@steddie-week day 1: Hunger | 1.1k words
cw: light angst in that Steve is a little sad/dealing with some mental stuff but like hurt/comfort (not EDs which mental stuff combined with the prompt word might make it seem like, hunger is used as a metaphor)
Sometimes Steve doesn’t talk to anyone for days. He just shuts himself in his room and hides, barely leaves his bed. Pretends he doesn’t exist, or that time has stopped and he’s the only thing that exists.
Sometimes, he’ll go back too soon, feel bad for the ignored calls and drag himself out of bed to see the people who matter most to him. But it won’t feel warm and soft those times. He’ll be too raw and It’ll feel like they’re grabbing his insides and eating them. Pulling his heart and brain out of his body and devouring them without letting him eat theirs in return.
Usually, he’s okay with that. He knows his place, he knows that’s what he’s for. For other people to get fed. And he’s happy to feed, to do that for them.
He loves them, of course he’s gonna give himself over. It’s just that sometimes they take too much. They don’t know they do he thinks, they don’t know they’re eating him alive. That he’s presenting himself on a silver platter and letting them take take take, and that sometimes they take too much.
That’s why he disappears, so he can grow back. So he can give more. Because if he stops giving he's afraid they’ll get tired. He won’t be useful, he can’t give when he’s like that. He starts craving, he starts wanting. He feels starved and wants to take and feed too, and that’s not part of the deal. He’s not supposed to eat, he’s supposed to be eaten. So when he turns hungry and ravenous he hides, he isolates.
Robin is the only one who truly gets this about him, who doesn’t take and demand. She gently accepts the things he gives and never without giving too, forcing him to stay whole. It’s overwhelming and sometimes he has to hide from that too, he doesn’t know how to deal with the force of it. He’s so used to the constant hunger it’s a shock when it’s gone but he’s gotten better. And anyway, he and Robin are part of one whole so whatever is given or taken between them is never really gone. It stays with both of them.
Robin is the only one, or she was the only one he should say. Because now there’s Eddie. Eddie who gives and gives and gives, almost as much as he does. But who doesn’t seem to dwindle and dim like Steve does. Who doesn’t seem to starve or hunger. Eddie who notices when Steve does, when he stumbles and gets greedy. Who holds him up and makes him whole with a look, a touch, a word.
Eddie who breaks in through his window when he shuts himself in his big empty house and lays with him in his bed, softly telling Steve stories and running his fingers through his hair.
It’s wonderful.
It's the worst.
“I’m afraid you’re gonna end up as empty as me,” Steve tells him, whispers it into the dark. “That you’re here now and you’re giving and I’m taking and you’re gonna be the one left with nothing.”
Eddie doesn’t respond immediately but hums in acknowledgment, lets him know he heard and is thinking.
“This is good for me too,” he says eventually, “being with you and resting. Getting to be here for you when you never used to let anyone but Robin be. It’s good for me too.”
“It can be good and still drain you.” Says Steve, knows it to be true. He doesn’t resent giving the way he does, he loves it, it’s good. It drains him.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “this doesn’t drain me, you’re comforting me too. It’s balanced.”
Balanced. That’s what Robin tells him too. That’s what Nancy sometimes asked him for when they dated and he couldn’t let her see the cracks. That’s what he wonders about with his other friends.
He doesn’t usually know how to do that. He doesn’t know where the lines are. He doesn’t understand how Eddie knows.
“You let me give, and I let you give, so it’s balanced. We don’t take from each other, we gift and we receive. It’s balanced. You have to let other people give sometimes too, Steve.”
It hits something deep in him, the last words. He knows this, he doesn’t want to know it.
“I’m afraid they won’t. if I open myself up to it. If I ask, I’m afraid they won’t.” He says it so quietly it’s almost inaudible but Eddie hears.
His hands still in Steve’s hair for a moment before moving again, gently scratching his scalp.
“I know baby. But that’s not fair, they want to give too. If they knew how much they took without giving back they’d be heartbroken. It’s not fair to you or them.”
Steve lets Eddies words wash over him, he knows he’s right. They’d be nauseous with it. His sweet wonderful friends and family would be crushed.
“Sometimes it will happen, maybe,” Eddie continues when Steve doesn’t respond beyond a sharp breath in. “Sometimes people won’t know how to give after only getting but you gotta let them try. Sometimes they’ll learn and adjust, sometimes they won’t and you’ll have to deal with that. But you can’t starve yourself like this because you won’t let them try.”
"What if I take too much?"
"Then they talk to you, like you should talk to them."
“When did you get so wise,” Steve snorts, his voice is tight but he makes the effort, tries to lighten the mood. Deflects, like he always does.
Eddie lets him, a little, knows Steve has to. But he’s still serious when he answers.
“Wayne is like a never-ending well of insight and digging around in everything, never lets me get away with shit.”
The opposite of Steve’s parents who were the first to take from him and never give, never look into his eyes and tell him to eat.
“He’s a good guy,” Steve tells Eddie instead of weighing him down more than he already has. Instead of acknowledging and relieving the hunger pang that strikes him at the thought. Even now, here, he doesn’t know how.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I’m here to relay his wisdom, like playing telephone with whatever stuff he teaches me. The things your parents took away from you.”
Eddie still knows, of course, he does. He always knows.
“And what do you get?” Steve has to ask.
“I get you. I get everything.”
Steve smiles, turns around to kiss Eddie. He doesn’t feel empty when Eddie kisses him back, hungry. When he takes and devours.
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Genetic engineering, DNA modification, tested it on herself... Why would Jillian go through all this trouble? Adoption would be easier, surrogacy wouldn't be an issue for a woman with so much money, so why this devotion to medical science, to gene manipulation?
This doesn't seem very logical unless we take one step further in examining her characterisation as a sort of Virgin Mary character implied by her clothing and framing during season one: a man is never mentioned in connection to Michael's conception, either as donor or father... Possibly because Michael has no father. Jillian has made him up from scratch or, at least, using only her own genetic material.
This would surely equate to an awesome "medical marvel" and it would accomplish two additional things: first, it would account for just how sick Michael needs to be so that an extremely rare substance that doesn't even belong to this world can be his sole hope in surviving (the result of a miscalculation, an unforeseen mutated gene, some error in Jillian's design, the absence of something); and second, reproduction without the aid of man ("sinless", sexless) not only ties Jillian's character more closely to the theme of the holy mother, it also more strongly makes a Jesus figure out of Michael.
This is significant because it makes him into a designated saviour: Michael, too, "dies", crossing to "the other side" and later returning with the mission of saving humanity, which is the role he is sure he will play during all of season two. This story has been told before, the structure is the same and we all know it. He mirrors Christ in his being born of a woman untouched by man, in going beyond life and back, in being tasked by a higher power to act for others in his sacrifice. It is a destiny clearly written out for him, a classic narrative, a hero's journey neatly set up for Michael to accomplish and all he has to do is follow the script.
And yet, doing everything right, by the book, Michael ultimately fails.
If, according to all of the doubts awakened by the developments in Warrior Nun (is Adriel's realm not Heaven? Is he not an angel? Is Reya God? Is Jesus just as alien as Adriel? Etcetera), the Catholic church's teachings are all twisted, incomplete, when not simply ignorant of all that is true in spiritual, metaphysical matters, then this saviour narrative that constitutes the foundation of the institution itself is doomed — as well as whatever guidance it could supply.
I was discussing with @halobearerhavoc earlier about (among many other intriguing things) how myth informs the show and how it might predict Reya's fall, but also how that event would necessarily depart from how it plays out in the original myth. That is due to the fact that our protagonist here is Ava, a woman, and that this tiny little fact of sex alone forces a shift in how things are presented, in which values are prioritised, in how conflict is treated, escalated or resolved — this applies here as well.
Michael was the textbook redeemer, he was made for this, brought up by Reya with this explicit purpose and with the acquired conviction that he was the key to it all.
Ava, on the other hand, is a product of coincidence, of accident, of the unfathomable. She is already a rupture in tradition — dead and brought back, unknowingly, unwillingly the "usurper" of the halo, inserting herself in the line of bearers at random when she doesn't even seem to have any belief... Ava exists outside of tradition. To Michael's determined "Destiny", she is the one imbued with free will (it isn't out of guilt or duty that she returns to the Cat's Cradle, but through Mary's sympathy, through her own understanding and action). Ava is the unplanned factor, contrasted with Michael who was so planned that his life might have begun inside a Petri dish.
It isn't determinism that will save us, a mantle of glory woven by someone else wanting to place it upon our shoulders regardless of our own wishes; it isn't a decrepit institution or some despotic deity that will define us or what we do; it isn't the heavy, malodorous layers of ancient mould gathered over the endless tomes of Established Tradition or the carefully made calculations of arrogant scientists who think they can predict and explain and control everything.
Salvation cannot be through what Michael represents: an imposed duty, a stagnant, hackneyed story.
A story, we would do well to remember, which was already used to subjugate others, whatever its initial intentions might have been; Jillian certainly didn't predict what would be of her son and surely the primitive Christians didn't see into the future to understand what their devotion and their modes of its transmission would cause, yet it came to happen. The extermination of the Cathars, the persecution of pagans, the burning of "witches", the suppression of indigenous beliefs, activities and lives, to name but a few of the atrocities committed in the name of this one story...
So it cannot be Michael, embodying this narrative so well, that will bring about a fortunate ending to humanity's troubles.
Instead, salvation comes through Ava. She herself might be inhabited by a number of parallels with Christ, but she also carries freedom, an outsider's view which makes the inside so see-through, love, an ability to move outside of what had been previously set for her by someone else (one might even argue that these are the traits that made Christ before the story surrounding him came about)...
The walls built around her needn't contain her — and, phasing as she does, they do not.
Moreover, what would have been the real ending to Reya's plan, had it been followed exactly as it should have? The divinium bomb did hit Ava in the end, but wouldn't it have been worse had she not been interrupted in running up to Michael while he immobilised Adriel during the televised freak circus?
Ava's unpredictability, her impulse, her innate need to act with free will rather than constricted by what others dictate — Ava is the foil to fate itself, the foil to a structure, to a hierarchy that has been festering and rotting from the beginning of time, it should seem.
The hero of this story could only ever be her.
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inspired by many mutuals I wanted to make my own version of the best of TTPD playlists and then I decided to make my own alternate album titles/covers because I’m a big nerd so…
first up is album one the albatross
tracklist:
1. Fortnight (feat. Post Malone)
2. Florida!!! (feat. Florence + the Machine
3. Guilty As Sin?
4. But Daddy I Love Him
5. The Bolter
6. I Can Do It With A Broken Heart
7. Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?
8. The Albatross
9. thanK you aIMee
10. Cassandra
11. The Manuscript
12. Clara Bow
available as a playlist on Apple Music and Spotify
then the second album is called how did it end?
tracklist:
1. The Prophecy
2. My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys
3. I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)
4. The Black Dog
5. loml
6. Down Bad
7. I Look In People’s Windows
8. Peter
9. So Long, London
10. Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus
11. So High School
12. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived
13. How Did It End?
available as a playlist on Apple Music and Spotify
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