#somewhere someone created a dichotomy

[anxiety-elemental-kay]

Vash's Dual Powers in Trigun Stampede

Or: Christ on a cracker episode eleven really was that fucked up holy shit

Here’s that essay about Stampede Vash’s powers I mentioned a while back. This is another where I yell about Trigun and gender and worry I’m spouting shit that was obvious to everyone, but you’re getting the essay anyway.

Content warnings include discussion of sexual assault, pregnancy, and forced pregnancy. I’ll be talking about episode eleven a lot so. Yeah.

The first time we see Vash manifest his powers is the same time Knives and Conrad do: when he creates a black hole in his arm. We see it absorb the corpses of the people Knives just killed, and we can see from Vash’s panicked expression he has no control over it. Knives then cuts his arm off because his brother just manifested an entire black hole like right there.

(It’s worth noting that the music track for this scene is called ‘Drain Gate’, and another track using Vash’s theme is called ‘Plant of Drain’. In the episode twelve stinger the Pieces of Earth fleet reference using something called a ‘drain gate’, which might be related to FTL travel. I have no conclusions for this point, just that this powers seem to have greater implications than just ‘black hole’ in Stampede.)

So far this is stuff the manga has more or less covered before. Vash’s power specifically was creating black holes. In TriMax we see July and its citizens consumed by a black hole. For Stampede though, Orange gave Vash a secondary power: fertility.

And I do mean fertility and not virility; the capacity to become pregnant versus the capacity to impregnate someone else. At the start of episode eleven, Knives penetrating Vash is pretty obviously phallic. His knives are the literal mechanism by which he seizes control of and violates Vash’s mind and body. On the other hand, when Vash sprouts roots which connect to the other plants in the tank, it doesn’t read as phallic to me.

They look like umbilical cords.

Each root connects to the plants’ stomachs, and aside from a brief red flash this doesn’t appear to cause them any pain or distress, contrary to Vash flailing away from his brother’s blades. We see energy move down the roots from Vash to the plants, and when they unfurl to reveal their pregnancies the roots remain connected at their navels. They look surprised and afraid. Those pregnancies are, almost literally, also his.

For all of Conrad’s technobabble about the plant core and souls and whatever, Vash’s powers seem to boil down to this: he can send things to the higher plane by creating a black hole, and he can take from the plane by manifesting with his, or others’, bodies.

I think this interpretation is reinforced by a series of three shots after Knives says “Happy birthday Vash". The pussy portal opens behind Vash (with a goopy sound effect), we cut to outside the tower to see the purple flowers blooming on the roots, and cut again to inside the tank where the plants unfurl to reveal they’ve become massively pregnant. Portal, flower, pregnancy. It’s all about biological reproduction.

And then Knives goes into the pussy portal and finds an inter dimensional ovum, which he then also penetrates with his blades, explicitly to impregnate all the other plants.

Like.

Studio Orange looked at the Fifth Moon chapter in the original Trigun manga and said “You are like little baby. Watch this.” and then made an episode which made me spend the rest of the day somewhere dark and quiet when I first watched it because holy shit.

(It shouldn’t go unsaid Vash and Knives are canonically trans in Stampede, it’s in the text even if it’s not what Orange was thinking of! Vash is surrounded by yonic imagery and Knives has no dong I don’t know what else to tell you.) (edit: okay so maybe not CANON canon but i'd still argue it's an easy interpretation to make)

There’s always been a dichotomy at the heart of Vash as a character: a desire for peace versus the necessity of violence. A living weapon trying to live and love among humans who constantly reject him. Avoiding hurting others while physically capable of great and terrible destruction.

When Vash regains control he transforms the growths he was forced to make into a MacGuffin that’s easy for the twins to fight over. He transforms what he was forced to create into a bomb, because there didn’t seem to be any other way for him to neutralize the mass. (I assume this because Vash seemed to have immediate and almost perfect control of his powers in episode twelve, and it would be strange for ‘make a bomb’ to be his first choice for dealing with the roots.) Vash has been forced to create something that poses a danger to himself and everyone around him.

Vash was a weapon, even in creating life, from the roots growing to choke all of JuLai, to the pregnant plants, to the nuke cube obliterating the largest human city on the planet.

Forced creation is no different from destruction. Reproduction is not beautiful or honorable when unwilling.

(This is my essay so I’ll allow myself another aside: episode eleven is a good demonstration of why I tend to prefer genre above more realistic stories. Here, like in the manga, we see a metaphorical rape scene stripped of anything that could be (intentionally) titillating, leaving only the victim’s fear and pain. I feel like only in this kind of metaphor can sex be stripped away from assault, and instead put the focus on the emotions of the scene.)

Vash having fertility as a power is (one of many) things that fascinate me about Trigun Stampede. I’m an afab nonbinary person, I’ve always been afraid of getting pregnant, and I’ve never wanted kids. Sexual assault is something I’m deeply afraid of, and I would genuinely rather die than give birth. It’s all tied up in my feelings about my gender and my body and how it’s perceived by others. Vash is pretty much experiencing my literal worst nightmare.

All this circles back to what might be my favorite topic when it comes to analyzing Trigun: how it depicts masculinity.

There’s a lot about masculinity in Trigun that I think is genuinely radical to some degree, and whether it’s something Orange intended to add or if it’s just easier to do a queer interpretation of this version of the story isn’t a question I’m interested in. I’m gonna rub my gay trans little hands all this anime and you can’t stop me!

Stampede doesn’t depict fertility and masculinity as opposites or even incompatible. Vash and his body isn’t made repulsive because he has this power, in fact when he regains control he gets a color change and a sick new hairstyle. Vash possessing this power isn’t depicted as that different from the black hole, it’s just a thing he can do, but here it’s being taken advantage of by his brother. The disgust and horror isn’t from the metaphor of a man becoming pregnant, it’s because he was violated by someone who claims to love him and want to protect him.

For contrast, imagine a similar scene, in which a masculine character is surrounded by feminine/pregnancy imagery, and consider how it would likely be framed in most other mainstream media. Those of you who don’t live under rocks might even think of some examples! Typically in media, men seen anywhere in proximity to femininity are mocked and humiliated.

Vash’s masculinity, his identity, his personhood, are ultimately disconnected from his capacity to reproduce, and by what means his body is or is not capable of making babies. He regained agency because Meryl called out to him, and she called out because he inspired her, and she was inspired because he was out making human connections with people, trying so hard to do the right thing even when he failed. His powers are a part of him, but not what ultimately make Vash truly powerful.

I’m curious to see if/how Studio Orange will continue with this theme going forward. So much of Vash’s character is about contradiction, and in this way they’re making some of those themes even more literal. More contrast-y.

To wrap this up, here’s one more thing I’m curious about: what will become of the Independents who will be born from this? The pregnant plants escaped with Conrad and his flying saucer lab. Assuming any children survive, and considering how much the twins grew in only a year, they could have a role in the future story. What will they be like? How will their origin shape the people they become? How much will Knives control (or fail to control) his children? What will they think of humanity, of Knives, of Vash, of themselves?

#trigun #tristampparty #kay writes things

[thewertsearch]

AC: :33 < sorry to bother you again! AC: :33 < is AC: :33 < um [...] AC: :33 < he available? [...] TT: What is the name of this mystery fellow you seek? AC: :33 < aaaaa youre just teasing me now! AC: :33 < i f33l bad about bugging you about it [...] AC: :33 < i miss pounce a lot :(( AC: :33 < and talking to him reminds me of her

Aw, Nepeta. :(

Still, there are ways to solve this. Maybe Rose could give her the code for Jaspersprite's pendant - or just give him his own computer, like Davesprite's iShades.

You won't need it anymore. It served you well. You suppose there are a lot of things you've outgrown, now that you think about it.

...his own computer, Rose! I said his own computer!

Rose is abandoning her primary communication device. Obviously she has others, but her attitude here is still making me nervous - especially considering how heavy-handed her phrasing is.

Who or what do you think you've outgrown, Rose?

JASPERSPRITE: Did you learn to play the rain rose? ROSE: Not yet, Jaspers. ROSE: It's a little complicated, but I believe I've embarked on another quest, one which surpasses the scope of the objectives local to this planet.

I'm on record as being fully on board with Rose's skepticism about her Quest - but she should be equally skeptical about her new quest. Both are sponsored by suspicious entities with unclear motives, and I'm not sold on either of them.

ROSE: I'm saying there's something more important to accomplish now. Something more important than creating a universe. JASPERSPRITE: Oh thats ok rose i wouldnt want you to feel obligated to do that.

That's a strange sentiment, coming from Jaspers. Sprites generally echo the game's expectations for its Players, so it's odd that a game centered around fate, destiny and temporal obligation would tell Rose that her ultimate goal is optional. After all, she was made to create a universe.

Maybe Jaspers just loves Rose so much that he's on board with her rebellion, even though he doesn't understand it.

JASPERSPRITE: I think that winning this game and getting the prize is up to you and your friends. JASPERSPRITE: You get to decide whether or not you feel its right to do that and what kind of prize you want to make!

Is Jaspers implying that Sburb's prize doesn't have to be a universe? That winning the game can mean something else, instead?

Rose thinks her only options are to submit to the game's whims, or fight it tooth and nail. Perhaps that's a false dichotomy, and it's possible to fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum - some sort of alternate win condition that saves their doomed session.

Perhaps the game has recognized that Rose is a renegade, and it's trying to show her that things aren't so black and white. Maybe Sburb is signaling that it's willing to negotiate.

JASPERSPRITE: Its part of becoming who youre supposed to become i think.

Damn it! Just as I'm starting to wonder if Sburb is more flexible than we thought, it tosses this line at us.

I don't like this sentiment. It stinks of Alpha, and it's exactly the kind of thing that will piss Rose off. She's rebelling against what she perceives to be her destiny - the last thing she wants to hear is that there's someone she's 'supposed' to become.

JASPERSPRITE: I dont know i hope im not being too pushy rose its not my place to be im just your cat! JASPERSPRITE: But the thing that made me how i am now seems to really want me to say this to you. JASPERSPRITE: Your quest is really important for you to do. JASPERSPRITE: Not really because thats how to get the prize. JASPERSPRITE: But because its what you need to do for yourself!

This isn't about the universe, says Sburb.

This is totally bizarre. I thought it was all about the universe, and the game's Players were just the mechanism for creating them. Even the Quests are just extended tutorials on how to terraform planets.

Do the Players have another role to play?

JASPERSPRITE: I love you rose! I always have even when you were a little girl and i was an alive cat. ROSE: Thanks, Jaspers, that's nice to hear. ROSE: It's hard to remember, but I'm pretty sure I felt the same way back then. JASPERSPRITE: It was fun getting to be your cat again rose even if it was just for a little while and also while being a princess ghost. JASPERSPRITE: Bye rose! ROSE: See you, Jaspers! ROSE: If you see my mother in the course of your travels, tell her I said hello.

Alright, let's hit the pause button on the lore speculation. I need to grab some tissues :'(

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #2812 #s76

[looselipssinkships-x]

please ramble some more about the lyrics in campagne for my real friends

I didn't proofread this. It is roughly 1700 words. I have a lot of feelings. Buckle up.

Okay let’s take it from the top:

You are a getaway car, rush of blood to the head – okay so this isn’t a huge one for me but like, it sets the scene, sets the tone, starts painting a picture of this person. They are chaos, they are energy, and this song is sung directly to them while being about them. 

I’m just the covers on top of your bed – I am waiting patiently for you to come home. I am warm, I am safe. I am an afterthought, I am no one, I am invisible until I am gone.

I keep you warm and not ask you where you’ve been – this line comes and goes so quick and the first time I actually heard the lyrics they hit me like a freight train. This line is the kind of shit I read and write stories about. It speaks to care, to compassion, the kind of gentle acceptance that we all crave (or maybe it’s just me and my emotional damage but I feel like it’s a smidge universal). You know I’m flawed and messy and sometimes the choices I make aren’t the best but you’re not leaving. You’re there when I am ready to return.

With your backless, black dress, soaked to the skin – the imagery and the syncopation of this line just, does things to me. I need to be in a club somewhere (preferably gingers in nyc ily) in something tight, black, and backless. This person is clearly the center of the singer’s attention, and the way I choose to interpret the song, they appreciate the attention of the masses but the only person whose attention really matters to them is the singer (y’know that feeling when there’s a whole crowd of people but it feels like it’s just you and that one other person? yeah. those kinda vibes.)

And when it’s said and done, they’re all scramblin – okay so I misheard this line for like, a while. I heard “we’ll all straggle in,” like the way everyone crawls into bed in the early hours of the morning after the bars close up. It continued painting the picture of the dichotomy between recklessness and security, with the imagery of the singer as the warm bed you return to for quiet comfort. ‘They’re all scramblin” paints a bit of a different picture, maybe this person’s energy is a little more reckless, sends people running. They’re someone you can’t tear your eyes away from until it all starts to crash and burn and then it flips and you can’t bear to look. The singer says “they’re all,” not including themself. They will stay when it all falls apart. 

And we’re friends, we’re friends – The repetition of this line feels sooo intentional, like this person needs to be reminded, reassured. Especially with the first ‘we’re friends’ being a little more drawn out and melodic and the repeat being shorter and percussive, it’s firm, it’s no nonsense, it’s “this is not up for debate.”

Just because we move units – I don’t have a lot to say about this line, because I have no idea what it means, but I thought it said “just because we know you dance,” which feels like it fits the song, and seems like a allusion to the focal person supporting the singer/band. It expands the picture to this focal person coming to shows and maybe that’s how they met, because their energy has to be eye catching, intoxicating.

Strike us like matches, ‘cause everyone deserves the flames – I think every time I think about this line I debate how it can be interpreted. Are we keeping everybody warm? Are we putting everyone on display and shining a light on them? Are we lighting them on fire? Regardless of the interpretation of why everyone deserves the flames, the imagery of “us” being what initiates the fire is so vivid, especially the way striking a match creates a tiny little explosive reaction, such  a significant spike in energy made through the strike.

We only do it for the scars and stories – We do it for the future, we do it to keep on living, we do it all to squeeze every last bit from this short little life we have. This is from the era where at least half of fall out boy still felt like they were living with a deadline. Do you know what it is to feel like the sand in your hourglass is falling faster and faster and you are desperate to make the most before that time runs out? You know it will hurt, by now it doesn’t cross your mind for things not to hurt, but this is what feels real right now. This person with their frenetic energy makes you feel alive, and you sink into that. 

The sounds of this small town make my ears hurt – All you want is to get out. Small towns can be so suffocating, and the dynamic between two people desperate to make it out can be…fraught. It’s so hard. The context of this song in a small town?? Everyone is trying/everyone is shining?? God do you know what it is to love someone who shines so bright in such a dull town and have to watch as the dullness threatens and eats away at their bright? Maybe this is just me because goddamn everything feels like a fight, like pulling teeth, like i will never ever be free from that small town no matter how far I move, no matter how much I change, it will always eat at me.

They say, you want a war, you’ve got a war but who are you fighting for? – The desperation in this line, the angst, the way you can feel your heart rasping up your throat in this line, begging an answer “what are you fighting for?” and until you know what you are fighting for how can you do anything but lose?

Tide’s out, the ships run aground, we drown, traitors in shallow waters – syncopation bay-beee!! When i started thinking about all of fall out boy’s boat mentions I was like wow, kinda weird for a bunch of kids from the midwest, then I remembered Chicago is on a big ol fucking lake. (I am from the very landlocked midwest. The first time we had a flood warning after I moved to the east coast I almost threw up because I couldn’t figure out what was going to flood. Was the ocean going to flood? Is the Charles going to come into my apartment? I was unwell). ANYWAYS. This line always makes me think of that thing about like, drowning is still drowning whether it’s 3 feet or 3 miles of water, though the specific “traitors in shallow water” feels like someone is making an example of them, this was intentional. When did we go from car to boat though? Are we fleeing? Are we drowning upon departure or arrival? My personal heartache is upon arrival. We finally believe we might have made it, only to not have made it at all. That feeling of your dreams being just barely out of reach. The reference as “traitors” feels like a call back to the small town. Small towns feel like they can go either way? Depending on who you are I guess, and why you’re leaving, small towns are either “you can always come back home” or “once you leave you’re not welcome back.” But it could an accusation from either side, really. That awful in between feeling of feeling trapped in the small town but you have decades of small town instilled in you that you stick out like a sore thumb when you get to the big city. It takes trial and error to learn to assimilate yourself into this new place, and there’s a lot of time spent feeling like you don’t belong in either. (If you’ve stuck it out this far, I understand if you think i should go to therapy. You would be correct). 

Everyone is trying, everyone is shining, everyone deserves the flames, but it’s such a shame – what!! an!! ending!! I know I already threw a bit of this line in earlier but I’m obsessed with both the lyrics and the way it’s sang almost as a call and response. Everyone is shining is fighting to be heard, the repetition of such a shame during previous choruses and the emphasis on each word as the song ends. What is such a shame? The way they’re shining? The way they burned out? It feels very much the way people from my town react when they find out someone they used to think highly of is now tattooed and queer. They’ve fallen from the path of the righteous, what a shame. It’s also the energy of like, how people react after people, especially young people, die from something like suicide or overdose after being bullied/demonized/what have you and left with no support system but everyone’s supposedly sad after they’re gone. 

Conclusions: Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends feels very much like a tale of best friends/lovers escaping a small town. (Backless black dress feels like a manic pixie dream girl, but also I saw a post the other day about pete being patrick’s manic pixie dream girl, and it doesn’t not fit). The person the singer is talking about is such a bright light in their dead end town and the singer just feels hollow and empty and angst ridden, they’re both a little too jaded by life already. They try and make it out but it’s hard, it’s so hard, it eats at them and they wear on each other, but by god they’re going somewhere, they’re going to make it out. Only they don’t. They crash and burn. Their ending burns as bright as their beginning did, as bright as anything. They had a good run. They gave it their all. Look at how those good kids ended up, isn’t it sad? Champagne is for all the small town kids fighting for a life bigger than what they were told they had to grow into.

#thank you so much for asking ily <3 <3 #i started writing this idek how long ago?? and then work kicked my ass and i wanted to curl up and hide for a long time #fall out boy #fob #from under the cork tree #pete wentz #patrick stump #futct

[bitimdrake]

I posted 10,175 times in 2022

That's 4,343 more posts than 2021!

468 posts created (5%)

9,707 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@queerwizarrds

@lemontongues

@sagely-n-a-i-v-e

@captainragtag

@broke-bruce-wayne

I tagged 10,165 of my posts in 2022

#dc - 3,802 posts

#tim drake - 818 posts

#txt - 815 posts

#critical role - 796 posts

#dick grayson - 643 posts

#* - 476 posts

#art - 463 posts

#laugh tag - 462 posts

#misc - 427 posts

#vid - 368 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#anyway these people remind me of a childhood friend who would constantly declare she hated things and then try them and realize she didn’t.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

wait i would also like to present a concept

A friend of Tim (chose your favorite, let’s say Ives) is super hyped about this new movie coming out, and Tim is like, I’m a rich boy, I can make dreams come true. He pulls strings for them to go to the premiere and be right up next to the red carpet.

Tim knows nothing about this movie. Ives’s rambling has gone in one ear and out the other. He has not looked up a single thing about it. He’s just doing this because it’s a cool thing to do for his friend.

This will prove to be a mistake.

Down the red carpet comes one of the actors, a man long down on his luck, who has finally made his big break in a real Hollywood movie. We’ll call him Not-Eddie. An actor not known for such roles as: Tim’s fake uncle to stop Bruce from adopting him.

Actor Not-Eddie makes eye-contact with Tim. Tim makes eye-contact with Actor Not-Eddie.

Actor Not-Eddie would very much like no one to know he once accepted money to help a teenager commit fraud. (It’s tough making a living, okay?)

Tim would very much like no one to know he once paid someone to help him commit fraud, exclusively so he could prevent the billionaire who has since adopted him from adopting him back then because they were Going Through A Thing. Tim would especially like no one to know that he committed this fraud so effectively that every government database in existence still holds records for his uncle Eddie, who looks weirdly like that cool new actor.

They have been staring too long. Ives, oblivious, says, “Hey, you know that guy from somewhere?”

Tim panics.

1,328 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

#4

actually I think people who complain about superhero comics with stuff like “ugh it’s so silly Cyborg turned into a planet” or “Jason Todd being resurrected by Superboy Prime punching the universe is ridiculous :/” are akin to people who don’t like musicals saying “actually musicals are bad because it doesn’t make sense that the characters break into song”

1,565 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

#3

A lot of people assume that almost all superheroes fit a standard of having masked (literally or metaphorically) hero identities and separate civilian identities they keep stringently secret. In reality, the identity management across the DCU is wide and varied and includes:

The classic: people who grew up as regular civilians, and later took on masked identities, hiding the connection between the two (e.g. most Bats)

As above, except minus the mask, with such seeming forthrightness heroes that no one realizes they even have a secret identity too (e.g. Clark/Superman)

Characters who once had secret identities, until those identities got revealed and they could no longer have any secrecy (e.g. Cassie/Wonder Girl)

Characters who have civilian identities and hero identities, but make no effort to hide that they’re the same person (e.g. Dinah/Black Canary)

Heroes who have fully abandoned any pretense of duel identity at all and literally just use their own name for heroing (e.g. Donna Troy)

Characters who can’t have secret identities, because their identity is blatantly obvious on first sight (e.g. Vic/Cyborg, Kory/Starfire)

Characters whose “hero name” is actually their real name--often because they’re not from earth--and for whom the dichotomy of “adopted hero identity and real civilian identity” just wouldn’t make sense (e.g. og Raven)

As above, but they later create a secret civilian alias to live as, which may or may not become more than an alias (e.g. Raven as “Rachel Roth”, Diana/Wonder Woman as “Diana Prince”, Kon-el/Superboy as “Conner Kent”)

Characters who are just really, really bad about keeping their secret identity secret and might not even care (e.g. just. all of the Arrows)

2,030 notes - Posted August 9, 2022

#2

red hood and the outlaws? no, no, you misheard me. red hood and the INlaws. local teenage crime lord gets unwillingly mentored by his big brother's most determined friends.

2,177 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

i do really love the idea of Time Shenanigans leading to ~13-year-old Damian meeting all former Robins at the same age, because every single one of them is just the exact opposite of what he’d expect.

Dick, who Damian expects to be the cool nice supportive one, at thirteen is fucking furious at the idea that there are any Robins after him. Stephanie, far from the perky optimist he knows, is a hardcore cynic who thinks Batman is super cool and hasn’t even become a vigilante yet. Jason, who has previously interacted with Damian mostly via bullets, is a sweetheart who’s exceptionally insecure at the idea of Bruce getting another Robin.

And meanwhile Tim at thirteen is like “oh you’re the next Robin? Heck yeah, that’s awesome, glad it worked out.”

7,796 notes - Posted March 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#year in review #* #oops forgot this in my drafts #anyway tldr: i spend too much time on this website sorry #god i forgot the inlaws was this year #once again i am having dreams of removing the outlaws from existence

[flyingcatstiel]

@impostoradult answered to my previous comments here. This is a huge discussion and fandom is barely starting it. Emotions run high because there’s sense of dread and helplessness, so, no, not all arguments are very rational but the thing is. The thing is we are talking about fandom space. Hobby space. Place where we are supposed to create and relax, and interact with other fans. Connections are supposed to be between humans. I want to know which blorbo lives rent free in my mutual’s head because I care about my mutual, not which blorbo is being squeezed through AI algorithm. 

Fandom is barely coming out of creators/consumers debate debacle. I’d say that lots of fans are still struggling with the idea that monetizing your hobby is bad for you and the hobby (and posting money links on AO3 is against their ToS). And now we are facing possibility where one person’s hobby will have to compete with AI product based on all fanworks combined.

Here’s some points from @impostoradult’s comment I wanted to answer directly. 

And so, to address some of your other points in more depth - if someone writing fic doesn't have an original take (and isn't even necessarily trying to have an original take) we still don't consider that a problem in fandom.

The reason why fans have no problem with repetitive fics in fandom is because we value people behind those fics, and because we consider those people integral to our fandom experience. Yes, their fic may be repetitive, amateurish and full of cliches but that is not their only contribution to fandom. A lot of fic writers run excellent fandom blogs, reblog posts and support of other creators, make gifs, mod challenges and discords. Even if they’re just lurkers, they contribute to fandom in many small ways. No AI is gonna do that for us. And it is accepted that every writer has to start somewhere, their first fics may not be the best, but they still will reflect on fandom trends. If we want to read amazing fics some day, we must support beginner writers now. When I see a bunch of similar tropey fics in my fandom, I know that my fandom is thriving. There’s a person behind each fic, there’s dialogue, there’s collective creative ping pong, there’s belonging to a group. (and then there’s Goncharov)

In fact, often times we value stories BECAUSE they so closely imitate things we've consumed before. We JOKE in fandom about the fact that we'll read 500 stories with the exact same premise that all end up the exact same way. We often overtly VALUE the highly imitative nature of storytelling (both in fandom and in wider world).

Yes, we JOKE on tumblr that if there are 500 fake dating fics, we will read them all and ask for more. But we NEVER read them all when we go to AO3. Sure, a popular trope will get an eyeballs on the fic and give it some hits, but it does not guarantee that people will kudos, comment and keep reccing the fic only because it has that popular trope. I speak from my experience as a destiel fic reccer. There’s time when fake dating was very popular and lots of authors wrote fics with this trope for dcbb. Well, not all fics got the same attention and feedback. Sometimes even, fics with great tumblr promo posts and thousands of tumblr notes had very modest stats on AO3. Because at the end of the day, supporting idea on tumblr is easy. Reading the fic, and then engaging with the author, takes effort. And most people spare that effort to fics they really liked. This is fandom dichotomy between “I want to support all my friends” and “I want to read only good fics in the limited time that I have”. 

Fic authors are very aware of this unbalanced feedback loop. It will get only harder if AI fics will flood the tags and take away some eyeballs. I think this is the main reason why so many fic writers and readers balk at the idea of untagged artificially produced fic. Such creation goes against the very nature of fandom. Commenting on a fic can lead to fandom friendships or just a positivity boost of “Hell, yea! I made another human happy with my comment!”. I’ve no idea how should I react to a fic that is a product of data filtering and squeezing even if I could admit that the end result is actually decent. Commenting on an AI fic is a dead end, ChatGPT will not write me another fic or discuss my blorbo with me.

A month or two ago, a troll or a spam bot was leaving comments on AO3 fics saying something like “ Work scanned, AI use detected “ which stressed out a lot of folks who didn’t know how to prove that they wrote the fic themselves. AI generated content is already being disruptive and it will impact and change fandom. The thing I’m trying to say here is that, AI fic is not bad because it’d be low quality or “without a soul”. It is bad news because it is disruptive to fandom as we know it in ways we can’t really predict yet. And that is scary.

#ao3 #ai generated content #ai artwork #flyingcatstiel has thoughts #impostoradult #it is what it is #ai generated content is out of the bottle #and fandom will have to find a way to deal with it and survive #and I am not even talking about fans who prompt these ai fics #we are discussing ai fics here #but we are not mentioning fans who upload ai fics on ao3 #how should we call them? #we are not talking about why people would want to generate ai fics

[ghost-city]

since when did proshipping and antishipping become general terms?? not to be that person but back in my day if you were an anti/antishipper it was in reference to a specific ship. like u were a wincest antishipper or whatever. but now i guess people use proshipper as like a boogeyman term for people that ship anything deemed "taboo" and label themselves antishippers as a signal that they only ship "pure" ships?

but it just seems like such a stupid way to differentiate yourself bc how do you know if your definition of taboo/problematic lines up with another self-proclaimed antishipper's definition? like what if your definition is anything involving pedophilia, incest, or noncon but someone else only has a problem with pedophilia and incest but doesn't mind noncon? like i feel like every time i see people talk about "proshippers" they create this false dichotomy where you're either a person who likes and ships any and every kind of taboo or "problematic" ship or you're a person that doesn't want anything to do with any of it. but i feel like in reality a lot of people fall somewhere in the middle

idk like i don't think there's anything wrong with being uncomfortable with certain ships esp. when it comes to taboo topics or wanting to be in community with like minded people. i also have icks and ships in some fandoms that i don't want anything to do with. and i don't think it's wrong to have discussions about the morality of shipping w/in a fandom. but i just find the whole language of proshipper vs. antishipper to be so unhelpful. like it just feels like virtue signaling and morality policing and it's not even specific about what that morality is supposed to be. it leaves no room for nuance. you're either a good guy or a bad guy it's just all so stupid

#do y'all like how i rarely post original posts on this blog only to come in out of nowhere with a piping hot take of a rant <3 #except for the like 5 of u that are either moots or from my other side blog i feel like none of y'all are really familiar with me lol #since this blog is mostly just reblogs with no commentary or tags #so it feels awkward posting this out of the blue but i wanted to rant and it didn't really fit on either of my other blogs #idk sometimes i think i should start interacting w this blog more but also it was meant to just be a reblog dump in the first place #so i didn't spam my main #i didn't really plan for this blog to have more than 5 followers lol #im rambling at this point but if u read this far ily and i'm glad you're here <3 #melia.txt

[generation1point5]

There is an implicit dichotomy instilled in almost all narrative storytelling as a result of neoliberal, capitalist system that runs the global economy and society. The moral of so many stories today is that the only reliable means of change comes from individual development and our external circumstances cannot be depended upon, or even altered.

Perhaps part of that dichotomy is also psychological at heart; it is terrifying to face a reality where there is a class of people and their descendants who have spent years accumulating power and insulating its loss to any other, who have spent decades, even centuries, legitimizing their own tyranny; to fight against it would feel like facing a force of nature, like fighting gods.

When a government beholden to capital interests can drop a missile on someone and their whole family's house thousands of miles away on a whim, that is not far from the truth. To resist this imperialism by any means available to them, including violence, is only natural, but also ultimately doomed. Hope for justice in this is bleak. What has risen in its place is a feckless neoliberal order, beholden to the interests of capital.

Liberalism and the Kingdom of Conscience is small and individualized by necessity; it is the only room in the world we can carve for ourselves from the scraps left to the majority by the powerful who have come before. We are the crabs in the bucket, consigned to our castles of sand. Likewise, it soothes the conscience of the powerful, that by individual, inconsistent, and ultimately meaningless acts of charity, they can ease the conscience of the brutality of the system from which they have benefitted.

What Disco Elysium proposed was so revolutionary that I feel much of its player base did not understand the truths that it highlighted, the importance of historical materialism and the dynamics of power that so greatly affects all our lives, and the trials and tribulations of the human condition stuck somewhere between, universal to all but affecting others differently by degrees of how their government supports them.

Acknowledging the universality of human suffering is a given; but our actions to mitigate these things should not be examined solely through our own hands, our own decisions. Liberalism and its thought are intuitive in this respect; we cannot reliably influence the will and decision of others, but we can control what we ourselves do with whatever means are available to us. That is true, but the solutions to our problems should nevertheless be examined also through the lens of power: namely, who has it, and what they do with it. It is necessary that these considerations be taken into account, that in response to the broad powerlessness of many there is organization among them. There must be a creation of a counterforce by the many to offset the powerful few. 

Any organization with strong leadership is hierarchal, and by that nature also at risk of corruption, but it is no less necessary for that shortcoming; the tent that leftists try to create is necessarily bigger than that of the conservative minority, and must satisfy the greater collective interest of its constituents, lest it become no different than the oppressors themselves. Moreover, the material benefits of being elected leader within a union are lesser than that of the owning class; if self-interest and the accumulation of wealth is the goal, then success would not lie in grifting for progressive values. Arguments from cynicism become just that; it fails to distinguish the meaningful, consequential, material differences that follow when pursuing values diametrically opposed to the current order. Socialism is not a poverty cult; it is the creation of a new system of providence entirely. Its ends are strived for by an entire revolution of means, not by individual acts to reverse the unequal results of the existing system.

Revolutions by violence or efforts at incremental process are resisted in equal and overwhelming measure; the former by a greater capacity for violence by the wealthy, and the latter by capitalism’s uncanny ability to absorb anything, even its critiques, into a consumer product. If history has taught us anything, it is that the chances for success, at least in our lifetimes, are incredibly low.

But if we truly believe what we are working for is right and good, then it is persisted upon for the sheer virtue in the act, and the hope that we are planting the seeds of trees in whose shade we will not live to enjoy. It is a call to live beyond oneself, and beyond making the choice to pursue it, that call is fundamentally an anti-liberal act. 

I want to write and read stories with such sentiments. Whether the end is happy or not is immaterial; there is virtue, even necessity, in the struggle itself. It is a message I feel like is badly needed in this day and age.

#personal #blogging

[jellydishes]

As many jokes as there are about the intarwebs causing the decay of modern society into a distopian future where no one knows how to relate to one another and dogs and cats live together, it’s… Odd, isn’t it?

Because that’s not true, and it never really way. There’s this dichotomy there. An intimacy involved in putting yourself out there on the Internet, in seeing someone else put themselves out there, too.

Let me put this another way-

It’s probably safe to assume that everyone here admired someone on tumblr before they created their blog, right? Of course. Maybe you were linked there, or someone reblogged that one gif of Picard facepalming. Whatever. Point is, you were interested enough to take a look, and you kept on looking. Because somewhere between the first post and the second, or the fifth, or the tenth, that person did something that made you start.

It wasn’t intentional. Maybe a phrase jumped out at you in a fic, or there was this beam of light in a picture that keeps making you scroll back up to see it, again and again and again. It wasn’t intentional. They didn’t mean to, didn’t notice they’d done it, but somewhere along the way they became something more than they were, those preconceptions and syllables and bits of code that made up an idea of a person.

Now they’re something else.

Something pressed up against your chest, in that spot behind your ribs where smiles and things with wings go, and it’s natural as breathing to scroll to the bottom of the page and load more posts.

TLDR: that’s fandom. That’s humanity, point of fact, even —especially— at a remove, and I thought this would be a lovely way of giving even a small piece of that feeling back to the people who inspired it

#this is a repost from the wayback machine of my very first post ever made on tumblr

[intothevoid-afashionblog]

The Beginning

I have always loved fashion & it’s all I ever think about. I daydream about shoes or vintage RedLine Levis that just aren’t made like that anymore. Sometimes, I daydream about the dichotomy of the Hermès Birkin. That it comes with its own custom made raincoat but how Jane Birkin’s own Birkin overflowed with countless nicknacks, womanhood treasures & probably never once wore its chic raincoat. How walking in kitten heels reminds me of my first pair of heels, the plastic princess ones. Regardless of what it is, fashion is running through my mind 24/7. If someone lends an ear to me, I will talk it off with obscure fashion references or ponder about passers-by & where they might have gotten that coat. Is it vintage? Is it her grandfathers or her partners grandfathers? Is it from a curated thrift store somewhere on the westside & she overpaid for it? Even worse, could it be fast fashion? I know it sounds crazy but that is why I love fashion. Just like any form of art or self expression, there’s always a personal story attached to the piece. So, how did I get here?

My love for fashion comes from a culmination of events. I grew up in hair salons as my mother is a hairstylist & has been for the past 30 years. My mother has always worked hard which led to many days, nights & weekends spent in the salon.This was long before Ipads and we only had one gameboy growing up. A Gameboy Color that my older brother took ownership of the moment we got it. So, to keep myself busy at the salon, I would help with cleaning tasks, ripping foils, entertaining her clients or, on occasion, I would get my nails done. (I once got a pedicure & each of my toes were painted a different color of M & Ms) When those weren’t available to me or I got bored, I read magazines. Back in the late 90’s / early 2000’s, one of the ways you picked your hairstyle was out of these magazines. Either gossip, fashion or hairstylist magazines. The piles of magazines at the salon were high and ever evolving. I would get lost in these magazines, staring at the images & letting my mind wander. About the scenes, the vibe, the fashion, the makeup and of course, the hairstyles. All the glitz & glam. I was entranced by photography, specifically fashion photography. After the salon, we would head home where I would watch the show that sealed my fate forever. Lizzie McGuire. 

The Second Event: The Lizzie McGuire show had me in a chokehold. The costumes in that show brought fashion into my life. The one costume that changed me? Season 1, Episode 2. It’s picture day, Lizzie’s mom is making her wear a unicorn sweater while Lizzie’s BFF, Miranda, comes to school in THE outfit. An orange, sleeveless crew neck, and a zebra print midi skirt. Unfortunately, it’s what the school bully was also donned in. Something about this outfit stuck with me. It was the first time I connected with clothing and saw something that I would actually WANT to wear. I was 6 years old. Every episode from there on was magical. It was introducing trends and how to dress in a way that was unapologetic and authentic to me. Thank you to Costume Designers Monique Prudhomme & David C. Robinson for sparking this and creating a muse for my childhood. 

The Main Event: My mom’s closet. Well, it started in my mom’s handbags when I was just a toddler. Adored with a binky in my mouth, I would climb up to wherever my mom set her purse down. I would sit there for what felt like hours and just rummage around in there. I would pull out her lipstick, open it and probably rub it all over my face before returning it back to its home. Her compacts, cash, trinkets and Ricky Martin checkbook all had their time outside of the bag. Eventually, I would be caught red handed and be put back with my dolls to play with. Once I was fully mobile, probably 4 years old, my mom’s closet was next on my list. I would pull out everything. She kept her prom dress from the 80’s that I would waltz around in. With heels on and any accessories I could reach. Just pretending that I was in those photos from the magazines. My mom’s jewelry was phenomenal. She grew up in the 80’s and was a fashionista herself. She would tell me, “Everyday was a fashion show for me in high school. I had endless amounts of Guess Clothes & everything was Name Brand.” 80’s Guess aka a work of art. Perfectly captured the teenage youth of that time to tell us their story through fashion for the years to come. Everyday has been a fashion show for my mom, it didn’t end in her high school years. Anyways, back to her Jewelry. There I was, with all three of her jewelry boxes open, sitting on her closet floor, picking things out and hearing all the stories behind each piece. “Your dad bought me these earrings” or “ Your granny got me that for my birthday”. These memories are seared into my brain forever. These moments made me love fashion and see it in a new light. A light that connected with me and shined on me. A light that showed me the stories that pieces of fashion can tell. 

#fashion

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers begins with an establishing shot of London with otherworldly colors blossoming out of the everyday images. There’s something eerie about the cold blue skyline offset by the warmth of the sunset piercing through the apartment window of the main character, Adam (Andrew Scott). As far as setting a tone, these opening moments do wonders as a lonely screenwriter seems adrift in his life. We can assume there’s more to unpack in his mind and emotions that transcend the physical world, as insinuated through the uncanny sensation of the establishing images. Sadly, another sensation becomes clear as the film’s mysteries unfold; what starts with interest regresses and fizzles out.

It is unfortunate that the film doesn’t capitalize on its potential, because the initial set-up sets the stage for a deeply resonant tale of sexual repression spurred by parental neglect that never found culmination. Adam is a gay man and gets admonished by his neighbor Harry (Paul Mescal), whom Adam initially writes off. Adam visits his parents (Jamie Bell and Claire Foy) home to find they haven’t aged a day since he last saw them. In fact, they’re exactly how they were 30 years ago when they died in a car accident. As it becomes clear, Adam is retracing his past suffering. His interactions with his parents ache with loss and disconnection as it becomes clear his sexual orientation was something he never told them.

The groundwork the film begins with is rich in substance and could make for a deeply cathartic emotional exploration, if in the right hands. What kind of mental barriers has Adam created for himself that causes a disconnect from human connection? How can he come to grips with past trauma that intertwines with his personal loss and identity acceptance? However gripping these questions are, Haigh’s film settles instead for overtly melodramatic scenes that only go skin deep.

When Adam initially tells his mum that he is gay, and she reacts with surprise and confusion, we’re left with only the basic emotions. The feelings shine off the screen, thanks primarily to Foy and Scott’s splendid display of nervous, halting acting. Their performances convey more than the storytelling does, as we sense much they want to say that’s left unsaid. To what degree is any of this a figment of Adam’s imagination or an actual metaphysical experience? It is left for speculation. Sadly, it deprives us of the ability to delve into Adam’s emotional terrain, as what he’s grappling with is left only to the basics and nothing that comes to an enlightening revelation.

Part of the reason it feels like the film is always on the cusp of getting somewhere interesting is because each scene passes by with a gorgeous aesthetic. The images are something to marvel at, as complimentary colors of oranges and blues create dichotomies within the material. Reality vs. the ghostly, physical vs. emotional. As Adam and Harry ride in their apartment elevator, the mirror walls reflect their images for eternity, telling us that something about their characters is eternally present within them. For Adam, his pain becomes apparent, but Harry also confesses his distance from his family. We get a sense of how these two need each other to grow as people, but the depths of what they’re growing from remain complacent.

A question I had while watching the film was to what degree the film could’ve been told without Harry’s character. Much of the narrative comprises of typical ghost story clichés, like Adam seeing visions of his childhood self and jolting himself awake, mainly from the screeching of a train. At some point, Harry’s character feels present solely because someone needs to question Adam once he begins shouting at his nonexistent family members.

This is not to say these scenes are without merit. The cinematography by Jamie Ramsay, in combination with the production design by Sarah Finlay, conveys the mood and atmosphere of this emotional journey more than anything. When judged as a series of images and sounds, undeniable talent is on display, as the transcendent feeling between life and death literally glows on the screen. Coupled with good performances across the board by its cast, All of Us Strangers is a film with the right emotional beats, but slacks off in its poignancy. Director Andrew Haigh is no stranger to exploring time and the long-lasting effects of the past, as demonstrated by his excellent film 45 Years (2015). With this film, it feels like Haigh has regressed slightly in his exploration of the self and its relationship with the past.'

#Andrew Haigh #All of Us Strangers #Jamie Ramsay #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Claire Foy #Jamie Bell #Sarah Finlay #45 Years

[hshouse]

-

#another hot take into the void #this one will be less popular #somewhere someone created a dichotomy #of either 1) boys are being forced to do everything and the beards and they are cryig about it and suffering and in pain all the time #or 2) they chose to closet themselves and enjoy this and u are horrible to thinking they chose this and they obvs want to be out #that IS NOT REAL #life is NOT LIKE THAT #there is rarely two options #please for the love of god love your brain and respect it #if you don’t agree w something IT DOES NOT MEAN you agree with something else abou 90% of the time #obv exceptions like dont be a fucking racist etc #but on 90% of life things are nuanced #situations are complicated #feelings are contradictory #YOU DONT NEED TO SUBSCRIBE TO A TEAM #to be allowed to have an opinion #i do not agree with either of those takes #and #this is the best part #I am not sure what my take is. you are allowed to say I dont know #that is a valid opinion since we have crumbs of information

[eijispumpkin]

On Allegory, Imperfection, and Inadvertent Subversion: A small essay about Akimi Yoshida’s Banana Fish and Salinger’s “A Perfect Day For Bananafish”.

In the story of Banana Fish, Yoshida references Salinger’s short story “A Perfect Day For Bananafish” (which henceforth shall be addressed as “Perfect Day” simply for ease of reading) several different ways, both in-universe and out. It is exceedingly evident that the character of Ash Lynx is heavily based on Seymour Glass, and one might surmise that Banana Fish is an allegorical retelling of “Perfect Day”, especially given that in the original story, Ash Lynx dies of what is arguably a “passive suicide” – that is, when faced with an injury that isn’t immediately fatal, he chooses to bleed out rather than seek help, which when framed as a suicide, parallels the much more violent and sudden suicide of Seymour Glass.

However, this surface-level allegorical reading ignores a very important variable in the story of Banana Fish, namely the counterpart to Ash’s Seymour: Eiji’s Sybil. While Ash and Seymour share many similarities (both are traumatized, troubled geniuses with partly-Irish roots who grew up in New York City), the similarities between Eiji and Sybil are very few. Eiji does symbolize a world of innocence to contrast with Ash’s world of horrors, but unlike Sybil, Eiji is an adult with agency of his own, and though he retains some of Sybil’s childlike innocence and is able to connect deeply with Ash as a result of it, Eiji’s agency and decisions ultimately change the narrative and its meaning.

That is to say, by introducing Eiji as an imperfect Sybil, one who has agency and can actually provide Ash with understanding and support of the kind that Seymour never got from Muriel or others around him (and which Sybil, being three years old, was in no way equipped to provide), Banana Fish directly subverts “Perfect Day”’s original message of cynicism in the face of a material world unconcerned with the horror of lost innocence and its resulting isolation.

To understand what this means, it’s important to first understand the meaning and context of “Perfect Day” and the circumstances in which it was written. “Perfect Day” is a story written first and foremost as a critique of American materialism in the wake of WWII; Salinger echoes the concerns of the Lost Generation before him, in a way, by really driving home the alienation from modern adult life felt by those who were exposed to the horrors and traumas of the battlefields in wartorn Europe, only to return home and find a culture completely removed from it all. Seymour Glass is a stand-in for Salinger himself—Kenneth Slawenski, in his 2010 biography of Salinger, notes that on returning from the European theater, Salinger “found it impossible to fit into a society that ignored the truth that he now knew.”

If that sounds familiar, good, because it should! This is precisely the motif of “Perfect Day” (as well as some of Salinger’s other work featuring members of the Glass family, such as Seymour’s younger brother Buddy, which, as an aside, is a name that might stick out to Banana Fish fans. Whether this is an intentional reference or a coincidence, I can’t say for certain, but given the depth of other references within this allegory, I’m inclined to think it’s intentional).

As a quick summary for those who may need a refresher, “Perfect Day” is a story about a deeply traumatized man who feels isolated from the rest of society because of the weight of the horrors he has been exposed to. Muriel Glass, Seymour’s wife, is the epitome of this: she represents the materialistic culture that Seymour feels so alienated from, always talking about brand-name things and luxuries and upward mobility. Seymour rejects her company in favor of playing the piano for children and spending time on the beach, where he tells three-year-old Sybil Carpenter a story about bananafish, fish that gorge themselves on bananas in holes under the sea until they’re too fat to escape the entrances to these little banana dens, and then they die. Instead of dismissing this story as something bizarre, Sybil claims she sees a bananafish in the water, which endears her to Seymour, until she leaves, at which point he returns to his hotel room and shoots himself in the head.

In “Perfect Day”, this interaction (between Sybil and Seymour) is the center of a set of dualities. Sybil represents the state of childlike innocence that Seymour longs to return to, and because of her innocence, she can “understand” him in ways that the material adults like her mother or Muriel do not. Seymour’s isolation is a product of his society and the lack of support and understanding for traumatized veterans returning from war, and it shows in the way that adults his age cannot connect with him, and he cannot connect with them. This disconnect between worlds is what eventually results in Seymour’s suicide—he can fit neither in the world in which he wishes to be, nor in the one in which he must reside, and it ends in his death.

The question is, then, how does this relate to Banana Fish?

As mentioned previously, Ash Lynx is a very clear parallel to Seymour Glass. He’s a young man faced with immeasurable trauma from which he believes he can never recover, and there is a clear motif of duality in his entire character arc: his world (one of violence and trauma) versus the “normal” world (where innocent people who have “regular” lives may reside). Like Seymour, Ash feels trapped in a world he can’t escape, knowing “the truth” that he knows, about the horrors that people are capable of.

It follows, then, that Eiji Okumura is a parallel to Sybil Carpenter, who represents childlike innocence and a world that Ash longs to be part of but can’t reach. And to an extent, this is true: Eiji is sheltered and innocent, comparing real-life to TV shows and being completely unexposed to kidnappings, drugs, guns, and violence. However, there is a sharp contrast between Eiji and Sybil, one that fundamentally changes the relationship between Eiji and Ash and makes it radically different from that between Sybil and Seymour:

Eiji is an adult, and as such, he has agency of his own.

Unlike Sybil with Seymour, Eiji can make his own choices and face Ash as an equal. Where Sybil is a child who runs back to her mother after playing with Seymour at the beach, Eiji actively and consistently chooses to stay with Ash, over and over. He even explicitly tells Ash “you are not alone”, which is a huge and direct contrast to the message of inevitable, devastating isolation from “Perfect Day”. Whereas Sybil’s innocence serves as a reminder to Seymour of what he’s lost and cannot regain, Eiji’s innocence is a beacon of comfort and companionship to Ash. Eiji is someone with whom Ash can relax and be playful like a boy his own age, as noted by Max and Ibe watching them interact.

This communication and connection are present between Sybil and Seymour, but in a very different way. Seymour prefers to play make-believe and tell silly stories to kids, because he went from being a wide-eyed innocent to being traumatized and longing for a place to belong, and Sybil as a child represents what he wishes he had, while the adults around him (most notably Muriel, his wife) are a world he doesn’t understand that feels false.

This is not the dichotomy of worlds that Ash faces. Ash faces a world of trauma and suffering that he sees himself as trapped in, and a world of peace and security that he thinks is beyond his reach. Where Seymour yearns for a return to innocence, Ash yearns to escape his pain, and the combination of this subtle difference with the effect of Eiji’s agency and the narrative structure of Banana Fish results in a subversion of the themes in “Perfect Day”.

Banana Fish is a long-form narrative, while “Perfect Day” is a short story. Part of the inherent structure of a long-form narrative is character growth and development, which for obvious reasons is much less prominent in short stories. As a result, Eiji’s impact on Ash is clearly visible over the course of the narrative, and it becomes impossible to declare that Ash is firmly rooted in the world he sees himself as trapped in. By the end of the story, even Ash wavers on this assertion; although he ultimately succumbs to suicide, a narrative choice that been criticized ever since its publication, in the moments leading up to his stabbing, he does believe that Eiji is right, or at least right enough that he wants to see him one last time (this is ambiguous and open to interpretation, of course).

Why did this narrative choice spark so much controversy and outcry from fans? Not every story that ends in tragedy is criticized as poorly written for it; examples range from Shakespearean tragedies to “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story”, a film in which the entire cast dies in the climax. Yet just about all fans agree that it fit the narrative. Clearly, then, it is possible to craft a story that ends in death and tragedy but still feels well-written. What makes Banana Fish different?

I would argue that the answer lies in this imperfect allegory. By creating a Sybil-esque character that can interact with the Seymour-esque character as equals, can stay with him, and can listen to him and support him through his grief and pain, Akimi Yoshida inadvertently turned “Perfect Day”’s message on its head. The tragedy of “Perfect Day” is Seymour’s isolation. By giving Ash a warm, compassionate relationship in which he is assured over and over that he is not alone, Yoshida upturns this entirely.

Ash is led to believe in this dichotomy mostly by his isolation. He believes that since Eiji is in mortal danger as a result of being special to him, he needs to send Eiji to safety, i.e. somewhere far from him and far from the reach of those who would hurt them both. This isn’t a miscommunication issue or anything of the sort; this is Ash being afraid for Eiji’s life; Eiji isn’t averse to returning to Japan itself. Eiji is averse to returning to Japan without Ash, as he mentions when he talks about how Ash could be a model, and tells him about kami. In establishing this as a consistent tenet of Eiji’s character, Yoshida ensures that Ash is not isolated in the same way that Seymour was.

In addition, Eiji can move freely between both worlds set up in Ash’s perceived dichotomy, a motif made explicitly clear when Eiji leaps the wall to freedom and light at the beginning, leaving Ash (and Skipper) behind in captivity in the dark. Despite this escape from the world of violence and crime, Eiji returns of his own volition and stays with Ash, experiences his own fair share of horrific traumas, and still leaves in the end to return to his world. This makes it clear that the dichotomy is less stark than Ash is led to believe, unlike the repeated validation of his isolation that Seymour receives, and is another reason that the ending of “Perfect Day” is inconsistent with the ending of Banana Fish

A quick sidebar: Banana Fish has no real Muriel, but if pressed, I would posit that the closest parallel to Muriel that exists is Blanca, whose main purpose in the narrative seems to be to reinforce to Ash that he can’t escape the world he feels trapped in and longs to leave. But where in “Perfect Day” Muriel symbolized the materialism of American society after WWII, Blanca has no real established reason to be so invested in keeping Ash down, and in conjunction with the fact that despite his own traumas, he can retire peacefully to the Caribbean, his role in the story falls to pieces entirely. Where Muriel represented a lifestyle that Seymour fundamentally could not reach, thereby reinforcing his isolation, Blanca is supposed to parallel Ash to a degree, but his words to Ash do not match his actions whatsoever.

Therefore, if anything, Blanca’s assertions serve only to strike a contrast with Eiji’s (and Max’s, to an extent, since Max and Eiji both agree that Ash can escape this and they want him to heal). Moreover, Blanca’s relationship with Ash is that of a mentor and a student, a relationship that is shown to be fundamentally unhealthy, given that Blanca willingly worked for Ash’s abuser, a mafia don who he knew trafficked children. Some argue that Blanca was blackmailed into this service, but given that Blanca chose to betray Golzine at the end and work with Ash with seemingly no real provocation or change in his relationship with Golzine, this supposition seems flawed. Blanca’s assertions about Ash and his ability to forge bonds and leave his world the way Eiji does, and indeed the way Blanca himself does, are simply incorrect, and the narrative itself provides us all the tools we need to realize that Blanca is wrong, even without the extended context of a parallel to Muriel Glass.

Returning to the main issue at hand, i.e. that of the imperfect allegorical connections between Sybil and Eiji, and the dichotomy between worlds that Ash perceives, it’s clear that in creating a positive, nurturing relationship between Ash and Eiji rather than a one-off encounter, Yoshida inadvertently created a story about connections rather than isolation. Ash’s attempts to keep Eiji safe from harm by sending him home are countered by Eiji’s assertion that he only wants to go to Japan if Ash comes with him, which is a kind of selfless devotion that reaches through Ash’s isolation until he decides that he won’t try and separate himself from Eiji anymore, which is a massive blow to the dichotomy of his supposed two worlds. This is the narrative acknowledging that both worlds can coexist.

Not only this, but also Eiji, who has his own trauma—he’s kidnapped several times, shot at, drugged, sexually assaulted, attacked with a knife by a drugged friend, exposed to several deaths, shot at people in fights himself, and ultimately nearly killed by a gunshot wound—despite all of this, Eiji is still allowed to exist in the world of peace and regularity. Eiji’s innocence is sharply tempered by traumatic experiences, and he can still walk between worlds. If Eiji, Max, Ibe, Jessica, Sing, Cain, and Blanca can all experience traumas, why is Ash the only one who cannot escape? Is there some kind of magical bar of “too much” trauma, like an event horizon on a black hole?

Obviously, no.

So it comes to this: Essentially, the reason that the ending is so controversial, and why I personally believe that the open ending of the anime is an improvement to the original story, is that the allegory between Banana Fish and “Perfect Day” falls apart because of Eiji’s agency. Ash wants to protect Eiji, and to protect Eiji’s innocence and light, because he feels that it’s beyond his own reach, but Eiji forges a bond with him that is rooted in mutual respect and care, and in doing so, undoes the devastating, painful isolation that led to Seymour’s suicide. This is why Ash’s death can feel so hollow—it doesn’t follow the pattern of “Perfect Day”; after the entire story is about Ash’s bonds and those who love him unconditionally, it feels almost like a shock-value plot twist tacked on, rather than a tragic inevitability.

I don’t believe that Yoshida intended Banana Fish to be a subversion of “Perfect Day”. I believe she meant it as a one-to-one allegory, and this is why she kept the ending as Ash choosing death. However, due to the changes in themes because of the characters and their relationships, Ash is not isolated in the profound way Seymour was, and his death is therefore not nearly as impactful.

#this is 2600 words i am so fucking sorry but also im not sorry im just verbose #banana fish #banana fish meta #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 37

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 16.9k(? i think?) ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: talks of torture, talks of past self-harm, nothing directly graphic all mentioned through conversation, graphic depiction of a panic attack ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part four

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“I’m going to kill the king, Hyunwoo.”

“Y/N, you can’t… that’s going too far.”

“I don’t think we have a choice any longer.”

“We always have a choice, Y/N. It’s just about what you decide to do with that choice that matters. Think about why you’re doing what you’re doing, and what your intentions truly are. It’s not about revenge or payment for a crime — the crimes of his people cannot be put onto his shoulders.”

A sigh passes through your lips, one that sounds more exasperated than anything else, and Hyunwoo lifts a brow upon hearing the noise.

“This is revenge, Hyunwoo. He allowed my past to be taken, he created the law that allows the military to do that. Not to mention the other crimes he has committed — even if they are a result of him sitting idly by and watching them happen. I’m not saying Jisung is always right or that he is a saint for wanting to do this. But if Jisung won’t commit to doing it, then I’ll do it for him.”

“And we swore to find a way to get those memories back, Y/N. Don’t let this cloud your judgment. Don’t let your devotion to making Jisung happy decide your future. If this is something he wants, then he should do it himself and face the consequences on his own! It’s not a burden that you should bear as well. I know this is something you will come to regret!”

“Then you’ll have to stop me with force because I’ve already made my mind up about this. I don’t see Jisung getting in my way right now. But after all, isn’t this what he wants? He’s just too much of a coward to do the dirty work himself!”

“We both know where he stands on this, which is precisely why he’s not here. Just — please let us try one more time. I’ve spoken with a few of my off-planet contacts about this, and we have one last idea that might reverse the effects of the serum. You know how difficult this is; the military keeps such a tight wrap on everything about the serum. It’s near impossible to just get a spare vial, and even harder to examine how it works with test subjects while still being ethical. We are trying our best, I promise, just please hold out a little while longer. Jisung is getting things set up now… so please… just come with me and try before you do anything drastic.”

The man extends a hand, palm facing towards the ceiling and fingers outstretched for you to take. There’s hope in his eyes, a hope you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and that look is what brings your feet forward. You place your palm over his and curl your fingers tight around the side of his hand. He squeezes back as a small grin overtakes his lips.

“If this doesn’t work, then you know what I have to do, Hyunwoo.”

“I know,” he whispers. The hope in his eyes flickers a little, like a flame hit by a gust of wind. “In that case, I’ll do whatever I have to so that you don’t come to regret that decision.”

“Hey, get up. It’s go time.”

You wake with a start, not fully come out of the memory that paints the insides of your eyelids until you look around at your surroundings. Yeosang seems to be the one who woke you seeing as his hand is still outstretched to your arm. The sight of him brings you back to reality and reminds you of where you are and what exactly is going on. Jongho sits on your other side, dressed in nicer clothes than you’ve ever seen him wear before — a pleated and pristine navy suit complete with a bright yellow tie and hair gelled back on his head. Yeosang too wears a somewhat expensive garb although he appears more natural in the silk tunic covering his torso. His naturally dark roots are starting to peek through the blond near his scalp, accentuating the harsh part down the middle of his head.

Despite the fact that both look relatively harmless in this state, you know they each have weapons hidden somewhere on their person underneath that formal wear, just as you do with the knives strapped over your thighs under the skirt attached to your waist. Such an outfit like yours is something you hardly agreed to — it was moreso an insistence on Seonghwa’s part to at least dress the part (although he had to listen to some of your incessant nagging about how you could never fight in a dress so he had to settle on finding a substitute in the form of a jumpsuit with a skirt wrapped around the back. Yet the more you pick at the seams and touch the fabric, the more you recall the none too pleasant conversation you and Seonghwa shared as you were preparing to leave for the mission.

“Perhaps I do have an eye for beauty after all, or is it that you simply look breathtaking in anything?” Seonghwa stands in the doorway to your bedroom, not a mind for privacy as he watches you struggle to tug the zipper of your suit up.

“Can’t even breathe on my own, huh?” You huff out as you drop the zipper in defeat.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you, have I not? There’s nothing to hide that I haven’t seen before,” Seonghwa says through a laugh. He watches your cheeks flush with color before dropping his arms to his side and coming closer to you. He remains wordless as he pulls your zipper up for you, smoothing the fabric under his fingers down once it’s pulled up to your neck. “It suits you. Things like this, I mean. The silk makes you look… softer, yet the color combination of black and white makes you look lethal. Perfect definition of beauty, no? That something so delicate could also kill you? A wonderful dichotomy in my eyes.”

“Someone is in a poetic mood today.” You don’t hide the way your eyes roll to the back of your head, but Seonghwa doesn’t seem all too bothered by your show of faux-annoyance. Instead, his hands find your hips and turn you to face him directly, staring so intently into your eyes with his own dark ones that you lose the rest of your retort.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to go on this mission so desperately but that didn’t quite work out.” You’re quick to shake your head, already in the midst of denying his words before he even finishes his sentence.

“It’s alright. I’ll have Yeosang and Jongho there with me.”

“I would go if only Hongjoong would let me bu—” The thought cuts short as you place a hand over his forearm.

“Seonghwa, it’s okay. Hongjoong is right to have you stay here while you’re not 100% better. And you can both keep an eye on Jisung this way. We’ll bring Wooyoung back as quickly as possible, I swear.” Instead of consoling the man, your words seem to have an opposite effect as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“If I were stronger, this wouldn’t even be an issue. You should not have had to waste so much time having to look after my fragile and weak mental state when you could have caught up to the ship sooner and had all three of them back in one go.”

“This is what we’re working with, Hwa. It has nothing to do with your welfare. We still would have been too late regardless of whether that night had happened or not. So please — it will all work out and be okay. It has to.”

Seonghwa’s smile is quaint, a small twitch of his lips, then he’s leaning in to close the distance between your lips. You lift your hand to push hard against his chest, furthering that distance before he gets the chance to meet your lips with his.

“I just put on this black lipstick and you already want to mess it up? How rude,” you scoff. That isn’t a real reason, and you both know it, and you only solidify that further when you speak next before biting your tongue. “You shouldn’t push it right now. I still haven’t forgiven you for not fighting my decision to go with Jisung. Besides wasn’t the decision to… stop whatever this is mutual?”

“It was, of course,” he murmurs back, not quite meeting your eyes. “I am merely a creature of habit, so it will take some time for me to adjust to this change. But… Y/N, might I be so bold as to ask you something?”

“Hm, isn’t that a question right there?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” You regard him with a small nod but pull away so that his hands drop to his sides again. “Were any of the feelings you had for me something real and tangible? Not just because of what we are and that comfort of both being Sirens, I mean.”

You should have known he would bring this up eventually, especially with how the two of you are constantly dancing around each other and the topic. Still, you aren’t ready for it.

“I… don’t think I know the answer to that question, but even if I did, I-I might not be able to answer with complete honesty.” The smile that comes to paint Seonghwa’s lips is nothing short of sad and painful, not quite reaching his bright eyes with its usual mirth.

“It’s a conversation I wish for us to have one day, but I too fear that I might not be able to be completely honest either. Perhaps — perhaps we got a little too caught up in the heat of things without truly thinking about why we were doing the things we were doing.”

“Why did you do it then? I was the one who gave the initial push, I started things, I claim responsibility for that, but you pulled right back. So why?”

“I have found time to think about such things quite a bit lately since I was left in the medbay alone for so long; however, now is not the time to talk about that as it would take too long. Has Wooyoung brought you back yet?”

“No, not since the night in the medbay. But San very clearly said three days until they would land on Dorado, and it’s been six since then. They should be there by now, and the deals should have gone through. Wooyoung’s was to be immediate after all.” Seonghwa’s smile drops into a half-hearted scowl.

“Without Wooyoung on the inside, we will have no way of knowing where San and Mingi are.”

“Unless Jisung decides to be kind with his information.” You run a hand through your hair, mussing the already down tresses enough to be somewhat noticeable. “We’ll have to make do.” Seonghwa stretches across the empty space between you

“I won’t keep you any longer then. Tell the others good luck from me, and please… be careful? No unnecessary risks if you can avoid them. I’d like to see you all back in one piece.”

Reality swoops in on you as Jongho places a firm hand over your thigh.

“You alright? I can practically feel you thinking so hard.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just… wondering about the mission.”

“It’ll be okay,” Jongho murmurs, squeezing at your leg a little tighter. “It’s a straightforward mission — easy in and out.”

“Hopefully.” Yeosang is the one to hum the word but he doesn’t look at either of you as he speaks. “Once we’re in, I’ll talk to the main desk and ask for someone with Wooyoung’s general appearance. It’ll be a bit difficult because they will have given a new name — something a prostitute would have. I’m not sure how many people in there will have similar appearances to Wooyoung but we’ll have to do our best. You two remember what you’re supposed to do?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Follow suit, wait fifteen minutes for you to pass through the reception area, then ask the same thing. A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin. All prostitutes have collar so it won’t be Wooyoung’s defining feature any longer.” The recitation rolls off your tongue with ease after having heard Yeosang repeat it so many times by now. He nods in approval nonetheless.

“Remember there are cameras in each of the rooms. Don’t know how they use them but it’s something to be aware of. Hopefully, one of us will be able to come across Wooyoung, and in the case that you do?”

“We are to stay in the room with him for the allotted time, ping back to the ship and let Hongjoong know we have him, then wait for his signal,” Jongho responds. “His contact here on Dorado will be hacking their surveillance systems once we are certain that we have Wooyoung in a safe position.”

“Hongjoong sure seems to have a lot of contacts for someone who doesn’t trust people,” you murmur more to yourself than to anyone else, but Yeosang picks up on it nonetheless.

“His contacts are few and far between. This is one he has known since before he became a captain, so he holds a bit more trust with him. Back to the plan though, after his contact confirms our safety, you’ll crack a window and hop out hopefully unscathed. Remember that the Upper Echelon of Dorado is tight on security. Whoever gets Wooyoung out will have to be mindful of guards and try not to look suspicious. If any guards stop you, do not engage with violence. Simply do as they ask you to and tell them that Wooyoung is your slave. And one last thing: don’t forget we’ll be going in silent so keep a close eye on your wristbands. Understood?”

“Clear as day,” Jongho says while you offer only a hasty nod.

“Good, stay sharp then. We’ll be landing soon, and it’ll be go time immediately after that.” With that, Yeosang sits back and shuts his eyes, leaving you and Jongho to stew over the plan again in silence. At least until you decide you can’t take it anymore and turn to talk to the Berserker again.

“Are you nervous at all about the mission?”

A shrug.

“No more than usual. Recovering Wooyoung won’t be easy by any means, of course. It’s a step in the right direction, right? How are you feeling?” As though sensing your nerves, he pats your thigh a few times, and you simply stare down at the dirty floor beneath your feet.

“I feel a bit guilty in a way because I’m not too worried about the mission,” you admit, albeit quietly because you aren’t sure how please Yeosang would be to hear the words. “The only thing that is on my mind right now is how San is doing and if he’s okay.” Although you told Seonghwa otherwise, the sudden radio silence that Wooyoung has given you has made you anxious to an unspeakable degree. And not having the security of being able to see San through Wooyoung’s eyes is plaguing you more than you’d like to admit.

“I understand that,” Jongho says through a deep exhale. “I feel the same way about Mingi right now honestly. No matter how much faith and trust I have in Mingi, that fear always lingers and resides in me.”

“That’s how I feel about San. I shouldn’t be worried about him but part of me is just fearful that we won’t make it in time. That he’ll accept the serum before we can get him out.”

Jongho brings his hand up to take hold of one of yours, squeezing around your palm as tight as he can without hurting you.

“I know San better than I know anyone on the crew, besides Mingi perhaps. I’ve spent years at San’s side. He was the only person who trusted me at first and trusted me enough to let me in. That trauma he bears, the scars on his past, the red in his ledger, those lingering pains that resurfaced when the mutiny happened — I have felt them all. I spent months at the foot of his bed, taking what pain I could away for as long as I could, just existing to comfort him and help him get through even one more night. And in that myriad of emotions I felt from San, not once did I ever feel him desire to take it all away. Those scars he bears are part of him, and he treats them as such. Something like… small accessories on a bigger picture that he won’t let go of. So no matter what happens, I have confidence that San won’t let them win. He’s far too stubborn for that, his heart is too big, he has too much love in his body for such a thing. He would rather die before he forgets the crew, and that fact alone makes me confident that San will hold out.”

You are left in the wake of Jongho’s words for too long, letting them crawl under your skin and find a home there. You count the seconds that pass before your voice finds you again.

“I understand that.” Forty-one seconds. “It’s just the fear of him being hurt when I’m not around to stop it that is hard to get past.” Jongho’s smile is nothing if not soft and gentle, the epitome of understanding.

“In our line of work, that fear is always present. It’s always a possibility too, but at some point, you reach a point where you accept that sometimes, you won’t always be able to save someone from all pain. Just because you can’t prevent every ounce of pain doesn’t mean that you are doing something wrong or that you’re not doing enough.” Jongho pauses. Some emotion fills his red eyes and leaves them swimming with something unspoken. “There are some pains that we must allow to happen, no matter how much we wish to do the opposite. Even something as horrid as pain can be necessary and needed to move forward in life. Try not to dwell on it too much and focus on Wooyoung for now, yeah?”

“I’m trying my best,” you sigh and drop your head back against the seat. The second your thoughts begin to drift, you are brought back to another memory, this time one of Hongjoong’s dark office with Seonghwa at your side.

“You punched Jisung in the face?”

“Please, I let him off easy,” you huff back, ignoring the lieutenant’s slight shock in favor of finding interest in the wall.

“That’s not the important part,” Hongjoong cuts in from where he sits behind his desk. You shift to glance over the captain. “Does Jisung know anything about you being a Siren?”

“No, not that I recall,” you mutter after little thought. “I never slept with him or anything like that, and I can’t remember him ever seeing my back so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t know. Besides who would just see tattoos and immediately assume ‘Siren’?”

“Then his interest in you has nothing to do with you being a Siren?”

“Exactly, but why is that important? I can tell you why he wants me if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“We’re just eliminating suspicions right now.” Hongjoong shifts his focus to where Seonghwa stands. He wears a bit of a cocky grin as they stare at each other, both feet slung up on the edge of his desk and one brow raised. “See? Jin has nothing to do with this.”

“That doesn’t eliminate the possibility altogether!” Seonghwa retorts. A frown mars his otherwise pretty features, twisting his lips into a scowl so deep that you feel your own muscles ache at the sight of it.

“You live your life in fear of Seokjin. For what? Do you not trust me to keep you safe?”

“That isn’t it and you know it, Joong. I will not sabotage your plans simply because of what I am. That is why we keep my identity to be a closely-guarded secret yet our number one enemy knows of that identity. That is a weakness, and it’s one that you need to take seriously.”

“Why is that? Sheltering you would be more suspicious to the crew than anything else. Unless you would like to inform them of your identity? Allow me to call them all right this instant.”

“No! No, Hongjoong, I — fine. Have it your way. Keep believing that you’ll be able to fix where Jin went wrong by ignoring the issue altogether because th—”

“That’s enough.” You bristle at the tone of the captain’s voice even though he is not speaking directly to you. “I’m still on edge as well, Hwa, and I know you are as well. I know why you are too, but please have at least a little faith in me. Now, Y/N—” Hongjoong turns back to you now “—I’d like to ask about the nightmares you had that night.”

Your initial response is to inhale sharply and glance over at Seonghwa with panic boiling in your gut.

“Why do you want to know?”

All Hongjoong does is roll his eyes and drop his feet off the side of his desk. You purse your lips at the action, watching him with wary eyes as he shifts his position to prop his elbows up on the same wood.

“Seonghwa, you’re dismissed.”

“I — Captain?”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. I need to speak with her in private.”

“Why is it something I cannot be present for?”

“That was an order, not a suggestion. Now go.” If possible, the temperature of the room would drop ten degrees. Seonghwa seems to want to retort further but he bites his lip instead. Then, he gives a quick bow at the waist and mutters a goodbye before slipping out of the office without any further issue. “What did your nightmares consist of?” Hongjoong repeats, arching a brow as he speaks this time as though it will get you to talk faster.

“You didn’t have to get me alone to ask me that, did you? What is this really about?” The questions flow without hesitation, and your second refusal to talk about the dreams draws a sigh from Hongjoong’s lips.

“Do you know anything of Seonghwa’s relationship with his mother, Y/N?” A beat of silence. You shift your weight from foot to foot, glancing away from the captain to find interest in something on the floor.

“I… did witness a few of his memories when the two of us were still with each other in the dreams, but — if you mean to ask me about his nightmares, I have nothing to offer. I didn’t see those at all.”

“No, he already told me all about those nightmares. I don’t need to know more of them,” Hongjoong exhales with a shake of his head. He draws his arms up over his chest as he talks, falling back to slump in his chair and letting his exhaustion shine through. “Initially, I was going to have Seonghwa go with Yeosang and Jongho on this mission. But now, that plan has changed and I will be sending you instead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t send Seonghwa down to Lynder unless I myself can be at his side the entire time. There is far too much of a risk if I am unable to do that.”

“Risk? Of what? He would be with Yeosang and Jongho, would he not?”

“Yet if even the barest whim overcomes him, they would have to listen to whatever he says because of his position as lieutenant. I am the only one with more power than him, and as such, he has to listen to me. If he goes to Lynder, the risk is of him abandoning the mission to seek out his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do at all,” you counter. Both you and Hongjoong drop your chins at the same time, although yours is more of an accusatory and pointed action compared to the slumping defeat that comes over Hongjoong’s body when he lowers his head.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

“A-Ah…” The sound of your dry swallow echoes in your ears. It’s hard to imagine Seonghwa — cool, rigid, stoic, gentle and calm Seonghwa — ever being so depraved and rabid as to harm himself as well as Hongjoong. Seonghwa, whose greatest fear is losing his captain. Yet the grave expression coating Hongjoong’s delicate features remains serious and deadpan, and you know every word is one that holds a memory that is painful to recall. He’s telling the truth.

“Have you ever had that voice in your head telling you to be cruel, Y/N?”

“Of course I have,” you admit through a whisper, like the words are going to break the threads of tension hanging in the air.

“Seonghwa has lost his will and his mind to that voice time and time again, and it gave him his reputation as the Lieutenant of Death. Mingi may be a slave to a childhood which bred him to be a monster, but Seonghwa? He’s a slave to his own consciousness, the part of him that spent years trying to be perceived as an Elitist so that he could hide what he really is, someone cold and calculated without an ounce of remorse or emotion. He put his own monsters under the bed, but now he can’t get them out.”

Hongjoong sits up a bit straighter all of a sudden. His gaze is still unfocused and hazy though, refusing to look you straight in the eye. Either subconsciously or through the fog of that revisited memory, Hongjoong lifts a hand to his neck and rubs idly at the skin there.

“My Seon—Lieutenant is strong, but strength isn’t worth a damn thing when the person you’re fighting is yourself. He admitted to me once that the thought of letting that voice win is more terrifying than the act of killing his own mother. So for that reason, I can never allow such a thing to happen. Seonghwa’s demons are nothing if not rabid dogs begging for a pound of flesh, and if he can’t fight them on his own, I’ll do it for him.”

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” Jongho yet again brings you back to reality, most likely a bit disturbed by the way you are squeezing his hand tight enough to hurt, but he takes it without complaint. “You keep drifting out of focus.”

“Yes,” you say, filling your chest with air when you remember to breathe properly again. “Everything is fine.” Rather than responding with words, Jongho just places his other hand over your joined ones and brings them to rest on his thigh. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear him humming a soft melody under his breath but the rumble of the transport car covers most of the sound up. Still, it’s a relaxing sound that brings you some much-needed peace of mind for the remainder of the ride.

And as it turns out, Yeosang wasn’t bluffing when he said the three of you would be there soon because you had barely started listening to Jongho’s soft song when the car comes to a screeching halt that leaves you lurching forward.

“Alright then.” Yeosang stands first, hands smoothing down the fabric of his tunic even though it’s still perfectly in place. It’s not against his nature to get nervous or anxious, but it is still odd to witness like this. He is usually stoic in an unsettling way yet the grim expression he now wears is only accentuated by the crude shadows cast over his face. “It’s go time. Let’s get Wooyoung back in one piece, yeah?”

With that, the three of you climb out of the vehicle to be greeted by a dark and pristine city with thick clouds of smoke billowing through the air below you. Looking over the lip of the road is like looking down a cliff with the dramatic fall to the lower portion of the city. You weren’t exactly prepared to see such a drastic difference between the upper and lower echelons, yet looking over that cliff is like looking into a different city altogether with wooden buildings and decrepit warehouses that can barely hold themselves together. Where you stand with Yeosang and Jongho feels like a different world altogether with roads lined with lights and technology, tall buildings made from wood with exquisite carvings detailing the sides. From what you saw of the city in Seonghwa’s memories, Lynder has not changed one bit since he was here last.

You can’t clearly see many of the buildings below your feet, but it doesn’t stop you from wondering which one could possibly be that bar where Seonghwa met Hongjoong, if it even still exists. Jongho pulls you away from the road by the arm, tugging you along behind him as you approach a new building. The swaying wooden panel outside the door is a dead giveaway, but it’s the absurd amount of lilies trailing over the railings that tells you what this place is.

“They weren’t bluffing with the House of Lilies name,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose a bit at the overwhelming stench. Yeosang has grown alarmingly still; he lingers outside the tall double doors with a hand hovering over the brass handles without budging even an inch for far too long. You could pretend to not know why he’s hesitating, you could act like he is merely holding you back and push past him in annoyance, yet instead, you find yourself laying a hand atop his shoulder and squeezing the fabric there lightly. “No matter what happens in there or what we find in there, we will bring Wooyoung out alive.”

Yeosang releases a shaky exhale that makes his shoulder quake under your fingers.

“I know we will.” He looks past your face to make eye contact with Jongho then gives a curt nod. “Here goes the first fifteen minutes of hell.” The Elitist pushes hard against the brass handles, and the door gives way to his effort.

If you thought the smell outside the House was horrid, you don’t even know how to describe the reeking stench of flowers that hits you with the force of a tsunami. It’s thick enough for you to feel as though you are wading through a sea of flowers when in reality it’s just a strange yellow haze hanging about the interior. Yeosang doesn’t let the smell affect him in the slightest; he walks inside without missing a beat, shoulders pushed back so far it nearly hurts to see. Despite that, he walks like a prince, like someone who knows how to act in high society with ease, and for the first time, you don’t see Kang Yeosang before you. Instead, it’s Kang Minhee, the forgotten prince of Aera, who walks before you and heads for the front desk where a middle-aged woman with dramatic hair and hefty makeup stands.

“We should mingle a bit and look natural,” Jongho whispers when the two of you stop just inside the doors. “May I?” He motions to your arm with a small smile, not saying anything else and leaving you confused.

“May you…?”

“Quit being dense and give me your arm,” he huffs back and extends his elbow for you to loop your arm through, and this time, you get the hint, hooking your hand around the inside of his arm. Yeosang shifts to look back at both of you as you pass, and you offer each other discreet nods before he returns to speaking to the receptionist.

You let Jongho lead the way for the most part since you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be doing outside of “looking normal”, although even doing that is somewhat difficult. Jongho doesn’t stray far from the entrance area until Yeosang dips into a hallway and out of sight without looking back at the two of you. Moments later your wristbands buzz, signaling that it’s time for the first fifteen-minute countdown to begin. Jongho shifts to fiddle with his wristband while you keep your hand folded over his elbow still. It gives you a chance to glance around the whorehouse without the distraction of having to act normal, but frankly, there isn’t much to see beyond the bodies filling the foyer and mingling about the lounge before you. There are flowers everywhere — probably an overabundance of them, and they aren’t just lilies as they were outside. You can’t pinpoint whether those flowers are the source of the clawingly sweet scent stuck to the insides of your nostrils or not, but that yellow fog seems partially responsible to some degree.

“You seem to know how to look like you belong in high society,” you mutter once Jongho pulls his attention back to your surroundings. A huff of laughter leaves his lips.

“It’s not because I grew up that way. I was merely an observant child who wanted to grow up and have more than what I had.” A smile cracks his stony expression. “Isn’t that what all children want?”

“I—”

Well, you wouldn’t really know, would you?

Jongho’s expression softens as he realizes what he’s said and who he has said it to, and his gaze turns apologetic seconds later. He turns to flag down one of the workers milling about with drinks, taking two glasses of what looks like wine in one hand. Jongho angles one of the half-full flutes in your direction. You take the hint with relative ease despite the clawing scent of flowers still muddling your thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to hit a nerve,” Jongho says through what seems to be a sympathetic smile. “What do you think your childhood was like? If you don’t mind talking about such things. We have time to kill after all.”

You draw your lips into a tight purse, curling them around the edge of the wine glass and pressing an imprint of your dark lipstick there. Subconsciously, your hand tightens around the inside of Jongho’s arm as well, although the Berserker doesn’t comment on the added pressure as he simply continues to regard you with the same steely and careful gaze.

“I think it must have been rather sad,” you admit after some thought. It must not be the answer Jongho was expecting at all because his brows draw together in confusion. “What kind of childhood must one have for them to willingly sell away their memories by fourteen? The more I think… about that time — when they gave me the serum — I recall fighting the doctors but I don’t think it was because I didn’t know what they were doing. I’m certain that I knew my memories would be taken from me. It was the act of them strapping me to a chair like a prisoner that frightened me.”

This time when Jongho smiles, all you can see is pain in his deep red eyes.

“I would have given anything in the universe to have my memories taken away at that age too, if it’s of any comfort to you.” He pauses to swirl the liquid in his glass, watching the red liquor dance before his eyes under the yellow haze around your bodies. “Don’t think you’re weak for wanting to forget that past. No child should ever deal with pains that strong, even if you can’t remember what they are.”

“People like you… San, Mingi… the whole crew honestly — how can I not view myself as weak in comparison? People who were given the choice but denied it and rejected it unlike me, who apparently didn’t want to be left with some shred of dignity. What did I become with that fresh slate they gave me? All I could do then was be weak, but it seems like that hasn’t changed one bit.”

Jongho won’t let up with that devastating smile, and you are about to turn away so that you don’t have to see it any longer when he finally lets it fall.

“For what it’s worth, you are rather strong in my eyes. During your fight with Jisung, I’ll admit that I tried to ease some of your pain then. It’s not something you know about — the others know of it by now so I should have told you sooner and I’m sorry for that but I have a special mutation in my genes that gives me the ability to take away and absorb emotional auras. I inherited it from one of my grandparents so it’s something I grew up learning how to use and I carried that over when I joined the crew. I attempted to do that with you because you were in so much distress and I was worried but — b-but your pain was too much for even me to bear. So before you go around calling yourself weak, you ought to give yourself more credit. Just because the pains you bear are different doesn’t mean that they are any less than the pains the rest of us bear.”

Jongho doesn’t say anything more than that; he slings his wine back in one shot like it’s nothing then places the now empty glass on a waiter’s tray as he’s passing by. You don’t touch your own, mulling over the glass as you fall deep in thought. If Jongho could feel that much from you, then it begs the question of what else he might be able to feel from you.

Can he sense that I’m a Siren too? Would he be able to tell that Seonghwa and Wooyoung are Sirens as well?

Your mind shifts to latch onto something else he said. Your pain was too much for even me to bear.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Stand down,” he murmurs. “You need to pick your battles, and this is not one for you to fight right now.” Again you feel that pull of warmth coming from him, like someone is trying to pull something from your chest, but it retracts almost instantaneously. Jongho falters. His eyes squeeze shut harshly, face contorting with something that almost looks like pain in your eyes, but that lasts less than a second before he’s recovered again. It’s not enough to stop the onslaught of emotions coursing through your veins.

You had been too preoccupied at the time to think about that moment until now.

“That time — did I hurt you? When you tried to take it away, did I hurt you even a little bit?”

“Nothing you did hurt me, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault, I promise you didn’t do anything. It’s something I have done time and time again for others on the crew and something I would do again as well. It’s what I’m good at, and something I was born with for a reason. If it helps even a little bit, then why would I not take the temporary pain?”

Every fiber of your being is telling you to fight those words, to tell him that it’s not worth it, your pain should not be a burden he has to bear as well, yet no words fall from your lips. Your mouth stutters uselessly without saying anything, and Jongho just keeps smiling like nothing is wrong. The clenching in your chest is not fine, however, and you force yourself to turn away from him in the hopes it will alleviate that pain. Instead, your eyes travel to a head of bright red hair that is so starkly different than anything else in the room that you have to stare right at it. It would be nothing odd or out of the ordinary to you since the crew you are now part of has such a wide array of hair colors. It would be something you look right past without much thought.

And yet you find yourself staring right at it. Right at the girl who turns to look around the lounge with red hair sweeping through the air.

You jolt.

Something hits your shoulder hard enough to tip your drink over and spill some of the red wine onto the floor. Your hand retracts from Jongho’s arm to touch the knife hidden behind the fabric of your skirt. You’re forced to pull your gaze away from the girl, finding the man who bumped into you to just be a stumbling drunk man with little sense for spatial awareness and direction. Jongho wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer to his body. The man continues on without any regard for you or the wine he just spilled. Jongho takes your glass with his free hand, discarding it at the nearest flat surface before redirecting his focus back to you.

“It’s okay, Y/N, everything is okay.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur back, but your gaze goes straight back to where that redhead just stood.

“You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Instinct tells you to stay put and continue on with the mission, putting that familiar face to the back of your mind. But again your heart is clenching painfully in your chest, racing so fast that you feel the pounds echoing in your ears, and you know you can’t let go of her that easily. Not when she’s this close to you.

“I think I did.” You pull away from Jongho to go chasing through the crowd after that red hair, but the Berserker moves with you in a rush.

“Y/N, we can’t get off track. There’s only six minutes until it’s your turn to go to the counter.”

You wave him off with a dismissive hand rather than responding with words. Moments later, you find your target again, just as she is turning to head for the hallway that Yeosang went down not too long ago.

“Soojin?” You throw the name out as a last resort, mostly a desperate attempt to see if you are right and your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you in this heady yellow haze.

She freezes in place. It gives you just enough time to shove past the crowd and get closer to where she stands. You close your fingers around her shoulder, tugging with as little force as possible so that she turns to face you. There’s not a doubt in your mind when you see her face. She seems to recognize you as well based on the way her eyes are blown wide as saucers. The girl — well, you suppose she would be a woman by now — glances past your shoulder to look at Jongho. Her throat rolls as she swallows around nothing.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” Soojin whispers, bringing her gaze back down to you. She dips her head a bit then pulls away from you to head down the hall. You think back to Jisung — the threats and odd comments he made combined with the newly resurfaced memories of Hyunwoo lingering at the forefront of your mind, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that you can’t let her go this easily.

“P-Please, Soojin — I need to talk with you. It’s important, please, I have so many questions and no one else to ask.”

“I’m sure you do, little scapegoat,” she huffs back. “I actually have work to do though and a client waiting for me, so I’m not all too inclined to speak with you. I’m not sure why you came here, but I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for either.” You don’t have a chance to keep her from leaving after that because she turns and leaves so quickly that it leaves you reeling. Jongho tugs you back by the arm, pulling you from the hallway and out into the lounge again before you can chase after her.

“What the hell was that?” He hisses under his breath.

“She — I-I knew her. She w-was my teammate, one of the p-people assigned to my unit in the military. I… I had no idea she ended up here of all places. Jongho, I have to talk to her, please, I have to. This c-could be what I need! If Jisung won’t tell me the truth, then maybe she knows something. She has to know something o-or else I—”

Your voice dies in your throat, but your unspoken desperation seems to reach Jongho nonetheless. The key to whatever memories you lost could lie in Soojin. Things happened so quickly at the end, perhaps she learned of something before leaving Eros with the others.

“She called you a scapegoat,” Jongho says. He swallows hard, Adam’s Apple bobbing with the motion. “What was that about?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far. You didn’t even think to question that part but it is odd and not something you recall her calling you in the past.

“I’m not sure why she would say that. All the more reason to speak to her and ask. Jongho, please!” You attempt to pull away from his grip as you speak. The Berserker doesn’t budge, too strong for you to fight like this, and he doesn’t let up even when you try to slap his hand away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He yanks you back to him and brings his free hand up to rest on your forehead. This time, you can physically feel the panic in your bones ebbing away and being pulled to your forehead where Jongho touches you. It’s a frightening sensation but the influence he has over you takes that fear away as well, leaving you in a daze of confusion because you know you should feel bothered right now but you cannot bring yourself to feel that way even as Jongho pulls away from you. His jaw twitches just a hair, not moving much beyond that, then he grits his teeth to hiss out his next words. “Wooyoung is our mission. You have to focus. You have two minutes to get up to that counter and do your job. We can try to track down your teammate later, but not on a mission like this.”

You have it in you to at least be angry enough to tug your arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch my emotions like that again. I understand you trying to take my pain, and as much as I hate that and despite the thought of you taking my pains for me, this is different. Emotionally sedating me for the sake of completing a mission better is different.”

You don’t give him a chance to reply before you’re heading off for the counter where Yeosang stood not too long ago. The woman who previously occupied the space behind it has disappeared, now replaced by a young man who must be younger than you from the looks of it.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” He asks as you sidle up to the desk.

“I’d like a room, an hour’s worth.” You fumble a bit with your pockets as you try to fish a credit chip out without exposing the knife strapped to your thigh, but the boy doesn’t look up until you slide the chip across the counter.

“Of course, of course,” he hums. “Do you have any preferences for pleasure tonight?”

“A male short in stature with black hair and tanned skin,” you recite back, forcing a smile onto your lips when the boy glances up at you. He tilts his head to the side. You swallow the saliva gathering in your mouth as the stare grows unsettling then he shakes his head and speaks again.

“Would you like someone more submissive or dominant?”

“Hm? Oh, um…” That wasn’t part of the plan. Surely Yeosang would have mentioned it if he had known they would ask. But what would he have said if they asked him the same? “Um, submissive is fine, I suppose?” The boy hums again then motions towards the hallway where Yeosang and Soojin both headed down.

“Your room will be on the second floor, Room 213. Please take the stairs at the end of the hall.” He passes a keycard your way along with your credit chip, leaving you with a grin and a soft-spoken, “Your courtesan will join you shortly. Enjoy.” You bristle at his words but manage to smile a little bit as you take both the card and your chip back. You leave the counter to head for the hallway, not pausing to look back at where Jongho might be, but you ping your wristband as you go. Nothing has come in from Yeosang’s side again so it’s safe to assume he doesn’t have Wooyoung with him by now. It leaves you and Jongho with more pressure and either more or less of a chance to recover him, so you can only hope for the best as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

Room 213 is empty as expected when you slip inside, and it’s free from that odd yellow fog outside as well, so you bask in the freedom and breathe fresh air deeply while you can. It’s a basic and standard room — much more like a small hotel room than anything else from the cabinet near the door and the double bed pushed up against the wall. There’s a metal sink as well close to the window but nothing else adorns the room leaving it rather dismal and simple. Not that you expected these people to treat the courtesans with even an ounce of respect; it’s still disheartening to think of Wooyoung being stuck in such a small and cramped space without a choice.

Whatever peace you thought you could have is cruelly interrupted less than five minutes later as a series of shy knocks reach your door. You blink up from where you sit perched on the edge of the neatly made bed. Is this how Yeosang felt waiting for his door to open? You inhale sharply, heart pounding mercilessly in your throat and choking you with the strength of an actual hand. And shamefully, you can’t even bring yourself to look at the door when it slides open, too afraid of not seeing Wooyoung standing behind it.

“Y-Y/N?”

You snap your head towards the door so quickly that your neck pops with the effort, eyes blinking open faster than ever, and even when your gaze settles on him, you still can’t quite believe he’s really before you. In that moment, the two of you merely regard each other with stunned stares like neither of you can believe this is possible, and in that time, the door slides shut again to leave you together in the all too small room.

“Wooyoung.” You bring yourself to your feet, standing on shaky legs as you face him. “W-Woo—”

He cuts you short by barreling into you with such force that it knocks the air out of your lungs. The metal around his neck scrapes against your skin hard enough to cut but you pay it no mind as he squeezes his arms around your waist and releases a heart-wrenching sob into your shoulder. Reason returns to you then, bringing you to ping your wristband again; although this time you tap it three times to alert the others that you have Wooyoung with you now. There is nothing more to do after that other than to hug him back as his tears soak your neck and shoulder.

“I-I didn’t — I di-didn’t want to lose hope b-but… fuck it was s-so hard not to and I was st-starting to think I wouldn’t ever s-see you again,” Wooyoung sobs. You almost want to cry with him if not for the small blinking light in the upper corner of the room that catches your eye and sends a surge of panic through you.

“The cameras, Wooyoung. They’re still on, we need to—”

“Y-Yeah, they’re — they only c-check if you hit the button by the bed.” Wooyoung pulls back from your shoulder, at last, rubbing at his tear-stricken cheeks so hard it makes his skin blossom with red. He pauses to catch his breath, or at least steady himself enough to speak without choking on his words. “That si-signals that you’re unsatisfied so they’ll c-check and see what’s — what’s wrong before sending a new courtesan.” Wooyoung puts his hand in yours and laces your fingers without hesitation. The touch seems to offer him some more comfort that helps calm his small hiccups and cries. “Is Y-Yeosang okay?”

“He’s alright, yeah,” you whisper back through a smile. “Misses you something awful, but he’s here too. He tried to get to you first, but they must have sent someone else to him. Jongho came as well. To get you. We came to get you, Wooyoung.”

Those words make Wooyoung’s eyes well up with sickening haste. He sinks to the bed before another sob forces its way out, and you sit down beside him like the mattress might collapse if you move too quickly.

“I’m so glad. So fucking g-glad. Being in a pl-place like this without Yeosang — it’s fucking hell.” Wooyoung sinks his teeth into his lower lip just to keep it from trembling.

“Have you…” Surely it’s not a question you have any right to ask, and part of you feels like Wooyoung did need your help but merely did not want to bring you to this place, even if just to watch through his eyes. Still, you swallow the nerves and force the question out. “Have they made you work yet?”

“It’s not important whether they did or not,” Wooyoung says through a weak smile, but that tells you all you need to know. It sounds too rehearsed and monotonous, like he’s been told to say this even if only by himself. “B-But what’s the plan? How are we getting out? Is someone coming to get us?”

“Um, we’re to wait the allotted time here until we get news from one of Hongjoong’s contacts here. He’s a hacker, and he’ll take care of the surveillance system so that we can open the window and get out that way. We’ll meet Yeosang and Jongho in an alleyway not too far from here after that. Then head back to the ship on a transport car.”

“Thought of everything, huh?”

“I sure hope so.”

“It should work just fine. We’re on the second floor though, so it’ll be quite the fall. Just remember to not go face-first.” Wooyoung’s smile is infectious, and you laugh along with his jest, hand squeezing around his. “How is Seonghwa doing?”

“A-Ah, I nearly forgot you knew about that. Um, he’s alright but Hongjoong didn’t think he was well enough to come on the mission with us.”

“Captain is up then? Yeosang mentioned he’d been out for quite some time because of his injuries. That’s great news that he’s up! I — he’ll be happy to hear that I have some info about where Mingi and San are being held too. I can tell him when we’re back on the ship. B-But Seonghwa is okay otherwise?”

“Yunho said there’s no lingering signs of health issues so he’ll be okay physically. I… I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to begin.” Wooyoung’s smile stretches a bit wider.

“I assumed you would. That’s okay though; we have a full hour to use anyways, so you can ask me anything while we have the time to be alone together. I would say we could do it later when we’re back on the ship but Yeosang probably won’t let me out of his sight for even two seconds from now on. It’d be best for us to get it all out now so we don’t have to hear him scribbling in that damn notebook of his.” Wooyoung can’t hide his elation despite the teasing words, and you know that getting to see Yeosang again soon means more to him than you could ever understand. Yeosang must be feeling the same way himself, waiting out this hour with painstaking patience.

“What happened in the days you didn’t let me in? You went quiet for so long I was getting worried.”

“Ah, we shouldn’t start there,” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing down at the floor. He pauses. The breath of hesitation leaves your stomach in knots. “Nothing you want to hear, I promise. That’s why I didn’t try to bring you in. It wasn’t anything pretty, but I assure you there was nothing they could do to hurt me physically. I’m too far gone for that sort of torture. It’s… over and done with now. More scars to add to my collection, and more for Yeosang to cry over probably. We’ll both be fine. You’re probably wondering about the whole connection thing and us both being Sirens and such, right?”

“I — admittedly yes, but looking back now it seems almost obvious? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner, I guess. But yeah, specifically that connection or whatever it is. Yeosang said he didn’t know much at all about it.”

“Right, yeah, I don’t know much myself either, to be honest.” Wooyoung presses his lips into a pout. “It’s hard to say what exactly it is. Seonghwa’s books don’t really have anything about this sort of occurrence, but what I’ve gathered from it so far is probably all that Yeosang told you. ‘There’s no place in the universe that you can hide from each other’. Daichi told me that once.”

“He told me the same actually.”

“Mhm, I think he knows a bit more about it than he claims to. For me, I can almost hear you in my head when you’re in distress, even when you’re far away. Except it doesn’t sound like you’re scared or anything like that. It almost sounds as though you’re softly singing to me? Like… I’m on a boat with gentle waves and you’re singing to me through the water. When I’m asleep and dreaming and you reach out to me for help, I can close my eyes and find myself on a boat like that. A white boat on a black lake. And I hear you singing to me in the water, look down, and see a tiny flickering light through the darkness. For years I’ve had that dream.”

“Yeosang… he talked about you having such a dream. Swimming in a black lake and trying to reach someone but not being able to?”

“Yeah! Um, I’ve woken him up so much because of that very dream. I would have that dream time and time again before you joined the crew, desperately swimming to reach you but it was like something was blocking me from getting to you. Like I could never reach you no matter how fast I was. I would never be able to get in. Then suddenly — one night I did, and I woke up in a box of fabrics in the cargo bay.” Wooyoung shifts to look you in the eye, a weak laugh slipping through his lips. “That feels so long ago now.”

“I’ve been wondering how to thank you for that,” you murmur. “If not for that moment, I would have died.” The skin around your nails suddenly seems a lot more interesting, and you busy yourself with picking at it mindlessly rather than looking back in Wooyoung’s direction. He doesn’t let your hand drift far from his though before he’s tugging it right back into his grasp. His other hand finds its way atop yours as well, holding your joined ones together tightly.

“I didn’t do it to get a thank you. It was just… the right thing to do. It’s sad that we live in such a bad and awful society where you feel the need to thank me for doing something as simple as that.”

“Did you not thank Yeosang for saving his life once upon a time?” You dare to ask. Wooyoung is a bit startled at first, caught off-guard by both your sudden question and the content behind it, but he laughs loud and clear without restraint.

“For someone who claims to hate talking about his life, he sure does talk a lot, doesn’t he?” Wooyoung brushes his bang out of his eyes, pushing the strands that have quickly grown unruly and long to the side. “Yeosang never lets me thank him. Any time I’ve tried, he shut me down before I could finish. Honestly, he saved my life twice. Once when he chose me from that lineup of slaves and spared me a crueler fate, and once when he broke those chains and set me free.”

Chose… me…? Then it wasn’t Yeosang’s mother who picked Wooyoung out for him?

You don’t get to dwell on that thought for long because Wooyoung simply continues to ramble, more and more peace coming to his shoulders as he calms down further.

“Yeosang only ever thanks me. As odd as that is.”

“Did you — have you ever saved his life then?” You already know the answer to that question, but it’s already hanging in the air between you by the time you catch yourself.

“Yes.” Wooyoung is beaming by now, lips stretched wide as he grins. “I got him out of prison when they charged him with treason.”

“And that’s what he thanks you for?”

Wooyoung’s smile doesn’t falter even as he shakes his head in denial.

“He never claims to have saved me, not even once. Instead, Yeosang says that I saved him.”

“B-But why? Objectively he did save you, so why does he not acknowledge that?”

“Because, Y/N, there’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Yeosang and I loved each other for many years before. But just loving each other wasn’t enough for Crown Prince Kang Minhee to break my chains and commit treason. When ”I love you“ turns into ”I am in love with you“ and ”I am in love with the mere idea of you“, then Yeosang set me free. Even though I would never have asked him to do it, he chose to on his own accord. So he thanks me and says that I saved him because of that. Because I trusted him enough to put my life in his hands time and time again and let him fall in love with me. He claims it to be a difficult thing — allowing an Elitist to fall in love with you. But with Yeosang… he has only ever made it easy. There are times where it is difficult and frustrating, where I wish that he could be anything other than an Elitist, for fuck’s sake, times when I would rather break his neck in an absolutely non-sexy kind of way, but that’s part of love and loving someone. That’s why he’s grateful to me. It sounds selfish and egotistical to say, but after having him repeat himself for so many years, I’ve grown to accept that even if I don’t believe I deserve it.” Wooyoung speaks with a raw conviction that you’ve heard before. It’s the same tone Hongjoong used when speaking to Seonghwa in the medbay, the same tone Yeosang used when talking about Wooyoung and their past together.

Even if you wanted to formulate a response, you don’t think you would be able to because of how overwhelming the emotion in Wooyoung’s voice is. He’s had every opportunity to blame Yeosang for the misfortune in his life, claim that if only Yeosang hadn’t picked him from the start he would be better off, claim that Yeosang got him out of being a slave only to put him in a more dangerous position. Wooyoung could even blame Yeosang for not protecting him well enough to keep him from being kidnapped and tortured.

Yet not once has Wooyoung blamed him.

Perhaps you were being unfair in pushing the blame onto Seonghwa’s shoulders when he didn’t fight your decision to go with Jisung. Is it so wrong to want someone to fight for you? Yet Yeosang has fought every day for Wooyoung and continues to do so. Wooyoung, who has been through hell and tortures he does not wish to speak about, asked about Yeosang’s well-being before anything else. Yet if they were in your position — if Wooyoung were the one agreeing to go with Jisung to save the others, would Yeosang not drop everything to fight for him?

Your mind screams back at you, telling you that it’s different, the situations aren’t the same, the relationships aren’t the same, and you cannot compare yourself to people like Wooyoung and Yeosang who have had years to figure this out. And so, you don’t compare yourself to them.

Rather you compare Seonghwa and Hongjoong to them. How Seonghwa’s worst nightmare is not being able to save Hongjoong from himself. The sheer will and determination in Hongjoong’s eyes when he said he would never let Seonghwa’s demons overtake him. You can’t help but wonder if perhaps that is similar to what Wooyoung and Yeosang have. Neither are anything remotely close to what you have — had, your mind suggests ever so helpfully — with Seonghwa yourself.

“It may be selfish, but I don’t want you to push me away. I would rather be hurt and still have you in my life rather than to be perfectly fine without you.”

That memory slips through unannounced and unasked for, and the mere prospect of why it’s coming back to you while you’re having such thoughts scares you so much that you slam the door in that memory’s face and throw away the key before it breaks loose.

“But anyway that’s — I rambled a bit too much, that’s not the point, um, have you ever had similar dreams like those? The ones I had, I mean? Before waking up in my body or before you came to the crew, any time you can remember. I know you haven’t had much opportunity yet, but you’ve had a few experiences by now.”

“I can’t recall ever having those sorts of dreams. That dream you mentioned about the lake — I had a dream that I was drowning in a black lake the night you came to save Seonghwa, but when I wake up in your body, it’s simply that. All I know is falling asleep and waking up like a passenger in your consciousness. I don’t have any control like you’ve had over my body.” Wooyoung’s eyes are oh so expectant and pleading, and it twists something painful in your gut. You want so badly to have information for him, to be able to give him answers or even a hint as to what could be going on, but frankly, you have nothing to offer. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung. I-I feel utterly useless in this whole situation. I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me or my head, I just can’t remember at all and I don’t… You and Seonghwa seem to have this whole Siren thing figured out, how it works, what sort of abilities you have, how to use them. I, on the other hand, have so many gaps and missing pieces in my memories. I’ve had one or two moments where I consciously used some sort of ability, then Seonghwa tried to help me learn, but other than that I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“It’s okay!” Wooyoung rushes to reassure you, squeezing his hand tight around yours as he smiles again. “Y/N, please don’t worry about that. I don’t expect you to have an answer right now, it’s really okay. We’re gonna figure this out together now that you finally know what I am and we’ll be back on the ship soon. And I can help you understand more about being a Siren in general too! If we can get to the Dreamscape together, maybe Daichi will be willing to talk.”

“Last time I was there, he tried to kill me and told me that if I kept asking questions he would end my life,” you snort. Wooyoung’s smile drops into a grave expression that doesn’t fit his features.

“In the beginning — when I first started seeing Daichi, that is — he wasn’t like that. He wanted me to find other Sirens. That’s what ultimately made Yeosang choose Captain’s crew because Daichi had told me there was a Siren there. Then as more time went on, Daichi seemed to get more and more frightened by the idea of Sirens finding each other. He started telling me that someone dangerous would find me, someone I should guard myself from.”

“He warned me of the same when I first came aboard. But Seonghwa mentioned how Daichi’s job is to guide Sirens to each other?”

“That’s true, yes, but Daichi seems to have changed his mind along the way. I can’t understand why, but I’m sure it will make it a lot more difficult to find two more for Captain.” Your conversation dies a bit there, leaving both you and Wooyoung to stew over the predicament. According to Daichi, you spent years denying your identity and refusing to listen to him, so you never made an effort to find any Sirens like both Wooyoung and Seonghwa have been apparently. Still, it leaves you more curious than before, especially given what all happened in your latest escapade in the Dreamscape.

“Tsukio can find you anywhere, even while far away! This mental connection you share, this link — the two of you are a dyad, a yin and a yang, a pair that cannot be severed. No matter how far apart you are, the two of you will always be able to come back to each other.”

“Did he ever tell you that we will always be able to come back to each other?”

“Come… back to each other? No, I’ve never heard him say such a thing before.”

“I remember seeing you in a dream before, not the Dreamscape but an actual dream. But that dream felt more like a memory, and I asked you about it once in the medbay. I know you told me no then, but does it have anything to do with what Daichi said possibly?”

“Hm, I suppose it could?” Wooyoung leans back and looks up at the ceiling. You can’t figure out what’s on his mind just through his expression, and what he says next doesn’t help much either. “But I don’t have any sort of memory like that.”

“You — you were wiped with a serum too, weren’t you?”

“Did Yeosang tell you that as well?” Wooyoung asks through a frown. “Did he mention how guilty he feels about that too? Probably, that would be very much like him to do so. Guilty for things that aren’t even his fault… but yes. Yes, my memories were wiped too.”

“I have another question. I’m sorry for asking so much all at once. Yeosang never gave me a clear answer though, so I’m still curious, but why haven’t you told Hongjoong about this?” Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and refuses to look your way for a bit. The silence drags but it’s nothing uncomfortable or unsettling. It isn’t like you’re on a time crunch right now either, so you’re more than willing to wait until he is ready to speak.

“It’s something stupid and selfish honestly,” he whispers after a bit. His other hand finds purchase on the bed, picking at a loose thread hanging off the sheets. “I didn’t expect Yeosang to take it so seriously, but now he’s adamant even when I try to tell him otherwise. Really it’s just that when I was still a slave, I didn’t always have to wear the collar. It dampened and muted my abilities so I couldn’t use them freely. Shocked me a lot too whenever I foolishly tried to use them without permission, leaving some really ugly and awful scars. Yeosang always treated the wounds when that would happen.”

His hand travels up to touch the band of metal hanging about his neck. You follow the movement with your eyes. You can’t miss the spreading scars underneath the metal as he shifts it, like little lightning bolts of pale skin hiding beneath it, and you wonder if that’s what you felt the first time you woke up in his body.

“I have a lot of scars from lots of different things. It shouldn’t be any different, and it shouldn’t even matter because it’s stupid and childish and I need to get over it. Even though the collar is dead and doesn’t work, like it doesn’t mute my abilities anymore or anything like that, just the idea of having it on keeps me sane. Being a Siren is both a blessing and a curse. Some abilities you’re born with are crueler than imaginable and can be used to do horrific things. The things I was forced to do with mine are not something I ever want to revisit again. So… I keep the collar on because the trauma I suffered while wearing it for so many years keeps me sane. Merely the idea of wearing it prevents me from using my abilities because I was conditioned into a state where if I tried doing anything while the collar was on, I would be hurt. When it comes to visiting you, it’s different because I’m asleep when that happens. And whenever people other than Yeosang or myself try to touch it, I get thrown back into the memories of his father taking it off me to use me as a weapon and I-I can’t — it’s too much to bear.

“I trust Hongjoong. I really trust him and admire him and respect him so much. As much as I do Yeosang even if it’s in a different way. But I have an innate fear of authority that tells me no matter who it is, the people who have power over me will abuse it. That if anyone above me knows I’m a Siren, I’ll be used again, and I’m afraid of that. So it’s not that I don’t want to tell Hongjoong. Just that as long as I have this collar on and as long as these demons linger at the edge of my mind, I don’t think I can ever tell him what I am.”

You want to express an apology for bringing those memories back or at least offer an ounce of consolation because you can almost feel the pain radiating off his body in waves. But the moment you reach out to pull him into a hug, the door to your room slides open out of nowhere. You jerk, and Wooyoung lifts an arm to protect the both of you, but you take the initiative in pushing him down to the bed. In one swift movement, you climb in front of him, one knee down on the mattress and the other stretched out in front of Wooyoung’s body. The blade against your thigh is cool on your fingertips, but you don’t pull it out quite yet. The flash of red hair before you stops you at the last second.

Soojin?

The girl is already halfway in the room, door sliding shut behind her, and the second it’s fully closed, she turns to twist the lock into place.

“W-Wait, we’re n-not supposed to lock the doors!” Wooyoung protests, leaning up over your shoulder to see better. Soojin levels him with a sharp glare. You reach behind you to push Wooyoung back enough so that he’s hidden behind your shoulder, matching Soojin’s stare with equal intensity. The girl steps closer to you, draws a single finger up, and stabs you hard in the chest with her dull nail.

“You and me need to have a chat after all it seems.”

“What do you mean?” You clench your fingers around the handle of your knife, still not completely at ease with the woman standing in front of you.

“What do I mean? I mean that my fucking client downstairs just tried to fucking murder me and gave me a message from Han Jisung of all people! Seeing you and hearing from that bastard on the same day after being free from that past for several years? That’s no fucking coincidence, Y/N.”

“Murder!? How did you — how did you get away?”

A laugh of disbelief escapes Soojin’s lips as she pulls back a few feet.

“I killed him, of course! What else was I supposed to do? I dumped the fucker’s body out the window for staff to clean up later. This sort of thing happens frequently enough for them not to question it, and besides, I told them it was a jealous worker so they won’t really care all too much about him. But what the fuck is going on? Why are you here and why did Han Jisung just tell me my time is up and try to have me killed?”

“I… I-I don’t — I’m not with Jisung, I know nothing about that at all. He—” You cut yourself short with a sharp inhale, eyes darting across the floor like it has all the answers in it. “Wait, he knew I would be coming here though. Did he know that you worked here?”

“Unfortunately, not by choice though. We ran across each other around a year ago in the city, and I mentioned working at the House in passing.”

You shift to motion back at Wooyoung and pull your hand off the knife on your leg at last.

“He was brought here against his will by Jisung. Well, whoever Jisung is working with at least. I only came to get him out. We’re — he’s part of the crew I’m working with now. Jisung knew where he would be and that I would come to get him.”

“And he’s still a psychopath when it comes to you then?” Soojin scoffs, brows knitting together to accentuate her disbelief. “He tried to have me killed just so that I would stay out of your business?”

“I don’t know, Soojin,” you exhale. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would do that. I already made a deal with him and he’ll get to take me regardless of what happens here.”

“T-Take you?” Wooyoung interjects. “Take you where?” His hand latches around your elbow and squeezes hard. You ignore the man in favor of maintaining your focus on Soojin, however, much to his dismay.

“Unless you know something Jisung wouldn’t want me to know and he couldn’t even risk the thought of us running into each other and speaking.” At that, Soojin tilts her head to the side in confusion.

“What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“What happened before you left the crew?” Her confusion intensifies to a dramatic degree.

“Have you gone mad? Do you not remember or something? You were always a bit bad with memory, yeah, but has it gotten this bad?”

“Please, Soojin, I’m begging you please just tell me what happened before the crew fell apart. I know you called me a scapegoat for a reason, please.” You reach out across the empty space between your bodies, having to stand to reach her, but when you do, you close a hand around her wrist. Soojin blinks between where you hold her and your face without speaking for so long that you think she’s going to refuse you again.

“I called you a scapegoat because I thought you were in on Jisung’s plan at the time,” she says finally, pulling her other hand up to run through her hair. “You would’ve done anything for him so I thought that was just another part of it.”

“What did I do?”

“I should be asking what you remember happening instead.”

“What I remember is stealing documents and plotting to dismantle the military from the inside out with you guys but I fucked up. I know I fucked up and got caught and Hyunwoo took the blame for me and it got him fucking executed.” Soojin leans back, hand tugging out of your light grip.

“I know nothing of what happened after Ash, Juyeon, and I left Eros. But before we left…” It’s her turn to hold you by the wrist. She turns your arm over and exposes the inside of your left arm, right where that damned brand sits against your raised skin. “You didn’t deserve this. It wasn’t your burden to bear. You were the scapegoat, and that’s why the team fell apart, that’s why we all broke up and ran away. You didn’t plan to steal anything, nor did you plot a thing. Neither did Hyunwoo. It was all Jisung; Jisung wanted to dismantle the military and kill the king. When Juyeon, Ash, and I found out what he was planning to do, we brought it to Hyunwoo. All Hyunwoo said was that stopping Jisung wasn’t something he could do. So he told us to leave while we still had the chance and that he would take care of things. He would take the blame so that no one else would have to get hurt. But you didn’t want him to do that, so you ran off and carried out Jisung’s plan for him.”

“Which part? Did I k-kill the king… before Hyunwoo died?”

Soojin heaves a deep sigh.

“The last night we were all together as a team, you snuck out of the barracks and infiltrated the palace. You stole the documents Jisung wanted — whatever the fuck they were because I don’t even know why he wanted them in the first place if he was going to kill the king anyways — and you killed the king that night too. Everything went to shit. It all happened too fast for the rest of us to know what was really going on. You just came back to the barracks and turned the lights on and…”

You don’t realize how hard your head is pounding until the woman trails off, voice dying in her throat, and then it hits you will so much force that you feel your body beginning to lurch. You would fall over, most likely smack your head on the sink as well, if not for Wooyoung jumping up and catching you by the waist before you can fully go down. And thanks to him, all you do is hunch over and hold your head in your hands as a stab of pain sears through your skull.

“Breathe, Y/N, breathe for me,” he urges as you slump your weight back against him. “You need to breathe, okay? You’re hyperventilating. One breath every five seconds, slow it down, you’re okay.”

“Th-There was blood. There was blood, wasn’t there?” Looking at Soojin fills your vision with pure crimson, but it’s not because of her hair this time.

“Yes,” she whispers back, not daring to speak any louder than that. “You were… drenched in blood that wasn’t yours. And we were so scared you had been hurt somehow. I carried you to the bath and cleaned you but you didn’t have a single scratch on you.”

“O-Oh god,” you choke out. The red in your vision turns coppery as a different image takes over and a new memory swarms your head.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

“Let her go!”

“You ruined everything! How could you do this? Why are you so fucking useless? I told you to sit still and not do anything!”

The water spread to your nostrils and forced its way in as you struggled to find air.

“Jisung, release her right this instant!”

The hands around your throat just grew tighter.

Wooyoung eases you down to the floor when the rest of your strength leaves you. He keeps a hand at your waist, using the other to hold your head to his chest in a desperate attempt to control the wild tremors shooting through your body. You keep a hand pressed to your throbbing temple but it does nothing to alleviate the pain you’re in, one that feels as though something is trying to rip your head in half with their bare hands.

“C-Can’t remember more. I can’t, I do-don’t want to remember anymore, I — it hurts. It hurts too much, it hurts so much.”

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to remember anymore, okay? You’re good, you’re done, no more. No more.” Even through the pain, you can’t miss the desperation in Wooyoung’s tone. His hand moves for your arm where your wristband sits, buzzing uselessly against your skin. “Y/N, what does this mean? Is something happening?”

You want to answer, You even open your mouth to do so. Yet the moment you do, the taste of that metallic soapy water fills your mouth and you choke on air.

“Y/N, please, what does it mean? Are we in trouble?” You think you shake your head but the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes isn’t reassuring and you aren’t sure you have any hold over the muscles in your body right now. “Please, do you know where our friend is?” He asks, directing his focus to where Soojin kneels in front of you.

“The brunette?”

“Brunette? No, no, I’m talking a blond?”

“J-Jongho,” you force out, gritting your teeth until your jaw hurts from the force. “Jongho… here too.”

“I saw that name on the register,” Soojin cuts in. “I checked it to find what room you were in and saw his name further down on the list.”

“Please get him and bring him. Please, I know you — we just need your help right now, please,” Wooyoung begs. His grip on your waist tightens a little as Soojin hesitates, and it doesn’t let up until the girl nods and leaves the room in haste. Wooyoung brings you back to his chest once she’s gone, matching your shaky breaths as he gently rocks you back and forth. “I can’t… know your memories or the pain you’re feeling right now, but I know what it’s like to suddenly be hit with memories you forgot you had. Ones that were suppressed behind an iron wall. I know what it’s like to have it slip out and hit you.”

“It fucking hurts.” You clench your jaw again, feeling a burn of pain up the side of your face with the movement. “Like someone is stabbing my b-brain with a da-damn icepick.”

“Are the memories painful?”

“I d-don’t know. I can hardly think straight. My head hurts. That’s all I can think about.”

“The serum… I’m assuming it’s the same one I was given back then. It can’t take away memories. Yeah, they tell you that it’s a wipe, but that’s only because they don’t want you trying to find those old memories. It can’t remove parts of the brain like that. They just use it to lock away memories but there’s no guarantee of it being permanent, so when you do remember something they tried to lock away, it hurts.”

“D-Does it hurt you like this too?”

“Yes, but I’m — pain isn’t something that bothers me all too much, and I’m lucky enough to have Yeosang nearby when it happens. I’ve got a prescription for the pain from Yunho too. We can… we can get you something long-term back on the ship.”

Another stab of pain hits as the door slides open, metal grating hard on your ears, but this time Jongho stands with Soojin. He rushes over to join you and Wooyoung on the floor in a panic, obviously torn between being excited to see Wooyoung again and your current crumpled state.

“Yeosang’s hour is up and he’s waiting at the meeting point. Captain hasn’t buzzed in on the contact yet.” Jongho reaches down to lay a hand against your forehead. You’re quick enough to turn your face further into Wooyoung’s shirt, inhaling the sickening floral scent that clings to his skin.

“Don’t even think about trying to take it away,” you hiss.

“I can’t take physical pain, don’t worry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Here, something for the pain.” Soojin interrupts the moment to lean over you with a cup of unknown contents. “Fast-acting pain reliever. Every room has some in it just in case patrons get too out of hand. We keep it in the cabinets, I promise it’s nothing bad. It’ll numb you and make you a bit sluggish for a while, but it’ll also take the pain away.”

“Thank you,” Wooyoung murmurs as he takes the cup from her hands. He helps bring the cup to your lips, pushing some of the murky grey liquid inside into your mouth, and you struggle not to gag around the taste of it. He doesn’t stop until the entirety of its contents are drained into your mouth then tilts your head back to keep it down when some threatens to drip out the corners of your lips. An unknown hand comes down on your knee.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Soojin. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with this information.” You swallow hard only to choke a second later on the putrid aftertaste clinging to your tongue. Wooyoung lets you cough into his shoulder without complaint, passing the now empty cup back to Soojin.

“You couldn’t have known,” you murmur after escaping the coughing fit. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t know what they would do to you after we left the planet,” she sighs through the quiet of the room. “I should have expected it honestly, knowing Jisung, but maybe I hoped he would be better than that. He always manipulated you so it only makes sense that he would try to manipulate your memories too. Do you at least know what happened a little bit better now?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah.” You try to pull away from Wooyoung and get up but his grip on you doesn’t let up. “My memories were taken away for a second time and replaced with something else. So instead of only losing fourteen years of my life, I lost eighteen and spent the last three years believing those manipulated memories to be real. I’m peachy.”

Another buzz from your wristband pulls your attention away, and Jongho glances down at his own too.

“Cameras are down.”

“Let’s go then,” you mutter.

“Are you okay to move? Don’t push it if you’re not strong enough.”

“We need to go now while we still can,” you protect, letting Wooyoung help you to your feet even if it’s on shaky legs. Jongho gives a curt nod then heads for the window, no doubt to pry it open. Soojin catches you by the arm before you can fully turn away.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Even if you can’t remember all of it, there are still things I regret saying and doing to you. I should have known back then how much Jisung was manipulating you and not pushed so much blame onto your shoulders.”

“You can get out now with us, Soojin. While you have the chance.”

“And do what with that freedom?” She huffs out a dry and lifeless laugh. “Wander aimlessly? Ash and Juyeon are both missing in action. I have no clues or leads on where they might be or if they’re even alive. I don’t have anything left out there beyond the House.”

“I… if I hear anything out there about them, I promise I’ll send you a message. I’ll find a way to get news to you, maybe through my captain’s contact or something. I swear if I can help you get out of this hellhole I will.”

Soojin reaches up to ruffle her hand through your hair, mussing the loose locks more.

“You always were a good kid, Y/N. Too good for the life you were forced to live.” It hurts to watch her smile. It hurts even more to let Wooyoung guide you to where Jongho waits by the now open window. “Go while you can, you three. The medicine will wear off in a few hours, but hopefully, you’ll have access to something better by then. I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

Jongho dips through the open space first, hopping down to the pristine streets below with little issue.

“Send Y/N down next!”

You can’t tear your gaze off Soojin. You don’t know when you might see her again or if you even will, and it hurts to leave her behind like this but she just keeps smiling at you with bright eyes and blinding hair.

“T-Thank you, Soojin. Please stay safe, if you can.”

“Always.”

With that, Wooyoung hoists you over the ledge of the window and dangles you far enough down so that your fall is softened a bit. Jongho catches you by the legs, taking the brunt of your weight before you hit the ground. Wooyoung drops down beside you without warning a second later. As Jongho eases you down, you dare to glance up at the window you just left from, and it shuts slowly without a sign from Soojin inside.

Wooyoung rushes back to your side and loops an arm back around your waist when you start to slump forward again.

“That’s — that’ll look too suspicious,” you mutter, pulling his arm back to his own side.

“We just dropped out a fucking window. I’m sure that would look more suspicious.”

“I’ll be okay.”

Yet two steps later, you’re stumbling over your heels and Jongho comes to your rescue this time. He tugs your arm through his own as he walks forward without saying a word. You can only lean your weight on him and slump your chin against his shoulder.

“Thank you…”

Silence drapes over the three of you as you make your way to the meeting point with Yeosang. You aren’t in as much pain as you were earlier (Soojin wasn’t bluffing when she said fast-acting) but the medicine is already making you a bit groggy. It feels a bit like you’re wading through sludge just trying to walk a few steps, and frankly, Jongho is the only thing keeping you going at this point. Wooyoung lingers at your other side. Every once in a while, you feel his worried gaze find its way to your form. He might even be speaking to you at some point because you hear something that sounds vaguely like his voice through the radio static in your ears, but there is far too much on your mind and too much to think about right now for you to pay any attention to that.

If… if I killed the king before Hyunwoo’s execution, then who did I kill that night? Did I kill anyone at all? Was that memory fabricated? What have I been working towards all these years if that’s a lie?

Funny how your search for answers only left you with more questions instead. There are too many questions to keep track of and not remotely enough answers to them. You know you won’t be able to have those answers yet either, not while San and Mingi are still missing and Jisung is bothering you. Where would you even look for answers now? Jisung would never tell you a thing, Hyunwoo is dead and gone, and now you’re leaving Soojin behind.

The one thing that reaches your brain through the static in your ears is a dry and choked sob. You pull yourself out of your thoughts as Wooyoung disappears from your side. It doesn’t take much to guess why. You’ve reached the meeting point, the all too small alleyway where Yeosang waits for you three, and Wooyoung is running straight to him with reckless abandon.

“Y-Yeosang, angel, Yeosang, my god I’m—” Wooyoung’s voice dies in a cracked sob when he reaches the Elitist. His hands barely brush the man’s shoulders because Yeosang drops to his knees in front of Wooyoung, face hidden but no doubt bearing tears, and he balls his fists around the flimsy material of Wooyoung’s pants. He presses his forehead to Wooyoung’s hip, hands traveling further up to press against the small of his back. Wooyoung can only card a hand through Yeosang’s hair in response, but it’s enough for now. It’s enough for both of them like this, with Yeosang’s knuckles white from the pressure of clinging to Wooyoung, and you and Jongho maintain your distance as best you can to give them this moment.

“Are they happy?” You whisper to Jongho even though the answer is blindingly obvious before you. The Berserker’s lips twist into a small grin.

“I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to describe how they’re feeling right now.”

Yeosang pulls his head off Wooyoung’s hip and stares up at the man with tears on his cheeks and stars in his eyes. Wooyoung dips down to the Elitist’s height, pulling his face up to his own and slotting their lips together like nothing else in the universe exists around them. Again, it’s raw, as all emotions between these two seem to be, but it belongs to them and it’s something you can’t take away from them. When they part lips to gulp in desperate breaths of fresh air, Wooyoung places his forehead over Yeosang’s and takes the breath from his lungs like that. They don’t exchange words but there doesn’t seem to be a need for words either, not until Yeosang seems to catch hold of himself and come back to his senses.

“The car is waiting for us at the other end of the alley. Driver’s already pulled up.” Jongho nods when the Elitist drags his gaze over to where the two of you stand. Yeosang lets Wooyoung pull him back into space after that, unable to contain a smile as the Siren continues to press more kisses to his cheeks. You and Jongho trail behind them to the other end of the alleyway. Seeing them together like this makes it worth it. You knew it would and you were striving to bring them this moment, but seeing it unfold before you like this increases that feeling tenfold.

Once in the car, Yeosang sits Wooyoung down in one of the cushioned seats then drops to the floor between his legs even when Wooyoung protests and tells him to get up.

“Stop, that’s weird! It looks weird, Yeo, please! It looks like you’re trying to su—”

“Shut up,” Yeosang mumbles back as he drops his head to rest against Wooyoung’s thigh. “You’re the one who makes everything dirty. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Wooyoung obviously doesn’t mind all too much because he returns to toying with the Elitist’s blond locks moments later as you and Jongho settle into the seats beside the pair. And from where you’re sitting, they really do look like young boys again, more than just a former slave and ex-prince but also less than that. Just… boys who fell in love despite the odds set against them.

“I’m sorry, Woo, I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, angel, I know. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You tune out of the conversation there. It’s far too intimate and personal for you to encroach on, and the medicine has you falling asleep in your seat anyways. Jongho seems to pick up on that, reaching over to pat your leg.

“Rest while you can.”

A hum comes as your reply as you slump to the side, head hitting the side of the car with a loud thud. Jongho exhales a quiet laugh and pulls you over to rest against his shoulder instead.

“’m sorry for snapping at you,” you murmur. You’re forcing your eyes to stay open long enough to get the apology out but it’s growing more difficult by the second. “I didn’t mean to, I was afraid… of her slipping out of my grasp but… that’s no excuse.”

Your fluttering eyes snap wide open when something presses down hard on your nose. You blink uselessly at Jongho and the finger he hovers over your face.

“Stop talking nonsense, yeah? Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not?”

“Hm, no, I’m not.”

“Promise.”

“I promise I’m staying right here.”

“And we’ll get San back?” You mumble just before the drowsiness wins.

“We’ll get your San back too, I promise.”

✧✧✧ a/n: yall imma be honest this chapter feels like a whole fever dream and a half but i love it nonetheless she’s my Baby i hope you guys love her just as much and enjoy her <3 lots happened but also not a lot happened? i feel like the wc is so dramatic for Not A Lot but yaknow that’s life ! next chapter we’re getting juicy and bringing a part 16 move back bc teehee that’s what i do best u know me anywho let me know what u think as always i love u all im so happy to bring u guys this chapter and so excited for the coming ones!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ ​@sparklychangbin​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss​​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​ @icekdy​ @eggteez​​ @bangtanxberm​​ @uglychildd​ @lucymultistan​​​​

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#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #mists of celeste #mingi x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez pirates #ateez space pirates

[monsterquest]

Re: Vampires 😑

Anyway. This is me explaining why I dislike the vast majority of vampire fiction/ vampires in fiction and why I think this is a topic that deserves some further thought. This post is not about all vampire stories ever and we’re not discussing folklore here. Yes you can tell me all about some artisanal variety of vampire that’s totally different but the fact of the matter is that mainstream media has a very clear idea of what is being talked about. I’m talking about the movies and series and books that someone immediately thinks about when the word ‘vampire’ is mentioned and what are the common elements that put me off such media.

So who are vamipres generally portrayed as? Yeah I’m pretty sure you can spot the most common denominators. A youthful-looking or at the very least quietly confident and dubiously wealthy white man. More often than not revealing sociopathic inclinations and a “dangerous side” down the line. Stuff that only the heroine of the story can manage. He might have been shown to have mass-mudered his way though the ages, but none of those people went to high school with her so it’s fine. Plus he’s a vegan now. It’s fine. Right.

A key to many of the problems I have with vampires is a fundamental aspect of what they are. Vampires are made, not born. So up until they were turned and became blood-hungry creatures of the night with superhuman powers they were regular people, products of their time and environment. So they are the very opposite of a blank canvas.

First there’s the basic overall depiction, but at the same time what the audience/reader is told to ignore about the commonalities and how this relates to for example race in relation to what is seen as acceptable deviation from social norms. Like who cares where he got his money from and that nobody has ever heard of him and that his ID looks hella fake. Sure... he’s violent and undpredictable, but it’s fine because he’s traumatized. So here we arrive at the idea that somehow a woman can and should be inserted here as some kind of a fix. What are red flags? Who even knows? It’s fine.

Honestly I’m seeing so many problems that I’m not even sure which one to bring up first. I mean the more that I look at it... it seems to me as if vampirism in a way serves as a metaphor for a particular kind of toxic white masculinity and how society is conditioned to accomodate it. 

Let me remind you that 50 Shades of Grey is Twilight fanfiction. That is a fact. Which appropriately anchors this whole thing back in reality in the sense that it should serve as a reminder of intention and motivations behind modern vampire fiction. It both sadly and conveniently also illustrates the point I want to make about the common denominators I brought up earlier. Which brings me to how vampires are fundamentally linked to class.

In Twilight’s example, if you take away the element of blood consumption what you’re left with is pretty much 50 Shades of Grey. I think that alone is pretty revealing in terms of what the story is intentionally telling us. While there’s a constant need to explain why fiction is not reality and how fictional situations don’t necessarily reflect what authors advocate in real life, I feel like vampire fiction is something that deserves to be seen in connection to what it is anchored to. Not so much because the fiction is created with different intentions, but because of the way the reality surrounding it is largely written into it. 

Interestingly, in a lot of media the existence of vampires seems to go hand in hand with that of werevolves. And pretty much every example I can currently think of (Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood) seems to drive home the same general message through the dichotomy established between them. 

Vampires are educated, wealthy and worldly. Pretty much invariably shown as members of the upper class. Signalled as superior in every conceivable way perhaps other than in some aspect which would leave a female-protagonist-shaped cutout somewhere in there, to fit perfectly into this world and fix the vampire.

Werewolves are almost invariably rural, living “close to the land”, with far fewer means and in a different world in terms of affluence. Generally working class people, rarely as highly educated in comparison, often depicted as less rational, more prone to physical aggression, less diplomatic and able to control their emotions. And based on a casual observation, far more likely to be depicted as people of color than vampires. 

And let’s just ignore all of ABO territory and the world of implications that goes with it. 

Some of these things wouldn’t be an issue just by temselves. I just think it becomes one when this is a dominant pattern across much of media that fits this category. Clearly it’s being used to communicate something. And no part of this is isolated from the rest of what makes it (I frankly detest using this word) problematic. It’s far too complicated a matrix to exhaust the whole topic in a single ramble, so I’m not attempting to cover everything that has crossed my mind in relation to this. 

But to me the bottom line is that contemporary vampire fiction feeds into a specific set of patterns, whether consiously or unknowingly, ultimately becoming almost the opposite of what I personally appreciate in Monster Romance. I love Monster Romance for what it can do for deconstructing certain patterns that we see in a lot of media and are surrounded by in daily lives. And much of vampire fiction is in my eyes unable to overcome the baggage that is anchored to it through its rootedness in what already surrounds us.

[sgt-paul]

In The Lyrics, does Paul have entries about Somedays, Calico Skies or Eat at Home?

he does :) posting them under a cut here :

CALICO SKIES

If Linda was asked what her sign was, she used to say ‘No Parking’. I never paid much attention to astrology, and I think that’s because there was so much endless chatter about star signs in the sixties. For what it’s worth, I’m a Gemini. With Gemini you’re born in the middle of the year, so there’s all that bit of the year gone and there’s all this bit of the year to come and you are born slap-bang in the middle. Apparently, I’m told, it affects your character. I definitely have this yin-yang thing, but I suppose everyone does: ebony and ivory; hello and goodbye; you say yes, I say no. Often I’m playing with that sense of dichotomy. I’m a true Gemini. The opening phrase in this song – ‘It was written that’ – refers to the idea that one’s fate is indeed ‘written’ in the stars. ‘Calico skies’? Who knows what that might be. I might’ve heard the phrase somewhere, but I’m claiming it. I know calico is a kind of cotton cloth that came originally from the city I knew as Calcutta, now Kolkata, and it would be nice to think that this song increased the popularity of calico. Today I was looking at some sleeve notes associated with the release of the album Flaming Pie, which this song was on, and it reminded me of how it happened. They had finally started giving boys’ names to hurricanes, and a powerful one they called Bob had caused a power cut on Long Island, and everything was out. Now that’s a nice opportunity, when the world shuts off, for you to create. I’m always looking for that, anyway. If I’m writing a song in a house, I will try to get as far away from the action as possible, which often means a cupboard, a closet, or a bathroom. Somewhere that I can be the hermit in the cave. So, when these power cuts happen, suddenly you don’t have to secrete yourself here or there, but you can go down to the basement and just totally be at one with the song. If you’re writing a song, you’re going to make it rhyme; it tends to work better than a sort of prose song. So, once I’ve got an idea and I know there’s a good possibility I’m going to rhyme something with ‘eyes’, I’ll just start running through potential options. I like to think my dad solved crossword puzzles in a very similar way, just shuffling through a few of the word possibilities in his head. So, in writing a song, I just look ahead and know there’s going to be a rhyme and I try to make it a good one – one that advances the plot. For this song, the word ‘skies’ came, so I thought I’d open my eyes on a day with ‘cloudy skies’, ‘dark blue skies’, ‘deep blue skies’ or even ‘Calico Skies’. You look for a context for that word. ‘While the angels of love protect us / From the innermost secrets we hide’. Each of us has loads of stuff going on inside, but the idea of love and respect and decency protects us from innermost secrets that might not be terrific. You might not be thinking well of someone, but unless they’ve really angered you, you’re not going to say it, and that’s the angel of love protecting you. I think this goes on all the time. This can also be called your conscience. I mean I love the idea that there are two people in my head. Well, at least two. ‘Long live all of us crazy soldiers’. There are certain politicians, presidents, prime ministers that we don’t like, who can lie willfully, and I’ve fought against them in my own way throughout my life. To me, the sort of protest that this line represents is like Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, ‘We Shall Overcome’. I put that in a romantic song, and coming as the third verse it’s a bit of a wake-up call, because until this point it hasn’t really been about politics or society as much as about individuals. But this puts us all into a crazy soldier brigade – we band of brothers – one that I’m very happy to belong to. You have all these kinds of arguments and discussions as students, and in our case, The Beatles became my fellow students. We’d sit up and have a drink. Then we’d be talking about this and that, and, because of the age we were, we were discussing what we would do if a war were declared and we were actually called up. Would we fight? That is something I think a lot of people of our generation had to consider. The great thing about The Beatles was that the minute we formed the band, the UK ended the call-up, what Americans call the ‘draft’.In fact, we’d all have had to go. Ringo would’ve been eligible, and later I and John and George were also eligible. And none of us had that infamous lucky bone spur that some used to get out of military service. We always said that the end to the call-up was like God, in Moses fashion, opening the waters for us, and we just walked through. In truth, we were plain lucky.So the discussion was, would we have fought? And my opinion was that I wouldn’t have, unless the circumstance was something like Dunkirk or an invasion by Hitler, and then I would have felt I had to. Other than that, I was opting for peace, and that idea was very prevalent in our generation. We actually thought there might be a chance that if we could persuade these politicians, then we could indeed have peace.In the end, it appears that you can’t persuade them, but you have to keep trying. I’m glad Churchill stood up against Hitler when so many of his colleagues, including Neville Chamberlain, said, ‘No, we have “peace for our time”.’ And Chamberlain was not alone. Loads of people thought they should give in because they – quite wrongly – considered Hitler to be mostly harmless before the war. Rather like a certain politician’s public pronouncements on COVID-19. 

EAT AT HOME

Linda’s great cooking ultimately inspired her own cookbooks. Nobody was writing simple and easy-to-follow recipe books for meat-free home cooking. So, eating in bed was something we both really liked to do. There were a couple of other things we really liked to do, but that’s for another day. It’s a very different take on domesticity from that ‘Bed-In for Peace’ that John and Yoko had in a hotel room in Amsterdam in 1969. Right from the start, he and I were always bouncing off each other when it came to subjects for songs. But the world represented here is certainly much quieter, conducted without the world’s press. You have to remember that Linda and I were newly married, with a baby, and we were desperately trying to escape the hurly-burly and just find time to be a family. We were completely cut off on our farm in Scotland, a place I’d bought a few years before but Linda really fell in love with. So we just made our own fun. We drew a lot. We wrote a lot. We inspired each other. Linda took a lot of photographs, and I think Scotland helped her find a new side to her work, moving away from musicians and capturing nature and the everyday of family life. It was a life that might be perceived as idyllic, away from the city and business and the press. In some ways it was quite banal. What I liked about it was the simplicity. The small scale of things. The paintings I made were small. I bought only little canvases. I never thought I would be allowed to make visual art. I always thought that was for ‘them’. I would never have dreamt of taking up horse riding had I not met Linda. Again, that was for ‘them’. Horse riding wasn’t for my type. But we really found ourselves in Scotland; it gave us a wonderful freedom to try new things, just for ourselves. Apart from riding for fun, there were so many jobs having to do with the farm itself. I actually learnt to shear the sheep with hand clippers – not something one sees much these days, and certainly not something that, when I was a kid in Liverpool, I ever thought I’d end up doing. I was able to shear about fourteen to twenty in a day, and my farm manager, Duncan, would do a hundred. Just getting the sheep on its back is a hard enough trick to pull off. An image of me about to flip a sheep ended up as the cover of RAM, the album on which this song appeared. That was part of Linda’s record of one shearing session. Linda made an individual portrait of each and every one of our flock.From a musical perspective, ‘Eat at Home’ owes much to the example of Buddy Holly, a huge influence on The Beatles when we were growing up and starting to write our own songs. One of the aspects I rather enjoy is that I modified Buddy Holly’s tendency to mimic a speech hesitation by introducing a sheep’s baa into the phrase ‘eat in be-e-e-e-d’. I was proud of that!

SOMEDAYS

The title came from just the first line, ‘Somedays I look’, which is followed by the repetition of ‘I look’. ‘Somedays I look / I look at you with eyes that shine / Somedays I don’t / I don’t believe that you are mine’. It’s that little trick of repeating the phrase, of reinforcing it, that makes the lyric work. It drives it like a little dynamo. My grammar school education taught me that it’s a rhetorical device apparently known as anadiplosis, but essentially, it’s repetition. You think you’re going one way, and then there’s a little surprise and it takes you another. I like playing with phrases, dancing round words, shuffling them like a deck of cards. I often think that when I’m writing a song, I’m following a trail of bread crumbs. Someone’s thrown out these bread crumbs and I see the first few, and ‘Somedays I look’ and see the next one. I’m following the song rather than writing it. I will think of the line that’s coming and think of how to get into it, like following stepping-stones. My thinking process goes like this: I’ve got to do that to get to there, and so it continues. I quite enjoy that; it’s an interesting process. I often liken it to doing crossword puzzles. My dad was a big fan of crosswords and was a very wordy man. I think I inherited that love of words and crossword puzzles from him. That’s often what songs are – puzzles. Trying to figure how one word fits with another word. So if you put this together with that and you twist that word around, the answer is . . . It’s then all about filling in the gaps. George Martin called this song ‘deceivingly simple’. He would have known, because he was one of the best at making the complex seem simple. That’s why he was always my arranger of choice. I’d known him a long time – most of my professional life, in fact – since The Beatles did our artist test with him for EMI when I was a few days shy of my twentieth birthday. I’d worked with him so much that I knew if I wanted a nice arrangement on something, it would be a delight to ring him up and say, ‘Hey, George, are you interested in doing a thing together?’ He was a true gentleman, and like a second father to me, and always the grown-up in the room, with that delightfully plummy English accent of his. If I had the opportunity to work with him rather than anyone else, I always would – until it came to classical stuff, like the Liverpool Oratorio, when I worked with people who had a bit more knowledge in that field. But from that June day in 1962 when he gave us our first recording contract, right up to the last time we saw each other, George was just the most generous, intelligent and musical person I’ve had the pleasure to know. ‘Somedays’ is a good little song. For me, it’s very meaningful. Looking into a soul; it’s what you try to do in a relationship, yet don’t often succeed at. The lyric contains some contradictory ideas, but its purpose is to support the song rather than be a lyric on its own, so it’s quite liberating. I know this might sound odd, but the lyric and the song are two slightly different things. Once I’ve managed to isolate myself (in this case it was another little room while Linda was doing a cooking assignment elsewhere in the house), once I’m actually writing the song, I’m off on that trail. I really don’t know what the goal is, or even where I’m heading, but I do like to get there and find things out on the way. You can experiment as you go along, so there’s a crack between the headlong and the halting where, if you’re lucky, a few things might slip out: ‘I look at you with eyes that shine / Somedays I don’t’. That’s like a thought that could come out in a session with a psychiatrist. I follow it up with ‘I don’t believe that you are mine’, but there’s now a wonderful ambiguity there.

#answered #lyrics: book

[the-world-spear]

tentative headcanons for my worldbuilding mess of a lore rewrite, but some ideas i’ve been thinking for primevals:

primevals are separated into two categories: the trueborn and the ascended. 

trueborn primevals all have an identical mark somewhere in their physical vessel from the day they manifest. let’s say it’s a ‘birthmark’ of sorts (e.g: davoth has one on his back)

ascended primevals lack that mark because of their mortal origins. doomguy/doom slayer is a prime example of this, and to an extent, adds a sense to why marauders say that doomguy is ‘but a false idol’

dominance is in the nature of primevals, but it is a matter of how they make use of it. some revel in it to the point they become reckless and cruel. there are those who have self-control though, and not let it get to their heads too much. this contrasting dichotomy, of course, is bound to cause conflict across stars. the desire of dominance is one of the main reasons a primeval falls corrupted

there are primevals who look identical to each other, but most are unique in the appearance they take when they come to be

primevals either start with an existing world to fill with their creations OR make their own from scratch

they can shapeshift. some use this more than others

primevals are often either celibate or are engaged in intimate relationships without the involvement of carnal desires. those who do get involved though tend to carry their dominance well into this specific behavior

these folks are immortal, but can be exiled from influence in the world they rule by killing them in a duel. only one of their kind, or someone even more powerful can kill them. Worlds once ruled are orphaned following the loss of control from the slain primeval, and depending on how their realms work, their deaths can affect their subjects too.

primevals have one main world each (though there is a possibility for the same world to have two at a time naturally), and they can choose to expand their territories by colonizing other worlds or creating more on their own. attempts to colonize another primeval’s realm under their charge by one of their own is considered territorial contest and can escalate into inter-dimensional wars

#charger talks #headcanons #doom headcanons #doom eternal