couch as exhaustion melds into him as it did right before all of this began. He believes he’s going to get a good night’s sleep after all.

“Did… Are you good? Did any of that help?” He would’ve dwelled on coming up with something better than what he said, but he was having trouble considering how you just wiped his damn mind blank.

“Yes, Austin,” damn, if he thought his voice was raspy, he was poorly mistaken. Not only do you look like you just sucked his dick, you sound like it too. “That was… I liked how… informative you were. I can’t wait to watch this back.” He gets one last shot of your face flitting over with an excited glee and mirth before you retrieve your phone from him and stop the recording. He’s not sure what he was thinking you would do next, but it certainly wasn’t how you all but sat into his lap and threw your arms around his neck. His body is humming with endorphins, too many to make any efforts to push you off of him, but you are dangerously close to smashing him from where he was still hanging out of his sweats.

“Hey, hey, careful, brat—”

“Sorry, sorry!” You jut your hips back to ensure his safety, a glance taken down at his half hard cock that leaves you timorous as you look back to his face, as if you didn’t almost beg to have it in your mouth and then moan like a slut for his cum. It makes him want to do it all again. “Thank you, Austin. I mean it. I’ll send you the video so we could both have it and so you can give me some tips if you have any more.”

Not only did you almost beg him to suck him off, but you thanked him for it. He’s so hung up on that part that he didn’t register what you said about sending him the video. His brain stops dead in its tracks thinking about having that kind of footage on his phone to incriminate him further (but satisfy him during those particularly lonely nights) and so he doesn’t notice how close you’re getting to him until he feels your pillowy lips puckered and smacking against his cheek for a light kiss. He blinks, positive his face is rosy from the exertion and from how you just heated him up from a simple peck on the cheek, but you just smile and scoot off of him to stand on your feet. You’re already replaying the video and he can hear the depth of his own voice floating away behind him as you announce “I’m going to take a shower!”

He doesn’t attempt to stand up since he’s still coming down from his climax, the images from what just happened colliding together in his mind, flashing so bright to the point where he believes he’s never going to be able to forget this happened. The weird part is how unguilty he feels over the whole ordeal, contrasting greatly to the guilt he felt before from simply letting you stay here in his apartment with him. He wants to make some kind of sense of it, but he’s also been drained of energy and sanity, something he thinks he’ll have more of tomorrow morning. He’ll be suitable to contemplate all of this after getting some much needed rest, letting that weight down to lift up to his shoulders the next day instead. He’s grasping at the couch to help himself up when he hears a distinct ding from his own phone neglected at his coffee table. Austin gulps reaching for it, having a feeling of what the notification might be. He’s proven right opening your bland message thread together, the thumbnail of the video being the image of you on your knees in front of him.

He presses play at the same time that he hears the shower head turn on from his bathroom.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #how to get over your ex #l4l.writes

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platonically-loving-alastor · 26 days

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Aroace Alastor

Hoo boy here we go- This one might make some people mad at me, so I'll preface by saying I do not want to start a fight and as long as you respect my business, I'll respect yours. But let's get this over with-

First off, I genuinely don't understand how some people can see the Ace-In-The-Hole quote and still believe that Alastor is only intended to be asexual and not also aromantic. Yes, the term Rosie used for purpose of the pun was 'ace', but can we look at the context of that moment before jumping to conclusions?

Rosie, motioning to Charlie: "Oh, who's this you brought with you? Come now, Alastor, she's much too young for you! Oh, I'm just kidding. I know you're an ace in the hole!"

Her original statement implies nothing sexual, only that he's involved in a relationship with Charlie, and she follows it up with why she knows that couldn't be because he's an 'ace in the hole'. I don't think you have to read too far between the lines to see that.

I would also like to say that when Vivienne has spoken about his orientation before, I recall her saying that she didn't want to confirm him being aromantic so that she wouldn't 'ruin anyone's fun', which I just feel like is an odd thing to say if she wasn't already explicitly picturing him as aroace. If she thought he had romantic attraction, why wouldn't she just say that? What fun would that ruin? I also feel like keeping things like this ambiguous just to appease the shippers is a little weird, but I digress-

And to those of you who I know are saying "But aromantic people can be in relationships too!!" *deep inhale* yeah I know. I'm not gonna pretend you're not right about that, but there are also aroace people who have exactly 0 interest in romance or sex at all. This is the part of the post that really is based on how I interpret certain moments, but to me he is absolutely one of those people. I don't really know where people get any vibes of him being interested in that stuff. I have never once looked at him and thought "Yeah I could see him in a romantic relationship with *insert character here*". Even aside from attraction in general, since that's what we'd be talking about at this point anyway, he just seems like the kind of guy who'd rather work and live independently instead of relying on anyone, whether practically or emotionally (which is also probably part of the reason he never joined the Vees, but that's another topic entirely). Hell, I'm pretty sure he's in heavy denial about even developing any kind of care or friendship with the people at the hotel (ie. the episode 8 scene with him and Niffty).

The only ships I see him involved in with people he doesn't hate (so ignoring RadioApple, RadioHusk, and StaticRadio. But to be real, maybe the fact all his main ships are enemies to lovers coded says something about the whole situation, but that's just me-) are Charlastor - which I will not even try to discuss here, people aren't gonna like this post as it is - and RadioRose. Rosie and him would at least be fair, if it weren't for one thing (which is also personal opinion on my end), and I don't know exactly how to word it. I'm tempted to say she has wingwoman vibes? But she knows he's aro, so that's not the right word, but there's vibes of like, she probably did act as a wingwoman before she realized that about him or something.. There's also something about her joking around like "Oh this is the girl? You have a girlfriend and I'm only now meeting her?" is almost giving motherly behavior. Idk man they're just besties to me, I could see them in a QPR though (not that they'd probably label it that way, considering the word queerplatonic is likely just complete gibberish to Alastor lmao).

So to summarize: It feels incredibly likely, if not practically canon, that Alastor was written with aromanticism in mind, even if Vivienne refuses to explicitly state it. Subtext and not-that-subtle implications can say just as much about a character as word of God, especially when that God has explicitly told us why she won't confirm or deny this information. Do I think any of this will stop people from shipping him romantically with literally any other character? No ofc it won't, and that's okay, that's just what fandoms do. I do think there's something to say for the fact the one aroace (or even at the very least asexual) character gets constantly shipped with everyone else in the cast, but this post is long enough I think. The only point of posting this is that I wanted to get information out there in one post to say "Hey, let's look a little bit past the surface for a second before saying there's no proof of him being aromantic"

Anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you at least took something away from this

#*prepares to be metaphorically burned at the stake*#i will also say i have a complicated relationship with staticradio #if its one sided thats fantastic but the moment alastor reciprocates feelings im out #will probably make a post on that too at some point #hazbin hotel #alastor #aroace alastor #rosie hazbin hotel #platonic radiorose

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rainbowchaox · 24 days

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Yashiki and Mashita: Canon Moments Part 1

I wanted to delve more into analyzing canon to explain why Yashiki and Mashita are canon. Even if they are not outright said. This will be a multi-part essay going over the main two Death Mark games with an eye looking for gay subtext or just pointing out moments that can be conveyed as homoerotic/homoromantic. This will also have my personal bias thrown in so don’t expect it to be 100% by the books. My analysis on certain scenes will be my point of view (and people will disagree with some if not most of my takes. The best thing about how complicated both Mashita and Yashiki are is the various ways at looking at their characterization)

We start with Death Mark 1 where we get introduced to the basic premise. Yashiki and the Mark Bearers are cursed by spirits and have to confront said spirits in order to break the curse so they can live. What is so apparent about our protagonist Yashiki is his inner monologue is full of senses and sensations. From the start he is on his own wavelength how he sees the world. As his inner monologue goes into great details describing the scenes in front of him. Even if he wishes he could ignore the more grisly sights in front of him. This gives us a character that may not have the best social skills or understand how social cues work but he does understand people. He can learn how ones tick with only a couple hours with the hour. It’s this aspect why he and Mashita work so well.

The first character Yashiki meets that is alive is Mary. She seems to be benign and polite. And she puts Yashiki at ease despite the horrible situation Yashiki finds himself in. Not knowing who he is and having no memory either. She at the start is almost an angelic figure who Yashiki looks to for guidance. Only by the end of the game do we find out her true nature and that is malice. She has always been a devil pretending to be an angel. Compare her to Mashita. Mashita hides his good heart under his mask of sarcasm and rudeness. Mary and Mashita are foils to each other at least about their relationship to Yashiki.

From the start when we are introduced to Mary. There’s always been dependence from Yashiki. Yashiki has no clue who he is nor what his name is. He is scared and needs questions answered. And Mary just so happened to be there to answer said questions. He looks at her for what he needs to know. He listens to her and follows her orders. Not realizing he is being manipulated. He doesn’t realize he is nothing but a toy to her until Mary secrets can’t be hidden any longer. Meanwhile Mashita knows he is talented even if he acts otherwise. Mashita trusts him enough to consider him fit to be his partner. He knows Yashiki is his equal. Mary manipulates and takes advantage of Yashiki while Mashita uplifts Yashiki and praises his talents.

Yashiki even at the start is hesitating when deciding to trust Mary. He even says word for word “I decided to trust you”. His intuition is screaming at him to not trust her but he currently has no choice. Yashiki meanwhile didn’t hesitate trusting Mashita fully after meeting him. Even the way Mashita was introduced was very suspicious. Their trust grows naturally. And their trust is stronger for it. Yashiki doesn’t have to say he trusts Mashita for us to know he does. Mashita and Yashiki have a special relationship. Mashita even with his rough mouth cares immensely for Yashiki. So much so that he comes back to save Yashiki numerous times even if he puts himself in danger. He cares so much.

A trait that shows why Yashiki is so suitable for Mashita as a prospective partner (Romantic or not) is shown when Yashiki is introduced to Moe and Tsukasa. Yashiki pays attention to people's expressions and is overall pretty empathetic as a person. Even if he lacks social skills to take full advantage of this skill. The people he meets he knows them well. Even if a moment prior they were strangers. This is how Yashiki clearly sees the good in Mashita so quickly.

The first spirit we are introduced to in Death Mark is Hanahiko whose story we quickly learn is tragic. He was abused for being different and liking feminine things. Whether you see his story more being a transgender allegory or just him being different in terms of not following gender norms. He is Other and was hurt for it. And in Death Mark 2, The first spirit is Hanako of the toilet. Who was in love with her female friend. Both have clear queer themes and I personally do think this says a lot about Yashiki's suspected homosexuality. He does not live in a time where he can comfortably be who he is. People get seriously hurt when they stray from what is considered “normal”. I do think these spirits being part of Yashiki's journey does imply that he is not heterosexual.

When Mashita is first introduced to Yashiki, He looks over to Yashiki and snorts. He already figured out Yashiki. And knows that Yashiki is someone he can trust. Which is why he softens entering the car. Yashiki is worried about how Mashita was just lurking around in a basement suspiciously. It’s not just Mashita that gets Yashiki. And likes what he sees. It took one car ride for Yashiki to understand and trust him. He even says “Some people naturally put others on guard and even if there’s no particular ill will between them that’s the sort of person Mashita is”. He already knows Mashita so well.

Mashita with his brusque attitude also gets under Yashiki's skin in a good way. Yashiki can’t help but pay attention to him. Mashita has a strange charisma despite his rough attitude. It makes it hard for anyone to ignore him. Yashiki even says “I wasn’t planning on keeping a constant eye on him, but he is making it very hard not too”. Mashita is charming in his own way.

Mashita then answered a question that Yashiki had before he could even ask. Mashita knows Yashiki by now. Mashita is naturally gifted at reading people as part of his talents as an ex-detective. Also when Mashita showed he was also marked, he proclaimed it was OUR problem. He already considered himself part of Yashiki’s team from the start. Mashita has always been loyal.

And there’s a continuing trend of Yashiki noticing how Mashita feels by his expressions. When Mashita read the god awful principal wrote. Yashiki already knows Mashita isn’t happy because “That's what he says but he is not smiling at all. His eyes simmer with a quiet anger”. Yashiki pays so much attention to Mashita. So much he immediately clicks that he is suffering the Mark effects when he is.

Yashiki canonically grabbed Mashita wrist to chase after the rabbit inside H elementary. He wants to make sure Mashita is healthy and safe. He by then was already so attached. After Hanahiko was dealt with when Mashita learned that Yashiki still had the Mark he was concerned. And it’s hinted to be the primary reason he stayed for chapter 2. He was worried about Yashiki. Even if he had other reasons to investigate as well.

Mashita to me is personally written as a gay man. Especially how he explains the last bit of information about Hanahiko. “How his mother understood her son”. Despite his rough personality he empathized with the son not being accepted by others for being different. And being hurt by someone that should have protected him not punished him.

In chapter 2, Mashita stays, which surprises even Yashiki. Mary asked Mashita to stay but Yashiki doesn’t realize how important he is to Mashita and is confused why he did. For all his bad attitude Mashita didn’t want Yashiki to be alone. Also sorry but “Mashita got a bad mouth like usual” is very gay and flirty.

Something I noted during this chapter is that Masao Kimura the suicidal man Yashiki and company meet in the first after he calms down tells Yashiki that they should go out for drinks sometime before dying to Shimi-O. What’s interesting is the same chapter at the end Mashita tells Yashiki he would buy him a drink once he survives the Mark business. (Sure that he will find a way to survive. His belief never wavers and they eventually do have that drink)

The fact is even if you don’t bring Mashita along to investigate the forest. He comes to the forest (unmarked at this point) out of his own volition. His own desire to protect Yashiki. He willingly gets marked again in order to save Yashiki. He put his life yet again in danger to save a man he met only a day ago. This isn’t to say that Yashiki is any better. He defends Mashita words in his inner monologue by saying “Mashita didn’t mean it like that. You can only be blunt discussing this”. He is so quick to defend Mashita words.

This chapter is also the first time Mashita pushes a gun onto Yashiki. Which continues onto this series can be seen as a metaphor for Yashiki and Mashita relationship with their homosexuality. Mashita being the more confident in his sexuality the one giving the gun to Yashiki the one more shy and reserved with his sexuality. When Yashiki says he doesn’t know how to shoot a gun. Mashita immediately says “Well, whatever, if I’m there just leave the shooting to me” Mashita is already making himself into someone Yashiki can depend on.

After Shimi-O is solved, Mashita decides to tell Yashiki that he is leaving in the morning as well. Despite what he says I don’t think he is leaving because he doesn’t want to get hurt. Mashita is reckless as a person when it comes to his safety. He mainly decides to leave because he doesn’t want to be a burden that will cause more harm staying than leaving. He can’t do anything more for Yashiki. So he has to leave. And we do know how affected Yashiki is hearing that Mashita is leaving him. What can we say to Mashita is, changed your mind? You’re abandoning me? And I’ll miss you. Mashita reacts a bit flustered if you chose the last two. He either calls you bitter or a creep.

Even when Mashita is lying about his reasons he is leaving. He clenches his fist and really doesn’t want to leave Yashiki to struggle against spirits by himself. But he isn’t an idiot and knows he would become a burden for Yashiki to carry if he overstayed his welcome. He is actually one of the few companions that fully say farewell. Mashita then says “If you manage to escape your death I’ll buy you a drink sometime”. Mashita wants to stay in Yashiki life. And has full trust that eventually Yashiki will overcome The Mark and survive.

It’s canon that off screen they went out for drinks. Mashita did promise him he would buy him a drink after Yashiki survives the whole Mark business. This is the first inclination that they spend time together out of the cases. They actually like each other's company. It’s canon that Yashiki is closest to Mashita and Daimon. In chapter 6, Mashita admits he wants Yashiki to join him in being a private detective. Yashiki is talented and skillful when it comes to spiritual matters. Mashita already knows how good Yashiki is. Even if Yashiki's bad self esteem doesn’t let him see that fact himself.

Mashita comes in annoyed and complains about Yashiki telling Yasuoka about his office. Now he is drowning in spiritual requests even if Yashiki told Yasuoka in order to help Mashita with his new career. They bicker like an old married couple. Yashiki by now knows Mashita scarily well and even comments “Did he just hesitate? Mashita?” Because he knows Mashita never hesitates without cause. Mashita always is impulsive whenever he has a goal to achieve.

Mashita then stares right at Yashiki and tells him to take responsibility. Very normal heterosexual behavior from our grumpy detective. I will say this chapter setting is a love hotel in the red light district. This lends more credence to Yashiki being implied he is gay. As it’s normal for gay men to have their trysts in such hotels out of the public eye. A point I will go back later on, but Mashita (which is implied to be more comfortable with his sexuality) is bringing Yashiki to a love hotel of all things. Mashita is the one ordering Yashiki to investigate. Mashita is the one that is telling him to explore.

Yashiki even in his inner monologue says “This isn’t going to do anything good for my reputation” which to be fair in context is more about the fact he is an old single man in the middle of the red light district. But if looked at an angle where Yashiki is a gay man. This could mean he is scared of others finding out his true sexuality and his reputation suffering for it.

I will also note that Hiroo and Daimon along with Yashiki and Mashita are there at the start of the case. The four of them are waiting outside the love hotel. Daimon and Hiroo who is practically outright stated in Death Mark 2 to be a couple. And Yashiki and Mashita who are heavily implied they are together. The two canon “couples” are standing in front of a love hotel.

Speaking of, the whole CG in the dirty smoking area has Yashiki pay too much attention to Mashita smoking. The amount of attention Mashita receives in his inner monologue is concerning. I will also note that the way the CG is drawn is that the two men are closer physically to Yashiki. Showing that there’s a level of emotional distance between Hiroo and Yashiki. We later know that Daimon and Mashita are the two mark bearers closer to Yashiki. This shows that Yashiki is more distant in general with women. Yashiki in general is closer to men than women. And the relationships with men are much more emotionally close than the likes of those he has with women.

Yashiki shows again that he knows how Mashita ticks. He bluntly says that “He like that to everyone. He didn’t mean anything by it”. He defends Mashita to Hiroo who was rightfully angry by his rudeness. Not realizing that it’s clear that Mashita treats himself differently. Mashita is more kind when it comes to him. Yashiki doesn’t realize how special he is to Mashita though.

And later on in the chapter, when Mashita comes back to help. Mashita and Yashiki enter the love hotel. Almost like they are a couple looking somewhere to stay the night. Mashita treats Yashiki gently in his own way and says “Calm down. Take a deep breath” when Yashiki rightfully had a panic attack because of the horrors. Mashita made Yashiki listen to him and calm down. When possessed shou gets to the scene, Mashita shows how good he is again. Mashita shows he is always there to protect Yashiki. By the end of the chapter, Mashita literally saves Yashiki from falling to his death. Mashita is so worried and angry and he says “Idiot…Try putting yourself into my shoes”. Mashita cares so much about Yashiki. No one can say otherwise.

Mashita again shows how much he pays attention and demands he be the one that will drive. Rudely pointing out that Yashiki's hands are still shaking. They are also each other's foils. Mashita believes the dead shouldn’t interfere with the living and Yashiki to his core is sympathetic to both spirits and the living. This has been my first part of the essay. The second half will be death mark 2.

#death mark 2 #death mark #yashita #yashiki x mashita #kazuo yashiki #satoru mashita #essay #save me

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amuseoffyre · 1 year

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I was mulling on how well OFMD does layers and layers of storytelling in such understated way with framing and sets and dialogue that carries so much weight without beating you over the head with exposition. Especially when it comes to the text and subtext of the history of the characters and what is happening in context.

Like every scene has a surface read, but there’s also so much more going on underneath. It’s like the many strands of threads used in weaving, where even when the things aren’t said directly and out loud, they’re present and building depth and colour to what’s happening.

I’ve picked a couple of examples which tell so much with so little.

Even this frame gives so much context without a word: Ed is from a poor background, his father is pictured beside a tankard of alcohol, his mother is dressed in servant’s clothing and he and his mother are very much separated from his father who is halfway into the shadows.

Then we have the impact of colonisation show in the words and presentation of Ed’s mother. She and Ed are both played by Māori actors, while Ed’s father is white. The way she talks about not being “those kind of people” and “it’s up to God” were lessons drilled into the many Indigenous children who were taken from their families and communities to be forcefully assimilated in church-run schools in British colonies, where they were taught English, indoctrinated into Christanity and were usually trained for roles in domestic service (for girls) or manual labour (for boys).

In three lines and with some simple set dressing and costume, they have set up not only Ed’s own history, but the history of his family and culture and how that impacted him and continues to impact him.

Another scene where this is intensely evident is in the Privateering academy:

For the first time, Ed and Stede are in the same clothing. On a surface read, this puts them on an equal footing, with them both being in the same situation. But once again, colonialism rears its ugly head in the context, especially in regards to Ed.

As mentioned before, the British colonies created schools with the declared intention of educating and improving the well-being of indigenous populations, while the reality was cultural erasure, indoctrination and genocide.

A lot of these schools demanded the pupils all dress in uniforms and in most cases demanded the children abandon all aspects of their culture. The fact that Ed has to physically change his appearance upon arrival in this British-run academy - it wasn’t regulation, it had to go - is a call-back to that legacy.

While less pointed, Stede has also been forced to assimilate into the more traditional and masculine attire. Even in the 1700s, there are accounts of queer men being described as too colourful and flashy and in the academy scenes, they have stripped his flamboyant soft queerness away from him, pushing him into the stiff, colourless cultural masculinity that is represented by the British forces throughout the show.

I could go on and on but it is very cold and I am very sleepy, but I will finish on a note about the Act of Grace and specifically on Hornberry’s “it’s boilerplate, absolution for your terrible crimes, blah-di-blah-di-blah.”

That line alone carries the weight of every single treaty arranged by the British when they colonised countries and it is a very pointed barb because it turns out that the British were very good at loopholing the hell out of their treaties, making sure certain turns of phrase could be re-interpreted to their advantage, something that is still impacting many people today.

The fact that Ed - and Taika - is the one to say “that’s where all the tricks are” is especially loaded given the history of the Treaty of Waitangi in Aotearoa and how the British interpreted it to their benefit.

There’s so much history built into the body of the show and I love that it’s there, adding depth and weight, a realness which I think is what has caused so much resonance with the audience. It provides a grounding foundation and while yes, the show is a comedy and is very funny, the history is always there too.

#our flag means death #ofmd meta #long post #thinkie thoughts

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ohgaylor · 1 year

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IT MUST BE EXHAUSTING (AN ANALYSIS)

Hi. Taylor’s the problem. And she knows it. (affectionate)

All right friends. It’s time to dive into an analysis again. I’ve been reflecting on a lot of Midnights and Taylor’s ever-present self-deprecation this era and in my regular fashion, I had to make an extremely long-winded analysis post about a certain motif of hers that I’ve noticed has only grown more apparent this time around. and essentially that is her self-awareness toward her ever-ambiguous signaling in regard to her identity, and where she is positioned in the complicated and delicate journey of coming out, as well as the plethora of emotions that surround that for both herself and her fans and those of us who pick up on the queer coded subtext of her music and art.

to kick off this analysis, may I remind you of this beauty of a quote from Taylor’s 2018 reputation tour pride speech that prefaced Delicate?

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time and may we end up with a world where everyone can live and love equally and no one has to be afraid to say how they feel. When it comes to feelings and when it comes to love and searching for someone to spend your whole life with, it’s all just really really delicate.

That is quite possibly my favorite thing she’s ever said. and what inspired this tag.

Now I need to clarify up front — I am never insinuating a need or even desire for Taylor to come out. Because that’s not our place to say. If you’ve been around my blog long enough, I would hope that nuance would be apparent. I simply point out regular motifs and patterns within her art and how it correlates with queer-coded themes of closets, of almost coming out, of outright queer coding, of rainbows, of keeping a love secret and safe, and on and on and on. The signs are there if you know what to look for (re: “I gave so many signs”) and that’s what I explore on my blog. The point is, I will never demand she come out. But I will stand with her in this complex journey she appears to be on. It’s entirely her journey and however she wishes to navigate that is hers to decide.

but that doesn’t detract from the reality that for those of us who see this beautiful queer subtext of her art and music and visuals and work and self, the ambiguity and constant back-and-forth when it comes to her identity (and the idea of coming out) can in fact be a lot to try and process and understand and ultimately to reconcile as we root for her. Trying to understand where she stands is much like chasing a moving target. (not that she owes any explanation to us, because again, she doesn’t.) her art and creativity are her place of expression and catharsis. however, watching her navigate these complexities and trying to root for her in this sometimes messy space is also, dare I say, exhausting.

hence, the title and general theme of this analysis.

so let’s begin.

First, we have this verse in Anti-Hero which is the perfect setup to illustrate this specific motif,

I should not be left to my own devices They come with prices and vices I end up in crises Tale as old as time

This is essentially the thesis of Taylor’s message, the feeling that her own judgement and actions might be the very cause for certain crises she finds herself in, however enticing those vices and choices may be. In choosing to straddle a glass-closeted lifestyle as an artist at her status and level of fame, all the while heavily queer-coding to her (receptive) audiences, only to be seen by most others as the hallmark of straight women as per her highly publicized bearding, juggling this all can be overwhelming. But it’s also a space that she has essentially curated and perpetuated herself.

An anti-hero is a central character in a narrative who conspicuously lacks heroic, moral qualities:

Although antiheroes may sometimes perform actions that are morally correct, it is not always for the right reasons, often acting primarily out of self-interest or in ways that defy conventional ethical codes.

Identifying herself as the anti-hero in this sense comes as a candid confession, as though she is admitting that maybe she is driven by self-interest. (which again, she is entitled to as we all are in our own lives.) (re: the jokes weren’t funny, I took the money, my friends at home don’t know what to say) Alternatively, and perhaps additionally, acting out of self-interest in this context may mean concealment of parts of her identity for the sake of self-preservation. The nuances behind why she hasn’t chosen to come out are at play here and I doubt any of us can fully comprehend what that is exactly.

I never had the courage of my convictions, as long as danger is near

Pouring out my heart to a stranger but I didn’t pour the whiskey

Combat, I'm ready for combat. I say I don't want that, but what if I do? 'Cause cruelty wins in the movies. I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you … Dark side, I search for your dark side. But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here?

You can easily grasp the intense oscillation as she goes back and forth between these decisions while juggling a myriad of reasons and factors, all of which are incredibly weighted. She knows it’s exhausting for us because it’s that much more exhausting for herself.

So, she elects to pursue a route all too familiar to closeted individuals in the public eye, one of bearding and concealing their identity.

I had some tricks up my sleeve … Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear, like it could be love, I could be the way forward, only if they pay for it … the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

I took the money. My friends from home don't know what to say.

The cost at which this lifestyle comes is worthy of an analysis all on its own. But Taylor seems to be indicating that she has found safety and security in her self-made cages and closets of sorts.

I prefer hiding in plain sight

‘Cause shade never made anybody less gay

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break

My town was a wasteland, full of cages, full of fences*, pageant queens and big pretenders. But for some, it was paradise.

In the darkest little paradise

(also, note the *fences. I’ll come back to that later.)

She brings focus to the fact that her town was full of cages and fences, which initially may carry a negative connotation. But here’s where she turns it around and says that for some, it was place of paradise, that the self-made cages brought security and freedom. That the idea of “forever” is in fact the sweetest con. That the good life she was hustling for through the tricks she had up her sleeve is within grasp. That this could be the way forward. Tell me that doesn’t scream a queer-coded experience?

But knowing Taylor and the complicated nature of this deeply personal topic, there is also a level of remorse regarding the said-cages and choices that had put her in crisis.

I cut off my nose just to spite my face, then hate my reflection for years and years

I’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

I’d pay if you’d just know me

Now, despite the way she has managed to remain glass-closeted, a large subset of her fans and the general public completely miss what she is signaling in regard to her queerness. (re: “I gave so many signs / you didn’t even see the signs”) but it appears she is feeling some remorse for the devices she’s used and the way she’s navigated things because she knows that she’ll be the one paying for it.

So again, Taylor fully acknowledges she’s the problem. She endlessly dances around the topic, sometimes to an extreme (re: “bent the truth too far tonight,” Bettygate and specifying a male perspective despite widespread interpretation of the alternative; similar thing with Lavendergate, etc etc) She writes from “male perspectives” so as to have a way to write female pronouns. She uses pseudonyms for similar motives. She equates herself with gay pride and places herself adjacent to the community repeatedly, and dances in Gaylor Park and rainbow kaleidoscopes. She dresses in rainbow attire and gives speeches emphasizing the delicacy of coming out and on and on, all while also remaining straight-passing. It’s complicated and messy and indeed exhausting.

sending signals to be double-crossed

I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

no doubt these devices and choices have come at a cost. first, the personal cost of remaining closeted (or in the very least, glass closeted) by her own making. The nature by which she has driven her career, of “taking the money” and pursuing a career (and by extension, following heteronormative cultural standards of remaining closeted), all point to the self-made cages she twists in.

recall the Delicate pride speech…

I want to send my love and respect to everybody who in their journey and in their life hasn't yet felt comfortable enough to come out ... and may you do that on your own time

That is a major theme for her. The idea that through a closeted state, certain freedoms can coexist.

We know Taylor has made a point to emphasize the comfort she has found in keeping elements of her life to herself post her apocalyptic summer. And the way she has largely receded her personal life from the public eye is telling. In an effort to protect the “real stuff”, she is withholding from others and has found safety in that.

Privacy sign on the door and on my page and on the whole world, romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.

She knows it’s not always a world that some would choose to be a part of. She describes it as a wasteland, likely desolate, harkening back to cowboy like me. A place where hustling for the good life, perching in the dark as con artists (or pageant queens and big pretenders) and telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear like “it could be love” is all too familiar.

It’s a painful dichotomy she fully explores in The Archer, recognizing that maybe it’s her lot in life to straddle these lines of staying where she is, perched in the dark, while wanting to step into the daylight and let it go.

and that’s where the second cost comes in — in how those of us who see her for what she is signaling herself to be, are ultimately left to ourselves to make sense of it.

It’s the same kind of essence of this fantastic analysis regarding coney island and her apology of not making us certain subsets of her fans and communities her centerfold.

Being left to her own devices, she has ultimately crafted a duplicitous persona, of which she has spoken about specifically when discussing mirrorball…

Everybody else feels like they have to be on for certain people. You have to be different versions of yourself for different people. Different versions at work, different versions around friends, different versions of yourself around different friends. Different version of yourself around family. Everybody has to be duplicitous, or feels that they have to in some ways, be duplicitous. And that’s part of the human experience, but it’s also exhausting. You kind of learn that every one of us has the ability to become a shape-shifter. But what does that do to us?

Is it self-preservation? Or self-made self-destruction? (re: “they told me all of my cages were mental” “what a shame she’s fucked in the head” “lost in the labyrinth of my mind”)

Among the various anxieties that plague her in regard to this subject, Taylor makes one fear very clear. And that is for some inevitable day where we will leave her after we’ve had enough of “her scheming”.

'Cause they see right through me, they see right through me, they see right through. Can you see right through me?

I wake up screaming from dreaming One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'Cause you got tired of my scheming For the last time

These desperate prayers of a cursed man spilling out to you for free, but darling, darling, please, you wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking if you knew where I was walking

Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

She will get as close as she can to the topic, (“Gay pride… everything that makes me me!” to name just one) only to pull back or leave it ambiguous and devoid of clarity…

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years

…only to feel guilt for skirting around the topic…

You said I was freeloading … I bent the truth too far tonight, I was dancing around, dancing around it … Your picket fence is sharp as knives, I was dancing around, dancing around it

This to me is the a significant price that comes from her being left to her own devices. Yes, there is freedom that comes from closeting/bearding. But glass closeting brings a more painful mess of emotions for both the closet-er and those seeing it for what it is. This is what she addresses in Anti-Hero with painful clarity.

And sometimes this can come at a painful cost. Take YNTCD for example. In this video, she positions herself within the queer community, dancing in Gaylor Park, and boldly declares herself an advocate for LGBTQIA rights.

But as we know, the video was met by many as out-of-touch (re: “freeloading”), performative and whatever else critics were spewing.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

Now for a detour.

I want to talk about the purple / blue / lavender glitter for a minute. Here, in the Directors on Directors interview, Taylor describes the glitter as being a metaphor for herself...

It’s supposed to be a metaphor for like, I bleed glitter, I’m not normal, there’s something wrong with me, I’m not a person, I don’t belong, I don’t fit in anywhere.

Recall how I said chasing a moving target?

Let’s talk about the significance of this scene and a handful of others in terms of the lavender glitter.

[For some queer context regarding glitter]

I’d first like to point out Hayley Kiyoko’s purple glitter jacket above, from the YNTCD video. This is Hayley Kiyoko we’re talking about. The proclaimed Lesbian Jesus. And in this moment, while she is wearing the purple glitter jacket, she is aiming an arrow at a target, signifying The Archer. This moment is key.

And then you have the Miss Americana documentary, wherein Taylor explicitly equates herself with gay pride, while talking about the Me! music video.

It’s a line of dialogue that screams at me with such intensity. Irrefutable. As a film editor, I know that every line in a film is deliberately placed and thought out and meticulously addressed. And therefore we can trust that Taylor intended for this line to make it into the film. I can tell that surrounding dialogue is seemingly trimmed and crafted in a delicate way. And part of that is the very direct statement that “Gay pride…everything that makes me, me!”

And it’s within this music video that we again witness a massive “ME!” literally jumping out at us on screen, in none other than purple glitter.

A handful of others could sense that the conclusion of Miss Americana felt as thought it was headed in a different direction than the one it ultimately took. And that for whatever reason, Taylor’s political advocacy took center stage while a deeper analysis regarding her LGBTQIA advocacy did not.

Cut back to the Anti-Hero music video where we get The Archer aiming right for Taylor, and striking her, causing her to bleed, yet again, purple glitter.

Pierced through the heart but never killed… did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman

My covert (secret) narcissism (ME!) I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman (the political turn and advocacy present in Miss Americana)

In other words, covering up who she is (“gay pride… everything that makes me me!”) under the guise of a film almost exclusively focused on her journey of discovering her political (“Vote for me for everything” pin) activist voice. And what scene depicts this with near precision???

this one.

motion capture put me in a bad light. I replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where I went wrong. writing letters addressed to the fire

'cause cruelty wins in the movies, I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

The subsequent look on her face of absentminded agony says it all. She knows the confusion that comes from rooting for her as (especially if she is seen as an ally who maybe crosses one too many lines if presumably as straight.)

The inner-turmoil on display for us in The Archer has transformed into a tone all too exhausted in its own right within Anti-Hero. She knows we’re tired. She’s tired too. In a self-deprecating jab, she admits that she is the problem and she knows that everybody ultimately agrees with her on this. Shielded within a pop anthem, her vulnerability is on display. And so, in Dear Reader, with equal parts desperation as well as wit, she concludes…

You should find another guiding light, guiding light. But I shine so bright.

And so it is ultimately within this utterly messy, exhausting, complicated, ever-changing and nuanced journey that Taylor reaches out to those of us who do in fact see through her and who ultimately simply see her, that she asks us in all sincerity…

Who could stay? Who could stay? Who could stay? You could stay.

And I, for one, will stay.

[enjoy my other analyses here]

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metanarrates · 9 months

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honestly how are you so smart? How do I become smart? My entire life I was put in the gifted classes and I really think it made me think I was smarter than I am. I'm "intelligent", sure. But I'm also really dumb and it's a huge sore point for me :( I'm always falling victim to believing anyone who sounds the most convincing and I never have my own opinion. It's like those discourse posts where I'll have whiplash reading them thinking "OK this is the most morally correct stance on the matter got it!" And then there'll be a new response and I'll go "OK scratch that! This is what I should believe and parrot back!". I'm really worried that I don't have any firm stances on anything and I'm a sheep who just follows the most ""correct"" sounding take. Sorry to dump this on you, I'd just like to hear your thoughts on it!

that sort of thing is more common than you think, anon. lots of people have trouble not following a herd mentality. it's scary to go against the grain! and i do think the educational system can reinforce that in certain people, since having the "correct" thought as determined by educators is prioritized more than a student having their own independent opinions.

my advice is to start small. if you see a post on your dash talking about a certain topic, really take a moment to step back. does this argument seem convincing? does it seem accurate? if so, why? do you have all the information? if you don't know enough about a topic to formulate your own opinion, maybe you should do some research!

and im not saying you should by default disagree with everything you see. that creates its own host of problems. I'm saying that whether you agree OR disagree with something, you should take a step back and evaluate why. can you explain your own opinions to others outside of "people I want to agree with have this opinion?"

it's also perfectly fine to not have an opinion on certain topics. if you don't know very much about something, there's no shame in waiting to form an opinion until you have more information. don't be afraid to ask questions. don't be afraid to investigate the trustworthiness of sources!

but if all that is overwhelming, and stepping in discourse sounds scary, you can even try this with fiction you read or watch. (im primary a media analysis blog, so i really do think fiction is a great practice ground to practice your analytical skills.) how does this story make me feel? can I identify why it does that? do I like this character? why? can I pick up on any subtext here? can I identify any literary devices the author is using? small questions like that.

in my opinion, a lot of my seeming intelligence comes from my ability to know and explain myself. I spend a lot of time reflecting on why I hold certain opinions, and seeking out further information when I don't understand something. you're probably here because you like my opinions on media analysis - those opinions are formed by not only reading and watching a wide range of things, but by seeking out different lens of analysis, and yes, seeing what other people have to say, and evaluating whether or not I think their opinions are well-supported. I try my best to expose myself to a lot of different types of thought. and I try my best to understand my own mental mechanisms, and to challenge them when necessary. I do think that's crucial to being an independent thinker.

I am sorry if this comes across as a lot. this stuff is overwhelming! you don't have to take all my advice at once. if you can pick even one suggestion from this post, and make an honest effort to try it, you'll start getting better at confronting your fear of being wrong, or the odd one out. over time, it will get easier for you to understand yourself as an independent person.

#narrates #i don't give out general advice very much so i do welcome feedback! if you don't understand something feel free to ask me

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thealogie · 6 months

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The thing about TJLC which I really regret has been rewritten over the years is that. They were right! Not the conspiracy aspect, but the subtext. Like. They were spot-fucking-on about the subtext. It was there!! It was deliberately written into the show! "I'm-not-gay-well-I-am-look-at-us-both" is imo TEXT! My dad opined recently that the writers were a) doing it on purpose and were, past a certain point, b) explicitly mocking their audience. If a sixty year old straight man can obliviously give me the definition of queerbaiting while discussing that show then... I dunno. But I think it's a shame Sherlock became known as the #1 It's Not Queerbaiting Actually show because of the admittedly unhinged-ness of the fandom, when Destiel is right there.

I MEAN I was right there with the “the subtext is so text that it would make sense for them to acknowledge it and if they are good writers that’s where it’s going” I was into it. That part is not a conspiracy like good omens literally did it, ofmd is different because it was planned from the start but it used the same vocabulary that sherlock used for queerbaiting for actual gay storytelling. Where they lost me was the conspiracy part (like saying there’s a secret good episode coming or they’re secretly filming s5 or whatever), but good omens is my “you’re not crazy” misha collins tweet (see? I pay attention to the spn on my dash)

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olderthannetfic · 8 months

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I’m kind of surprised that the whole heteronormativity BL discourse turned into me hating femme men and wanting every man to be masc. It’s doubly nuts because the story I described that got the brunt of this was one I made because of a certain masculine gay character trope that I really hated, to the point where my idea of fixing it was to basically make him sensitive and soft and a yuri on ice fan, and bullied for his lack of masculinity. If I find myself hating or feeling negatively about any part of a BL story it’s usually because of the actions of the top/seme character.

If a BL is bad, or I don’t know if it’s good or not, or I think there’s any bad writing moments at all, the top is usually the problem. This rule applies even if I think the top is a great character. This applies even if the bottom is a fucking terrorist who crippled an innocent young woman and tortured her for hours and never once grows as a person the whole story. (to be clear I really like the story i’m talking about and would recommend it, halfway across by dracze, but it’s still insane how the top basically NEEDS to be at the more toxic one in the relationship if the story has any flavor whatsoever). I know there are obviously exceptions, I can’t name a single one at the moment.

None of what i’m saying is a criticism of BL or of masc gay characters, i’m just saying that way too many people jumped to one specific conclusion about me based on my words. I really hope this doesn’t turn into discourse about me hating masc gay men and wanting everyone to be femme or some shit. I’d probably rage quit the internet for a week if that happened.

You are the only one who can't let this go. Everyone else forgot about it five minutes after it happened... or would have if your ongoing behavior didn't remind them.

As I've explained numerous times, people respond to the subtext and vibe of what a person writes as much as to their literal words. You said a bunch of shit that was laden with buzzwords and dogwhistles from communities with bad attitudes. People picked up on that.

You send lots of lengthy posts that are hard to parse and that come out of nowhere. And no, "you don't have to answer this but..." is not the ass-covering you think it is. I have to at least look at the posts in my inbox to evaluate them before they go in the queue. Normally, I don't mind if the same person sends me lots, and I don't care if they're all super interesting, but yours are particularly self-absorbed, boring, and horribly-written.

They're always phrased like "I think X about media Y". They don't invite discussion. They aren't tied to past conversations on here. They don't show the slightest spark of interest in what others think.

You apparently want eyeballs on your writing, both creative and nonfiction asks, but you're incapable of showing genuine interest in others. If these posts are an attempt to interact rather than to just say words in front of an audience, it sure doesn't show in the final product.

The posts people respond better to are just written better, but they are also more obviously part of a dialogue that treats other readers of my blog as peers, not a spigot dispensing free attention.

Why should anyone care why you dislike one BL or another? I get that you're trying to prove something about yourself, but why should anyone care about that either?

You are not the main character in other people's lives.

You're treating this like some need to clear your name, but fundamentally, that's assuming any of this matters to other people. It doesn't outside of refuting a given comment on a given post and then, like I said, forgetting about it five minutes later.

Every time you ask a new question, it just demonstrates the same lack of clue as before. For example, you recently asked (in part):

"What would changing my behavior look like? I have full plans to write […]"

It does not matter what comes in place of that ellipsis because no one cares what you do in your own art.

No one ever had an issue with your art because nobody has consumed it. And, to be honest, plenty of people have perfectly fine values for things they do. The fact that you do or don't include problematic thing X or proship stance Y in your own art is not proof of anything.

The issue is in how people talk to others about other people's art.

Endlessly trying to bring up your own work just looks like pointless grandstanding. Meanwhile, the vibe when you chat with others here has not really changed. There's still a strong subtext of unexamined assumptions and desire to make everything about yourself.

It's not about swapping out word X or Y. It's about your overall writing ability and command of subtext, which is poor. Really, really poor.

It's also about moronic statements like:

Like would it have made you mad that I said what I said if I removed those words? Because I didn't even mean them I just didn't think long enough to cut them from the post.

"Ooh, I didn't think".

Then don't fucking speak.

Or, if you do run your mouth without thinking, like most of us do sometimes, expect to suffer the consequences and don't cry like a cowardly little weasel when you do.

To be perfectly frank, I spend less time trying to promote my own work on here than you do. On my blog.

And I can actually write.

This constant me, me, me, me bullshit is what makes you seem selfish, self-absorbed, and like you're wasting everyone's time on purpose.

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