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spider-stark · 1 year ago

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THE BRIDGE

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!Reader

Summary - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

Warnings - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

Word Count - 5.6k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

When Grover Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, sent word for each of his bannermen to send forth a handful of their finest House members to a most desolate area of the Whispering Woods, no one thought it wise to object.

“Lord Grover is an ornery old crow,” your father, Humfrey Bracken huffed as you readied the horses. “But you would do well to earn his respect.” He clamped a hand on your brother’s shoulder, pride gleaming in his eyes as he said, “Whatever he’s planning, I want you to show him that House Bracken stands strong. Understood?”

Keeping his chin held high, Amos hesitantly muttered, “If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.”

Even with your back turned, you could feel the weight of your brother’s stare, his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head.

Your father shrugged, a disinterested gesture. “Grover said to send our best,” he said, “and when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one's a better shot than her.”

For the next day-and-a-half, you rode at a distance from the group your father selected—your brother, Amos, and two of your male cousins. And while they laughed and jeered and yapped, you remained stuck in your own thoughts, playing your father’s words on a loop.

It’s the only compliment he’s ever paid you. The closest he’s ever come to acknowledging you as Bracken.

You hate him sometimes, you think. For agreeing to peace all those years ago—for sending his only daughter to ward with his rival of all people. He must have known it was futile. Must have known that one girl could never bridge such an ancient chasm.

He must have known—and yet he sent you anyway, only to call you back years later, tearing you away from the only home you had ever known and leaving you to feel like a stranger in your House.

Grover said to send our best.

Are you a Bracken, then? Is blood all that determines a House?

No one’s a better shot than her.

But your skill is that of a Blackwood, born under their tutelage.

Deep within the Woods, a steady mist of rain falls from the sky, leaving your skin uncomfortably damp. In the distance, a low hum of chattering voices signal that the four of you are drawing close to Lord Grover’s camp—and that the other House’s have already arrived.

Your thoughts shift, wondering who Lord Samwell sent to represent House Blackwood—fearing that you might already know the answer.

A strange tightness floods your chest, coiling around your lungs.

It’s been months since you last saw the heir to Raventree Hall. Many, many months—and you can’t help but think any reunion might end in bloodshed with Amos by your side.

As if he heard his name ring through your mind, your brother slows his horse to gentle trot beside yours, cocking a neatly groomed brow at you. “Tell me, sister—were you always this dour?” He asks, feigning intrigue. “Or did half-a-decade with the Blackwoods simply drain the joy from you?”

You don’t pry your eyes from the path ahead, refusing to look him in the eye as he continues without waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t be surprised—a mere day with those insipid cravens would have me wishing to swallow my own blade.” Removing a hand from the reins, he pantomimed the act—gripping an invisible hilt and shoving it towards his lips, letting a dramatic choke rip from his throat.

Riding a bit ahead, your cousins chortle at his jest, shooting amused glances over their shoulders.

“No need,” you answer without thinking, your tone impassive. “Aly would have an arrow in your eye before the day was up.”

Your cousins fall silent.

Amos stiffens, jaw clenched tight. “She could try.”

You know Black Aly would try if given half the chance—and you have no doubt that she would succeed, too. She was the one who taught you how to string a bow and sharpen arrows, how to aim and never miss.

When you don’t respond, Amos pulls his horse in closer—as close as he can get without spookings yours. “Look,” he utters, low enough that your cousins can’t overhear, “I don’t know how things were done at Raventree—but you’re home now, and you would do well to remember where your true loyalties lie.”

Again, you don’t speak. Don’t think, either.

Amos sighs. “Your blood runs gold, sister. You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that—and don’t bring shame upon our name. Understood?”

Strange.

You had seen your own blood before—more times than you can count, actually. Scars mottle your skin like stars in the sky, a reminder of the years spent training and the memories of nights spent with friends who were supposed to be enemies.

Never once had it looked gold to you.

Only red.

“I understand–” a pause, a breath, a heartbeat– “brother.”

Nausea twists your stomach. The familial title curdles on your tongue even as Amos grins at you. There’s nothing affectionate about the gesture—how could there be? He doesn’t know you. Not really.

Blood or no, you’re little more than strangers to each other—and yet, even so, you can see he’s trying. Trying to know you.

Ahead, the camp comes into view. Banners hang above tents: white for the Mootons, blue for the Pipers, purple for the Mallisters.

And red—for House Blackwood.

Amos gives you one last glance, a pall mimicry of what you believe is meant to be love in his eyes. “You’re home now,” he reminds you again, as if you need to hear it,“be glad for it.”

With the Tully’s guards now in earshot, Amos doesn’t bother with waiting for a response. He snaps the reins, urging his gelding back to the head of your group, already bellowing his greetings. You watch him go, transfixed on the yellow-gold of his tunic—identical to yours.

Approaching the guards, you tell yourself that your brother is what home is supposed to look like. That if you were to slice your veins, gold would pour from your wrists.

Not red.

After checking in with the guards and tying your mare up in the makeshift paddock, there was no time left to freshen up before you were expected to join Amos and your cousins. With all the Houses now gathered, Lord Grover wasted no time in calling you all to the heart of the camp.

Still, you try to make yourself presentable—using your fingers to comb through tangled, windswept hair and smoothing the wrinkles from your gold tunic, careful not to disturb the ornate brooch pinned above your heart.

According to the guards, everyone was given one upon arrival. “All Houses are required to wear them,” they explained when Amos pressed them on it, “Lord Tully’s orders.”

They were all different, it seemed. Yours was a delicate thing, fashioned from silver and pearls in the image of a blooming dahlia, while Amos’s was clunky and shaped like the sun. He’s still fumbling with it when you finally push through the small crowd, taking your place at his side.

To your left, separated only by a group of five Frey men, you feel the wary glances being cast your way. You almost turn your head—almost glance back at them, if only to see what they might do. What he would do.

Would he even acknowledge you? Or simply look away?

The answer, thankfully, is one you don’t have time to learn. A servant garners attention, dragging a simple, plush chair to the group’s center. Following suit, another two servants assist the aged Lord Paramount from his tent, guiding him into his seat. On his right stands his eldest grandson—and your favorite Tully. Tall and dark-haired, Elmo looks more fearsome than he actually is, sparing you a quick, discreet wink when he spots you.

“You may all be wondering,” Lord Grover wheezes, his lungs fighting for breath, “why I have called upon you all today—the many great Houses of our land.”

As he speaks, old, gnarled hands punctuate his words, gesturing out to the many men gathered ‘round. His fingers shake with effort, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his many, many years. But his chin remains high, and his tone commanding—if a touch quavery.

“I hear rumblings,” he continues, “from the South-East.”

Lord Grover’s eyes, milky with cataracts, shift in the direction, staring blindly into the towering trees of the Whispering Woods. Beyond them, even.

“Whispers of a great danger brewing in the Crownlands—within the King’s own court, if rumors are to be trusted.”

Your spine turns to steel.

Those rumors, you know, are as true as they come. Over the past several months, they had moved through the realm like a venomous serpent. Slithering from mouth to ear, hissing tales of the two factions that now divide King Viserys’s council.

The Blacks and the Greens.

The rightful heir and the first-born son.

And the very reason your father had called you home.

“War is coming,” a deep, foreboding warning, “and should it reach the Riverlands, I wish to know that we might stand united in its wrath. That we will not allow petty rivalries–” a pointed glance at your brother, and then to your left where, without looking, you know the Blackwood heir stands–“to tear us apart from within.”

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

The forest holds its breath. Cradles the Lord Paramount’s words in the air, weaving them around the many great Houses of the Riverlands.

You wonder if this is what strength looks like. What it sounds like.

You fear you already know which side of the war Lord Grover’s strength might fall—and you pray that you’re wrong.

Placing a firm hand upon his grandfather’s shoulder, Elmo takes a step forward. “In an effort to promote civility between our Houses,” he announces in a tone that demands respect, “we have arranged for a hunt.”

Your brow furrows. A hunt?

“You will be divided into two person teams, working with an individual outside of your own House.” His gaze shifts to you, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Teams have already been decided. Upon your arrival, each of you was given a pin—your partner will bear a matching one. And while there will be no winners or losers, you should know that once you leave camp, you will not be permitted to return without a trophy of some kind.”

Discontent spreads. Low murmurs fill the air.

Amos voices his frustration louder than the rest. “And when is this hunt to take place?”

Elmo grins. “Now.”

Instantly, murmurs grow to shouts.

“You cannot be serious, my Lord!”

“It is already sunset!”

“Is this a jest?”

Elmo’s grin never wavers, unphased by the protests—and Lord Grover appears content to let his grandson contend with everyone's bickering, exhausted from what little talking he had already done.

“Might I suggest you move quickly,” Elmo speaks over the crowd. Glancing upwards, he squints at the black clouds rolling overhead, an amused lilt to his voice as he adds, “Lest you wish to be caught in the coming storm.”

With no more than a curt nod to the crowd, Elmo turns on his heel, already veering off in the direction of his own tent as servants begin to help Lord Grover rise.

“This is absurd,” your brother grumbles.

You ignore him. Storming right past him, you make a beeline for the fleeing Lord.

“A hunt?!”

Fond as Elmo is of you, you know better than to shout at the future Lord Paramount of the Trident. Your voice remains no more than a harsh whisper, even as you shoot daggers into the back of his head.

“At night, no less! In the middle of a gods-damned storm! Have you lost your mind?”

“What? You think it’s a bad idea?” He chuckles, keeping a steady pace. “Of all people, I thought that you might appreciate the challenge of it all.”

You stay on his heels. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

Further from the crowd now, you grow bold. You reach out and snag his arm, forcing him to stop and face you. “Ignorance isn’t a good look on you, Elm.” You grind out, “Swear that you didn’t pick him to be my partner.”

A wrinkle forms between thick brows, feigning innocence. “What makes you think that I chose your partner?”

“Because I know you. You’re always scheming—jutting your big nose into places it very well does not belong!”

Elmo opens his mouth—hesitates—and then frowns. “Am I truly that transparent?”

“You may as well be made of glass, Elm.”

His pout deepens, still dancing around your question. “Well, let's say that I did choose your partner—theoretically, of course!” Your eyes roll. “I think you would find my choice to be quite suitable. If anything, you might even thank me-”

“This isn’t a game, Elmo!” Desperate now, you can’t stop your voice from rising. “If you paired me with him, then Amos will–”

“Kill him?” Elmo ventures.

“Yes!’

Pursing his lips, Elmo’s gaze falls somewhere over your head. “Well,” he sucks in a breath, “it seems we may be past the point of stopping that from happening.”

Your mind goes blank, your thoughts scattering like shards of glass.

You spin on your heel, head whirling around in search of Amos in the throng. Less than a second and you spot him—not because your gaze was drawn to the familiar gold color of your own House, but because of the wall of stark scarlet standing before him.

Blackwoods. Two of them on either side of the Raventree heir.

And Benji—his hands pressed to your brother's chest, roughly shoving him back into one of your cousins.

“Do me a favor,” Elmo's sigh cuts through your panicked haze. “Keep the two of them from plunging a sword in the others’ belly, would you?”

Any other time and you might have told Elmo off, cursed him for putting you in this position—future Lord Paramount be damned.

But not now. Not when centuries of rivalry serve as proof that nothing is more dangerous, more unpredictable than this—

A Blackwood and a Bracken—your brother and Benji—standing toe-to-toe.

Mindless adrenaline is all that thrusts you into motion. Mud splatters up the legs of your trousers as you practically run in their direction, demanding as soon as you’re in ear shot, “What is this?!”

Amos doesn’t acknowledge you. Neither does Benji.

Chests-puffed, they remain locked in their foolish staring match, neither of them willing to be the first to back down.

Finally, one of your cousins sneers, “Seems that Benji-boy here thinks we’re gonna let him take you out into the woods.”

A sharp, nasty laugh rips from Amos’s throat. “As if I’d let that happen!”

“We’re partnered for the hunt, you imbecile.” Benji’s tone is that of lethal calm, even as he glares down his nose at your brother. You look to his chest—spotting the silver dahlia pinned at his breast. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with Tully.”

“You think I’m stupid, Blackwood?!”

Benji’s brow lifts a fraction of an inch, as if silently proclaiming—I just said so, did I not?

Scowling, Amos juts his finger against Benji’s chest. “I refuse to give a Blackwood an opportunity to defile my sister!”

Benji’s answering grin is something wicked as he purrs, “Oh, if I wanted to defile your sister, Bracken, I could’ve done so a long time ago.”

Your pulse pounds—caught somewhere between offense and desire as Benji’s words echo in your head.

Both feelings fade to fear when Amos reaches for the hilt of his sword, wrenching it from the sheath at his hip. In a blink, more weapons are drawn—your cousins holding swords, the Blackwoods holding daggers.

Not Benji, though.

Benji doesn’t flinch, even with your brother's sword poised at his throat, ready to kill. Something flickers in his eyes—a shift that you know all too well, sending ice skittering across your bones.

“I won’t have this,” Amos seethes. “You will find another partner—or I swear on my House that blood will be shed!”

Benji leans closer. Let the tip of the blade dig into his flesh, a rivulet of blood rolling down his throat.

Red.

“Is that a threat, Bracken?”

You can hear your brother swallow—feel his panic as if it were your own, as if it was his fear coursing through your veins. Still, his voice remains steady. “Consider it a promise, Blackwood.”

A blink and steel was glinting before your eyes. A single breath and Amos was out-maneuvered and out-matched—the clash erupting and subsiding in one seamless heartbeat, ending with your brother's sword in Benji’s hand.

A shuddering breath slips from your brother's lips as Benji presses the steel to his throat, a perfect mirror of the position they were in just moments ago.

“What’s the matter, Bracken?” Benji croons sarcastically, head hilting. “Do I frighten you?”

There’s a lull to his voice—an eerie stillness that sends a chill scuttering down your spine.

Amos was ignorant—to pick a fight with Benji, to think he might actually win it. But he’s your brother, too—and you know that if he were to be slain right now—right here—an even larger chasm will take the place of the one you were once meant to bridge.

“Stop.”

The demand is no more than a breath. A soft, terrified sound.

Yet still, it makes Benji’s focus waver.

“Leave him.” You force yourself to speak louder. Stronger. “Now.”

You take a step closer—a hand outstretched, reaching towards Benji. His attention shifts, settling on you. He blinks—his stormy eyes, dark with rage, finally starting to clear.

Benji’s movements languid as he steps away from your brother. Your cousins rush to Amos’s side as he stumbles back, frantically checking the heir of Stone Hedge for any sign of injury.

They found none. Not even a scratch upon his throat, where his own sword had just hovered.

Benji passes you the sword—a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

You could have killed him, you glare.

I could have—Benji agrees with a small, self-satisfied smile—but I didn’t.

One of your cousins, bold and stupid, steps forward. “Is that all it takes to keep you at heel, Blackwood?” He glances between the two of you, his lip curling into a sneer. “A dog and his bitch,” he taunts, “how sweet–”

A cry rips from his throat, cutting his insult short. You expect it to be Benji, having noticed the way his fists had clenched from the moment your cousin so much as looked at you. And perhaps it would’ve been—if your brother hadn’t grabbed the fool by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backwards and shoving him to the muddy ground.

“Say what you want of him,” Amos tells your cousin, his voice gruff, “but you will mind how you speak of her.”

You don’t know what to make of that. Of Amos defending you. Of knowing that if he hadn’t, Benji would have. Or that, even after that, Amos doesn’t quite know how to look you in the eyes, looking to the grass and the sky and anything that isn’t you.

You’re a Bracken, through-and-through. Take pride in that.

But did he take pride in you?

If you wish to impress Lord Tully, you might think twice about sending her.

“What’s done is done.” With a pointed look towards Lord Grover’s tent off in the distance, you say, “Now is not the time nor the place. If you wish so badly to fight, save it for when the war begins.”

On one side of you, Benji remains silent, watching you with a curious glint in his eye. On the other, Amos hesitates.

“I don’t trust him,” he says.

You wonder if he doesn’t know how to say: I’m worried about you.

“You heard our father,” you tell him, chin high, “when it comes to a bow and arrow, no one’s a better shot.”

Perhaps there are things you don’t know how to say, too. Like: But I do. I trust him with my life. Maybe even with yours, too.

Begrudgingly, Benji meets your brother's gaze, fighting the urge to scowl at him. “For years, no harm befell your sister under my watch—and you have my word that none shall befall her now,” he vows. “I swear it upon the Old Gods.”

“And the New?”

You consider stomping on Amos’s foot.

Ignorant. To continue pushing—

“Fine.” Benji’s brusque answer takes you by surprise. “Upon your false Gods as well, then.”

Amos, to his credit, argues no further, only echoing the Raventree heir. “Fine.”

For a fleeting moment longer, they stand there, eyes locked. Amos is the first to turn—the roaring tension dissipating into a hushed hiss as him and your cousins storm off. Benji stays, even as his own men begin to back off, as if listening to a silent command to go find their own partners.

You look at him. And he smiles—a shy, awkward thing.

“I’ll wait for you,” he says, a barely perceptible pause in his speech. “At the edge of camp—you can find me whenever you’ve gathered your things.”

You open your mouth to speak, to say something—but the words take root in your chest, leaving vines to crawl up your throat. If you speak, you worry about what might come out. Worry it won’t be as delicate as the dahlia pinned above your heart—above his, too.

So you close your mouth. Say nothing. Nod—and turn, trying to keep your legs from shaking as you walk back to the makeshift paddock to get what you would need for the hunt.

True to his word, you find the heir of Raventree at the edge of camp, leaning against a towering oak and using the tip of his dagger to idly pick dirt from his nails.

You brought only what was necessary—your bow, strapped between your shoulders, and a dark-leather quiver slung over your shoulder, stocked with already-sharpened arrows.

Light rain mists over your face, the sky groaning with a low rumble of thunder. The forest floor squelches beneath your feet as you trudge towards him. Forever on-guard, Benji wastes no time in pushing himself off the tree, adjusting the dagger in his palm so that it can be easily plunged into another's belly if necessary.

But then he sees you, dressed in Bracken gold with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, and looses a breath. Relaxing at the sight of you—his rival, according to centuries of precedent. Your rival, too, you suppose.

Benji doesn’t look like your rival, though.

Sheathing his dagger at his hip, you see no trace of the lethal Lord who, mere moments ago, was willing to go head-to-head with the heir to Stone Hedge. This boy—stuffing his hands in his pockets, a light flush crawling up his throat—is not Benjicot Blackwood, the heir of Raventree Hall.

He’s just Benji.

“Ready to go?” He asks when you’re closer, his voice a familiar caress so unlike the eerie lull it held earlier.

It takes everything in you to erect an icy wall around your heart, colder even than Northern winds. You shove past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you go and earning a perplexed stare. “Let’s get this over with,” you snap, plunging into the depths of the Woods and leaving him to follow behind.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty.

Dusk crept swiftly through the Riverlands, casting a pall shadow over the Whispering Woods. Overhead, dark clouds seem to grow thicker, obscuring what little light the moon has to offer.

A fool’s errand. An impossible task.

That is what Elmo Tully had arranged—not a hunt.

With the sun hidden beyond the horizon and a near-constant rumble of thunder, any animal in these Woods would either be asleep or hiding by now, trying to escape the incoming storm. To find a trophy to bring back to camp—even something as simple as a hare—was unlikely.

Still, knowing the guards won’t let you back in without one, you keep walking. Keep plunging further into the Woods, praying to the Gods that you might find something to take back to camp.

Twigs snap a few paces behind you, wet foliage squelching beneath purposefully heavy steps. A low, careless whistle tests your patience.

With your bow hanging from your hand, you grumble, “You’re being too loud.”

Benji feigns innocence. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you hiss through gritted teeth, never slowing your pace. “Be quiet—unless you wish to scare off any game and spend the night sleeping on wet soil.”

He chuckles—loudly. “Have you looked up lately?” Benji asks. “The sky looks as if it’ll crack open any minute now! Any animal with sense is hiding right now, anyway.”

True.

“Then we find one without sense, then.”

Benji snorts. “The only thing without sense in this forest is Amos Bracken.”

Without warning, you stop dead in your tracks—leaving Benji to nearly stumble into you. You cast a glare over your shoulder, cold enough that a chill seeps right into his bones. “You’d do well to keep quiet, Benjicot.”

His lip curls, revealing a flash of slightly crooked teeth. “And since when do you call me Benjicot?” He asks, a ribbon of disbelief lacing his own name.

Your jaw tenses, a muscle feathering there.

I don’t know, you think, a pang of uncertainty cracking the ice wall around your heart.

You reinforce ice with steel—turning fully now so that you’re face-to-face, dropping your bow to the ground by your feet. “I won’t let you speak of him that way,” you say, ignoring his question. “My brother is the heir to Stone Hedge–”

A bemused laugh cuts through your words. “Oh, he’s your brother now, is he?”

You speak over him, voice rising. “To insult him is to insult the whole of House Bracken–”

“Fuck House Bracken,” Benji growls.

He takes a half-step closer, towering over you with no more than a foot between you. You don’t falter—don’t look away.

“I am a Bracken."

His head tilts. “Are you? Last I checked, you were practically raised on Blackwood soil.”

“Perhaps,” you admit. “But my wardship is over–”

Benji cuts you off. “Tell me, where was your brother all these years, then? Your father?” He doesn’t let you answer. “No more than a brisk-fucking-walk separating you and yet neither one of them cared to visit with the forgotten daughter of Stone Hedge!”

You’re a Bracken—

“You don’t know them,” you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling.

—through-and-through.

“And you do?” He challenges. Another step, his chest inches from yours. Warmth radiates from his body, seeping into yours and melting melting melting. “Why did your father call you home?”

His words are no more than a breath fanning across your cheek.

Vulnerability permeates your gaze, bearing an unspoken truth. Because war is coming, you convey with no more than a flicker of your lashes, and fate has already decided my role in it.

Benji’s lips tighten to a thin line—and you would’ve thought him ashamed of you, if not for the pain glimmering in his stormy-eyes, lined with silver. “Your father,” he utters, “he will declare for Aegon Targaryen—won’t he?”

You’re a Bracken—

You debate the merits of telling him the truth. Of betraying the plans of your house.

—Take pride in that.

“Aegon Targaryen is the King’s true-born son.” You speak, though you know the words are not your own. “To sit the Iron Throne is his birthright.”

The birthright of a drunken craven.

The betrayal of a beloved princess.

Benji blinks. Shakes his head, his tongue darting along his lips. “He called you home to fight. Humfrey Bracken’s forgotten daughter—useful at long last.”

Rage coils in his tone. Instinct makes your muscles tense.

Nothing is more dangerous than this, your thoughts whisper, a Blackwood and a Bracken, toe-to-toe.

There’s nothing dangerous about the way Benji’s looking at you, though. His gaze soft and tender, calloused hands clenched at his sides—holding himself back, you realize. Not from fighting, but from reaching out to touch something he’s not certain is his.

“Will you do it?” Benji asks, hesitant. “Will you fight for the pretender?”

I don’t want to, you think.

It’s your brother's words that slip past your lips. “I have no choice. My blood runs gold, Benji—a Bracken, through-and-through.”

His brow furrows. Then a hand shifts to the sheath at his hip, sliding his dagger free. “Give me your hand,” he orders, nodding to where they hang at your sides.

You remember his vow to your brother—that he would let no harm befall you. Even without it, you would’ve trusted him. Wholly. Unconditionally.

You lift your hand and, without hesitation, he grips it on his own, pinning the steel tip of his dagger against your palm.

You hiss—hand stinging as the blade drags along your flesh, leaving a thin, shallow cut.

“You’ve always had one foot on either side of the boundary,” Benji starts, his words rushed. Carelessly tossing the dagger to the ground, he grabs your wrist tightly, lifting your palm up towards your own face. “But your blood,” he tells you, his eyes desperate, “has always run red.”

It drips down your wrist—a rivulet of crimson, spilling between his knuckles as he refuses to let go. Red as the color of his tunic—as the specks of blood dried on his own throat, drawn by your brother's sword.

Gold on your back. Red in your veins.

A Bracken by name, but…

“It’s not too late,” Benji says, his words slow and cautious, still cradling your hand in his. “You can come back to Raventree.” Thunder rumbles. Storm-cloud eyes fall to your lips. “You can come home.”

You think of Amos. Of your brother. You’re home now, he had said, a shadow of love in his eyes, Be glad for it.

But home was ancient stone, crawling with moss. Home was the deep, muddy moat that you always threatened to push Benji into when he was getting on your nerves. Home was Black Aly’s voice, scolding you whenever your arms were still too weak to string a bow.

Home was a dead weirwood tree and a boy with stormy eyes.

But duty…

That was something else entirely.

Closing your hand around Benji’s, your chest fills with water as the last of the ice melts. Hard steel turns impossibly soft, your feet shuffling until your body is flush against his—still-entwined hands pinned between your chest, trapped between fabrics of gold and red.

Benji leans down, his forehead pressing against yours. There’s nothing dangerous about him. Nothing unpredictable.

You know him—from the crook in his nose to the scar above his lip. From the lull of his voice to the weight of his steps. His quick temper and his shy smiles.

High above, the sky cries out. Thunder booms, lightning cracks. Misty rain turns to a violent downpour.

And he leans in, oh-so carefully. A trembling breath against slick skin, chapped lips hovering over yours.

“You can come home,” Benji whispers, repeating himself. You can’t think—can’t breathe, as he utters against your mouth, “Let me take you home.”

And he kisses you. A tender, desperate kiss—the kind that drives your lips apart with the sheer force of it. He tugs his hand from yours, slips it out from between your bodies and brings it to rest on the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in damp, rain-soaked hair.

Restraint is no more than a breath in the wind. Desire curls in your stomach. Your pulse pounds in your veins, rich with red red red.

But then there’s your brother’s voice in your head: I don’t trust him.

And you know what he meant was: You’re my sister—my blood, red or gold—and I’m worried about you.

You pull away, breathless and broken, one half of your heart lying on either side of the boundary stones resting miles and miles from here.

Lips still close enough to brush against yours, Benji pants. “Say yes.” The love in his eyes isn’t a shadow. It’s a bright, blinding light. A proud declaration and a howling plea. “Say you’ll come home.”

You look down—to the sigil embroidered on your tunic, to the still-drying blood on your palm

An estranged brother and a forbidden lover.

And you.

The bridge to a great chasm.

The futile remedy to centuries of enmity.

You take a step back—reaching inside of yourself, pulling shriveled vines up your throat, knowing that the words hammering in your chest will be anything but delicate. That they’ll taste of rot in your mouth.

“I’m not sure I have a home, Benjicot.” Pain echoes across his face, each syllable a rusted dagger in his heart. Another step back, grabbing your bow from where it laid in the mud, abandoned what feels like a millennia ago. “Not anymore.”

When you turn to leave, thunder crashing overhead and a sob caught in your throat, you go alone.

The heir to Raventree Hall doesn’t dare to follow.

You walk in silence, your bow hanging at your side. Behind you, there are no snapping twigs and no low, careless whistling. There’s only rain and—

A branch creaks overhead, halting your steps. Your bow is drawn in a single breath, the cut on your palm stinging as you slide an arrow from the quiver slung over your shoulder, readying to shoot. You look up, drops of rain splattering against your cheeks as you scan the trees.

There.

Perched on a wet, mossy limb was a pair of beady eyes staring down at you. A raven, letting out a low, curious croak.

A single shot and you could go back to camp.

A single shot, you tell yourself, and your blood might finally run gold.

A breath—and then the bow string goes slack.

You slip the arrow back into the quiver.

a/n - does any of this even make sense? idk, you tell me lmao. overall, just wanted to play around with capturing the confusion that might ensue for a reader who has no clue where their loyalties lie anymore, lost in who they are and who they think they're meant to be--anyways, hopefully the ending makes sense to you because it makes sense in my brain

anyways

benji tag list (so sorry if I missed you!) - @jacaerysgf @lenasvoid @valdezthg @xzydra11 @snixx2088 @lianna75 @kennafild @ghostinvenus @heystaystray @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @a-song-for-ages

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 4 months ago

Text

Original Sin: The Failure of the Dancestors

Establishing an Eden-like paradise from which there is some departure through sin is sort of the boilerplate basis for religious lore. [...] The failed players from peaceful Alternia made a classic "deal with the devil" move by causing the scratch after being given a choice by the mother of all monsters. (Echidna. Hey, she's a big snake!) By doing so they brought Scratch into their universe, and therefore all the things you'd expect that comes with summoning the devil.

Andrew Hussie, Formspring, Aug. 12, 2011.

Warnings for: Mostly? I'm going to be really mean to the dancestors, so if you aren't here for a thorough (and I mean thorough) dancestor takedown, please do not read this. Ableism, questionable consent and outright non-consent, horrific interpersonal relationships, and Cronus ahead.

Overview

I hesitated to write this because I know there will be some really controversial interpretations in here. Many of the circumstances I bring up as failures on the Dancestors' part are interpreted by the fandom as positive things. A common one I've run into before is Latula x Mituna, where I maintain it's bad, but the fandom often sees them as cute. I'll also be condemning things like Horuss's plurality, or Cronus's kinning, not because I have any beef towards this stuff IRL, but because they're framed as failings on the characters' part within the context of the comic, and I'm analyzing the characters within the context of the comic. I'm not asking anyone to agree with me, but I am asking that you approach this essay with an open mind, and not send death threats over a silly webcomic from the early 2010's. I would not be asking for this if it hadn't already happened, which was embarrassing for all of us TBH.

The Dancestors, as made clear from the Hussie quote, are the story's original sin - the initial failure point from which all the comic's problems stem. Their role in the story is antagonistic - with very little exception, the Dancestors are not meant to be sympathetic, and/or their flaws outweigh their sympathetic qualities. Every single one of them succumbed to some major failure (some their own fault, some brought on by others on the team), and practically only Porrim showed any improvement after death.

There's another really important thematic shadow hanging over them: if Homestuck is a coming-of-age, then the Dancestors represent a prior generation that reached physical maturity, but failed to grow up.

[The dancestors' choices] resulted not only turning Alternia into a planet full of violent murderers, but it only technically granted them what they wanted with a huge caveat, as is the case with such ill-advised bargains. The players were strong enough to win, but made a terminal universe, were barred from entry, hunted by a demon, and then started killing each other.

They're an older generation defined by how entitled and immature they are, who invited terrible forces into society and allowed the perpetuation of cruelty to continue after them. In other words, theyre boomers. It's important to note that they literally had the choice, before their Scratch, to prevent the birth of LE by simply choosing to let their species die with them - but they made the selfish choice of what was, functionally, having kids:

The heroes could either accept their defeat along with the extinction of their race, and put no others at risk. Or, [Echidna] could show them a path to a second chance, to a reality in which the chosen heroes of their race would be strong enough to succeed with ease, and claim the reward.

For more on Homestuck's coming-of-age, anti-fascist, and feminist themes, please see my essay on the Alpha Timeline. Note that I have an updated opinion: the ending was, in fact, bad on purpose, because it was a continuation of the theme of narration needing to be refuted - "who's telling the story, and why are we listening to them?" You can read more about that here. Sorry to have to link two long essays at the beginning of a really long essay, but these are the backing arguments to many of the claims I'm about to make.

I also want to refute a common fandom belief. A take I commonly see is "the dancestors are one-dimensional assholes as a snub to the fandom" - this is not true, at least to any extent moreso than the Alternian trolls.

Yes, the dancestors are riffs of Common Fandom Types of Guy, especially Types of Guy on Tumblr while the comic was being written. However, the beta trolls/kids are ALSO Internet Types of Guy - the reason the trolls are named "trolls" is because part of their original conception was that they each represented a common type of forum troll. The dancestors aren't making fun of the audience any more than the Alternian trolls are, since Hussie got his start on fora.

Moreover, they aren't actually one-dimensional, or at least not in a way meant to be a snub to people. In fact, I find the entire attitude people have that they're somehow owed the dancestors being "good" or "likable" weird. The dancestors, as I said before, are antagonistic - if not at times outright villainous. They're the story's cautionary tale, a look at what happens when a session fails and the kids in it don't grow up.

On the whole, they simply don't need a bigger role in the story than just existing, as their past actions are what spurred the plot into action, and their narrative utility now is as a window into those. Moreover, if you read between the lines and analyze them a little beyond the surface, there's actually a lot going on, which I hope to uncover in this essay.

On the Topic of Kid-Kissing

It needs to be addressed now and needs to be addressed early. The dancestors are physically 19, and the beta/alpha kids are 16 at the oldest and 13 at the youngest. Lots of the dancestors are uncomfortably okay with pursuing romantic relationships or performing romantic acts with these actual children. Cronus gets the most flak for it, but the list includes:

Cronus, who asks Eridan on a date,

Meenah, who has a "manic obsession" with Karkat, and later dates Vriska,

Meulin, who eagerly offers to ship Meenah with Karkat in red, and gets really excited about shipping the children in general, calling them her "gay babies",

Aranea, who's willing to smooch Jake in a sexy way as part of healing his brain because she thinks he's attracted to her.

Now, as gross as this all is, I do think it serves a narrative purpose. One can debate whether that narrative purpose was worth its inclusion at all, but I'm personally going to bypass this discussion since this damn essay is long enough. At least I'll clarify what I believe the narrative purpose is:

It was an extant trope at the time of the comic's writing (which has thankfully fallen out of favor) that an adult character would date a highschooler in order to show how immature, and not suited for adulthood, the adult was. One of the most famous examples of this is Scott Pilgrim's relationship with a high schooler in Scott Pilgrim, something other characters call him out on constantly.

Given that basically none of these dancestor/child relationships are intended to be read as comfortable, pleasant, or even good (I'll get more into this later), I fully believe that this is the reason for their inclusion in the story: a demonstration of the dancestors' immaturity and failure to grow up, such to the point that they see actual children as viable dating partners.

Finally, while most of the dancestors have very limited screentime, one thing we DO have is all their classpects. I'll be using my definitions, which you can find here. Please note that, while that essay does not have any textual evidence (as it was already 10k words long without any), I'm willing to back up every claim in there with textual evidence upon request.

The TL;DR is that class is correlated with character arc and starting circumstances, while aspect is correlated with base personality traits, and what qualities would make the character a successful (and unsuccessful) hero of said aspect.

I firmly believe that, given what's in the comic, it's entirely possible to deduce what each class and aspect actually do, so being provided with every Dancestor's classpect means that we have a very powerful vector by which we can understand how their tragedy unfurled.

So please join me as we turn over this big rock and take a peek at all the skeletons living in the dancestors' closets. There are a lot of them, and they are rancid, but the complex ways they interlock are endlessly fascinating, and I hope you walk away from this with some new insight, or at least a new perspective.

Establishing a Baseline

First and foremost, let's factually review the events leading up to the dancestors' Scratch, organized in the way that makes the most sense to me. Many of these events don't have any set timelines, and aren't even described in relation to each other, but by going over them in general, we can get a big picture overview of the tragedies, and it helps to make sense of the interlocking nature of their failure.

Pre-Game

The dancestors grow up in a version of troll society as designed by Feferi Peixes, where the main difference between the two is that "culling" means "coddling excessively" rather than killing. Therefore, casteism still exists, but usually does not have as life-threatening effects. Characters who would've been culled on Alternia are likewise targets for culling on Beforus - this is most relevant to Mituna and Kankri.

Meenah finds the idea of becoming the next empress so distasteful that she flees to the pink moon, where she finds and transcribes the code for SGRUB and bothers her friends into playing it with her, in large part because it promises an escape from her responsibilities.

Cronus believes he's a chosen one destined to defeat an evil wizard, who tried to kill him when he was a wiggler. The story is one part Harry Potter and Voldemort, and one part Definitely About Lord English.

Kurloz and Meulin are probably dating in red, and Kurloz and Mituna are probably dating in pale.

Latula suffers an injury that leaves her unable to smell, something she remains insecure about for the rest of her existence. Communing with her lusus à la Terezi teaches her "new ways to smell".

Damara and Rufioh are dating in red.

Kankri was likely culled on sight, while Mituna was destined for one of the highest/"cushiest'" degrees of culling possible, echoing Karkat's and Sollux's relationships with culling.

Porrim is being trained for the breeding caverns as a jade-blood, and is not happy about it. It's likely that jades are the caste with the least privileges and freedoms, given the culling system (yes, I know culling is still a form of oppression, but it's still a cushy position to be in, compared to jades being forced to work breeding duties by birth).

During the Game

All of this happens over the course of six years.

Mituna spends the whole game attempting to warn his team to stop being such assholes or else something really bad is going to happen to them, using the prophetic insight he has as a Doom player.

Meenah starts cruelly bullying Damara, under the supposed motivation of "trying to galvanize the team into action".

Porrim outright ignores frog breeding, opting instead to go on a bra-burning rampage across her session.

Meulin is shipping her friends. Due to her Mage powers and predilections, not only do these ships come true, but they're really unhealthy and toxic as a rule.

Horuss begins an affair with Rufioh.

Kankri argues with himself nonstop, rendering most memos pointless.

Kurloz has a terrible nightmare and accidentally deafens Meulin, an act he finds so shameful that he stitches his own mouth shut. The two break up, but are still "very close friends"/in a situationship.

Someone talks Cronus out of his wizard beliefs, likely Kankri, and Cronus completely loses faith in magic, as well as a sense of identity. This is really bad, given what Hope does.

Meenah finds out about Rufioh and Horuss's affair and uses it as bullying fodder.

Damara snaps, kills Meenah, renders Rufioh a quadruplegic, and begins to perform acts of "timeline sabotage," which are even more impactful given her Witch class. It's heavily implied that Damara is the cause of the dancestors not performing their own ectobiology, the glitch that rendered their game unwinnable and serves as a "calling card" for LE.

Mituna tries to divert a terrible tragedy, something "only Kurloz was witness to". Said tragedy is implied to be Kurloz's Prince meltdown, and Mituna fails, rendering him brain damaged to the extent that he can no longer think or speak coherently. The team does NOT heal him or even reference TRYING to heal him, as it's implied they're more comfortable with him like this than they were with him telling them they were all doomed assholes.

Kurloz fully commits to his doomsday clown religion and begins using Meulin and Mituna as hynopuppets/conduits to bring about the end. It's likely that they rope Damara into their religion at this time.

Latula and Mituna start dating in red. For various reasons I'll get into later, this relationship seems to have started AFTER Mituna's injury.

Meenah bakes a cake. Isn't that nice.

It's never made very clear how long it took for all of this to go down, but the way it's framed is that everything major happened fairly early on, before the Reckoning, and they spent the rest of their session faffing around. While the beta kids have a nonstandard-ly short session, the beta trolls have what seems to be a more standard timeframe of about 612 hours, or several weeks. Again... SIX YEARS elapse. The dancestors reach the age of physical adulthood within the game.

Finally, seeing no way out, Aranea goes to Echidna for her quills in order to initiate the Scratch. The Choice that she's given is to immediately stymie the harm the dancestors' actions will bring (LE) by letting their species die with them, or to try again by passing the buck onto the next generation of heroes. The pick is obvious.

Damara, who's been uncooperative since she snapped, chooses to help out with the Scratch, muttering that everyone will "get what they deserve".

Meenah uses a tumor-like bomb to kill them all just before the Scratch goes off, in the window where god tier immortality pauses before bringing them back. This allows them to exist in the afterlife with memories fully intact. It's not fully clear how many of them achieved god tier before dying.

Afterlife

Meenah stays in her castle, echoing the way she fled responsibility to the pink moon, for the millenia that her friends have been mingling in the afterlife. Her descent from her castle after LE starts popping bubbles is the first time she's interacted with her team since she died.

Porrim is the ONLY dancestor that shows improvement or reflection, coming to view her frog breeding duties as something she probably should have paid more attention to, and toning down her feminism to thoughtful, reasonable critiques. This still doesn't excuse her total bystander nature while everything else was happening, which continues into the afterlife, but it's nice to see that she's doing better, since that's so rare in this team.

Kurloz starts readying for Lord English's birth, building labyrinths in the afterlife and using Meulin and Mituna as mind-controlled helpers (and possibly Damara as well).

Meulin and Horuss start dating in pale after Horuss is inspired by the meowrails. Despite Horuss's internal anguish and anger, he's been told by Meulin to cover it up with forced positivity no matter what.

Cronus is kinning a 1950's human greaser, an act which he himself admits is probably just a cry for attention, and a greater symptom of his struggles with personal identity in the wake of losing interest in magic and wizardry.

Rufioh wants to break up with Horuss, but doesn't have the backbone to to get pushy with these requests. Horuss has difficulty hearing what he doesn't want to hear, so Rufioh winds up wilting and agreeing to continue dating him every time he tries breaking up with him.

Aranea... does all that, spurred on by a desire to be important.

Meenah decides to encourage Vriska to shirk responsibility, running off with her and starting a romantic relationship with her.

Woof, that's a lot! So, now that we've established an overview of what went wrong, something I should probably note:

It's not JUST that Damara caused the timeline glitch that retroactively summoned LE, or JUST that Meenah bullied her. When I say that the dancestors' failure is multivalent and interlocking, I mean it - especially once you get into the implications of their classpects. Cronus being a Bard of Hope - Hope being the aspect of making fake things real - losing faith in his own destiny of defeating an evil wizard likely had some karmic contribution to the first half of that destiny - the existence of the evil wizard in the first place - coming true. So on and so on. So the rest of this essay will be a deeper look into each individual dancestor, and the contributions they made towards the ultimate blowout.

Porrim Maryam: The Ultimate Bystander

Porrim's drama is the least connected to the various conflicts suffered by everyone else, though it's one of the most consequential.

The Maid of Space was of course our all-important Space player and Stoker of the Forge, 8ut as you know, we never made much progress on the frog 8reeding front, or really any aspect of the game 8efore the reckoning. [...] She challenged these roles wherever they existed in 8eforan society, as well as where she found them woven into our session, in kingdoms, class assignments, consort culture and the like.

While she is pretty much the only dancestor that reflected on her failures - having come to a realization after her game's Reckoning that she probably should've paid attention to frog breeding - the fact remains that she totally ignored this duty in favor of going on a feminist rampage.

I do actually believe there is merit to her viewpoint, something Hussie appears to agree with:

HUSSIE: Porrim is better at social justice than Kankri because she isn't a boring asshole. [...] Porrim wants there to be equality for ladies. Not everybody cares about that though, which makes it hard for people like Porrim. That's the way it is in the real world. CHALLENGES.

Note that while Hussie is a deeply unreliable narrator (he describes his own self-insert as "oafish" and "buffoonish" in the book commentary, and his narration being biased and full of holes is a very deliberate choice), there is still meaning to be gleaned from his words, especially once you identify what biases he's performing. In this case, I think he's being genuine, as Homestuck has a deeply feminist and anti-patriarchy message overall, which I touch on in my essay about the Alpha Timeline.

However, Porrim's failure is that, as correctly as she identified sexism as being an issue, she became tunnel-visioned on it to the point that she failed to do anything useful at all. Frog breeding, AKA creating a new universe, is practically the entire point of SGRUB, and though her energies could've been focused on creating a new world free of sexism, she prioritized nitpicking it in session constructs.

Her other big failure is that of being a total bystander. In her conversations with Latula and Meenah, Porrim doesn't make any references at all to the bullying Meenah perpetrated, and otherwise seems surprised at the Redglare/Mindfang situation. She's also known as promiscuous, willing to sleep around with nearly anyone, tacitly approving of her teams' actions. Much of her feminist rhetoric is undercut by the fact that she has no comment to make on the way Meenah - the team's rich fuchsia - was primarily targetting a rustblood immigrant. It's implied her constant bickering with Kankri was in part due to her complete lack of intersectionality (with the other, more major part being Kankri's misogyny, but we'll get to that).

Interestingly enough, these three failures - poor prioritization, tunnel vision, and bystanderism - are failures of Space. There are two ways for an aspect (which is associated with base personality) to fail - the first is a toxic overabundance of the aspect's natural worst traits, and the second is a dearth of its positive qualities, to the point of resembling its counterpart. Space is associated with cycles and interconnectivity, patience and passivity. Its players are distractible and frivolous, but kind and permissive. However, it's easy for Space players to become so distracted that they lose sight of the bigger picture - we see this in Porrim's poor prioritization, and the tunnel vision she incurs in pursuit. It's also easy for them to become so passive that bad actors take advantage, and this, too, is present in Porrim's complete failure to grasp her team's cruelties.

Maids, meanwhile, are victims of oppression, and start the game under some form of control. Jane's been bombarded with hypnotic subliminals her entire life, and is ultimately directly controlled hy the Condesce; Aradia is killed so as to be Doc Scratch's servant via the Handmaid, and Hussie even outright calls her a slave in his book commentary. Porrim is not an exception to this:

On 8eforus, well 8efore her drinker a8ilities had awakened, she grew up in the caste almost solely devoted to tending to the mother gru8, hatching the young and proliferating the 8rood. The jade 8loods were also an almost exclusively female caste, and she 8egan to resent the roles she was hatched into, designated for 8oth her class and gender.

Ultimately, Maids can't shake off their oppressors alone, and outside intervention is needed to rid them of their shackles. Nobody on Porrim's team seemed to give a shit about what she had to say, however, nor did they attempt to relieve her of frog breeding or attempt to alleviate her workload - leaving her ultimately shackled to frog breeding, which, aside from the final frog (usually implied to be long in the Space player's past), did not HAVE to be conducted by her. In fact, Echidna being Aranea's denizen, when she's normally associated with the frog-breeding Space player, further implies that it didn't necessarily need to be up to Porrim - perhaps the team could've come together to take up frog breeding, splitting the duties equally, freeing Porrim from oppression.

But that didn't happen, and thus, our Maid of Space is disconnected from everything but the breeding duties that bound her so.

Kankri Vantas: The Hemocaste's Number One Fan

Kankri is a casteist, ableist, slut-shaming misogynistic bootlicker.

I'm going to go a bit lighter on the citations, because he uses a hundred words where ten will do, but if you actually bother to read his diatribes, he's all-in on perpetuating oppression. Here's a quick rundown of some of the awful shit he's said:

He tells Mituna that Mituna is bad representation for disabled people, and basically tells him to his face that he wishes everything about him was different, likely as displaced jealousy that Mituna is dating Latula. This shows that his rhetoric is actually just a mask, a tool he uses to disguise his actual intentions.

He complains about how burgundies have to "check their privilege" because they don't know how good they have it compared to off-spectrums, showing that he resents it when others attempt to address their oppression.

He tells Porrim that he thinks misogyny isn't real, and then slut shames her by insinuating that she's even willing to go for the Mayor. Once more, a display of how he resents when others challenge his points, or try to take away attention from his causes.

He calls Horuss and Cronus's beliefs fake even as he's defending their right to believe in them, revealing that it's not about justice for him, but about whatever puts him in a position of power over the situation, as the quote-unquote "spiritual leader".

Kankri was very likely culled on sight for his mutant blood color, mirroring how Karkat would've been. He clearly has complicated feelings about this, as he reacts very poorly to Porrim's mothering, but it's also the source of his deep-seated casteism, and the favor he shows towards the two sea dwellers on the team. While it IS a form of oppression, those culled on Beforus ARE provided extremely comfortable lifestyles, and Kankri would've been subjected to an intense amount of pampering, being a mutant.

In other words, he's been taught his whole life that he's a very special little boy, and he both feels entitled to the emotional energies of others, and gets upset when he isn't the center of attention. In contrast to Porrim, who had valid points but prioritized poorly, for Kankri, "social justice" is just a smokescreen he uses as he verbally browbeats his team into falling into line. Any valid points he makes are twisted to suit his personal agenda of being the loudest voice in the room, and he hides behind them so nobody can properly challenge his position. The actual oppression he did face, and a genuine desire buried deep down to make the world a better place (which I do believe exists), are ultimately undercut by his willingness to play victim in order to sate his own desire for attention and control.

Kankri himself didn't contribute as directly to the team's failure, but he was, overall, a binding force of stasis - perpetuating societal prejudices, fixing them in place. It should be no surprise that the two who find Kankri the most tolerable - Horuss and Cronus - are the two biggest casteists on the team.

Blood is about bonds - familial, platonic, romantic, and societal. It governs oaths, promises, compatability, and all interpersonal relationships. Its players, in contrast to Breath's free-spirited youthfulness, tend to be neurotic and controlling. At their best, they're mature, empathetic, and responsible, and indeed Karkat is one of the most level-headed and generally correct members of his team when he's not flying off the handle, but at toxic overabundance, they become iron-fisted dictators, "my way or the highway" types - to the point of shirking their innate sense of empathy and natural compulsion to be helpful to others.

Seers, meanwhile, struggle with blindness - either by hubris and ego, or else by shame-induced self-infliction. Rose's ego prevented her from bonding with her mother, and her need to be the smartest person in the room let Doc Scratch manipulate her; she later copes with her grief by drinking herself stupid, opposite Light's association with knowledge and insight. Terezi boldly painted herself into a corner where the only option left was killing Vriska, and coped with the guilt by throwing herself into a toxic relationship with Gamzee, a Gamzee victory that triumphed over Mind's sense of justice and karma.

Kankri is so moved by ego - his selfish desires for a society that works best for him personally, and his confidence that he knows better than the rest of his team - that he's blind to how harmful his rhetoric is. He damages their ability to move forward by chaining them in place, an ultimate failure of Blood.

Moreover, he's also inflicted a "blindness" upon himself - due to his staunch celibacy, he doesn't seem to notice that he has clear red feelings for Latula and pale feelings for Cronus - and this is to disastrous effect. The motivator behind his cruelty to Mituna appears to be jealousy, and he interrupts a conversation Cronus is having with Meenah, where she's about to make him reflect on choices that are harming him, just in time to prevent Cronus from reaching his epiphany. In fact, it's implied that Kankri is the one who talked Cronus out of his wizard faith in the first place, which we'll get into later (this is the most direct contribution Kankri made to the dancestor's failure).

As such, our Seer of Blood is sightless, and through blindness both based in ego and self-inflicted, he can't see the damage he's dealing.

Cronus Ampora: Hopeless - And That's Everyone's Problem Now

Cronus is a nasty casteist fuckboy who's greatly disliked by his team, and also everyone else, for good reason. He's mostly irrelevant to everyone and failed to do anything of worth. The problem is, he's a Bard of Hope, and thus, was one of the greatest contributors to the creation of LE.

Cronus as we see him is easy to explain. He's fundamentally a directionless, shitty rich kid, who's never had real problems before, and thus, never had the kinds of formative experiences that would've built him a personal identity. In an effort to find something to give his directionless (after)life some meaning, he's decided that he's humankin, specifically a 1950's greaser. He's also trying to get laid for similar reasons. What else is there to do when you don't feel like you have a real personality, and thus, don't really know how to open up to others or connect on a deeper level, but still crave an intimate relationship of some sort?

The thing is, Cronus wasn't always this way, and in fact, started out his game quite different:

[H]e once had a deeply a8iding faith in magic, and dedicated himself to 8ecoming a great wizard. He 8ecame convinced he was hatched to defeat an extraordinarily evil magician, one he swore the angels foretold of. Though when pressed for the name of the man, he would not say it, claiming it was too dangerous to even enunciate. Part of his self-aggrandizing mythos was that this magician once somehow from afar tried to strike him down at a young age, so he would never have to face him. 8ut the evil spell was deflected, sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe. The attack supposedly left him with his distinctive scar, which he was not reluctant to point out when trying to hit on me.

Now, while this is definitely Harry Potter, it's also worded so as to resemble Lord English, and this is not a coincidence. You see, Hope is a power that makes fake things real.

Believing in things reduces their fakeness attribute. It's the force that shapes your reality, used to snatch personal meaning from the jaws of a cynical and nihilistic environment. Could this be why Hope is framed as the most fundamentally powerful aspect?

Ultimately, it didn't matter if Cronus's stupid wizard faith (and it is framed as a faith, a religious belief - put a pin in this) was real or not. In fact, the more credible journey for a Hope player would be if his personal mythos were fake - because Hope would've made it real.

However...

8ut at some point he 8ecame disillusioned with magic. [...] Perhaps someone talked him out of his 8eliefs. May8e a friend close to him. Or, if one is to 8elieve his fantasy held any water, perhaps someone who was in league with the evil magician.

As all Bards do, he suffered a crisis of faith, and he was never able to recover. Now, the identity of the person who talked him out of his religion is never made explicit, but I'm firmly convinced it was Kankri. First of all, who else on the team would qualify as a "friend close to him"? While "someone in league with the evil magician" might refer to Kurloz, Meulin, or Damara, Cronus seems wholly unrelated to the latter two, never mentioning them once, and while he's "scared" by Kurloz, it's not enough to not hit on him.

However, "in league with the evil magician" can also be interpreted metaphorically - someone who represents the same values as Lord English does, especially those of misogyny, fascism, and oppression. Which, again, points to Kankri. In fact, the main interaction Cronus has with Kankri illustrates the harm Kankri is doing to him: right as Cronus is about to have a personal epiphany that his humankin schtick is doing him more harm than good, Kankri jumps in to guilt-trip him until he continues with the act.

CRONUS: to be honest, she might be right. sometimes i think i might only be saying im a human to get attention. maybe i should givwe it up. KANKRI: I'd 6e extremely disapp9inted t9 hear that, if it were true. That w9uld 6e such a slap in the face t9 all th9se wh9 kn9w themselves t9 6e an alien while trapped in the pedestrian 69dy 9f their 9wn race. It w9uld 6e unspeaka6ly invalidating 9f their struggles and massively triggering t9 their em9ti9ns. #TW #invalidated struggles #triggered em9ti9ns KANKRI: 6ut f9rtunately, I kn9w y9u w9uld never st99p as l9w as that. Y9u understanda6ly have d9u6ts a69ut y9ur feelings and pr96a6ly d9wnplay them as a defense mechanism, since s9 few are prepared t9 rec9gnize the legitimacy 9f y9ur plight. 6ut I am, and I just wanted y9u t9 kn9w that I'm here f9r y9u, and am prepared t9 lecture t9 y9u extensively, I mean, listen t9 y9u extensively, a69ut y9ur ultra-imp9rtant pr96lem.

Fucking Kankri! He doesn't even believe in Cronus's act himself (calling it a "fantasy versi9n 9f [him]self"), but Cronus's conversation with Meenah is pale-coded, with Cronus being the only person on the team able to make Meenah have doubts about how awesome the Condesce (and by extension, her own worst qualities) are, with her able to pierce through Cronus's bullshit and make him rethink his choices. But Kankri has a palecrush on Cronus, so he cannot abide by Cronus having a pale interaction with anyone else.

KANKRI: Listen, I was d9ing y9u a fav9r. Y9u d9n't need t9 6e dating any9ne wh9 can't appreciate y9u f9r wh9 y9u really are[.]

But his interruption of Cronus's character development, and also his breaking of Cronus's faith, aren't just disastrous for Cronus's ability to self-actualize - remember, Cronus is a Bard of Hope.

UU: while the more passive bard coUld be seen as "one who allows x to be destroyed, or invites destrUction throUgh x," as if by the will of the aspect. TT: I'm obviously no expert, but that sounds like a pretty odd thing for a Bard to do. UU: maybe! it's a qUirky class. UU: somewhat like a wildcard role for a hero. very Unpredictable. UU: they are typically known for their spontaneoUs and dramatic story-altering inflUence on the fate of a party. UU: some of the more remarkable tales involve sUch parties, where the bard is single handedly responsible for their spectacUlar downfall or improbable victory. or both!

Bards act as a conduit by which their Aspect dramatically alters fate, for better or for worse, and Hope is a power that makes fake things real. Cronus had a Bard crisis of faith, never recovered, and, in his failure to do so, began to exhibit his aspect at its nadir - where Hope players should be idealists, dreaming up better futures with a naive and shameless sincerity, Cronus has become self-conscious, frustrated with himself and magic, and utterly materialistic, seeking only immediate physical gratification. Hope, at its worst, picks out such bleak possibilities to invest its incredible, reality-altering power into, that it actually serves to close possibilities and ruin everything - mirroring Rage's ability to tear down false truths.

It is, therefore, incredibly likely that the direct manifestation of his Bard of Hope abilities is the materialization of the first half of Cronus's faith - the existence of the evil wizard - and not the second - that he would become a wizard to defeat him. This is one of the single greatest karmic contributions to LE's improbable existence. Perhaps this is the source of Kurloz's pivotal nightmare, which would've sprung out of nowhere, given LE doesn't exist until after the Scratch? We can only speculate, but this seems to me the most likely source of Lord English worship within the dancestors - Hope made him real.

And so, our Bard of Hope is faithless, and by extension, hopeless - in such a way that he breathes active calamity into existence.

Mituna Captor: Tried to Warn Them, but Nobody Wanted to Listen

I'm going to preface this section with a small list of what we will NOT be discussing, not because the conversations aren't important to have, but because they are not relevant to his essay. First of all, I will not be litigating the issue of whether or not Mituna's portrayal of TBIs/neurodivergence/etc. is problematic. I will also not be discussing the greater conversation surrounding those with such conditions to consent romantically or sexually. These are important topics to talk about, but they're just not in the scope of this essay (it's long enough as it is!).

As a break from form, I'm going to discuss his classpect first. This is because the implications of his classpect provide vital context for how we are meant to interpret and understand Mituna's arc.

Doom is the aspect presiding death, sleep, the future, and endings. It sits opposite Life, as Life's equal-and-opposite, which helps shed some light on Doom-specific qualities, as we have little exploration into Doom itself. Most notably, our three Life players are stubborn optimists, and our two Doom players are mutable pessimists. Sollux is literally introduced by changing his mind about being introduced, before changing his mind a second time, while Cronus notes that Mituna has a long-running schtick of being wildly offensive, and then pathetically contrite. Mituna is stated to have visions of the future even without being one of the two future-sighted classes (Mage and Seer), making some degree of prophetic insight a part of Doom.

I'm also firmly convinced that it's Doom, and not being a Captor, that makes both Sollux and Mituna dual-dreamers. Most non-Seer/non-Mage players' main interaction with prophecy will be the clouds of Skaia or the whispers of the Horrorterrors while they're asleep, and being a dual-dreamer gives Doom access to both, as well as an extra "death" to spare - which Sollux makes great use of, as he arrives to his session dead. Moreover, being a dual dreamer allowed Sollux to be "half-dead" in the afterlife, granting him the special ability to leave - and navigate - the dream bubbles. This influence over the realm of the dead is notable, so please put a pin in it.

Heirs, meanwhile, bear a character arc of defecting from decadence. They're born into positions of wealth and comfort relative to their societies - John enjoys an upper-middle class lifestyle, with a supportive and loving father, and Equius enjoys being high enough nobility not to worry about culling, but low enough not to bear any pressing responsibilities, and has a supportive and loving lusus. Mituna, similarly, was born to a supportive and caring bicyclopsdad (as opposed to Sollux's, who was a big terrible idiot), with an eventual fate of being culled for his powerful psionic brain.

Before anyone protests that culling on Beforus is still a form of oppression - it's "a position of wealth and comfort relative to their society." Ultimately, being a stuffy capitalist isn't exactly a great destiny, and being a noble on Alternia still means being subject to a horrific system of murdering and being murdered. In a similar vein, Mituna's inheritance is a wolf in sheep's clothing. In fact, this exact wolf-in-sheep's-clothing nature of inheritance factors into the Heir's arc.

Heirs are on a ticking clock. Their aspects are powerful, but they struggle to control them. After all, they're a passive class:

He is the Heir of Breath after all. It's a passive class, and he's a passive guy. An heir, literally speaking, is one who inherits stuff.

And passive classes work best when they're allowing their aspect to be used for others:

UU: the +/- distinction can mean many things, bUt coUld be qUite roUghly sUmmed Up in this way: active classes exploit their aspect to benefit themselves, while passive classes allow their aspect to benefit others.

We see this with John, who gains the incredible power to retcon the story, unsticking it from the alpha timeline, but doesn't know how to effect useful change without guidance from others. Even Equius's first chronological expression of Void is his mere presence providing a shield for Vriska from Doc Scratch's omniscience.

But because of their privileged upbringings, it's difficult for them to know how to help others, or even that they should. John is goofy and friendly, but doesn't seem to notice that Dave is being constantly abused, and doesn't question the horrific violence of troll culture when Vriska tells him about it (something which Hussie chastises him for in the book commentary), while Equius's blind spots are even more glaring, given his casteism and complete obliviousness regarding his own fetishes.

Thus, like wealthy inheritors in real life, an Heir that fails to interrogate the systemic injustices of the system they were born into becomes swallowed up by their inheritance, another brick in the wall, rendering their aspect out of reach. John's retcon powers, before he gains control over them, nearly take him out of the story entirely (Breath and its associations with freedom and independence), while Equius succumbs to his fetish for submission and allows Gamzee to strangle him to death (Void and its associations with vice and sexual pleasure - Hussie notes on multiple fronts that Equius could've escaped at any point just by flexing his neck muscles, but chose not to because horny).

While we don't have very much information about Mituna before his injury, the dancestors' failure is a foregone conclusion; therefore, we can conclude that Mituna's current state is a reflection of his failure as an Heir, and subsequently being "swallowing up" by Doom. Mituna's injury is, within the context of the story, therefore a bad thing that happened to him, and thus, it reflects poorly on every other player who not only didn't heal him, but never mentions ever trying to.

It's here that I want to point out something odd about the dancestors as a group. Isn't it strange that they retained many of their injuries even into death?

Injuries don't need to carry into the afterlife - here Tavros is with his legs fully intact. Even if you assume that characters who consider their injury to be part of their identity, like Terezi and her blindness, therefore get to keep their body in that state after death, Latula clearly has insecurities about her sense of smell, Meulin was so disheartened by her deafness that she broke up with Kurloz over it, and there's no way that Mituna is happy about the fact that he can hardly string together a coherent thought anymore.

But remember, Heirs are experts at leveraging their aspects on others' behalf, and Doom has influence and sway over death and the dead. And so, on that note, let's actually begin analyzing Mituna himself.

The primary description we have of Mituna before his injury is this:

The Heir of Doom was once a powerful psionic. He was gifted with vision twofold, and had strong prophetic insights wherever a 8leak future was concerned. He had much to say when it came to warning us a8out the path of doom and destruction we were all headed for, 8ut no one took him very seriously. 8ut one day he lost all those a8ilities when he 8adly overexerted himself. It's hard to get any specifics from him, 8ut indications are that he applied every last 8it of energy he had toward some great act of heroism, saving us all from some looming threat. Not only did his exertion permanently 8urn out his psychic a8ilities, 8ut it left him somewhat... er. Incoherent.

Doom players tend to stagnate and stay in place. Their mutability, ironically, means they have a tendency to go nowhere. However, their pessimism can cause them to become fixated on these nowheres - to become so certain of an unhappy ending that they can become energized by the notion, steamrolling over others, which can resemble Life's stubborn optimism. It seems this may have been what happened with Mituna - though it appears to be far and away aggravated by his injury, there's an implication when he's talking with Meenah and Cronus that he was already prone to being wildly offensive and aggressive even before it:

CRONUS: your vwhole bifurcated demeanor is such an act. half the time you are noxious and incomprehensible, and the other half you are mild and contrite? sure, "PAL." CRONUS: as if im not SO on to you. you only pretend to say youre sorry to get girls to like you more. sure seems like pyropes a sucker for the ruse. like im not familiar vwith THOSE tactics. vwho do you think vwrote the book on that??

MITUNA: 817H1CH WH4Y D0N7 Y0U 5H00V3 M0Y R4D 1NJURJY P4N3L 1N7H0 URR N457H7Y 53XXXU4L3 PR1V457 P4R7H 0RF P3R3RF3R3R4NC3 MEENAH: thank fuck you were never a major playa at least from my personal vantage over the course a this ridicu huge narrative #way minor character yo MEENAH: probably woulda offed my shellf even schooner if i had to hear you talk much #really too bad since you got the bestest fishiest name of anyone #38( MITUNA: ..,.,..,,...,..,.,. MITUNA: 50RRY

What's worse, remember how I said earlier that it's implied that all the major problems occurred before their reckoning (which was likely on a timeframe of weeks or months), and then they spent six years faffing around in their session besides? This means that Mituna was left injured for six years, and not a single time does anyone mention even attempting to heal him. Even if you subscribe to the idea that their Life player's class precluded her from healing people (and it doesn't; the Helmsman's lifespan is explicitly extended by the Condesce's powers), Aranea's powerset is explicitly geared toward healing injuries of the mind:

ARANEA: I can see every fault and fissure in your mind. My vision 8-fold sheds light on every injury you have ever suffered, whether emotional or physical. ARANEA: I can repair it all for you, Jake. JAKE: (Oh no...) ARANEA: I can heal your mind. JAKE: (Oh n-n-n-) ARANEA: I can heal your soul. JAKE: N-n-n-n-n-n-n-nooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

... So why doesn't she? Why doesn't anyone? Well, the implication is... that he was annoying! He was the only member of the team who was trying to tell them to stop being such assholes, or else they would be hurtling themselves face-first into a catastrophe, and this was such a bummer and so unpleasant to hear (likely not helped by his aggressive and offensive way of wording things) that his team actually prefers him injured. At least this way, he isn't constantly calling them out for the horrible shit that they do to each other on a regular basis. Doom players are commiserators, not a healers, and their power lies in their ability to empathize and relate, opposite Life's tendency to charge forward, not caring who they trample on the way. Mituna was never able to tap into these powers of empathy enough to get people to listen to him, and he paid for this with his injury - the version of him his teammates prefer, because now they can take advantage of him.

Cronus does so most obviously, with his unwanted advances that Mituna sits there and takes because he can't reason well enough to escape of his own volition, but I posit - and will stand by this claim - that Latula and Kurloz, his two romantic partners, are taking advantage of him, too. Kurloz is implied to be directly puppeting him the way he puppets Meulin, the source of the "rumor" Cronus heard that Mituna is "lucid" when he's around Kurloz - in fact, it's implied that Mituna's injury was directly caused by Kurloz, as part of his Prince meltdown, something we'll get into more when we discuss Kurloz. I believe this is why several of the dancestors retain major injuries into the afterlife - in a dark reflection of how an Heir is supposed to operate, Kurloz is using Mituna as a conduit to exert influence over the afterlife, rendering Doom and death an oppressive force rather than peaceful resting place. I think there's a reason that Meenah questions the fact that some people have stayed injured when talking to Mituna. It should be his area of expertise, after all!

Now, while we are sidestepping the greater discussion overall of the consent of those with TBIs, I want to state that Mituna specifically, post-injury, cannot be considered fully consenting.

Cronus says the quiet part out loud:

CRONUS: i really feel like youre one of the only people i can open up to about my feelings. i guess it really does help to confide in someone vwho basically lacks the ability to repeat vwhat you say vwith any clarity or coherence, or evwen understand vwhat you said in the first place.

And unfortunately, this is pretty true: Mituna is impaired to the point where he:

Can't answer yes or no to whether he's god tier, because he doesn't know/can't remember/doesn't fully seem to understand the question.

Can't seem to understand that Meenah's asking him to strip because she's trying to check if he has god tier wings, instead enthusiastically assuming that she's asking to have sex with him.

Forgets how to take his own shirt off.

Doesn't understand that Cronus is touching him as a prelude to sexual intentions, just that he doesn't like it.

As is often the case with TBIs, he does have glimpses of clarity, but - whether this portrayal is offensive or not - the clear indication to me is that, within the context of the comic, we should come away with the understanding that Mituna can barely register what's going on, can barely understand what others are trying to communicate to him, and can barely voice what few thoughts he is able to string together. And I think it would also be one thing if he was simply born this way, but again, this is the result of an injury that is portrayed as a terrible thing that happened to him, and his injured state is not a reflection of who he was, and what decisions he would've made, before it happened.

[EDIT (March 02): This keeps being a contentious opinion that overshadows the entire rest of Mituna's section of the essay, so let me clarify.

The through-line of Mituna's entire character is that people are taking advantage of him. Whether or not he is, in fact, fully capable of consent (and this is dubious since it's dubious whether or not he's even fully capable of understanding what's going on around him - please note again that I am NOT saying people with TBIs/neurodivergence IN GENERAL can't consent, I am saying that IN MITUNA'S SPECIFIC CASE it's DUBIOUS), people are still using whatever impairment he has to take advantage of him.

I am also going to state again that whether or not it is depicted well, the comic has also chosen to portray Mituna's injury as one of genuine cognitive impairment. Sollux feeds his lusus mind honey in order to "[help] him not be such a complete idiot all the time. Merely most of the time, instead." The clear implication of Mituna begging for mind honey from his lusus is that it helps him think clearer and more lucidly, because his injury has left him cognitively impaired. Not only that, but this is a healable injury, given that Aranea stresses so strongly that she's capable of literally healing minds (not to mention alternate methods of healing available, such as Life powers or killing/god tiering him). There's a reason that Kurloz is capable of using Mituna as a hypnopuppet after the injury, but doesn't ever have seemed to before.

Because his condition is cognitive impairment that could be considered temporary, and because every single person pursuing him romantically is taking advantage of him, and because the team as a whole appears to have left him deliberately unhealed so that they can take advantage of him, and that's the POINT OF THE CHARACTER - to illustrate how shitty his team is by showing how many of them are willing to take advantage of him - I personally find it more thematically coherent if he cannot, in fact, be considered fully consenting, or at the very least for it to be intentionally uncomfortable that so many people in his team have romantic interest in him only now that he's cognitively impaired, because he's easier to take advantage of like this. It completely tracks with how many of them are also perfectly content to pursue literal children romantically.

Feel free to disagree on this specific issue, but please don't let that disagreement overshadow the greater point that I'm making, which is that Mituna is being taken advantage of. Whether or not he's capable of consent, his party is exploiting his injury-induced impairments - which could have been healed - for their own comfort and benefit. That's the point I'm trying to make here.]

And thus the Heir of Doom has inherited Doom in the worst way, becoming Doom as a force of oppression, bereft of empathy, understanding, or peace.

Latula Pyrope: Insecure Poser, Derelict Duty

Latula is a rad gamer girl... not! This is an act, and she even admits that it's an act.

PORRIM: I just think yo+u sho+uld be yo+urself mo+re o+ften. We already kno+w yo+u are stro+ng and go+o+d at games and all that. Yo+u have no+thing to+ pro+ve. LATULA: y34h. your3 prob4bly r1ght. LATULA: 1ts k1nd of str3ssful som3t1m3s, k33p1ng 1t up! som3t1m3s 1 forg3t to put z33s on th3 3nd of words, 4nd 1 r34lly str3ss out 4bout 1t. #sp3c14lly wh3n 1m off my m3ds

So what's Latula's actual deal? Well, we get a really good glimpse of it here:

LATULA: for most of th3 t1m3 w3 kn3w 34ch oth3r, 1 w4s 4ll l1k3, WHY SHOULD TH3R3 B3 TWO B4D4SS, 1N-YOUR-F4C3 GRLZ 1N TH3 GROUP??? LATULA: sort of ov3rk1ll, r1ght? MEENAH: mehhh #u searious? LATULA: 1 w4s k1nd of v13w1ng you 4s 4 comp3t1tor, 1n l1k3 4 two grl RAD-OFF. 1 w4s w1nn1ng 1n my m1nd, of cours3. but s33, 1 h4d 1t 4ll wrong!!!! MEENAH: did you LATULA: Y3AH! s33, 1m th3 t34mz R4D GRL, wh3r34s YOUR3 th3 t34mz B4D GRL!!!! 1t 4ll m4k3s p3rf3ct s3ns3! do3snt th4t m4k3 SO MUCH S3NS3??? MEENAH: that MEENAH: is the stupidest glubbin thing to require any sorta rationalization i ever heard #p lame tules LATULA: s33 p4ych3ck? 1 kn3w 1 could count on you to b3 just1f14bly cyn1c4l 4bout my n3urot1c bullsh1t. you RUL3!!!

Latula is another character we get little direct development of, so I'll head into classpect analysis early, as she's much easier to understand once we have the context of Knights and Mind players.

Mind governs logic, rationality, justice, karma, behaviors, and consequences. The justice and karma associations are explained as a Mindy Thing by Latula herself:

PORRIM: Did yo+u no+t kno+w that? #Mindfang gave yo+u five #Then left yo+u hanging LATULA: n3v3r r34lly thought 4bout 1t. but now th4t you m3nt1on 1t, th4t outcom3 m4k3s 4ll sorts of s3ns3 to m3. PORRIM: It do+es? Ho+w? LATULA: just do3s, b4b3z. PORRIM: I do+n't really understand karma. LATULA: th4ts c4us3 your3 not 4 m1nd pl4y3r.

Mind players tend to be cunning and manipulative. As the aspect presiding over the "effect" of cause-and-effect, they're finely attuned to the various webs of actions and consequences, but not so much to the inner workings of emotions and identity, which are Heart's domain, Mind's equal-and-opposite. As such, Mind players have a tendency to deemphasize their own emotions, substituting systems of karma, justice, societal attitudes, etc. to make decisions instead. We see this in Terezi's primary character struggle, the way she painted herself into a corner where the only viable outcome was killing Vriska, which happened because she consistently prioritized what Vriska karmically deserved over her own desire to maintain their friendship. In the worst case, their own identity and sense of self can become so confused that they seek out unhealthy relationships with others, in an attempt to supplement their poor sense of personal identity with some sort of external validation - you can see this in Terezi's toxic relationship with Gamzee, or, indeed, with Latula's relationship with Mituna (more on this later).

Knights, meanwhile, struggle with great insecurity. Often provided a significant role by the forces of fate and prophecy, they suffer deeply from imposter syndrome and/or self-loathing, and to help them cope with these feelings, they effect a facade that distances them from their aspect. Karkat, whose aspect presides over bonds and relationships, insists he's a big bad leader who doesn't give a shit about other people, and this breakdown of Blood's bonds culminated in Murderstuck. Dave, whose aspect presides over minutiae, goal-orientedness, and struggle, pretends to be a disaffected cool guy. In the worst case, their insecurity can become so intense that they invest completely into their facades, laying down their weapons and refusing the call entirely. Dave, at the belly of his whale, declares that he won't fight LE, as he "doesn't even think he did anything directly bad to them" - despite Dave literally being haunted by LE for his entire childhood under the guise of Lil' Cal, a detail he'd normally notice, given how often he secretly pays attention (which is a Timey Thing).

Latula struggles greatly with her own personal identity, her anxiety surrounding not having anything unique or standout about her in her friend group. To cope with this, she projects a facade that practically screams its "personality" from the rooftops - she's a dumb but radical "gamer girl". In doing so, she distances herself from her actual aspect - gone are Mind's cunning and intellect, which even Porrim calls her out on:

PORRIM: Yo+u can pretend to+ misunderstand all yo+u want, but we've talked abo+ut this befo+re and I kno+w yo+u're smarter abo+ut this than yo+u let o+n.

But, crucially, it also distances her from Mind's ties with karma and justice. Latula states that, not only does she dislike Aranea, but she can also absolutely understand the chains of karma and destiny that would've led to Mindfang and Redglare having such a contentious relationship that it led to them killing each other.

What else is Latula aware of, that she's completely chosen to ignore, out of desperate fear that it wouldn't suit her image, would make her seem less "r4d"?

Well... let's talk about Mituna. As we've already covered in his section, his ability to consent to this relationship is dubious, and the fact that it's dubious at all is already not a great sign. But I also want to bring up a couple other things. Did you know that, throughout all of Mituna's dialogue - including when he's enthusiastically trying to strip to have sex with Meenah - he doesn't mention dating Latula even one time?

Other characters will bring it up, but Mituna himself doesn't say anything about it. And, again, given that he's enthusiastically ready to get nasty with Meenah... one wonders if he's even lucid enough to know that he and Latula are dating.

MEENAH: look take off your rad shirt deal and lemme see if you got wings MITUNA: 3H3HH3H7H37H37H3 YY35 MITUNA: 7H0NGH7 Y0DU N3V3R 45K MITUNA: 817HCH 4C4M3 4R0UN57 70 MY W1L135 MU7H4FUCK5! #W1L135 #MUH #FUX MITUNA: W417 H3LUP #!!!!!!!!!! MITUNA: H3LP H0W D01 74K3 0FF MY CL07H37H 4G41N? #8( MEENAH: yeah keep your shirt on you made that exchange beyond awful

Hey, maybe he does. He does get sad when Cronus tells him that Latula's only dating him out of pity. But still, the fact that it's in question at all - and also the fact that he's totally up for cheating with Meenah - are bad signs!

But even putting that to the side for a second... what does Latula even see in him? He's constantly saying slurs, he's down to cheat at the first opportunity, he's questionably capable of stringing a coherent thought together... well, good news! It comes up in conversation.

MEENAH: mother glubber MEENAH: seriously didnt think T)(ATD last LATULA: 1dk, th3r3z w4y mor3 to h1m th4n. w3ll, 4ll th3 t3rr1bl3 4nd stup1d sh1t h3 s4ys 4ll th3 t1m3. LATULA: 4nd 1ts 4lw4yz f3lt l1k3 h3 n33ds m3 1f th4t m4k3s s3ns3, 3v3n 4ft3r dy1ng. so th3r3z th4t!!!!

So, let's actually break down what she's saying here.

She feels the need to insult him while she's trying to come up with something nice to say.

She can't actually name anything specific that she likes about him...

Except that he's dependent on her. She likes him because he can't reliably function away from her. Woof.

But I also want to turn your attention to the phrase "way more to him". What does she mean by this, exactly? Does she mean some of the traits he had before his injury? If so, how come it never comes up that Latula wanted to heal him, or tried to heal him? In fact, Aranea - who, again, has a powerset specifically suited for healing minds - comes up in conversation between Porrim and Latula, and Latula doesn't mention ANYTHING about Mituna. She's even on friendly terms with Aranea.

PORRIM: Like, as far as I kno+w, yo+u and Aranea always go+t alo+ng. Didn't yo+u? #Radglare #Kindfang LATULA: 3h 1 gu3ss. n3v3r sp3nt much t1m3 th1nk1ng 4bout s3rk3t, tbh. LATULA: 4lw4ys thought sh3 w4s 4 s3lf 4bsorb3d snooz3, 1f you r34lly w4nt to know. #zzzz #not 3v3n th3 r4d k1nd of z33s

The only other possible indication that they might secretly have a good relationship is that she threatens that if Damara touches Mituna, she'll kill Damara. Now, we'll have to save a lot of this for the Damara part of the essay, but I'll note here that Damara is perfectly pleasant and kind to people she doesn't have any personal beef with, with the example being the human kids. However, since the bulk of her team were complicit bystanders (and even Meenah's friends) in her horrific bullying, she obviously has great anger at all of them. However... if there's any exception to the bystander disease that plagued her team, it would've been Mituna, the only one trying to warn them they were headed for a terrible, bleak ending. Wouldn't he, out of everyone on the team, be someone Damara is fond of?

So, there are several options here... but they ALL make Latula look bad to varying degrees.

Damara really IS a threat to Mituna.

This still makes Latula a bystander in Damara's abuse, and a terrible hypocrite, as Kankri says one of the things he likes about her is her egalitarian, non-casteist demeanor, but she totally let a fuchsia bullying a burgundy slide, but I suppose it's the option that makes her look the least bad otherwise. Again, it seems unlikely, given the way Damara operates, but it's technically possible.

Damara is on friendly terms with Mituna, but Latula doesn't know this, and thinks she's protecting him.

This means she's still a bystander, as described above, but ALSO seems unlikely given we know Latula has Mind insight into webs of karma, and is a lot smarter than she lets on, which brings us to:

Damara is on friendly terms with Mituna, and Latula is keeping them apart deliberately.

Unfortunately, it's possible... she's dating Mituna at all, meaning she's already taking advantage of him. Ultimately, we can't say for sure what's going on there, but I don't think it's as fully innocent as it seems, especially when so much of the rest of her and Mituna's relationship is cast in such a worrying light.

Knights are tasked with leadership positions, and their failures to live up to them result in the breakdowns of their teams. Karkat's failure to manage his team's interpersonal relationships blew up into Murderstuck, Dave's refusal to keep working towards their goals means the bad guys win, and Latula's refusal to engage with the lattices of karma within her team, or deal directly with her own insecurities, means that none of these injustices ever get addressed. Even though Latula isn't a casteists, casteists are allowed to continue on being castests; even though Latula has insecurities about her own disability, those who take advantage of disabilities proliferate; even though Latula commands great respect and admiration from her team, she never comes down with the hammer - and passively allowing evil to exist is the same as picking evil's side.

And so our Knight of Mind is too busy pretending to be something she's not, cutting off her intellect, cunning and acumen, rendering justice a non-entity.

Aranea Serket: Enabled Too Close to the Sun

Aranea's another one of those characters that doesn't really directly seem to contribute to the team's problems as much, and ironically, because we have so much more of her available to peruse, there's a lot less that I need to say. It's pretty obvious what happened - she was always secretly pretty selfish and cruel, and ended up desiring the spotlight so hard that she went power-mad, challenged the Condy, and GAME OVER'd herself.

As a result, I'm instead going to do a classpect read on her, so we can better understand what she contributed to her team before her death. Which was mostly nothing good!

Light is, fittingly, one of the most well-explored aspects in the story. Governing the realm of knowledge, fortune, and vision, its players are erudite, learned, and guiding stars. Light players tend to love the spotlight, to be important, to be acknowledged - this is the crux of both Vriska's and Aranea's respective arcs, but Rose also has a flair for the dramatic, and writes her long-winded Gamespot guide as a form of one-upsmanship to the other extant guides. This desire for external validation, however, means that they're always playing to an imaginary crowd, and they don't deal very well with having that attention taken away from them. Light players are volatile and complicated, attention hogs and drama queens, and they deal poorly with embarrassment, shame, and failure.

But we already know about Light. Light players won't shut up about Light. Let's talk about something a bit more enigmatic: Sylphs.

Aranea presents Sylphs as healers and nurturers, but she's hardly an unbiased source. In fact, bias happens to be a common thread linking Sylphs, and their active counterpart, Witches, together. The struggle at the core of being a Sylph is that Sylphs are enablers.

"Enabler" is the single most consistent word Hussie uses to describe Kanaya, and I don't think it's just her Space aspect at play. Even Kanaya herself discusses how one of her major personal problems is a fascination, an attraction, with "dangerous" people. We see this exact tendency mirrored in Aranea, who has a fascination with her team's resident Thief, too.

In fact, one of the most notable things about Aranea's little expositional blurbs is the way she downplays the cruelty of her teammates, especially Meenah. Meenah's bullying was horrific, constant, and had major undertones of racism/casteism, and here's how Aranea describes it:

ARANEA: So you did your 8est to rile up the crew any way you could. Appealing to peoples insecurities, 8uried hostilities, 8rewing rivalries... needling anyone you could into confrontation with others. Your theory was that increasing everyone's state of aggression would make them 8etter equipped to play the game. And you were sort of right a8out that! 8ut the Alternians would prove it. Not our group, sadly. ARANEA: The poor girl who took the 8runt of your 8ullying tactics was Damara Megido. You talked up her matesprit's 8etrayal making her feel even more dreadful, while pushing him further into the arms of her rival, until she simply snapped. She attacked him, paralyzing him from the neck down. You finally got the aggressive confrontation you were looking for. Unfortunately, you unleashed something even you weren't prepared for, and you had to deal with her yourself. After a long 8loody duel, she killed you. And you would have stayed dead if not for me! ARANEA: You never listened to me. You just kept needling and fussing and meddling until eventually you paid the price, and I had to 8ail you out.

Let's notice where Aranea chooses to put the focus: not on the cruelty of the bully's actions, not on the horrific pain and suffering that Damara must've endured, but on how ARANEA had to save poor Meenah.

In fact, this shocking callousness is a constant fixture of Aranea's exposition. It mirrors Kanaya at her worst, as they both pick and choose their favorites in the team to lavish with kindness and attention, and treat others like objects of ridicule - Kanaya mocks Eridan to his face, and Aranea:

Mocks Latula's inability to smell.

ARANEA: She was truly an inspiration, and proved 8eyond a shadow of a dou8t that any handicap can 8e overcome, and doesn't have to stop you from 8eing as rad as you can truly 8e. MEENAH: wuuut MEENAH: serket are you whistlin through my blowhole with his idiotic shit ARANEA: Yes, that last part was a joke. Lighten up, Peixes!

Mocks Cronus's wizard faith (his one redeeming quality).

ARANEA: Whatever the case, it was pro8a8ly for the 8est, since pretty much everyone who had half a think pan thought it was all a 8unch of ridiculous nonsense. MEENAH: serket why do you got to hate on other peoples religions MEENAH: dont you kno they just as much a load of crackpotty bunk as all your spiritual bullfuck ARANEA: 8ut I........ ARANEA: Yes, I guess I was out of line. ARANEA: Sorry, I was just trying to riff with you little on a mutually disliked acquaintance. Is that really so 8ad? Why do you have to take every opportunity to knock my personal 8eliefs? ARANEA: You can really 8e so mean sometimes.

And says this incredibly out-of-pocket thing:

And says this incredibly out-of-pocket thing: ARANEA: It was almost a little eerie how happily she complied with our plan. What did Rufioh say she said? Something a8out how we would all finally get what we deserved... ARANEA: Which at the time, I thought sounded chilling. 8ut there's really two ways of looking at it. One is how the Scratch re8ooted our world into a state of pure chaos, culminating in the annihilation of our universe. 8ut on the other hand, we all got the chance to live out our wildest fantasies as adults on Alternia! ARANEA: At least you and I sure did. And I wouldn't dou8t she feels the same way.

Yeah, it sure was Damara's wildest fantasy to be abused by Doc Scratch to the point of making actual suicide attempts to escape him... and Kankri's wildest fantasy to be troll crucified, and all his friends' wildest fantasies to be hunted down for their association with him and turned into slaves, exiles, or worse... or Porrim's wildest fantasy to be raped by Mindfang.

But apparently that's part of Aranea's wildest fantasies, huh?

We also see from the Terezi situation - where Aranea first frames her abilities as "healing" and "nurturing," and makes an offer to heal Terezi's eyes as an attempt to help her "heal" from her emotional wounds - that Aranea has no idea what healing is at all. Rather, she helps people avoid (Void) what they're hurting from, what they should confront, grapple with, and accept, in order to truly move on. Knowing that Void is associated with sexual pleasure and vice, and that an Aspect often resembles its counterpart when its player is at their worst, what does this say about Actual Rapist Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, or the Jake-kissing Aranea?

Light players have an innate sense of the spotlight, and an understanding that, for it to shine on one person, it must necessarily be taken from another. Aranea enabled the two Thieves in her (after)life until they chummed up so much that they didn't give a shit about her anymore, at which point she decided to enable the one bastard she could count on - herself. And in attempting to hog that spotlight all by herself, she cosigned the entire timeline to obscurity.

And so our Sylph of Light leaves a legacy of cruelty, toxicity, suffering, pain, and oblivion, her light a poison, not a salve.

Kurloz Makara: Gave Up On "Better"

I do want to go through some Kurloz stuff before I launch into the classpect things, most notably that he's really utterly vile by the time we see him. Before his Prince meltdown, which we'll get to, perhaps there was something redeeming about him, but by the time we get to see him in the comic, he's lost any respectable qualities.

Kurloz is an adherent of the same religion as Gamzee, although, somehow, he carries even less hope than Gamzee does. Let's note the basic tenents of their faith:

You belong to a RATHER OBSCURE CULT, which foretells of a BAND OF ROWDY AND CAPRICIOUS MINSTRELS which will rise one day on a MYTHICAL PARADISE PLANET that does not exist yet.

Now, exploring this faith, and the way its interpretation changes throughout the comic, could be an essay of its own, but what's important to note here is that Kurloz will never see its fruition. He's dead, and neither has the ability to revive himself, nor the desire to do so. Thus, it follows that his personal interpretation of their faith must be darker than Gamzee's - Kurloz has so utterly given up on himself and his team that being cosigned to utter oblivion, destined to double-die by their godhead's rainbow breath, seems like a totally great outcome that Kurloz both wants and is working toward. The paradise planet doesn't actually matter to him - the act of betraying his friends, and getting everyone killed (and double-killed), seems reward enough.

KURLOZ: WE SHALL NOW BUST OPEN THESE BITCHIN ELIXIR FORTIES KURLOZ: AND POUR SOME SWEET SWILL OUT FOR THE SOULS WHO SOON WONT BE NO MORE #:o)

To that end, he's willing to lie to his teammates, and use the two people closest to him - Mituna and Meulin - as literal slaves, furthering LE's goals and pushing for LE's existence, making him one of the most direct forces acting against the dancestors.

But, as I said earlier, he didn't start out this way - so how did he get to this point of utter clowny despair? Well, let's take a look at what it means to be a Prince of Rage.

Princes have a fairly simple arc to discuss, though actually dealing with a Prince is arduous and difficult. Princes are, in a very masculine way, driven by an anxious forward momentum, by feelings of duty, by a masculine need to appear strong and take on burdens. Dirk is the most anxious of his team about their fate to sit around and wait, and Eridan's entire character has been shaped by the duty he had to keep Feferi's lusus placated.

However, these driving forces tend to make Princes controlling, aggressive, volatile, and nasty, and it's difficult to even be near one, let alone help them deal with their emotional problems. Thus are princes on a marching path to self-destruction, overtaxing their engines, burning themselves out. And given that one's "self" is tied inextricably to their aspect, this means that they take their aspect with them.

Thus are Princes on a ticking timer, and left untreated, they'll suffer a spectacular meltdown, which removes from play themselves, their aspect, and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room. We see it with Murderstuck, where Eridan goes on a Hope-crushing murder spree, and we see it when Dirk's trickster tirade utterly shatters Jake's self-confidence and self-worth.

But before that meltdown occurs, Princes suffer from an overburdening of their aspect - Eridan is a hipster (Hope and conviction), and burdened by several layers of political beliefs and societally-imposed duties. Dirk is solipsistic (Heart and the self), and is burdened by self-loathing, amplified by all his splinters and Hal staring back at him.

Kurloz's aspect is Rage, one of the most enigmatic, but I'll do my best here. Hope is, after all, fairly well-defined - a transformative force that imposes a new reality onto the old. Rage, its equal and opposite, is similarly a force that defines reality - but it does so by striking things from the record (something both Gamzee and Kurloz are noted to do, the former removing references to himself from recountings of his team's story, the latter creating intricate labyrinths within the bubbles to hide their clowny conspiracy with). Rage encompasses anger, but also the emotions of fear and shame - transformative energies that are the core of great acts of revolution, but also volatile, and prone to great destructiveness. Rage players "tear down false truths" - meaning, they define reality by closing possibilities, crafting meaning from the past by the power of interpretation. Hope is fanfiction, and Rage is literary criticism. Hope pens in something new, and Rage strikes out what it deems unacceptible.

Kurloz, before his turn, is characterized primarily through a single major incident - having a dream so terrifying that he screamed loud enough to deafen his matesprit, and feeling so ashamed of himself (shame being a Rage-associated emotion) that he sewed his own mouth shut in penitance. Given the way Princes are overtaxed by their aspect, it's likely that this isn't the only great shame he was bearing.

He and Damara appear to be on secretly decent terms - she is, after all, a Lord English believer, and who else would she have gotten that religious leaning from? Moreover, Kurloz and Mituna were close, if not actively dating, and Mituna was the one member of the team who seemed to give a shit that they were hurtling themselves towards oblivion.

This means that Kurloz, in all likelihood, was actually on Damara's side, and aware that his team was being shitheads - but he never said anything, later because of his vow of silence, but earlier, because it was himself he was most ashamed of. It's unclear what the inciting incident of his final meltdown was, but given the far-reaching consequences when a Prince does have their meltdown, this is likely the "disaster" that Mituna was attempting to stop - a situation that echoes how Feferi, Eridan's ex-moirail, turning on him to kill him was what finally pushed Eridan over the edge into full-blown murder. Kurloz is likely both the disaster Mituna was trying to avert and the source of Mituna's injury; subsequently, his team was dealing with a post-meltdown Prince and the destruction of Rage.

As I mentioned before, Rage is a revolutionary force, a force of upheaval and change. It's likely that the Mituna injury happened fairly late in the game, concurrent to or shortly following Damara's rampage, because the lack of Rage is starkly present in the six years following the Reckoning, where the dancestors did fuckall. But there's one other place where the dancestors' lack of Rage is present: ever notice how they don't have a single blackrom?

We'll get more into that when we talk about Meulin, but for now, I'll just say that this is directly Kurloz's fault. No blackroms, no conflicts, no change... Kurloz's meltdown was allowed to happen with no one the wiser. Rage, at its nadir, begins to resemble Hope - it gains a steadfast, religious conviction to the belief that nothing matters and everything must be torn down. We see this in Kurloz, whose spiritual belief is, functionally, that all that he and everyone else deserves is utter oblivion.

And so our Prince of Rage can no longer be swayed, a force of religious inertia, directing all beings headlong into oblivion.

Meulin Leijon: Healthy Relationship? IDK Her

Meulin Leijon's ships are all rancid. Unfortunately, they also all come true. This makes Meulin one of the most direct and overwhelming contributors to the dancestors' extant emotional problems, and why every single one of their established romances is a dumpster fire (and, conversely, why none of the healthy ships hinted at - pale Latula/Porrim, for example - are never established).

But to explain that, we have to back up and explain how Mages work. But I'm a bit tired of typing, so I'll just let Terezi and Sollux explain it instead:

TA: 2o yeah. TA: we wiill all diie but mo2t e2peciially me, end of 2tory. GC: BUT GC: DONT T4K3 TH1S TH3 WRONG W4Y BUT HOW C4N YOU B3 TOT4LLY SUR3 4BOUT 4LL TH4T? GC: HOW DO YOU KNOW SOM3 OF TH3 R34L V1S1ONS YOUR3 H4V1NG 4R3NT G3TT1NG K1ND OF T4NGL3D UP W1TH UHHH GC: SORT OF TH3 W4Y YOU 4R3 4BOUT YOURS3LF TA: what do you mean. GC: HOW YOU G3T MOP3Y 4ND YOUR3 4LW4YS TH3 V1CT1M OF SOM3TH1NG 4ND HOW SOM3T1M3S YOU TH1NK YOU SUCK WH3N YOU R34LLY DONT GC: M4YB3 TH4T 1S CLOUD1NG YOUR V1S1ON?

Mages are the active counterpart to Seers, as they're both classes concerned with glimpsing the future. Sollux is most obviously a prophet, gifted with vision twofold and Doom's natural prophetic insight, and at first this doesn't seem to suit Meulin... until you realize that matchmaking is commonly considered a form of divination, and "matchmaker" is Meulin's signature profession.

However, unlike a Seer, who's privy to all the myriad branching paths the future can take, Mages seem to know which of these futures will definitely happen for sure. This seems to be contradictory - how can multiple branching paths and set-in-stone futures coexist, when the comic - and Hussie - explicitly tend to frame even the Alpha Timeline as a result of player choices, and not predestination?

But it makes sense if you turn it around - it's not that Mages are privy to a set-in-stone future... it's that the Mage powerset allows the Mage to set a future in stone. They aren't PREDICTING the future, they're PREDETERMINING it.

This is an incredibly powerful ability, and to balance it out, Mages start out sad, and this sadness and pessimism colors their visions and causes the futures they pick out to be shitty. Terezi directly calls out Sollux's chosen future for being a reflection of his self-loathing and victimization, but wait, isn't Meulin super cheerful?

No. Actually, she's fucking miserable.

HORUSS: 8=D < She's taught me to get in touch with my anger. Through a moderately discernible series of enthusiastic mimes, she has made it clear that it is much healthier to crush all negative emotions beneath a stampede of positivity, and to always be cheerful and upbeat no matter what, even if projecting that facade is at times physically painful. #Such as #All times.

Vriska also later makes mention of how Meulin seems to have a "fascin8tingly dark history", further driving home the point that Meulin's hyperactive, friendly demeanor is a front for some really deep sadness on her part.

Heart is the aspect of the soul and the self. Its players are preoccupied with identity, and naturally talented at sussing out motivations, emotions, intentions, and desires. Nepeta's ships are usually wrong, but she clocks romantic interest correctly - she's able to pick up on Gamzee's palecrush toward Karkat, and Tavros's something-something towards Dave. Dirk, too, has an arc defined by romantic interest, feelings that ultimately don't pan out.

Moreover, Heart players are very vulnerable and sincere, and can't really help it. Divesting Dirk from Hal (whom I'm personally convinced is both his own separate entity and not even a Heart player), Dirk is incredibly straightforward. His idea of manipulating Jane is to directly tell her he's manipulating her. Nepeta's sincerity probably doesn't even need to be said.

But the flipside of this sensitivity towards the emotions of others is that Heart players are often doormats. They tend to prioritize the desires of others - Nepeta being bent to Equius's whims, and Dirk's neediness towards Jake manifesting as some embarrasing "forget how I feel, tell me what YOU want" texts. Their vulnerability also makes them easily hurt, and they tend to retreat into themselves out of fear of pain - Dirk outright states that his aloof demeanor hides the feelings his team has been trampling, while Nepeta expresses that she's afraid to engage too much with others because she's scared they'll mock her for being silly and stupid.

Thus, Meulin's situationship with Kurloz is cast into a much more uncomfortable light - and it was already pretty damn uncomfortable. Being deafened clearly hurt her emotionally, to the point she formally broke up with him, but he is still basically dating her, practically holding her hostage between her natural doormat tendencies and the actual mind control he's using on her. Her relationship with Horuss isn't much better, given the breathtakingly awful way he speaks about her:

HORUSS: 8=D < E%actly. Whoof would have thought? If you a%ed me before we all died whether I would consider romantically pairing with a r*d*culous midb100d, let alone Ms. Leijon of all people, I'd probably have died regardless, due to laughter-induced asphy%iation.

Yikes. Yikes all around. Welcome to yikes town.

Thus, Meulin is miserable, and has never been within ten miles of a healthy relationship - is it any surprise, then, that the ships she sets up for all her friends are similarly ill-fated? Let's not forget, the one ship she's actively seen making is Meenah and Karkat - an adult and an actual child.

MEULIN: (=^-ω-^=) < NOW, BEFORE I WORK MY MAGIC, WE SHOULD GET ONE THING CLEAR. IS YOUR YEARNING RED OR BLACK? MEULIN: (=ＴωＴ=) < I AM ONLY ASKING TO BE ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN, BUT METHINKS THERE IS BARELY ANY DOUBT ABOUT IT. SOMMMEONE IS WAXING SCARLET FOR A LOUD, YOUNGER KANKRI, HMMMMMMMMM?

And it's after this that Meenah develops an "increasingly manic obsession" with Karkat.

You got a CLAWSICKLE! You absolutely love this due to its nautical nature. Also, hoarding items such as this will nicely complement your increasingly manic obsession with Karkat.

This is the secret behind Meulin's abilities as a "miracle worker when it comes to match making". As a Mage of Heart, she's directly picking out futures in which certain characters develop feelings for others - and, as a result, every single existing romance within the dancestors is highly suspect.

But what's also suspect is the lack of certain romances, namely the blackroms. What's going on there? Well, as Meulin herself says:

MEULIN: ~(=^‥^)ノ < GENERALLY I STICK TO THE RED MATCHUPS WHILE HE ADVISES ON BLACK. HE'S 33RILY TALENTED AT PICKING BLACKROM PAIRS! PROBABLY EVEN BETTER THAN ME...

Like how he's exerting control over the state of their death by using Mituna as a puppet, Kurloz is exerting control over their relationships via Meulin, killing their rage - their ability to effect change and grow - at the source.

And so our Mage of Heart has had hers trampled over so many times that she's unable to conceive of a future where lovers are supportive and kind, not destructive and cruel.

Horuss Zahhak: Albatross with the Gravitational Pull of a Black Hole

Finally, we're getting to the biggest Mess of all: the Damara situation. Horuss is our starting point here, as he's the eye of the storm - while he's the least directly culpable for Damara's rampage, he's the inciting incident, as Pages often are.

Horuss's flaws are glaringly obvious - he's a virulent casteist, he's an affair partner, he feels no guilt for the harm he caused Damara, he's really only looking to satisfy his own sexual desires, and he's too bullheaded to listen when people tell him things he doesn't want to hear.

He actually spends quite a bit of time talking about his aspect, and the journey he took to "understand" it. That saves me some time.

HORUSS: 8=D < My path was similarly governed by my aspect. For the longest time, I felt as if I was a blank sheet of paper. Like I had to make myself out of nothing. HORUSS: 8=D < And so I began to listen closely to the void within myself and corral the various personal attributes I herd calling to me. [...] HORUSS: 8=D < And in following sweeps I would keep turning my mechanically augmented, acute equine ear back to the abyss within, and continue to discover more about myself. I would learn that I was more complicated than I ever imagined. [...] HORUSS: 8=D < The second is how if you are faced with any crisis of identity whatsoever, it's really important to do your best to manufacture esoteric features of your personality and believe in them very STRONGLY and tell people about those things as frequently as possible.

Again, we aren't going to get into the plurality of real life people, this isn't the essay for that. In the context of the comic, because the failure of the dancestors is a foregone conclusion, and because Horuss is especially vile and clearly not aspirational, what he is describing is, in fact, an abject failure of Void, and a failing of his character.

To get into it, let's break down what a Page of Void is, and what arc they're "supposed" to undertake.

Pages are defined by their limitless potential.

TT: Pages have a lot of untapped potential. TT: That's practically all there is to the class, actually. TT: But when they eventually find it, look out.

AA: y0u picked a t0ugh class tavr0s! AA: n0ne 0f the really useful c0mbat abilities c0me int0 play until y0u reach a very high level AA: but i supp0se it will be rewarding when y0u get there

They're magikarps - very strong at high levels, very weak at low ones. So weak, in fact, that they're defined by a lack of their aspect when they initially start the game. Tavros, the Page of Breath - Breath governing freedom and independence - is wheelchair-bound and under Vriska's thumb. Jake, the Page of Hope - Hope dealing in conviction and belief - is constantly called "wishy-washy," and has absolutely zero standards when it comes to his taste in media (contrast Eridan, who's functioning with too much Hope as per his Prince class, who's a hipster that castigates Kanaya for liking Troll Twilight).

And Void is simplicity - its two other heroes, much more representative of the aspect, embody this well. They are what they are, they like what they like. Roxy loves wizards and, as mom, loves her daughter; Equius loves horses and archery and being STRONG. Void is also associated with sexual pleasure, vice, and taboo, with Roxy's "sauciness" being something characters often comment on and her alcoholism being so foundational to her character, while you can't talk about Equius without talking about his BDSM fetish.

In fact, we can see this interplay between Void's simplicity against Light's penchant for complexity in the introduction of Rose's mother. Rose has concocted in her mind a grand, elaborate narrative where her and her mother are locked in a deady contest of one-upsmanship, that her mother's various gifts and wizards are part of some sort of ironic or passive-aggressive mind game. The truth is, Momlonde just loves wizards and dotes on her daughter. No mind games whatsoever.

So when Horuss talks about how "complicated" he's decided he is, this is a Page's penchant for regression, for aspect deficit. Horuss refuses to be honest with himself, to deal with his actual emotions of frustration, anger, and emptiness, and instead turns to complication to try to explain them. He complexifies everything he gets involved with - his affair with Rufioh is clearly a symptom of some fetish he has for dating down the hemospectrum, but he refuses to admit to it, instead claiming at first that it was simply a "fleeting dalliance" or "exploration," and then claiming it to be true love.

The one Void trait he does seem to have in excess, however, is its tendency to get so caught up in its own personal pleasures and desires that it becomes pushy to others, drowning them out, resembling Light's spotlight hogging. Equius did this to Nepeta, and Roxy would attempt it with Dirk sometimes, aggressively flirting with him despite his homosexuality. Horuss simply talks over Rufioh, not listening to a thing he says.

Also, another point to how interwoven everyone's issues are, Kankri shows up to enable Horuss and tell him to keep being complicated. Also, Kankri doesn't comment AT ALL on Horuss's constant use of slurs and casteist language. So thanks again Kankri. For nothing.

The problem with Pages is that their failures aren't contained to themselves - their weakness becomes like a black hole, an albatross about the party's neck, and they're often right at the center of major catastrophes - maybe not the direct cause, but often an inciting incident. Tavros was ultimately at the center of the Team Charge debacle, and the Jakestakes tore apart his entire team.

HORUSS: 8=D < It was only to be a very private, fleeting dalliance with a BUOY, but the whole thing became so quickly scandalized. #A spur of the moment affair, really. HORUSS: 8=D < And soon others were whisked into it such as you and the vengeful rust b100d, and... well, imagine my embarrassment. Trust me, the last thing I wanted was for royalty such as yourself to know I was pursuing forbidden b100d. To be caught with my hoof in the chocolate jar, so to nicker.

And so our Page of Void, by dint of the complicated web he's woven about himself, has ensnared others in his orbit of total irrelevance and inability to move forward.

Rufioh Nitram: Desperately Escaping Responsibility

Let me speak for everyone when I say, "Rufioh, you cheating piece of shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Rufioh, too, has his failures on brazen display. He's weak-willed and spineless, has been trying and failing to break up with Horuss for eons, and cheated on his girlfriend, but has the nerve to ask her for romantic advice.

However, what I want to really focus down on is that the specific flavor of his spinelessness is a refusal to take responsibility. He constantly claims that he "doesn't know" why Damara got more and more upset at him:

RUFIOH: and for some reason... st1ll don't know why... damara just started go1ng a l1ttle more nuts every day... gett1ng more and more jealous when she knew we were hang1ng out...

But clearly this isn't true, because he tells her to get over it.

RUFIOH: d*mn... so cold, g1rl. why can't you let the past go?

He also constantly calls her "crazy" and "jealous," framing the story as though she's the one who went totally nuts, and washing his hands of his involvement.

Remember how I mentioned that Blood tends to be overly responsible? All the way up there, when I was talking about Kankri. Well, meet Blood's counterpart. Breath is, at its best, a force of freedom and liberation - look no further than the Summoner, Rufioh's Alternian counterpart. But at its worst, it tends to be callous and immature, youthful but irresponsible. Rufioh does everything he can to avoid having to take responsibility, whether that's wilting from breaking up with Horuss, avoiding culpability for hurting his feelings, or downplaying what he did to Damara.

This youthfulness is the source of their charm, and all three Breath players share it - John loves his dumb cheesy movies well into his teens, Tavros loves Pupa Pan and Fiduspawn, and Rufioh loves kiddie anime. It's not harmful in and of itself that they like childish things, but it often goes hand-in-hand with a refusal to grow up.

Ironically, they can become so avoidant of responsibility that they wind up trapped, like Tavros was with Vriska, or Rufioh is with Horuss. If you never acknowledge that there is a problem, you can never begin to fix it. But where does being a Rogue come in?

Well, Rogues are natural-born rebels. Nepeta is the only Alternian troll to outright say that the hemocaste is stupid and casteism shouldn't exist:

AC: :33 < and i dont know anything about classes or bases or blood color, it doesn't matter! AC: :33 < what does gr33n blood even mean! it doesnt mean anything to me and it shouldnt mean anything to anyone else!

And Roxy is the most motivated in her friend group to stick it to the Batterwitch. The problem is, while they have unrest and rebellion deep in their souls, they're often at a loss as to how to address it, make it more than just a thought. This leads to them rebelling for the sake of rebelling, breaking taboos and defying commands. Nepeta refusing to listen to Equius telling her to hide and stay put directly leads to her death, and even Roxy nearly blew Jane up with a fake SBURB application in a misguided attempt to defy the Condesce.

And Rufioh? Well, Rufioh cheated. Hard as he could. For a long, long time. Started before he entered the session. Spent the whole time gaslighting Damara and calling her crazy and jealous. After all, if he actually came out and said that he wasn't happy with her and wanted out of the relationship, she'd be upset with him, and he'd have to be responsible for that. Can't have that!

And so our Rogue of Breath has been trapped in bondage, having gone willingly in chains, because the alternative - freedom and responsibility - were too difficult for him.

Damara Megido: Babe I'm So Sorry, You Didn't Deserve That

So I'm going to address a pretty common fandom take, by first divulging some personal information. I'm Chinese diaspora; my parents were both immigrants. Obviously, I can't speak for every Chinese person, and especially not every Asian, but at least from my perspective, Damara isn't racist. She's just actual representation.

Yes, Damara plays into several stereotypes, most notably the oversexed Asian schoolgirl - but that's part of the greater point that the comic is trying to make. Hussie has a long habit of putting the reader in the shoes of the characters who are wrong in a situation - for example, having the reader mock Eridan together with Rose, Kanaya, Jade, and Gamzee, or indeed, having the reader sympathize with Meenah Peixes, and hear the story from the point of view of Meenahs' biggest enabler.

Damara's google-translate quirk makes her text difficult to understand, to the point a lot of people won't even bother figuring out what she's saying, and her design makes her seem like a flat stereotype, because this is how her team sees her. And as I have extensively covered in this essay thus far, Damara's team were unbelievable assholes for doing so.

Let's look at her situation objectively for a second, and you'll see what I mean. Damara grew up with the Lost Weeaboos - she was already there when Rufioh ran into her, after he joined up after his wings came in. Yeah, Damara was the original Lost Weeaboo, not him. She was an immigrant from East Beforus, and couldn't speak English, and was seemingly only included in the friend group so long as Rufioh was translating for her - something he doesn't do when he deems it would cause problems (for him).

RUFIOH: 1f people knew some of the sh*t you sa1d... how you say crazy sh*t l1ke you want to serve h1m... f***! RUFIOH: 1t wouldn't be cool... people would fl1p... RUFIOH: h*ll, d1dn't you hear meenah was try1ng to ra1se an army to k1ll h1m? RUFIOH: 1f she could hear some of the th1ngs you told me... sh*t... 1 can't ever let her f1nd out... RUFIOH: 1f she knew, you'd both start f1ght1ng aga1n... #}:(

Not to mention, she's a burgundy, the bottom of the hemocaste, and implied to be pretty poor, too, given... she was living in the woods with the Lost Weeaboos.

Before the game even starts, Horuss starts visiting Rufioh in the woods, something that starts as an emotional affair, but quickly becomes more than that. Damara catches on pretty quickly, becoming more and more jealous and angry with him as the affair continues, but Rufioh gaslights her and lies to her about it until Meenah discovers the affair and blows it out into the open. Damara breaks up with Rufioh, but Meenah continues to use the affair to mock and degrade her.

ARANEA: The poor girl who took the 8runt of your 8ullying tactics was Damara Megido. You talked up her matesprit's 8etrayal making her feel even more dreadful, while pushing him further into the arms of her rival, until she simply snapped.

Can you even fucking imagine? Damara has nobody else to turn to. Not only are half the people on the team Meenah's friends, not only is Meenah the rich and powerful fuchsia-blooded heiress, while Damara's a poor, immigrant rustblood, but no one on the team besides her ex - who is running around slandering her for being "crazy" and "jealous" - can even be assed to learn her language. She can't defend herself, and even if she tried, nobody would listen. To them, Damara's just a flat stereotype - the meek and docile Asian waifu who speaks engrish and puts chopsticks in her hair.

This is like... actually just what a lot of poor immigrants, not even necessarily Asian ones, have to go through. Damara's struggles are incredibly relevant, and her reaction is very realistic, too. She snaps and decides that she hates everyone and outright wishes for their demise and double-demise. In this context, her hypersexual language is a form of reclaiming power - nobody cared about what she had to say, so now she doesn't care what they have to listen to. It's one of the only petty vengeances left to her, and notably, she doesn't do it towards people she doesn't have beef with - the human kids - and the fact that Rufioh can speak her language at all is why she's still willing to go so far as to call him a friend, even after all the horrible shit he did to her.

RUFIOH: um... you can keep a secret, r1ght? DAMARA: はい、もちろん。私はあなたの友達です。[Yes, of course. I am your friend.]

And death hasn't made anything let up for her. She tells Meenah to go double-fuck herself, and Meenah assumes that they're totally cool now, even though Meenah didn't even so much as say "sorry".

DAMARA: あなたのデュアルフォークを取る。二回自分自身をファック。 [Take your dual fork. Fuck yourself twice.] [...] DAMARA: 私は何も後悔はありません。[I do not regret anything.] MEENAH: apology accepted

Sorry for getting heated, but what happened to Damara - and the fact that the fandom often sides with her bullies in calling her a flat stereotype - is very near and dear to me. The Damara situation casts a pall across the entire rest of the dancestors. Despite how cruel the circumstances were, how objectively unjust they were, how obviously Meenah was the aggressor and Damara was a victim, how clearly delineated good and evil were in her situation, and how big of a problem this became, nobody intervened, nobody tried to stop it, nobody stood up for her. Every single member of the team is an irredeemable asshole by this simple fact alone, except maybe Mituna, and even then, that's a maybe and nothing more. All of them are complicit in abuse, complicit in oppression, and complicit in bullying - if not worse.

Witches are creatures of emotion. They grow up as "outsiders" to society, and as such, are very easy to sway - as they lack societal senses of right and wrong, good or evil, they tend to rely on their own emotions to navigate the world instead. This also means it's very easy to flatter the Witch into believing in something cruel. Feferi loves casteism because being a princess is awesome, and she loves feeling like she's better than other people. Jade constantly allows shitty boys to trample all over her, and the trolls consider her most culpable for Bec Noir's creation because she blindly follows the prophecies of her beloved future-telling clouds, taking direct action to doom them all.

Damara's still friends with Rufioh because he bothers to speak her language at all, even though he does nothing but gaslight her, badmouth her, and use her to his own convenience. She follows the teachings of Lord English because her feelings have been hurt to the point where oblivion sounds like a great idea.

Time is about persistence, goal-orientedness, details, and minutiae. However, its players can often become so tunnel-visioned, so frustrated, that they become destructive forces of anger and rage. In the worst case, this destructive frustration causes them to become overwhelmed with a sense of futility, something that superficially resembles Space's big-picture thinking, or its tendency for passivity. Time has ties to entropy and death, and unfortunately, Damara has come to embody that for her team.

But, most crucially, Witches cause change.

The dancestors' session is victim to a glitch that ultimately renders it unwinnable - they didn't perform their own ectobiology. Such glitches are described as the "calling cards" of Lord English, his way of reserving a universe to destroy. But, as discussed above, LE did not actually exist until the dancestors brought him into their session by scratching it.

It's stated that, after her initial rampage, Damara began performing acts of "timeline sa8otage" up and down their timeline. I believe that it's during this time that she wound up causing the ectobiology glitch - retroactively rendering their system unwinnable, forcing them into the Scratch. After all, Damara knew what would result from the Scratch - Kurloz had inducted her into his religion by that point, and she was heard muttering that the Scratch would deliver them all "what they deserve".

And so, our Witch of Time was tempted by the forces of evil, and ultimately led them down the path of destruction, closing down all options until they had no choice but to Scratch, and - of course - though the dancestors had one last chance to back out, choose the selfless option, and let no more harm come of their actions - they picked the selfish option, and passed their problems onto the next generation.

Meenah Peixes: Ultra-Bitch

Meenah is her team's leader, and she represents the worst aspects of her team - the casual cruelty, the lack of responsibility, the kid-kissing, the failure to grow up. In a way, there's no leader more fitting.

The greatest thing she contributed to her team was her ruthless bullying, which didn't do anything but make everyone feel worse about themselves. Of this bullying, Meenah's favorite target was Damara, but we already covered all that in Damara's section. I want to talk about some of Meenah's other failings here, because I think the comic did such a good job of unreliably narrating her escapades that even many in the fandom seem to think she's a much better person than she is.

In truth, Meenah is a toxic friend, a bad influence, and her "cool"ness serves as a smokescreen to cover the depravity and cruelty of her actions. She is consistently running away from responsibility, consistently taking advantage of weaker-willed individuals, consistently constructing a narrative around herself where her actions were justified and anyone who disagrees with her is just a lame loser. In reality, she's just a rich bitch mean girl. A bog-standard bully. Someone who thinks literal children are pursuable romantic targets. You can't lose sight of this.

MEENAH: i dont verbally torture my cray schemes like all the serket girls MEENAH: and that works ok for me MEENAH: guess i made some mistakes but who really gives a flip [...] MEENAH: i just MEENAH: did shit MEENAH: and the shit i did MEENAH: meant only the things the shit accomplished MEENAH: and if that shit accomplished a dumb thing that sucked MEENAH: then i guess thats what you call a mistake and oh fuckin well

Sure, Meenah. Your deliberate, constant, unrelenting bullying, the active choices you made over, and over, and over again, are completely excusable by just saying "they were some mistakes" and "oh well".

Meenah ran away from responsibility four times over the course of her story: the first time was running off to the moon because she didn't want to be heiress; the second was blowing up her home planet rather than dealing with succession; the third was cooping herself up in her moon palace until a bigger threat presented itself, and the fourth was encouraging Vriska to give up on struggling against Lord English and run away with her and the LE-killing treasure. Not only that, but she tries to convince Karkat to jump off the meteor with her to fight LE - something that's framed in that conversation as a literal act of suicide, as LE is still, as far as Karkat and Meenah know, invincible, immortal, and unbeatable.

Speaking of her conversation with Karkat, let's zoom out for a second and take it in objectively. I think many are tricked by Karkat's softness and vulnerability here into thinking that the conversation they have together is cute or wholesome, but that isn't the case. First of all, let's remember that Meulin has just implied that Meenah's got some romantic feelings for what is - again - an actual child (I think he's literally 14 here). So. Yeah. And then second, let's remember what Karkat's arc is.

Karkat is a mutant, and has lived his life alternately in fear that he'll be killed if anyone ever finds out, and filled with self-loathing, since he knows it means he'll never be accepted by society. Moreover, he's aware of the prophecy that he's supposed to be Troll Jesus's second coming, and he's deeply insecure about it.

MY BLOOD IS NOT FIT TO FLOW THROUGH A SEWER, AND MY SIGN IS A PICTOGRAPHIC SYMBOL THAT LOOSELY TRANSLATES AS "PLEASE HIKE THESE PANTS UP TO THIS GUY'S ARMPITS, CHAIN HIM TO A FLOGGING JUT, AND MAKE A FUCKING EXAMPLE OUT OF THIS SORRY SACK OF SHIT." WHEN I LOOK IN A MIRROR, MY REFLECTION SLOWLY SHAKES HIS HEAD WHILE I WET MYSELF IN SHAME.

The fact that he knows that his ancestor is the Signless puts his initial desire to join the Threshecutioners in a very sad light. As he tells Meenah, he harbored fantasies that he would fight so well that they'd let him join, in spite of his blood color, even knowing objectively that they'd probably just kill him on sight.

KARKAT: THEY WERE LIKE THE DEADLIEST SQUAD OF INTERSTELLAR FIGHTERS UNDER THE COMMAND OF THE EMPRESS. THEY HELPED CONQUER MORE PLANETS THAN ANY OTHER IMPERIAL FORCE. BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE FOR ME TO MAKE THE CUT, BECAUSE OF MY BLOOD. SO I USED TO THINK OF ALL THESE ELABORATE SCENARIOS TO HIDE MY BLOOD COLOR. OR IN THE MORE RIDICULOUS FANTASIES, MAYBE I COULD EVEN PROVE MY WORTH AS A SOLDIER? LIKE JUST BE SO AWESOME WITH A SICKLE, THEY WOULD JUST HAVE TO MAKE AN EXCEPTION. MAYBE EVEN BE LIKE A FOLK HERO AND RISE THROUGH THE RANKS TO BECOME THE LEADER. HAHA.

He desires, so so so deeply, to be accepted. He hates himself - this is the first thing revealed to us in his introduction.

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS. As was previously mentioned, it is your WRIGGLING DAY, which is barely even worth mentioning. It is an anniversary, if anything, to lament the faults of your existence, of which there are assuredly plenty.

As a result, he's equated societal acceptance with self-worth - tricked himself into believing that if he can gain the approval of society, the approval of the Condesce, then he'll finally be able to feel less like a worthless, kill-on-sight miscreant.

This is the lens we must look through his conversations with Meenah through. These are not soft, tender exchanges where Meenah helps Karkat deal with his emotional issues. This is the young adult version of the Condesce trying to tempt a literal child into suicide, leveraging his desire to be accepted by her in order to stroke her own ego. When he says Alternia was great, that's a bad thing. Alternia sucked, and it sucked to him specifically, but he wants to be accepted by it so badly that he's willing to act like it was awesome. When he says he respects the Condesce, that's terrible. She's an evil monster who directly caused all his and his friend's problems, a monstrous, genocidal dictator who revels in bloodshed and misery. And when he says:

KARKAT: OH, BUT ON ONE CONDITION. AS THE NEW EMPRESS, YOU HAVE TO APPOINT ME AS GRAND THRESHECUTIONER OF YOUR ARMY. DO WE HAVE A DEAL? MEENAH: oh yes yes you got it yessss

This is sad, actually. This is just really sad. Karkat wants to be accepted so, so badly that he's willing to jump off the meteor on a suicide mission. He wants it so bad that he's willing to lie down and let the forces of fascism, oppression, cruelty, and evil win, just for a crumb of validation.

And, yeah, it's romantic to Meenah. Just to be clear with everyone.

MEENAH: i was standin around in shoutkats place when it all dream switched on me outta nowhere [...] MEENAH: and i think MEENAH: we might be goin on a date later?

Hey, remember how she's 19 and he's fourteen fucking years old?

So, yeah, later on, when she starts having little giggly fits with Vriska, rolling around in the fields with her? When she starts grooming Vriska to dress like her, get tattoos with her nautical themes? Yes, I'm going to use the word "grooming". That's what it is.

Vriska is a vulnerable child. She was raised by an abusive, demanding, narcissistic spider, and all her friends just abandoned her because of her resultant nasty personality. And remember how I pointed out that Meenah likes to run away from responsibility?

VRISKA: What if we just........ VRISKA: Gave up on the mission? MEENAH: gave up VRISKA: Yeah. VRISKA: What do you think. MEENAH: um MEENAH: sure VRISKA: Sure? VRISKA: You don't think that would 8e a wussy move? MEENAH: well yeah MEENAH: it would be MEENAH: if a couple of cowards did it MEENAH: but that aint us MEENAH: so we cool to do whatev VRISKA: That's a very good point. MEENAH: nofin wrong with stickin a fork in a shit idea that just makes you miserable MEENAH: hell the best choice i ever made involved givin up MEENAH: one day i said MEENAH: fuck da throne MEENAH: ran off to the moon MEENAH: thats how this whole crazy mess kicked off MEENAH: and if i didnt do that MEENAH: i wouldnt of met you 38) VRISKA: VRISKA: ::::)

I hope this conversation hits a little different.

[EDIT (March 02): I also wanted to add that, in order to make the above conversation even more obviously a case of an adult taking advantage of a vulnerable minor? Directly preceeding the snippet I included in the essay, Vriska outright admits that she no longer trusts her own judgement. So Meenah heard that, and decided to make a move.

Yikes. Yikes all around. Welcome to yikes town.]

Thieves are, as the name suggests, selfish and greedy - they harbor some deep emotional hole that they attempt to fill with "wealth". For Vriska, it was narrative importance, and for Meenah, it was forward motion, as that's what Life's all about. However, they do so at the expense of others, not realizing that harming their own group relations harms their own ability to self-actualize and attain true happiness. The one time something nice happened on Meenah's team, it was when Meenah wasn't taking, taking, taking, but when she baked a cake for everyone.

But Meenah wasn't content with that.

And so, our Thief of Life defeated her own agenda in an effort to move forward, her mistakes culminating in the doom of herself and all her friends, as her misguided grasping toward forward motion ultimately led to the ugly side of a tumor-bomb.

Final Thoughts

I know I've been really negative towards the dancestors for this entire essay. And I do think they deserve it. However, please don't confuse that with me saying I think they were "bad characters," or that I dislike their inclusion in the comic.

On the contrary, I think they're all very, very good characters. Their utilization in the narrative is excellent, and they perform their narrative function incredibly well. I think Hussie's a fantastic writer, and I find the dancestors fascinating - if you couldn't tell from the massive essay.

But they are shitty people - and that's the point. The role they serve to the kids is as evil mentors, bad influences, dark reflections. Maybe they were redeemable before they ruined everything, but they passed the point of no return. At every juncture, they chose the selfish option, the cruel option, the easy option, and in some ways subtle, some ways overt, they encourage their kids to do the same.

But - crucially - the ones to come after them can choose differently. And I believe in the version of Homestuck where they do.

Thanks for reading.

#homestuck #homestuck analysis #damara megido #rufioh nitram #mituna captor #kankri vantas #meulin leijon #latula pyrope #porrim maryam #aranea serket #horuss zahhak #kurloz makara #karkat vantas #cronus ampora #meenah peixes #classpect #classpects #classpecting

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makeitmingi · 2 months ago

Text

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 22]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.3K

You felt nervous when you got ready to go to Hongjoong's place to work. The last time you saw each other and spoke, it was at your shop where Hongjoong confessed his feelings for you and you realised that you may have feelings for him too. You drank your iced tea with a soft sigh.

*DING DONG*

"Coming!" You put your mug down and went to answer the door. You felt your breath caught in your throat when you came face to face with Hongjoong.

"Hongjoong." For some reason, you didn't consider the possibility that he would come pick you up.

"Hey." He smiled at you.

"I'm almost ready... Come in." You returned a soft smile and stepped aside for Hongjoong to come in. Hongjoong bowed his head and removed his shoes, following you in.

"Sorry, I won't take too long. I just have some dishes I meant to clean." You hurried to the kitchen.

"Take your time, it's okay." He replied. Unlike last time, he didn't go to the couch, he stayed in the kitchen area with you.

"Can I help you? I can wash while you dry and put the plates back" He offered, already removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves before you could reply.

"With my dishes? No, no, Hongjoong. It's fine, really." You coughed, you really didn't expect him to offer his help. It almost felt wrong for him to be helping with dishes, he probably had people help with that but you felt bad for judging him like that.

"I can wash dishes, (y/n)." He chuckled.

"I'm already done. It's not much considering I'm one person." You laughed, putting them on the drying rack. They didn't have to be returned now, they could dry until you return home.

"Would you like some cold brew tea? The weather's quite warm today and it can cool you down." You asked.

"Sure. Thank you." He said. You moved to the fridge, filling one of your to-go mugs with the cold tea from the pitcher.

"Here you go." You held it out to him. He received the mug graciously and took a sip, nodding his head at the taste. You let out a sigh of relief and returned the pitcher.

"I was worried it might be too strong, I think I went overboard with the dried leaves." You giggled.

"Not at all. I have always been more of a coffee person but after drinking all the teas you made, you've changed me." He said.

"Don't flatter me." You playfully scoffed, finally able to let out the mental breath that you have been holding. Nothing has to change, you still can be comfortable around Hongjoong.

"Shall we go?" He asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." You nodded and grabbed your bag. Like the gentleman he is, Hongjoong held the box with all your gardening tools inside while you held the jacket he removed earlier. He unlocked the car and you tried to help him with putting the box in the boot. Then he opened the door for you to get in.

"Do you mind holding that for me?" He gestured to the blazer neatly tucked in your arms. You shook your head and he closed the door to go to the driver's side.

"Should we go for lunch before returning to the house?" Hongjoong asked, starting the loud engine.

"I don't know if we should be playing hooky." You shook your head.

"It's fine, I'm the boss and technically, your boss. So I don't have to work and I can say that you don't have to start work yet." He laughed and you giggled.

"Seonghwa might beg to differ." You pointed out. Hongjoong snorted but still drove to a place where you could both grab a meal.

"Here we are. Wooyoung says the sandwiches here are good." He said, pulling up into a parking space.

"Alright, only because you already drove here despite my protests." You chuckled and got out. You waited for Hongjoong to put the hood of the car up, trying to ignore the passing stares.

"Thanks, let's go." He jogged over to you and held the door open for you.

"Woah, I guess this is a popular place." You said, noticing how packed it was inside with people waiting around either for an empty table or their orders. There was no way you and Hongjoong would find an empty table so fast.

"We're definitely not getting a seat. It's fine, we'll just eat in the car." He stood beside you with a shrug, scrutinising the menu board with his hands into his pockets.

"Are you sure about that?" Your eyes widened as you turned to him. Eating in such an expensive car? What if you drop crumbs?

"Yeah, of course. It's fine, Mingi sends my car to get cleaned all the time." He grinned.

"Be careful." Hongjoong wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him to prevent someone carrying a tray of drinks from bumping into you.

"It's crammed in here." He said. You blinked, feeling flustered at how you were suddenly so close to him.

"R-Right." You cleared your throat, taking a step back slightly. You never noticed how nice Hongjoong smelt. Wait, what?

"Have you decided what you would like to have?" He leaned over to ask you. You looked up at the menu, focused on that instead of whatever happened just now and what your intrusive thoughts were.

"Umm, maybe I'll try to breakfast sandwich with a strawberry lemondade. It looks good." You said. Hongjoong nodded and continued to look at the menu, a little indecisive of what to order. When it was your turn to order, you both stepped up to the counter. Hongjoong gave your order first.

"I'll have the chicken cutlet sandwich. No lettuce, no tomato, no onions. Oh! And a berry smoothie. We'll get fries on the side to share." He ordered, fishing for his wallet.

"I can pay, Hongjoong." You said softly.

"It's fine." He smiled back and tapped his card on the reader before you could pay, receiving the order ticket from the cashier.

"I momentarily forgot you don't like vegetables." You giggled, remembering how he asked for all the vegetables to be removed from his sandwich.

"Why waste calories on things that don't taste good?" He questioned back with a smug look.

"Vegetables are delicious, Hongjoong. And they're good for you. You're worst than a child." You rolled your eyes.

"You're getting very naggy with me, like Hwa. I don't like that. Stop hanging around him so much." He narrowed his eyes at you, making you laugh.

It took you to realise that Hongjoong was using his body to shield you from the crowd in the shop. You stood between the wall and him, with him angling his body slightly, his back facing the rest of the shop to prevent anyone from possibly bumping into you.

"Order #128!" The cashier called out your number.

"Why don't you go outside? I'll get the food." He gave a kind smiled, moving past you to go to the pick up window. You left the shop and stood outside to wait for Hongjoong.

"Thank you for braving the crowd." You giggled when you saw Hongjoong emerge.

"No problem. I guess we shouldn't have come right before lunch rush." He chuckled, letting you take the drinks so he could unlock the car.

"It's fine, wasn't too bad." You said and opened the car to sit inside. You assumed you were going to sit here in the car and eat but Hongjoong started up the engine.

"Aren't we eating here?" You asked.

"We're eating in the car but not here. There's no nice scenary." Hongjoong snorted and began to drive.

"Ah, we don't need a nice scenary, Hongjoong. It's fine to eat in the carpark." You giggled. Hongjoong continued driving, parking in a spot by a park. Once he found a parking space that didn't have that many people walking through, he put the hood of the car down so the both of you could eat.

"Here." Hongjoong took the drinks from you, removing them from the cardboard holder to put them in the cupholder of the front console instead. Then he dug your sandwich out.

"This is yours. And I got sides to share." He laid the paperbag down as protection and balanced the tray of tater tots on top.

"Thank you for the food." You smiled and unwrapped your sandwich to take a bite.

"Sorry." You apologised and held your sandwich in one hand so you could take your ringing phone out. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw that it was Seonghwa calling.

"Hello, Seonghwa." You greeted. Hearing his best friend's name, Hongjoong looked at your curiously.

"Hi. Considering you're never late and that Hongjoong isn't picking up his phone, I'm guessing he detoured to some place?"

"You've guessed correctly. Sorry for being late-"

"Hwa, I told her it's fine to be late. I was the one that dragged her out for lunch before going to the house." Hongjoong took your phone from you to speak to Seonghwa.

"Yeah, we figured. I just wanted to make sure that she's with you, just in case anything happened while she was on the way here. Like I told her, I know (y/n) is never late so it must be your doing. Don't take too long, we have a 3pm meeting later."

"Ah, there you go, nagging me again. I won't be late for the meeting, I promise. If there are any papers, just put them on my desk." Hongjoong groaned.

"Hyung! I wanna speak to-"

Hearing the others in the background, Hongjoong hung up. He smiled innocently before handing you back your phone.

"Are we in trouble?" You asked. Even if you sounded like you were joking, Hongjoong could sense the underlying worry in your voice. He shook his head.

"Even if we were, it's most likely me that's in trouble. Not you." He smiled and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Your food is very... beige." You pointed out.

"Alright, I get it. I don't eat vegetables. Enough with the teasing!" He growled, holding his sandwich away from you so you couldn't make fun of him anymore.

As you finished the rest of the food, you both spoke comfortably with one another. It was easy to find common topics to talk about.

"We should go to the house. We're already late and I don't want to be any later." You said, your uncomfortableness evident in your voice now. Hongjoong nodded, not wanting to stress you out any further. He drove to the house. Just as he pulled up to the driveway, Seonghwa and Yeosang arrived on their bikes.

"Where were you two?" Hongjoong asked as they climbed off. Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, was Hongjoong really in the position to ask them that?

"Mingi fitted new suspensions so we went for a test run. Where were you, hyung?" Yeosang asked back.

"We went for a quick lunch." You replied, a little too quickly.

"Next time, we can take you for a ride if you'd like, (y/n)." Seonghwa offered with a wink. You giggled and nodded along, unable to see Hongjoong behind you, whose eyelid was twitching slightly.

"Go park your bikes, don't block the driveway." Hongjoong said to the two, leading you into the house.

"See you later." You bowed your head to the two.

"Don't take up their offer to ride with them. They're racers, it's not safe." Hongjoong cautioned. Your heart warmed, realising this was Hongjoong sharing more about their lives with you.

They all raced, cars and motorcycles. If you were going to really be around more, it was something that you would have to get used to.

"You should go to work before you're any later tooo. You can put the tools down here. I'll bring them to the garden myself." You said softly. Hongjoong shook his head and followed you to the garden. He placed the box on the ground.

"Thank you, Hongjoong. Not just for this but for the lunch... And picking me up." You added, bowing gratefully.

"It's no problem, (y/n). I like hanging out with you." He smiled softly, placing a hand on the top of your head. You smiled back at him, feeling your heart race.

"I'll see you later?" He tilted his head. You nodded and gave him a small wave as he went into the building.

"Okay, calm down." You told yourself and let out a long exhale.

"Good afternoon, (y/n). Is it okay if I work in the gazebo?" San walked over to you and asked with a smile, his laptop and some files tucked under his arm.

"Of course. It's your house, San... I'm merely a visiting worker. You shouldn't ask me." You giggled.

"You know you're not just a worker here. Not to us." He smiled kindly and bowed his head before going to the gazebo to work.

You went back to work, pruning the surrounding hedges. They were growing well, looking healthy and providing a little 'fence' around that main garden bed.

"Yes! Hello there." You cheered when you noticed how some of the herbs in the box were growing well that you could harvest some. The rosemary stalks, lemon balm and sweet basil plants were ready to be picked. You stood up and went back into the house to get a bowl from the kitchen.

"Hey, (y/n). What's going on with that?" Wooyoung asked, seeing you emerge from the kitchen with a metal bowl.

"Some herbs can be picked so I'm gonna harvest them. Maybe the cooks can use some for cooking." You informed with an excited giggle. Wooyoung's eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Can I see?"

"Of course." You smiled and he followed you out. You bent down by the herb bed and began to harvest some.

"So what are all these?" He asked, deciding to bend down to be on the same height as you to get a closer look at what you were doing.

"Rosemary grows quickly and it's a sturdy plant so there's quite a bit of harvest. This is lemon balm, it comes from the same family as mint so it looks similar, great for making tea." You explained.

"Okay, I know this one. Basil, I learnt how to make pasta from the chefs the other day." Wooyoung smiled.

"Do you have an interest in cooking?" You asked.

"It's popular with girls... A skill I can show off..." Wooyoung said with a sheepish smile, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment as he admitted to you. For someone always confident, it was the first time you saw him so flustered.

"I understand." You hummed and finished collecting the herbs, putting them into the bowl. Wooyoung walked to see what San was up to while you headed back into the house.

"Here you go." You handed the chef the bowl full of fresh herbs.

"Wow, they smell amazing. Thank you, I'll definitely put them to good use." He smiled.

"I'm glad." You giggled and went back to work. With the garden slowly getting healthier, there was less maintenance for you to do now. It was a good sign.

"Oh! (y/n)." Hongjoong stopped on the staircase, looking up from his phone. When he saw you, the frown on his face dissipated.

"Hi." You waved, noticing he was in new clothes, a full suit that looked a lot more formal.

"I'm... heading out. How's the garden?" He asked, pointing to the front door where he was going to leave, coming down the last few steps so he could talk to you a little closer.

"It's going great, actually. I harvested some herbs with Wooyoung earlier to give to the chef. With the garden in good condition, maybe I'll only need to come once a week to water and maintain it." You stated with a proud nod. But Hongjoong didn't really like the idea of you coming less.

"Come over less...?" Hongjoong repeated the only part of your statement that he focused on.

"I mean, it frees up a day to do other things. Not work. Besides, it feels unfair for you guys to pay me when I don't have work to do." You shrugged with a giggle.

"You know it doesn't matter. I'll pay to have you around more." Hongjoong smiled, speaking honestly, making you flustered.

"Sorry, I have to go. I'll see you?" He checked his watch.

"Yeah, don't be sorry. Have a nice meeting." You smiled. He grinned back and walked to the front door while you went the opposite direction, going back to the garden.

"Where did you go?" Wooyoung asked, leaning against the pole of the gazebo where San was working.

"I-I was giving the chefs the herbs that we collected." You stuttered, leaving out the part where you spoke to Hongjoong.

"Then why are you stuttering? Did something else happen, hmm?" He sang as he teased you with a smug smile, leaning forward until his face was mere inches from yours.

"Don't bother her." San reached out to shove him. Wooyoung let out a cackling laugh. You didn't know if Hongjoong told the others about you and him yet. They were his brothers first so you were not in the position to tell them anything.

"I'm going back to the garden." You stomped away, wanting to get away from this conversation.

RINGGGGG

"Hello? Oh, Jihoon ah." You pressed the phone between your ear and your shoulder to talk to him as you worked. Hearing 'Jihoon', San and Wooyoung looked at each other.

"Woo, don't interfere. They're not officially together yet." San reminded, seeing the look on his best friend's face.

"I know that but I have to help the captain if there's competition, right?" Wooyoung scoffed.

"He can handle himself." San sighed.

"I'm not letting her attention be taken away by another man. I have to help my captain." Wooyoung declared, marching towards where you were talking on the phone.

"Well, leave me out of it." San mumbled with a shake of his head, looking back at his papers.

"Hey, (y/n)! Stop working! Let's go get some ice cream! It's so hot out." Wooyoung yelled, making sure Jihoon would have heard him.

"Yeah, I'm at work... It's fine, I'll call you when I'm done with work. Alright, Jihoon. Have a great day." You said and hung up. You shot Wooyoung an odd look, wondering why there was a need to shout when you were right there and obviously on the phone. But then again, Wooyoung was always chaotic and loud.

"I can't just stop and have ice cream. I'm working, Wooyoung." You raised an eyebrow.

"But you were on the phone~ And it's so hot out, you deserve a treat to cool off and as a 'good job' for all your hard work!" He gave you a thumbs up, putting his arm around you.

"Do I want to know why Wooyoung was shouting?" Seonghwa asked from the second floor, leaning down.

"Want ice cream?" Wooyoung asked back.

"Sure." Seonghwa shrugged and came downstairs. Soon, Mingi and Jongho also emerged, somehow having heard about there being ice cream to eat.

"Should we call San?" You asked, eating a spoonful of your ice cream, remembering the male working outside by the garden.

"I'll text him." Mingi said after he finished putting the toppings over his ice cream.

"Why are you all here suddenly eating ice cream?" Yeosang came into the kitchen, seeing everyone scattered around. San snorted as he scooped his ice cream but didn't say a word.

"Because it's hot out. When do we need a reason to enjoy some ice cream?" Wooyoung asked. But deep down, he knew he was going to hold this against the captain because he so owes Wooyoung a favour right now.

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queersolaris · 7 months ago

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I watched Flow (2024) a few days ago and I have been itching to get my thoughts out in some kind of way!! So don’t mind me gushing/ psychoanalysis this absolutely amazing movie—

This post will probably be all over the place cause I am still processing everything; forgive the jumbling thoughts

I think this movie had so many angles to see it from~ I totally got the found family (MY BRAND) and climate change perspectives buuuut what got me tearing up was interpreting it as parts of a person processing trauma

“oh this feels like it should be a video game” was actually my first thought

From the silence, style, hell even the boat steering felt like a game mechanic-- it kept coming to mind that this was similar to games like Brothers: a tale of two sons or When the past was around (kinda)?

It seemed obvious that there is trauma going on; how could there not be with an event like that? The theme that got me thinking it was more so about parts was 'reflection'

Obviously it starts and ends with a scene of the cat looking at itself in the water; but there was also our lemur friend being obsessed with their reflection in the mirror. From the angle of it being about parts dealing with trauma here is my dump of thoughts— I know its not that deep but I JUST GOTTA GET THIS OUTTA ME

The stags running represents the trauma event itself and the water felt like the overwhelming feelings that come afterwards-- something you can’t control it’s depth and suffocated by as it keeps rising no matter how much you try to escape/ignore it

The cat being in a house that is already run down feels like it’s clinging onto anything that is familiar but the feelings won’t let the cat survive— feelings will create the need for change and that’s is unavoidable (especially with trauma) The run down house could also have represented the way the cat has settled in poor conditions with time, old memories from a simpler time, and that can lead to isolation

Cat = representing resilience/self sustainability through situations which is why it is the main POV; it can lead to overwhelm and helplessness when isolated but it is the adaptability that is needed to progress (throughout the movie or trauma)-- the statues at the house could also be seen as almost versions of that; moments that it was bigger, smaller, more mobile but always is the same form

Dog = it was interesting that this character was introduced at the start but not along the journey the whole time right? I thought they were a representation of surviving through socializing— there is childishness and innocence but it is mainly always seen with others or serving others

Maybe the dog even could represent a child self ; something always willing to trusts others and help selflessly They do jump in to protect but in a way that is not rejecting

Capybara = survival by freezing or floating thru the situation— which is why we get to see them already on the boat, their focus is to nurture itself for the next day… taking it one day at a time and doing what it could but not worrying too much about the things it can’t help

Bird = the opposite of our doggy friend— we meet it as the one of the first to be around others of its kind but there is a self sacrificing nature to it. Giving its food to fighting for the cats safety... it has a protective role; however in a way that reject risks of the groups survival/comfort (with the pack of dogs) yet when that over protectiveness leaves… the situation ends soon after

I wondered before the bird disappeared if it was meant to be a older self— still juxtaposed to the dog— something with more trust issues because of experience, it looks after the other parts, even steers the others in the right direction... the connection to the cat also felt right ya know?? The parts of you that are willing to adapt usually come out the most in adulthood or when you need to be your more 'mature' self

There is also the concept of the flight response it could represent; which is why they did not want to be around the pack of dogs— almost showing it wanting to run/keep away from others

It disappearing felt like maybe there was something else— like this is meant to represent passing on a part or habit that kept healing at bay but was necessary to move through the trauma

Lemur = obsessed with material and it’s own reflection— it seems to be the part that tries to survive with status and the approval of others; of course being self destructive…

Maybe representing rumination, clinging onto things that are apart of the familiarity (which is why the movie kept the ball from the house as a reoccurring object), and even masking since the mirror was something that gave it company later before realizing it wasn’t the kind of company it wanted

The foundations crumble suddenly, the overflow of emotions (water) starts to sink in; leaving things different and the same (it seems like the same forest/area). We see the stags again running like before-- which almost indicates that something similar could happen. Then the cat waits for it all to happen again; the worst. When nothing does it runs after them almost looking for an answer, I think we've all been there; trying to figure out why our responses vary or what is was about us that has changed from before that makes things easier. That's when the cat gets to see our final part:

Whale = this thing made me cry for sure because throughout the story it felt like this represented old coping mechanisms (like from childhood); something that kept you a float or going no matter how dire things became—when rock bottom would hit in the middle of floating/navigating so many feelings-- it ensured survival. Even when the cat finally learned to fish for itself (which now i wonder was meant to be like naming emotions or processing things bit by bit) the whale shows up once more almost to be a reminder that it was still around even when not fully needed. At the end when foundations crumbled, the whale is no longer able to survive… and the cat is able to thank it for its help.

The water was there the whole movie but there was little times when the cat seemed to look at it's reflection. When it did it again at the end of the movie but with whole group being together-- I was obviously crying because dammit undertale you’re right despite everything it is still you

OH about the video game thought— looking at this from the lens of a trauma response; it did make more sense to be told as a movie; I mean with a game I can pause… I can take myself out of their experience and feel in control with a situation that is meant to not let us feel any

So being a movie instead is actually perfect

#flow 2024 #personal #text post #I’ve munched on this enough #journal #i feel like i'm going to read about the creators to learn that it really isn't that deep sure BUT the parasites #flow movie #i hope yall enjoyed my silly little thoughts

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ambrosiagourmet · 1 year ago

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Hey, Kabru and Mithrun spend some interesting time together, don't they?

With Mithrun having just officially premiered in the anime, and a lot of discussions swirling around about him, I've been thinking a lot about that section of the story quite a bit. These chapters - Roasted Walking Mushroom and 6 Days - are some of my favorites. For a lot of reasons, really. Not only are they are a huge turning point for the story as a whole, but they have some excellent character work, and represent an important shift in Kabru and Mithrun's individual arcs and relationship to each other.

The chapters are also kind of a fully contained story arc just on their own, which is an impressive bit of writing, and makes them super fun to analyze. So that's exactly what I'm going to do!

This will be structured as a close reading of chapters 61 & 62, with some asides for additional important context. I'm going to talk a little bit about a reading that I disagree with, but for the most part I just want to focus on how Kabru and Mithrun's relationship progresses during these two chapters. In particular, the ways they both grow from the time they spend together.

Also I just want to quickly note that this isn't written as Ship Content. It's meant to be an analysis of their relationship as presented in the text - layer whatever additional meanings and filters on top of that as you'd like, but please respect that my intent is not to talk about or champion a ship, or frame any of this content as romantic.

So, with that all being said:

How do Kabru and Mithrun help each other?

First of all, I think there are two important pieces of context that inform the Kabru & Mithrun Dungeon Adventure chapters. Both are related to Kabru's state of mind, and both are set up before or during the chapters in question.

The first is the context of what happened just before Kabru and Mithrun fell into the dungeon. Specifically, the events that led Kabru to make them fall.

Kabru, essentially, gives up his life at the end of chapter 55. When he stops Mithrun, and when they both plummet with the collapse of the first floor, he is okay with dying. Mithrun warns him that they will both die if Kabru doesn't let him go, and Kabru accepts this as a worthwhile exchange.

Why?

Well, because he doesn't want the elves to take over the dungeon. Throughout the last 3 chapters, the Canaries have been effective, but they have also been cruel in their efficiency, and they have made it clear that they don't care about collateral damage. They lured people into the dungeon specifically to provoke a violent reaction from it, without regard for who might get hurt by the violence.

What's more, they are keeping important information from Kabru, and he knows it.

He's not just looking for a solution, he's looking for the truth - a truth that he believes that he will only find through conquering the dungeon. With good reason, to be fair! The elves make it very clear that they aren't there to treat the other races on the Island as equals.

So Kabru uses the only tool he has available to him - his own life. It won't get him the truth, but it at least gives a chance for another person from a short-life species (namely, Laios) to earn it in his place.

This dovetails nicely with the more thematic context that's introduced in at the start of chapter 61: the room where he could eat all the cake he wanted.

This place, a place that Kabru never wants to go back to, is a place where he is safe, and a place where he is ignorant. A place where he is sheltered from danger, but also from the truth. The same place the Island would become, if the Canaries had their way. He doesn't just want to be safe, and he doesn't even just want the world to be safe, though he does want to be able to protect people from what happened in Utaya.

But he doesn't just want to entrust that safety to the paternalism of the elves (especially since he is all too aware of the ways they can fail, or the people they are willing to sacrifice in the name of that "safety"). He wants to be given the agency to seek safety and peace for himself.

He wants to understand. And he wants the chance to act.

This is the context we have, going into the arc of 61 & 62. But before I talk about how the chapters build on this context, I want to take a step back and look at what else the chapters establish early on, before delving into their exploration of Kabru's agency.

First of all, I kind of want to challenge the framing of Kabru and Mithrun's relationship as solely that of a caretaker and his charge.

Obviously, Kabru is forced into a caretaker position - at the threat of his friend's safety, no less. (Okay, it's actually Toshiro and Namari that are being held, but still. There are hostages involved in this) But I do think it's important that Mithrun isn't the one who puts Kabru in this position - Cithis is.

Before this conversation, Kabru and Mithrun are already exploring the dungeon together. Mithrun doesn't threaten Kabru, or force his hand. He kind of just assumes that Kabru will join him. It's rude, and not particularly respectful, but given the dangers of navigating a dungeon alone, I don't think that's really an unreasonable assumption. And it certainly isn't the same as Cithis' approach.

If they were left alone with no intervention, they probably would have ended up in a similar position to the one that Cithis leveraged them into. Kabru is smart, and he could have figured out the things that Mithrun needed help with. And, to be clear, those are things that Mithrun needs help with not because he is selfish or thinks they are owed to him, but because he is disabled. It's not unreasonable for him to need that help, and it's not unreasonable for Kabru to provide it, under the circumstances.

Besides, they both need each other down there. Kabru wouldn't have survived without Mithrun - he doesn't know enough about monsters, and isn't familiar with the deeper dungeon's layout. And Mithrun wouldn't survive without Kabru - he isn't able to notice his basic needs and would burn himself out without food or rest, making him an easy target for the monsters he could otherwise take care of on his own.

Aside from both needing each other, another interesting layer to their relationship, which is established right away, is that Kabru doesn't have to - and literally cannot - put on a mask of social niceties around Mithrun. He can't suck up. It doesn't work.

So Kabru, who spends so much of his time concerned with how others perceive him, and who compromises his own comfort in order to become the most appealing version of himself at any given time, has that tool taken away. He has to help Mithrun, but notably, he can only help Mithrun to a certain point. He cannot compromise his open and honest feelings to help maintain someone else's view of the world - or at very least, it doesn't benefit him at all to do so.

Instead, they sit together, in the same position, share the same shitty mushroom dinner, because they both have to:

And that's notable, too. They both have to. Cithis' demand is most specific about the need to eat. Three meals a day! But this is something they both need, not just Mithrun.

Still, their relationship at this point still isn't exactly supportive, or even respectful. Kabru may have realized that he didn't need to keep up an act around Mithrun, but ya know, he still turns around an immediately try to, with that shitty mushroom dinner.

(The 'badly drawn shapeshift Kabru' gag here isn't just funny, imo, it's also a reminder of the thing he JUST LEARNED. Mithrun is immune to the Kabru smile anime sparkles filter.)

Mithrun also doesn't tell Kabru any helpful information at this point, and doesn't really put much effort into helping him at all. He slaps him awake out of a Nightmare, and treats him with the same disregard he did at the start of the chapter, focused entirely on moving ahead.

But then Mithrun collapses, and the current structure of their relationship collapses with him.

I think it's interesting here that the shift in their dynamic also includes Mithrun explicitly noticing Kabru's desires. Obviously it's not actually like some kind of I truly see you and recognize your humanity moment shared between them, but I do still like the way that it pulls Kabru's internal wants to the surface. Kabru not voicing his desires doesn't mean they don't exist, and Mithrun recognizes that the same way the dungeon does.

And then Mithrun does, in fact, grant one of Kabru's deepest desires. He tells Kabru the truth.

Just like how they are working together in the first place, this truth is as much a necessary concession to survival as anything. But that doesn't mean it's not impactful for Kabru. This is the thing that every other elf in his life has kept from him. A secret foundational to his core belief that long-life and short-life species can never come to mutual understanding.

And Mithrun isn't just giving him the bare minimum information here. What he shares isn't just a truth, it's his truth. It's a level of complete and total vulnerability that few people share with each other. And again - some of this may just be coincidence and necessity. I imagine Mithrun is so open, at least in part, because he doesn't have the same barriers that other people do when it comes to sharing these things.

But, then again... we see Mithrun at his most vulnerable and empathetic when he is talking to dungeon lords & potential dungeon lords, and trying to convey to them the truth of the trap they are walking into.

This face:

Is very similar to this face:

These are some of the few instances that we see Mithrun emote in this way, and his story does come just after he notices the dungeon responding to Kabru's desires.

But, no matter if Mithrun's openness is in response to Kabru being tangled in the dungeon's hunger, or just part of his nature (or, maybe, a little of both), his story changes things for Kabru. It gives him the chance to make actual choices, now that he understands the truth. It gives him a chance at agency in the story.

And he immediately turns around and uses some of that agency in an interesting way:

When asked about why he can't sleep, Mithrun says he needs to be magically compelled. Being magicked to sleep is simple, and it is efficient, but he doesn't even just say it's the best option. He seems to believe it is the only option.

So much in Mithrun's recovery has been framed through how it will let him fight the demon. Recover so that you can return to the dungeon. Sleep so that you can return to the dungeon. Eat so that you can return to the dungeon.

But rest, much like eating, isn't just about achieving the bare minimum required for efficiency. And as Senshi would probably say, the easiest path isn't always the best.

I don't think that the Canaries are intentionally running Mithrun ragged or anything, but as I mentioned earlier, they are very focused on efficiency, with little thought spared to what is lost or hurt in the process.

And there is something different about Mithrun's time with Kabru in the dungeon. Lycion even notes it, when they finally connect back up.

I don't think it's a huge leap to say that how Mithrun falls asleep here is emblematic of that difference. When Kabru helps Mithrun to sleep by massaging his feet, rather then using magic, he is explicitly taking a step beyond the minimum. He is providing comfort to a body that has been given only necessities for a long, long time.

These two events - Mithrun sharing the truth of the dungeon with Kabru, and Kabru choosing to help Mithrun to sleep through a foot massage - shift their relationship. There's a clear difference in how we see them treat each other, and especially in how Mithrun treats Kabru.

Before, Kabru provides food that he has gathered himself (okay, it was a mushroom he put his foot through on floor one, but the point still stands that Mithrun offered no help at all with getting food).

Afterwards, they gather food together.

Before, Mithrun teleports Kabru towards a monster, using him as a weapon when he can't find anything else.

Afterwards, he helps Kabru escape monsters, and fights them directly.

Before, he slaps Kabru awake after 5 hours of uncomfortable, Nightmare-filled sleep. A rest which, notably, Kabru didn't even intend to take for himself.

Afterwards, we see Mithrun keeping watch while Kabru sleeps in a bedroll.

I don't necessarily think that all of these things are choices that Mithrun consciously makes. Like, after 6 days, Kabru would have to get some actual sleep eventually, and Mithrun would pretty obviously have to keep watching during that time.

Nonetheless, there's still a difference in how these scenes are framed, and the fact that it is these things that are used to portray their journey together. Kabru is not the sole person providing food and sleep and safety - they provide these things for each other. Kabru eats alongside Mithrun, hunts alongside Mithrun, and he sleeps in the same way we see Mithrun sleep, laying down and resting deeply enough to be groggy when woken up.

What's more, during their time together, there are even a couple of instances of Kabru being more willing to care for himself and accept care. The sleeping is one example - note how he is surprised at having slept "that long" when told he was asleep for less than even the minimum recommended amount of nightly sleep - but I think the pattern of his eating is even clearer. In making sure that Mithrun eats regularly, he is forced to eat regularly too.

And I especially like the progression with the Barometz meal. After Mithrun has fallen asleep, Kabru thinks about wanting to "give [Mithrun] something nice to eat," but also notes that Mithrun's lack of desire "means there isn't even anything he wants to eat." So what does Kabru do?

He makes Mithrun something that he wants to eat.

I've already talked a bit about the ways that Dungeon Meshi depicts people finding support through "borrowing" the desires of the people who care for them, and I think this scene is a great example of that idea. Especially in the way that it pulls an expression of desire from Kabru, who is so prone to ignore his own hunger and needs. The meal may not end up anywhere close to the flavor intended, but it's still a far cry from the roasted walking mushroom.

All of these pieces come together at the end of chapter 62, resulting in a pivotal choice that could only happen because of the ways Kabru and Mithrun have, at least a little bit, grown closer to each other.

As they are preparing to leave, Kabru hears a bell ringing in the dungeon, just as he hears Toshiro's matching bell on the other side of the portal. Realizing Laios is nearby, Kabru hesitates. He knows the truth about the demon, and how he has a chance to act on it.

Cithis, the person who extorted Kabru into taking care of Mithrun in the first place, pushes for Mithrun to follow along with the plan.

(okay a quick aside here I just want to say I do love Cithis and I'm not trying to bash on her here. I just think it's interesting that she is the one to establish the terms of Mithrun & Kabru's cooperation, as well as the one who tells Mithrun to leave the dungeon at the end of the chapter)

But Mithrun doesn't go along with her command. Instead, he does something unexpected:

He asks what Kabru wants to do.

In contrast to Milsiril's smothering comfort,

and in contrast to his Mithrun's own assumption that Kabru will follow him, when they first wake up in the dungeon,

Mithrun follows Kabru's lead.

This, right here, is the change between them. Not only that, but it's a shift in the entire balance of agency in the dungeon. For what might be the first time in a very long time, Kabru - a tall-man - knows the truth, and is acting on it. He makes a huge decision purely on his own judgement. He is not trying to appease or coerce anyone, and he doesn't win Mithrun over by hiding his true intentions.

Rather, it's the honesty between them that builds to this moment. Mithrun's honesty earns Kabru's trust, and Kabru's honesty earns Mithrun's respect. They bond not because they are forced to spend time together, but because they choose to spend that time giving each other more than the bare minimum - even when they are both people used to accepting the bare minimum.

It echoes Laios' argument with Toshiro, in a way. They eat three square meals a day (Cithis mandated admittedly), they get plenty of sleep, and in doing these things, they take each other seriously. They treat each other as more than just a means to an end.

I don't necessarily think it's a flawless, unbreakable bond that's built during this time - hell, they both kind of revert back to their old behavior, once reunited with the rest of the Canaries. People don't completely change their habits overnight, after all.

But it is a shift. It's a shift that gives Kabru the chance to steer the story towards the ending he has fought for all his life, and it's a shift that helps Mithrun find a way to move forward after he loses his own reason for living. They reach their goals, and then they step past them - facing life beyond the moments they thought defined their reasons for living. Facing life beyond the bare minimum.

And that is how they help each other.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #kabru of utaya #mithrun of the house of kerensil #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi analysis

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justarkive · 4 months ago

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TABLE 3 | JJK ch6

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , jungkook shows up unannounced, angst at the end :( oc finds something which makes her rlly upset, FLIRT. jungkook. they are quite literally so into eachother. he catches her stalking him (sorry guys, i had to.)

wc: short n sweet today guys </3

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020

masterlist < prev | next >

The morning sun filters through the blinds, streaks of light painting lazy patterns across the walls. You blink against the brightness, groaning softly as the weight of last night lingers in your body—not in a bad way, but in that way where reality feels just a little softer, like a dream still clinging to the edges of your mind.

There’s a weight beside you, the warmth of another body tucked comfortably into your side, and when you finally force yourself to turn, you see Nari sprawled across your bed, mouth slightly open, one arm draped over her forehead dramatically. She’s still out cold.

You blink, piecing things together, and the memories from last night rush in—the way you and Jungkook had sat together outside, the way his voice had dipped when he asked if you’d ever listened to his music, the way his eyes lingered a second too long before Nari had pulled up.

And then the aftermath.

Nari had driven you home, but the second you’d stepped inside, it was like you’d both been hit with a second wind. She’d barely even gotten her shoes off before launching into questions, voice high and excited as she demanded every little detail.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. You guys were looking at each other like… like…” she’d flailed, eyes wide, “like you were the main characters in a romance drama. It was disgusting.”

You had only laughed, cheeks warm, shoving at her shoulder. “It was not that deep.”

“No, babe, it was,” she had insisted, leaning in, eyes twinkling. “So? How do you feel? What are you thinking? Are you like, head over heels already, or are we still in the honeymoon denial phase?”

And so it had gone. You’d ended up talking for hours, the energy of the night refusing to die down, until at some point, the exhaustion had hit all at once. One minute you’d been lying on your bed, still caught up in conversation, and the next, Nari had been out like a light, curled up next to you, and you hadn’t been far behind.

Now, as you blink against the morning, everything feels just a little surreal.

Nari shifts beside you, letting out a dramatic groan as she stretches. “Mmm, why is the sun attacking me?”

You laugh, reaching over to nudge her. “Because you insisted on sleeping with the blinds open. ‘Natural light is the best alarm clock,’ remember?”

She groans louder, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in a pillow. “I was a fool.”

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head. “Come on, we need to get ready. We have work.”

At that, she lifts her head just enough to peek at you, a slow grin forming. “Ohhh, you mean you have another excuse to check your phone all shift?”

You roll your eyes, shoving her again, but she only laughs, sitting up and ruffling her hair. “I don’t blame you, though,” she says, hopping out of bed. “If Jungkook was texting me, I’d be obsessed too.”

“I’m not obsessed,” you mumble, but your cheeks betray you, warming at the thought.

Nari wiggles her brows as she makes her way to the bathroom. “Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

The morning goes by in a blur of getting dressed, brushing teeth, and trying to shake off the lingering sleepiness. By the time you’re both ready, it’s like clockwork—grabbing bags, slipping on shoes, and heading out together.

—

Work is… work. The usual rush of customers, the clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation filling the air. But there’s something different about today.

Or rather, there’s something different about you.

Your phone buzzes in your apron pocket, and despite knowing you shouldn’t, you can’t help the way your fingers itch to check it.

[ iMessage ]

Jungkook: hows work? missing me much?

You bite back a smile, shaking your head.

Y/N: dont flatter yourself too much, and it’s boring, same old.

Jungkook: Too late. You thinking about me?

Y/N: I’m thinking about how I have actual work to do.

Jungkook: But still texting me. Interesting.

You scoff, but before you can type a reply, a voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Oh my god, you cannot be serious.”

You look up just in time to see Nari smirking at you from behind the counter, arms crossed.

“You have been glued to your phone all day,” she teases, leaning in. “Is it him? It’s him, isn’t it?”

You huff, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She gasps, placing a hand over her chest dramatically. “Wow. Lying to your best friend? This is serious.”

Before you can retaliate, a customer approaches, forcing Nari to straighten up and greet them with her usual bright smile. But as you go back to work, you catch her watching you out of the corner of your eye, that knowing smirk still playing at her lips.

And maybe, just maybe, she has a point.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted, feet aching and mind still buzzing. You barely have time to get comfortable when your phone lights up again.

Jungkook: home yet?

Y/N: yeah, just arrived wbu?

Jungkook: Good. You left something with me, by the way.

You frown, sitting up a little.

Y/N: ??

Jungkook: Guess you’ll just have to see.

Your brows furrow, confusion settling in, but before you can ask what he means, there’s a knock at your door.

Your heart stops. No way.

Scrambling off the couch, you hurry to the door, barely remembering to check the peephole before swinging it open. And there he is.

Jungkook, standing in your doorway, looking way too pleased with himself.

In his hand, he holds something up—a tube of lip gloss.

“You left this,” he says, smirking.

You stare at him, processing. “You—”

“Figured you’d want it back,” he adds, voice light, teasing.

Your jaw drops. “You could have just told me! What if someone saw you? What if—”

He grins, stepping forward slightly. “Relax. No one saw me. I promise.”

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty, but he looks so… content. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Then, softer, “I’m sorry. Should I go?”

Something in you hesitates. You should probably be annoyed, but the truth is, you don’t want him to leave.

You sigh, stepping aside. “Just… come in.”

His smile widens as he steps past you.

“Ignore the mess,” you add quickly, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

He chuckles, looking around. “Looks fine to me.”

And just like that, he’s here, in your space, and your heart is racing for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

But one thing’s for sure.

You really, really don’t want him to leave.

“You want anything to eat?” you ask, already making your way toward the kitchen.

Jungkook follows lazily, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he leans against the doorway. “I’m not complaining if you’ve got something.”

You hum, opening the fridge, scanning its contents. “Uh, I don’t have much. Just… some leftovers, snacks, instant ramen.” You glance at him over your shoulder. “That work for you?”

He grins. “Instant ramen sounds perfect.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab two packets and start preparing them. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you as you move around the kitchen, filling the pot with water, waiting for it to boil. There’s something oddly comfortable about it—having him here, leaning against the counter like he belongs.

“Your place is nice,” he muses, eyes drifting around. “Very… you.”

You scoff. “What does that even mean?”

He smirks. “I don’t know. Cozy. Lived in.” His eyes flicker to the corner of the room, where a small collection of potted plants sits near the window. “You really like plants, huh?”

You glance at them, smiling softly. “Yeah. They give me something to look after.”

Jungkook nods, stepping closer to get a better look. “I get that. I have a dog—Bam. He’s basically my kid at this point.”

Your lips curl into a grin. “I think taking care of a whole dog is a lot harder than a few plants.”

“Maybe,” he admits, “but they both need love, right?”

Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten just a little. You turn back to the ramen, stirring absentmindedly. “That’s sweet.”

A comfortable silence settles between you as you finish cooking. A few minutes later, you’re both curled up on the couch, bowls in hand, eating in companionable quiet.

Jungkook glances around again, his gaze landing on a small shelf filled with books and framed pictures. Setting his bowl down, he stands and makes his way over, examining them.

“You and Nari, huh?” he muses, picking up a photo of the two of you, arms thrown around each other, wide grins on your faces.

You swallow your mouthful of noodles, nodding. “Yeah. We’re really close, if you cant tell.”

“Oh i can, trust me.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’ve known each other long?”

You nod again, settling into the couch. “Since I started working at the restaurant. It’s been… what, five years now? She was one of the only people who talked to me when I first got there. I was kind of an outsider, didn’t really know how things worked. But Nari showed me the ropes. We’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Jungkook’s lips curve into a soft smile as he places the photo back. “That’s nice. It’s rare to find people like that.”

You glance up at him. “What about you? Do you have a best friend?”

There’s a slight hesitation before he answers, like he’s carefully choosing his words. “Yeah. I mean, I’m close with all my members—we’re like family at this point. No- we are family actually- and I have friends outside of work, too.” He looks at you, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “Why? You jealous?”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm nonetheless. “Oh, totally. Just dying to be your best friend.”

He chuckles, plopping back down onto the couch beside you. “I mean, you’re already halfway there.”

You shoot him a look. “Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nudging you playfully.

You shake your head, finishing the last of your ramen. The conversation slows, but it’s not awkward. If anything, there’s something… nice about the quiet, the way you’re just sitting there, existing in each other’s presence.

Jungkook leans back, exhaling softly. “I like this.”

You glance at him. “Like what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely between you. “Just… hanging out. No cameras, no expectations.”

Your heart stirs at his words. You don’t say anything, but you don’t need to.

Instead, you just nod, letting the moment linger.

And for a while, neither of you move.

Jungkook watches as you disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you. Left to his own devices, he leans back into your couch, stretching his arms before letting out a deep breath. His eyes wander around your apartment again, settling on your coffee table.

Your laptop sits open.

Curious, he nudges the touchpad, bringing the screen back to life. The last thing you had open was a YouTube tab, and without thinking, he clicks on it.

That’s when he sees it.

His name. In your search history.

His eyes widen slightly, scanning the list of videos you’d recently watched. There were quite a few. Some interviews, a couple of performance clips, even an edit—oh, this was good. A slow grin spreads across his lips as he scrolls further, and then—

Oh.

One title in particular catches his attention. BTS Jungkook - Permission to Dance in LA (Full Focus Cam! + Backstage)

Jungkook raises a brow, amusement sparking in his chest. Oh, this was too good. He glances toward the bathroom, making sure he still has time, before clicking on the video.

The music starts, and he watches himself take the stage, all confident and fluid, moving effortlessly across the screen. But then—then the camera zooms in on that part.

The part where he’s fully feeling himself, exuding every ounce of charisma he has. Where his movements are just a little too smooth, a little too suggestive. He smirks.

Just as the video reaches the peak of that moment, the bathroom door swings open.

You step out, stretching, but freeze the second your brain registers the music playing from your laptop. Your stomach drops.

“Oh my god.”

Jungkook looks up, beaming. “Oh, hey, you’re back.”

Your eyes snap to the screen, and you almost die on the spot.

The video is playing in full volume. Full volume.

“Oh my god, no—” You rush forward, but Jungkook is faster. He clicks pause, turning to you with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen.

“So,” he drawls, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. “You’ve been doing some research, huh?”

You slap the laptop shut so fast you swear you almost break it. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” he says, shaking his head, clearly thriving off this. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.”

Jungkook hums, pretending to think. “You know, I was wondering—if I looked at the watch time, would I see a certain part being, like, replayed a few times?” He quirks a brow, his smirk devastating.

Your jaw drops. “I—absolutely not—”

He chuckles, dragging his tongue along the inside of his cheek, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nah, but for real,” he says, tapping the laptop. “I totally get it. If I were you, I’d watch me too. I look too good in this.”

You groan even louder, ready to just fling yourself off the couch and onto the floor. “Please stop talking.”

“Oh, I will not.”

Jungkook leans in slightly, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “Be honest—was it this part?” He reaches for the laptop again, and you launch forward, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“I will kick you out.”

He just laughs, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

You glare at him, still gripping his arm. He just grins.

And you—well, you’re never opening YouTube around him again.

——

You glance at the clock, surprised by the time. It’s getting late, way later than you expected.

“You’re here pretty late,” you remark, your voice casual as you stand from the couch and stretch a little. “Don’t have anything to do tomorrow?”

Jungkook gives you that lazy smile of his, the one that you’re learning to recognize by now. “Nope. No work tomorrow,” he replies, his voice a little husky, like he’s savoring the moment. “I just wanted to chill for a bit, you know?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just wanted to chill?”

He shrugs, a little shrug of the shoulders that makes him look even more relaxed than he already is. “Yeah. You’re good company, and it’s been…a long time since I’ve had a chance to just, you know, hang out.”

The words hit you in a way you weren’t quite prepared for. Something about them just settles in your chest—this quiet honesty, this rare openness that he’s letting slip.

“Alright,” you say, a little softer than before, before plopping back down on the couch. You hit play on the movie, the soft glow of the screen filling the room.

For a while, the two of you don’t say anything. The movie plays in the background, but it’s not really what you’re paying attention to. He’s sitting next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, his presence beside you just…there.

And then, almost without noticing, he moves slightly.

You’re so wrapped up in the movie, in the strange sense of comfort that’s been building between you two, that when his arm moves over to your shoulder, you barely even flinch. It feels natural, effortless—like it’s something that’s always been meant to happen.

His arm settles around your shoulders, just resting there.

And, before you know it, your legs find themselves stretching out, and you casually drape them across his lap, feeling the soft, undeniable weight of his presence. Your heart beats a little faster, but you pretend like everything’s normal, like you’re just watching a movie like any other evening.

Except you’re not.

You don’t realize how close you’ve gotten until halfway through the movie, when you glance up at him. His face is lit by the glow of the TV, and you’re struck by how peaceful he looks, how relaxed, how…at ease.

You try to tear your eyes away. Focus on the movie.

But it’s impossible.

You end up staring at his side profile, unable to help it. The way his hair falls just a little in his face, the curve of his jaw, the way his lips move when he laughs quietly at something in the movie…

It’s too much.

You blink rapidly, your gaze flicking away, heart racing. You try to concentrate on the movie, on what’s happening on screen, but your brain’s too occupied with the fact that Jungkook’s right there, his arm around you, your legs on his lap, and the tension between you two building slowly, almost unnoticeably.

And you feel it.

You feel every beat of your pulse, every breath that’s just a little too shallow. You feel him. Every inch of him.

God, what is this?

You bite your lip, trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts, but the more you try to focus on the film, the more you find yourself distracted by his presence. It’s like he’s the only thing in the room, the only thing that matters right now.

And when you glance back at him again, his eyes flick to you, catching you in the act of looking at him.

His lips curve into a slow, teasing smile. “You good?”

You nod quickly, but the heat rising in your face betrays you. “Yeah, fine,” you mumble, shifting a little uncomfortably, trying to play it cool.

But your thoughts are anything but cool.

The rest of the movie seems to blur around you as you try—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way you can feel him so clearly, so undeniably, right there beside you. His warmth, his scent, the way his hand occasionally brushes against your arm.

You’re so distracted you don’t even hear what he’s saying until his voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice laced with something you can’t quite place. “You okay?”

You nod again, but you can’t seem to get the words out. The space between you feels electric, and it’s like the air around you both has thickened, changed.

He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say anything else either.

But he doesn’t need to.

——

You’ve long forgotten about the movie. The credits are rolling on the screen, but you couldn’t tell if you’re even watching anymore. It’s just noise in the background now, filling the space between you two. You’re sitting on the couch, the last of the snacks between you, sharing what’s left of them. The atmosphere is easy—comfortable, almost.

Your fingers brush when you both reach for the last chip. Neither of you pulls back, and it feels like a long moment where you both just look at each other for a beat. He’s got this amused look in his eyes, like he’s caught you in some kind of subtle game. You’re not sure who’s winning, but for some reason, you don’t care.

You end up laughing a little too much over the fact that the bowl’s completely empty now, and somehow, your legs end up tangled together on the couch. It’s ridiculous. You both just keep laughing, but the longer you sit there, the quieter the atmosphere grows, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel a little dizzy. You can’t really explain it, but the more you look at him, the more you can’t not look at him.

For a while, there’s a comfortable silence between you two. He’s stretched out on the couch, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, and you can’t help but notice how different the vibe feels. It’s not the usual playful teasing. There’s something a little more…real about tonight.

It’s him who breaks the silence first, his voice a little softer than before. “You ever think about what you want in life?” His words are a bit of a surprise, but the question’s casual, almost like it’s something he’s been thinking about.

You raise an eyebrow, unsure of where this is going, but you can tell he’s not just being playful. There’s something more to his tone. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep things light, but your curiosity gets the better of you.

He hesitates for a second, glancing away, as if he’s considering his words carefully. “I mean… what do you really want? Like, when everything calms down? When you’ve done all the crazy stuff and finally just get to have the life you want?”

You blink, a little taken aback by the sudden shift. This isn’t the Jungkook you’re used to—this isn’t the playful, teasing guy who’d rather joke around. This feels different. You glance at him, and his face is unreadable, eyes staring into the distance, like he’s trying to figure it all out.

“I don’t know,” you admit, honestly. “I think I just want… peace. Like, the kind of life where things aren’t so… loud. You know? Maybe I want that simple, boring life, where everything just makes sense.”

You think that would be the end of it, but he nods slowly, like he gets it. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “I think I want that, too. I want something simple.” His words come out softer now, and there’s a vulnerability there you didn’t expect. “Something real. I want to settle down one day, but I don’t know if that’s even possible, with everything I do.”

You can’t help but feel a small rush of warmth at how genuine he sounds. The Jungkook you know is the center of attention, always surrounded by people, always in the spotlight. Hearing him talk like this, so open and honest, makes your heart skip a beat.

“I don’t think I could do it if I didn’t have something real to come home to,” he continues, almost to himself, his gaze fixed ahead. “Like, a love that isn’t… complicated. No drama. Just someone who’s there, you know? Someone who gets it.”

You swallow hard, realizing just how different he is from the persona he puts out there. Jungkook, the idol, the magnet for attention, is telling you he just wants simplicity. And for some reason, that makes him even more attractive.

You stare at him, your thoughts momentarily distracted. You didn’t expect him to be like this, didn’t expect to hear about what he really wants—what he really needs. And the more you think about it, the more you realize you want to kiss him right now. But you don’t say it. You don’t act on it. Instead, you find yourself just looking at him, caught in the moment.

It’s then that the sound of the movie’s credits fill the room, the music fading as the screen goes dark. The sudden shift makes you blink, pulled back into the reality of the situation. You look at the time—it’s 3 a.m. already.

Jungkook glances at his phone, a soft curse slipping past his lips. “Damn, time flies.” He gives a half-laugh, glancing at you. “I really don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I kind of want to stay… longer.”

For a second, you can tell he’s seriously considering it, and the idea of him staying makes your chest tighten. But you manage to pull yourself together enough to say, “About that… sorry, I have work tomorrow.” You let the teasing tone back in, trying to lighten the moment. “You can always just waltz up here again, if you feel like it.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin crossing his face. “I might just do that.” He stretches, as though he’s ready to stay the night, and for a second, you think he might. But then, with a playful look, he stands up, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ll let you get some sleep. But don’t think I won’t be back,” he teases, the air between you two charged with unspoken words.

You laugh, but inside, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re both on the verge of something new.

You walk Jungkook to the door, the quiet of the night around you both making everything feel oddly intimate. As he stands in the doorway, he looks at you, his expression softer than usual, like he’s trying to remember something. You both linger there, not saying much. It’s one of those moments where you’re not sure what to say, but you know neither of you is ready for this night to end.

“Guess I should get going,” he says, his voice quiet, almost reluctant.

“Yeah…” you trail off, not quite sure if you’re ready for him to leave, but you smile anyway. “Thanks for coming by.”

His eyes flicker, and without a word, he pulls you into a quick hug, one that’s warm and a little too long, just enough for you to catch a breath before you both pull away. It feels like something more, but neither of you acknowledges it.

“Take care, alright?” he says, still holding your gaze.

You nod, feeling a little out of breath. “You too.”

Then, he steps out, and just before he turns to leave, he looks back, grinning. “I’ll see you soon,” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, maybe,” you reply, trying to keep the smile on your face, even as your heart beats a little faster than normal.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you stand there for a moment, just listening to the sound of the night. Your mind is still reeling from everything that happened tonight, the closeness, the teasing, the moments that felt like they meant more than they probably did.

Shaking your head, you move to tidy up, putting away the empty snack bowls and the remnants of the movie you’ve long forgotten about. The house feels quiet now, almost too quiet, and you find yourself moving around automatically. You go into your room, taking off your shoes, tossing your jacket onto the bed, and sitting down at the edge.

You pull your phone from your pocket, deciding to unwind with a bit of scrolling through your timeline. The bright screen feels like a good distraction from the swirl of thoughts in your head. Sending Jungkook a quick ‘Hope you got home okay, goodnight :)’ text,

You’re mindlessly tapping through posts when something stops you cold—your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s a video. Of Jungkook.

You freeze, staring at the thumbnail. The video’s not recent—it’s been uploaded recently, but you have no idea when it was actually filmed. You press play anyway, your finger trembling just slightly.

It’s him, in what looks like his apartment, laughing and stumbling around with a girl in his arms. The two of them are playfully navigating their way around, and a dog is trailing behind them, wagging its tail. You don’t recognize the girl—her face is blurry from the angle of the shot, but you can tell she’s close to him, like the two of them are comfortable.

You’re not sure what his apartment looks like, but you know that dog. You’ve seen it on social media before. And you can’t miss the way his hair’s styled, that signature long, grown-out mullet he’s been sporting. All the details are accurate enough that it seems too real to be fake.

But the girl? You have no idea who she is.

Your stomach tightens, a pit forming inside you as your mind races to make sense of what you’re seeing. The casualness of it, the familiarity between them, makes your chest tighten in an unexpected rush of jealousy. You watch the video again, trying to figure out what exactly is making you feel so uneasy, but the more you see, the worse it gets. The image of them laughing together, the dog following them like it’s just another day, makes everything feel like it’s out of your reach.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been staring at the screen when you finally snap out of it, but the realization hits you hard—this could’ve been filmed weeks ago, or maybe it’s been recent, and you were none the wiser. You can’t tell.

The uncertainty of it all makes you feel like you’re drowning. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what it means.

You pull the phone away from your face, staring at it as your heart continues to race, unsure of what to feel.

All you know is that seeing this video makes everything feel like it’s slipping through your fingers, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever get it back.

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the-orange-solace · 1 year ago

Text

When I was a child, I watched an episode of Criminal Minds where a man had a split personality. A woman who killed other women who threatened the man she formed to protect. I remember her sitting in the dark on a couch, a cigarette in hand beside a lamp, as she spoke to an Agent about why she had to kill them, that it was to protect him. It was her entire purpose for existing.

As a child, I used to pace empty halls in the middle of the night and lay in bed, repeating in my mind that I would be the only being in my body. I will not break into multiple people. I will be in control. I have to be because, at the time, I believed I could break into those monstrous plurals you see on TV. The ones that killed their family after years of neglect, abuse, and wrongdoing. The ones you should be afraid of ever becoming, no matter who you are or your situation.

So I became terrified.

And yet, nearly every night, I'd look up at the sky or the ceiling and beg for something to change—to not be alone. I was stuck pretending I was a different character, a type of escapism that sometimes got out of hand, lost in an identity that wasn't my own. Looking up and imagining being taken away, every character I adored was by my side, caring for me in return. I had to keep going, be them, and exist in a world with them.

I'd made up stories, different realities, and places in my mind to escape to, as well as explanations for things my underdeveloped brain couldn't comprehend in the place I found myself within. I clung to concepts, characters, and situations that reflected my own, and soon, I no longer felt alone—not with all the escapism I conjured up, not with the different identities to help me face what was happening.

But I was in control. I was one being. No matter what. I had to be a single being because that was good. I had to be good.

I would never hurt anyone, and being many meant being bad. I couldn't be bad.

When I was a teenager, I started researching and getting involved in minority and disabled spaces. I loved being informed, the stories, the many perspectives, and the complexity of humanity. So it was no surprise when I shared a plural headcanon with a friend, and they felt safe coming out to me. They were many. They took my hand and guided me through a community I was fascinated with and wanted to aid and represent like so many others.

I spent years learning, staying silent as others spoke, just listening to everything I could. But then, one day, like so many others, I spoke through a different facet, a different identity I had created as a child. The many faces of me represented things I could not be, I could not hold, nor could I handle. I was struggling; some of me wanted to lash out. So she did. She lashed out.

As always, I was faced with kindness, listening ears, and aid that then pushed me more to the surface from drowning. But I never left; just another part of me was lost, right? Of course. People are complex. I deal with my emotions in a complex way. Of course.

My plurally disabled friend watched as I became more comfortable speaking through the identities I had, whether they were facets of myself or characters that helped me. Soon enough, the continuous "role-play" and "emotional processing" developed into normal conversation, a comfort, a relief.

They kindly approached me and asked if I was a system, too. They had never met anyone who spoke to themselves like I do, definitely not any singlets. None of our other friends did, in person or not, not even people in our families. It was just us.

The fear from my childhood arose. I couldn't be multiple; I couldn't be more than one. It was bad. But hadn't I learned about Plurality? All its ups and downs? Its complexities and nuances? I accepted it wholeheartedly; I learned and evolved from the demonized perception I was given as a child. So, why was it still bad?

Because I must be lying; I must be a fake, a poser. It was the only reason, wasn't it? I had seen so many conversations and arguments about fakes, those who wished to be special. Had I somehow become the harm they spoke of? How could I do this to a community I swore to listen to and fight for?

I obsessed over it, forcing the panic, dissociation, habit, and ease of speaking in multiple identities and beings of myself away. I buried it as deep as I could for the betterment of everyone else. The community didn't deserve such harm, and I wouldn't bring it to their doorstep if I claimed it to be something I'm not.

The loathing became so present it formed into tics that caused aches and disruptions in my life. Multiple stressors--along with an identity crisis--will do that to someone. So my shoulder and neck muscles ached from shrugging, flexing, and all the repetitive movements I couldn't stop without crying from the suppression. So I didn't. I let it disrupt and hurt.

Then, one day, someone, some random, unknown system to me out in the world, spoke about how it didn't matter what was real or not; it didn't hurt anyone. Plurality and the belief of it didn't hurt anyone. It hurt no one to discover themselves, to test the waters, to simply pry into yourself and learn. There was no shame in figuring yourself, or yourselves, out. There was no right or wrong, nothing to be ashamed of or fearful of. Just another part of living.

So I did. I poked and prodded. I gave my parts names, spoke to them in the middle of the night, asked questions, got to know them, and learned we couldn't talk through words at first but could emotions and sensations. I realized I couldn't find where my Plurality started or where it ended, that we—oh god, we—the idea was so surreal but...comforting—were so combined, living without specific individuality outside of me that there was no separation in sight. Not that I could figure out. For so long, I believed everything was just me. Only me.

But now it was someone else, too. These things that made no sense, these things that felt out of place or special, unique, and ever-changing could be someone else.

Someone else.

The more I reflected, learned, applied, and prodded, the more things made sense. Until one day, I looked at my friends, held my breath, and spoke. Stated that it like it was a sin for me of all people to say.

I was plural.

No one blinked an eye. No one questioned it outside of boundaries and clarification. It wasn't surprising that their childhood friend was many. How surprising could it be when they used so many different names for different parts of themselves to express hard things?

It was astonishing.

And here we are, years and years later, grown and still learning, living, fighting, but more in touch with ourselves than ever before with so many more sys friends and aquatints. More experiences, a better understanding.

It's not shameful to learn, apply, and reflect. You take nothing from anyone but your time and open-minded exploration of the world and yourself(ves). There is no evil in being human, living life, phase or not. There is nothing wrong with you, any of you, for existing or living. You just are. I embrace you, I embrace us, and I embrace everything that comes with a life of many.

So, if you're struggling, just know you're not alone outside the body. We know, and so do many others. It's going to be okay; you'll find yourself in time. Don't rush it. There will always be time.

#🪶: atreus #🕯️: orange solace #sysconversation #plurality #plural system #endo safe #syscussion #plural pride #plural community #actually plural #system pride #system things #system stuff #tw // internalized pluralphobia #ask to tag #We are heavily dissociating writing all this out #We hope someone benefits from us sharing this

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little-miss-bioweapon121 · 5 months ago

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Which other Primarchs do you think would accept a splice baby like Samael as their own child?

I love Samael, he’s a great idea.

OOOOOOOO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION!!!!

Okay so on the one hand every creative writing class I’ve ever taken has told me one very important rule: The answer is never “no”.

Basically means that nothing is ever impossible for a character there’s just always more steps and obstacles to get to the outcome. (And that makes for a very good story!)

But on the other hand just based off of what little I’ve read, without the characterization I’ve taken on the primarchs I think realistically every primarch would’ve destroyed a splice clone like Samael. Especially given the threat level one would technically represent as a xeno weapon. (Even Sanguinius the way I wrote him was supposed to kill Samael)

But that’s boring.

So here’s a list of every primarch reacting to a splice clone baby (according to my interpretations of what a primarch is!)

Cw: Transhumanism, description of corpses, implied child death, death

Lion El’Jonson: He knew to expect xeno technology, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The battleship had been long abandoned, fuel tank damaged and engines beyond repair as his tech priests had noted, so it was only a small squadron he brought with him to investigate. Dust, rot, and abandoned stations were the only thing to greet their path. With his men occupied on the ships databases Lionel took the liberty to explore the rest of the large space. The technology was different but the uses were obvious, this was an abandoned lab. Tubes of dark murky liquid lined the walls and what little remained of their previous inhabitants floated in disgusting red-green clouds of rotted mass.

Only one tube was free of the rotting green liquid, the crack in the glass and drying green residue on the ground spoke volumes to its fate, and peeking inside Lionel felt his hearts squeeze in sympathy at the tiny emaciated form within. Wait. It still breathed. Lionel wrenched the tube open without hesitation and was immediately greeted by the foul smell of old human waste and the cloying remnants of the mysterious fluid, but beneath that was the faint buttery sweet scent of newborn.

His newborn.

With a level of panic Lionel had never once known he scoops the child, ‘his child’ his mind frantically wails, into his arms and calls for his men. Only later in the safety of his own ship with the baby stabilized by the apothecary would he even begin to question the origins of his child.

II: Took his baby and fled to escape paying Xeno child support.

Fulgrim: He hadn’t actually meant to find a child. Really he hadn’t meant to find anything at all. He and his highest ranking sons had been invited to one of the recently conquered imperial planets for a diplomatic visit. A few days of wining and dining while treaties were signed and supply lines were established. Really this was all Roboutes area of expertise, but Fulgrim was nothing if not an adaptable man so off he went. Truly, genuinely, the snooping was supposed to be superficial. The second night of their seven day stay had seen the nobles a little more eager on the drinks than anticipated so the next mornings activities had been canceled in favor of rest. Fulgrim certainly wasn’t complaining. He took the opportunity instead to admire the architecture of the mansion, a royal palace prior to imperial conquering, and explore some of the areas not used for the dinners.

Discovering the hidden lab had been an accident. Entering the hidden lab, slightly less so. Rows of cages and annotated diagrams filled the space, but what alarmed Fulgrim the most was the crib in the corner of the room. Fulgrim stared into the crib. A tiny purple-eyed baby stared back. He didn’t hesitate to pick up the child as soon as it reached for him, how could he? A million thoughts ran through his mind analyzing the situation and the child itself. But it all came screeching to a halt as soon as the scent hit his nose. Fulgrim hugged the child closer practically burying his nose into their hair as one bone-deep truth resonated through him like the growling of a great beast.

His baby smelled too much like that disgusting ex-king, and not nearly enough like him.

He’d have time later to contemplate when and where a planet like this had gotten their hands on his DNA. But for now he plastered his scent on every inch of his child as he made his way back to the ship.

Perturabo: His troubles started like many of his troubles usually start. Immediately after the conquering of a planet. He’d brought back a veritable mountain of technology from a recently conquered Aeldari planet to analyze and deconstruct. The xeno technology had proven difficult to overcome and he was eager to learn all of its weaknesses. Walking through the maze of crates yet to be unpacked Perturabo noted with flat dissatisfaction that a green liquid had begun to leak from the corner of the smallest one. He’d be sure to scold his astartes on proper handling of packages at a later date, but for now he had a turret to analyze.

In truth, the troubles didn’t start until a few days later. The items in his workshop were counted and placed to perfection, so it was blatantly clear to him that someone had been moving his things around. He was certain it was neither a serf nor a servo-skull as he was familiar with the noises and scents that both left behind, and the scent that was slowly becoming more common in his workspace was far softer than either. Days later, finally fed up with the constant displacement and the maddening scent, Perturabo took it upon himself to track the intruder down.

The search had him tracking whatever it was all through his workshop. Beneath tables, under crates, and through tunnels in supplies he never would have noticed before; every second he spent tracking this thing painted a more vivid image in his mind of what it could be. Small, clumsy, and most definitely human. Finally he finds a fresh trail, the scent soft and familiar in a way the he cannot yet place, and tracks it all the way to a secluded corner where he left a pile of discarded tarps and covers. The head of fuzzy hair and bright curious eyes make it blatantly clear what his intruder was.

A baby.

And with a certainty that came from something instinctual and more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before he knew that this baby was his.

Jaghatai Khan: His men had caught wind of the Drukhari plot long before he had, and with an efficiency that rivaled Jaghatai himself in speed they handled the problem. Or at least, they handled the initial problem. Because the secondary problem that arose was something far more nefarious.

The clone was adorable.

His men could not bring themselves to strike down the tiny infant regardless of its status as a Drukhari made weapon. Upon arrival to their home world the matron serfs had taken one look at the baby, seen its lack of dress in such a cold season, and had promptly taken it from the clueless white scars and swaddled it in the warmest furs they could find. While half of the white scars went to protest the acquisition of their baby the other half made the responsible decision of going to warn Jaghatai of the newest member to the tribe.

And of course this all culminated in every grandmother, mother, aunt, and son cooing over the infant clone of their primarch. Jaghatai had steeled himself to be the voice of reason and logic in this very trying time and approached the group. The child was the outcome of a Drukhari plot after all and they needed to act swiftly.

But, well, the child was very adorable. All rosy cheeks and swaddled to perfection. And oh those big sparkling eyes were just begging for affection. Maybe just a quick cuddle wouldn’t hurt. And, well, while he’s at it he wonders if the baby still has the newborn scent, it is after all very young, just one quick sniff won’t-

Oh warp damn it.

Leman Russ: Leman found the puppy fair and square and he was not giving it back thank you very much! The Eldar biomancer that his sons had dragged out from her hidden laboratory must have been desperate if she was resorting to ‘politely asking for the return of her project’ while in the midst of capture. Leman would have been more offended if he didn’t find her claims utterly hilarious.

The puppy looked like him, smelled like him, and acted like him. Clearly, the puppy belonged to him. Every time he brought that up the Eldar’s face gained another shade of nervous palor. Now Leman was not an idiot, despite what some of his brothers would claim, and he could connect the very clearly drawn lines in the logic here. Somehow, some way, the pup actually was his. A silent side eye had two of his sons breaking off to gather data from the lab while Leman continued to make the captured scientist sweat.

Really it was cruel to play with his prey like this, his wolf mother had taught him better than that, but he couldn’t help it. A little bit of vengeance before justice was never a terrible thing, and besides, the peals of laughter his newest son let out every time the captive squeaked was well worth it.

Rogal Dorn: He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child was his. Really it was embarrassingly obvious. The siege had been more than successful and going in to pick off the stragglers resulted in the situation at hand. The Drukhari biomancers nervously staring down the barrels of his astartes blasters after being ratted out by the screaming of one of their own creations.

A child, or as was more immediately noticed by Rogals instincts, his child.

Oh they had certainly tried to claim the child was theirs, had certainly put their best pleading act in to it, but more than the simple fact that this was his child there was one driving force behind his stalwart decision to claim the tiny thing.

He’d sooner die than let these filthy xeno’s have one of his own blood.

Cradling the child to his chest Rogal sent a silent signal to his men to continue with their destruction of the facility. The biomancers had finally seen the futility in their pitiful attempts at persuasion and Rogal rightfully rewarded them with death. Allowing his men to continue their efforts he returned to the ship with his newly acquired son, there was much planning and preparation to do for his arrival after all.

Konrad Curze: The Drukhari were idiots if they thought they could keep this hidden from him. Even without his premonitions their plots and movements were painfully obvious. Sitting in the shadows of the pipes and wires that covered the makeshift lab Konrad stared down at the biomancers that scurried and fretted about the space. Anticipation and a rare flicker of joy fluttered in his chest as his eyes locked on the green incubation tube. So close.

Over and over he had seen the dreams. So familiar yet so strikingly different. The dead biomancers and the destroyed lab at the forefront of his mind but more importantly the one figure he was most eager to meet. His baby. At first the dreams had seen the child grow to kill him, a weapon in its own right, but very quickly they had changed. Dead biomancers, destroyed lab, and the baby blinking up at him from his arms all gummy smiles and shining black eyes.

A son, his son, would be born today. And his instincts sang with the rightness of it all. His claws worried grooves in the pipes as he heard the sound of his astartes approaching, no doubt following the trail the Drukhari left from their ship, and he settled further into the shadows with a vicious smile.

Dead biomancers. Destroyed lab. And one very happy baby.

He couldn’t wait to finally meet him.

Sanguinius: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4

Ferrus Manus: Ferrus would be remiss to say he found the child because quite bluntly the child found him. On their way to aid an ally in a nearby sector their battle ship was rammed into by an Aeldari ship. He hesitated to call it a battle ship as the size of it was so small that the damage of its ramming had been confined to a single training room. No eldar survivors remained in the aftermath so, Commanding his men to continue on course to their allies, Ferrus took the brunt of the work in fixing the damage. Deeming his own hands faster and more well equipped than his men at the time he saw no need for aid.

The eldar ship groaned and screeched with every movement. And as he worked his way into scrapping the ship and sealing the hull he ignored many of the smaller sounds the ship released.

Laying on his front Ferrus felt his way through a narrow opening, gauging the integrity of the section, when he felt something gnawing on his other hand. Well, felt was a strong word, he noticed his hand moving without his input and turned his to head reveal the culprit. A baby, old enough to crawl, was teething on his arm. The child now sensing it had his attention crawled up directly to his face and sniffed at Ferrus curiously. Ferrus, having never dealt with children before, hesitantly sniffed back in response. Oddly enough it smelled like him and something strange in the back of his brain was very pleased by this.

But he…didn’t know how to handle this. So doing what he knew to do best Ferrus gently secured the baby into the groove of his gorget, a problem to be focused on afterwards, and returned to repairing the ship. He’d ask Fulgrim what to do about it later, he was sure to know.

XI: Escaping Child Support 2: The Squeakquel

Angron: For the first time in his life he found something stronger than the Nails. Another conquered planet, another bloody battle, another slaughter by his hands, but this one was different. He stared down into the wrecked incubation capsule with an awe and clarity that had not been afforded to him in quite some time. His instincts had latched onto the scent of the newborn with a viciousness and potency that surprised even himself.

The baby was tiny, smaller than his fist, and so young it could not yet open its eyes but he found the grip it had on his hearts was stronger than any foe he had ever faced. He reached a single hand into the tube with a gentleness he had never before experienced. As the baby’s fist closed around his finger, a strong grip but so weak compared to his blood stained hands, he felt his breath leave his lungs as though by a physical blow.

The screeching of the nails was drowned out by one repeating piece of unquestionable knowledge.

This was his child, his baby, his son.

Roboute Guilliman: This strange encounter felt like it was spiraling out of control very quickly. When he and his sons had received a message from an Aeldari ship the reaction had, rightfully, been intense trepidation. But the vague message of ‘returning that which he had lost’ had prompted Roboute to allow them onboard. An emissary group of three Eldar had boarded, two guards and an important looking woman holding a child, and Roboute had assumed it was all a strange roundabout way of showing they were not a threat.

Until the lady had promptly handed him the child and proclaimed for the entire ship that she was returning what was rightfully his.

The shouts and chaos that came from his men were nothing short of unbecoming, but Roboute himself could certainly not judge. Any coherent thought or denial that came to mind was destroyed because yes this was most definitely his child. The wide blue eyes, the curly blonde hair, and the scent that matched his so closely left no room for doubt. But the problem was that Roboute had no recollection of actually ever creating said child. Sensing the confusion the Lady, Yvraine as she introduced herself, clarified that the child had been saved from a Drukhari lab in the sector. Her group having noticed both the resemblance of the child to Roboute and the movements of his ship in this sector had assumed that he was searching for his missing child.

Evidently not the case.

So after multiple quick explanations, and one incredibly awkward truce later, Roboute Guilliman had officially aquired an infant son.

Mortarion: When his sons had returned from battle he had not expected them to return with an extra passenger. A child, Small and pale and so very like him, had been recovered from the clutches of a Xeno biomancer. And his sons with all the blessings of their fathers geneseed immediately recognized a baby brother.

A small part of Mortarion had hoped the child would be a fluke, a false positive that he could write off or avoid, but the truth of the matter was simply unavoidable. The child was his, and that strange pull at the back of his mind was absolutely letting him know.

The child itself was inexplicably drawn to Mortarion reaching with tiny hands whenever he was near. Even days after it first arrived its fascination with the Primarch was unending. Mortarion himself held back on his affection for the little one because he was worried, afraid even, of what he could do to them. Mortarion himself was so much larger, so much stronger, so much more resilient than them and a hundred concerns crossed his mind in an instant. What if he was not careful enough? What If he squeezed too hard? What If he moved them too fast? What if the toxins he had become accustomed to would hurt-

Oh, there’s a baby in his arms.

The Astartes had apparently tired of the child’s pitiful whines and passed them to Mortarion before promptly leaving.

….

Well the child wasn’t dead, in fact they seemed to be quite content, so Mortarion would simply continue to hold them. Exactly like this. And not move an inch. At. All.

He had this parenting thing down pretty well in his opinion.

Magnus the Red: He knew of his son long before the reports of Drukhari experiments reached his legion. How could he not? The tiny nascent soul, no more defined than the bubbles of a lava lamp, had begun to follow him every time he visited the immaterium with a burbling joy that only a child could produce.

The tiny thing resonated with him, soul of his soul, in a harmony known only to Magnus. A beloved companion in his pursuits through the warp. But as news of the Drukhari plot reached him, as the pieces of the mystery finally fell into place, Magnus finally realized what had been so blatantly presented to him all this time.

A son was being born.

Somewhere there was a child of his blood and Magnus would be damned if he did not find them. Locating his son within the material plane had been laughably easy, such a young soul unburdened by knowledge easily led him back to its mortal form, and finally seeing what his son would be born into caused Magnu’s blood to boil. Cold calculating machinery, the impassive embrace of an incubation tube, and a Drukhari biomancer swearing vengeance on the imperium. Commanding all his sons to join him in battle had certainly brought questions, especially from his father and brothers, but their suspicions were nothing in the eyes of Magnus for there was something far more important currently awaiting his arrival.

Magnus would retrieve his son, and no one would stand in his way.

Horus Lupercal: Horus could not bring himself to strike down the child. His Father had instructed upon him the conquering of a planet; the destruction of another xeno threat. Every last enemy slain and defeated as was His decree. But here he stood and for once he hesitated. Every other mutant and squalling failure had been slain but here was a final perfect specimen. Something like him and the indescribable thing within him knew it.

Blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, a soul that would no doubt match his own.

A son.

He cradled the small thing with an awe and joy that he had rarely ever felt in his life. His Father was bound to understand. How could he not? He had created him and his brothers much the same way this child had been created. Son of His Son. He was bound to understand. The planet conquered and the threat destroyed Horus returned to his ship to share with his legion this momentous occasion.

Lorgar Aurelian: The child was a sign. A sign of fortune and favor a sign of hope and prosperity. But more than that it was a gift. A child of his blood, of his flesh and soul, was clear proof that his preaching was the will of his Father. The child, born in a lab and through biomancy of human and Drukhari genome, born so like him that the pattern had to be by design and not mere coincidence, had been brought to him by his sons. Each and every one of them could sense the connection the child held to Lorgar, and by extension his Father, and knew without a shadow of a doubt the importance the little one would hold.

The future of the Legion of their people’s faith and salvation all coalesced to one divine sign.

A mind to be molded, a child to be guided, a prized lamb in the flock.

Lorgar would not squander such a wonderful gift.

Vulkan: The Drukhari were looking for something. At least that was the conclusion that Vulkan and his sons had come to. The third strike team in as many months to be destroyed attempting to enter Nocturnes atmosphere. A curious persistence, and one that most certainly had his sons and his people on high alert. As a preemptive measure many of the more remote cities had begun to move their people to the old bunkers used in the time of the Dusk Wraiths. Vulkan, with a day to spare, was helping move one such city. Lost in thought as he watched his people Vulkan startled when something small latched onto his leg.

Looking down he was greeted by the delighted gummy smile of a baby. Vulkan felt his hearts melt at the adorable sight but a more pressing concern nagged at his mind. Who’s child was this? The bright red eyes meant the child was not a baseline, the child of one of his sons then? A rare occurrence but not unheard of. With a great level of concern for the child Vulkan spent the better part of the day looking for its parents.

It was late at night, the child comfortably asleep in his arms, when Vulkan finally came to a discomforting conclusion. The child had no parents. Not a single one of his sons had reported a missing child, no city was missing one that matched the child’s description, and no one had come forth to claim it. Looking down at its peacefully sleeping face Vulkan could only feel tired concern squeeze his hearts.

Well.

If no one would claim the child, then he supposed the child would be his. Something deep and curling in the back of his mind was terribly pleased by this, how curious. Much later, after all was settled, his sons would come to learn that the Drukhari were in fact searching for his newest child. A clone created by their biomancers, their reasons unknown and no doubt nefarious. But it mattered little. Vulkan knew with the certainty and rage of the great salamanders of nocturne that anyone who sought to take his son would meet death at his hands.

Corvus Corax: He knew what he would find, but it did not make the surrealism of the moment any less potent. This particular band of Drukhari had been in a vicious cycle of battle with Corvus and his legion. A seemingly unending back and forth with far too many innocents caught in the crossfire. This planet, its major cities captured and enslaved, would be the final resting place of these filthy xeno’s. And the Drukhari seemed to be of a similar mindset for they too had started to scheme. Corvus knew. He knew of their plot, knew of the traitorous serf that allowed it to progress, knew of what had been created. But it did not prepare him for this moment.

The biomancers walked past him without a second glance. Taking measurements, moving vials, doing their best to understand what had happpened. Their words meant nothing to Corvus drowned out as his world narrowed to a single point. A child. A baby. He knew to expect a clone, knew to expect a weapon, but his mind could not correlate the two. Something deeper and more powerful than the shock of the moment had latched on the scent of the newborn.

It smelled like him.

The baby blinked up at him, squinted really, and reached for him with little coos and burbles. Corvus reached out to the child and could not form a coherent thought distracted by how Its hand was smaller even than his finger.

Too small.

Too slow.

Failure.

The words, the intent, of the biomancers finally broke through the fog of his mind and Corvus felt a blinding rage. They would all perish here and now, this he would make sure of. Corvus stood amidst the aftermath of his rage, the unrecognizable gore of the biomancers and their foul creations, with his infant son cradled to his chest; a soft rare smile as he looked down upon his sleeping face. His sons had received his message, were no doubt already well into their liberation efforts, and would soon report victory.

And when the enemy was finally slain. When all traces of these foul slavers and their perverse creations were eradicated from the planet. Corvus would rejoice with his legion the arrival of their youngest brother.

Alpharius-Omegon: No one actually knows how the child got there. Oh certainly some claim they do: ridiculous ideas like the child being a xeno splice clone or the love child of the Primarch and a warp demon. But no one actually knows how the child got to be there. In fact most people aren’t even quite sure the child belongs to the Primarch at all. But the only thing anyone can seem to agree on is that there is absolutely a child in the Alpha legion base. Could it belong to a serf? Possibly. Do the legionnaires pay far too much attention to the child for that to be the case? Oh absolutely. But the child is there. Sometimes. Maybe? Debatable.

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