#but like deliberate artistic choices i made

[charlunday]

President Coriolanus Snow and his First Lady

[vexx-the-egg]

.

[these-godforsaken-halls]

i feel like one big difference in how mumbo engages with hermitcraft vs how other big successful hermits engage with it is that a lot of the hermits have settled into mcyt as a day job, whereas mumbo makes consistent efforts to grow from it. tango with his 15 years experience as a game dev, cubfan the published astrophysicist, etc., for many if not most of the hermits, being a cc full-time was a deliberate choice they made that involved leaving behind a previous job. in skizz or joe's case, it's smth they worked a long time to achieve. cc!mumbo is a lot younger and has all these other ambitions he hasn't explored yet. and at that age with those artistic skills, who wouldn't want to try and leverage their platform for other things, right?

there's a very different vibe watching mumbo vs. watching hermits who clearly plan to be full-time hermits as long as they're able

the in-character result is a very absent c!mumbo and a lot of really fucking sad grumbo interactions. kill me now forget the cactus ring, the desert i'm stuck in is sahara

[sirenedeslily]

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

❛ be my video obsession. ❜

(⊹ֹ 𝐢𝐧 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 ) ──── ⟢ when matt mentions his girlfriend, his fans instantly erupt in excitement, pleading for him to invite her on the live stream.

matt slumped back into his chair, the dim glow of his monitors casting soft, shifting shadows across his face. the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window filled the room, blending seamlessly with the gentle melodies playing in the background. it wasn’t his usual stream playlist—this one was filled with warm, comforting songs that wrapped around him like a familiar blanket. the kind of music that made you feel like everything would be okay, even on a dreary day. his fingers tapped idly on the edge of his desk, following the slow, soothing rhythm.

his eyes flickered to the twitch chat, watching the comments race by in their usual frenzy—inside jokes, random questions, and declarations of love. the stream chat scrolled rapidly, filled with messages from fans reacting to everything from his commentary to the choice of music. “matthew bernard sturniolo, what do you know about jeff buckley?” he couldn’t help but let a small smile curl at the corner of his lips.

“i know everything about jeffrey scott buckley, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice softer than usual, almost in tune with the rain outside. “he’s my girlfriend’s favourite artist.”

that one word, “girlfriend,” sent the chat into chaos. messages flooded in faster than he could read them, demanding to see her, to bring her onto the stream. he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he read the scrolling frenzy of reactions. “alright, alright,” he muttered, pulling out his phone to send a quick text.

the moments that followed felt like an eternity. matt could see the anticipation in the chat, his own nerves buzzing under his skin. when the door to his room creaked open and yn stepped inside, the chat exploded again. you were hesitant, your steps slow, your eyes wide at the sheer number of viewers on the screen. nerves instantly kicked in. matt noticed your unease immediately. without missing a beat, he turned away from the chat and focused entirely on his girlfriend.

matt’s eyes met yours, his expression softening. “hey,” he greeted softly, his voice a calm anchor in the swirling storm of your anxiety. “just look at me, okay? don’t worry about them,” he whispered, reaching out to pull you onto his lap.

“sorry about the ambush,” he said with a chuckle, his eyes locked onto yours, deliberately avoiding the screen. “they got excited, and i got caught up in it.”

you nodded, a small smile breaking through your initial apprehension. “it’s okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

gradually, as matt continued to talk to you—ignoring the chat’s frenzy and focusing on your private little world—you began to loosen up. you glanced at the camera and then back at matt, who was still looking at you with that comforting grin. you laughed softly, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

“you always make it seem so easy,” you said, shaking your head. “i feel like i’m forgetting how to talk.”

“that’s ‘cause you’re overthinking it,” he teased, nudging you gently. “just be your pretty self.”

“easier said than done,” you mumbled, nestling further into his arms, needing to feel him to ease some of your nerves. matt felt you sigh out anxiously as you tried to read the chat, sensing your overwhelmed state with each passing second.

“how about i read off some of the questions for you, angel?” he murmured softly, his lips grazing the side of your face. you nodded in response, visibly relieved.

matt glanced back at the chat, his eyes skimming over the questions that piled up, each one more curious or chaotic than the last. his hand rested on your waist, his thumb gently tracing comforting circles as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“okay, let’s see,” he said, scrolling through the messages with one hand while keeping you close with the other. “someone asked, ‘what character do you resonate with the most?’” he read it out loud, his voice soft and soothing, as if speaking to you alone.

you hummed, still a little shy but feeling more secure in matt’s arms. “that’s a tough one,” you began, your voice gaining a bit more confidence. “but probably molly from the movie uptown girls.” you answered softly, the warmth of matt’s touch and the comfort of his presence giving you more courage. “i just love her spirit,” you continued, settling more comfortably in his lap. “she’s chaotic and kind of a mess, but she’s also so full of life. she doesn’t have everything figured out, but she’s got a big heart, and she loves fearlessly—even when she gets hurt.”

matt nodded, his gaze steady on yours, filled with that quiet admiration he often wore when he watched you talk about something you cared about. “she’s definitely more of someone who i wish to be,” you finished, looking at matt’s attentive gaze and back at the chat.

"she's got those big, doe eyes just like yours—always looking at the world with wonder."

matt’s comment made you blush, and you nudged him gently with your elbow. “you think so?” you asked, a smile breaking across your face despite the shyness creeping back in. the way he looked at you—with that kind of softness, like you were the only thing in the world worth focusing on—made your heart flutter in your chest.

“yeah,” he said, his voice low and sincere. his thumb continued to draw comforting circles on your side, keeping you grounded.

the chat seemed to explode in response, the viewers reacting to matt’s sweet words. you could feel your cheeks burning a bit, but there was no way to hide the grin spreading across your face. you tucked your head against his shoulder, momentarily overwhelmed by the attention. “okay, enough about me,” you said, still smiling but trying to deflect the focus back. “what about you? what character do you resonate with, silly boy?”

he chuckled, raising his eyebrows playfully at the use of the nickname. “well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a loaded question,” he joked, then took a moment to think. “but obviously, dipper from gravity falls.”

you laughed softly, already knowing that it would be his answer, seeing as he has always felt passionate about this topic and felt that his similarities to the character just had to be vocalized any chance he got.

matt smiled, a bit more subdued this time, but there was a light in his eyes.

the chat kept buzzing with comments, some agreeing with their choices and others throwing in their own suggestions. you glanced over, feeling a little more comfortable now. “they’re saying you could also be a charlie from perks of being a wallflower,” you pointed out, teasing him slightly.

matt laughed, leaning his head back. “i guess i give off that vibe, huh? quiet, introspective… a little awkward,” he joked, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“maybe just a bit,” you agreed, squeezing his hand. “but i think it’s cute.”

leaning your head against his shoulder, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. the sound of rain tapping against the window, the soft, comforting music in the background, and matt’s gentle presence all wrapped around you like a warm blanket. and even though thousands of eyes were watching, for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, sharing this quiet, intimate space.

“matt or boba?”

your soft chuckle broke the tranquil silence, drawing matt's attention as your eyes caught a playful comment from the chat. “boba,” you said with a smile, your voice light and teasing.

matt arched an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a bemused expression. “what?” he asked, not quite understanding why you’d suddenly blurt out such a random word. his confusion was written all over his face—the way his messy brows pulled together, his eyes locked on yours with that piercing intensity, and his lips parted ever so slightly, the way they always did when he was puzzling something out.

the sight made you smile even more. without a word, you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, a soft, fleeting kiss that ended far too quickly for matt’s liking. as you pulled away, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible whine, a sound that was just for you, given the close proximity between the both of you.

“such a fuckin’ tease,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours with a hint of playful longing. it was the kind of look that made you want to forget about the stream, the chat, and everything else—just to savor the moment a little longer.

as the stream continued, you began to ease into the rhythm, finding your footing in the chaotic swirl of comments and questions. the warmth of matt’s body beneath you, the steadiness of his hand on your waist, and the sound of his voice were like anchors, grounding you amidst the wild energy of his audience. slowly, your nerves faded away, replaced by a growing sense of comfort.

“so, what’s the deal with you and enya?” one of the viewers asked, the question catching your eye. a grin tugged at your lips as you thought of your best friend.

“enya is honestly my favourite being,” you said, a soft smile blooming across your face. “we’ve been through so much together, and it’s one of those rare friendships where you just know the other person gets you, you know?” you paused, your eyes softening as you recalled your recent time with her. “just the other night, we baked this apple pie and decorated it with a bow from the leftover dough, and then we had a movie marathon. we ended up staying up way too late, just laughing and talking about everything and nothing at all. she feels like home to me.”

the chat lit up with messages about how pure and wholesome your friendship sounded. you felt yourself relaxing further, the anxiety melting away as you spoke about the things you loved.

the soft melody of clairo’s “harbor” began playing in the background, and you noticed matt humming along to the lyrics, almost absentmindedly. the viewers, as expected, went wild.

you couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him lightly. “okay, okay, let’s set the record straight,” you began, a teasing lilt to your voice. “he only knows this song because i forced him to listen to sling on repeat after he tried to convince the fandom on being a ‘huge’ clairo fan,” you laughed, looking at your boyfriend's pouty face.

“‘s not funny,” he mumbled, though his eyes were crinkling at the corners with a smile.

“you weren’t able to name a single song out of her album until i forced you to listen to her discography,” you animatedly exclaimed, looking at the chat as you told them, “so this whole ‘matthew is so boyfriend he knows clairo’s deep cuts’ is all thanks to me.”

he laughed, leaning his forehead against yours. “alright, you caught me, baby,” he admitted.

the conversation flowed effortlessly from there, touching on your shared interests and recent obsessions. when someone suggested a “media of the week” segment, you lit up, excited to share your thoughts. “okay, okay, let’s shift gears a bit,” matt interjected, leaning forward to look at the chat. “a lot of you keep asking about our media of the week. you wanna go first, angel?” he nudged you gently.

you nodded, relaxing more into his hold, feeling the excitement bubbling up inside her. “i’ve been reading heaven by mieko kawakami,” you began, your voice picking up a more passionate tone as you started explaining your thoughts. “it’s… heartbreaking and beautiful, all at once. the way kawakami writes about bullying, loneliness, and the fragility of youth—it’s so raw and poignant. it kind of makes you feel like you’re carrying a weight in your chest, but in a good way, if that makes any sense? like, it hurts, but it also makes you feel seen.”

matt listened intently, nodding along, his gaze focused on you as if you were the only person in the room. “sounds like you’re really into it,” he said, his voice soft. “i’m gonna have to steal it from you when you’re done.”

“good luck,” you retorted playfully. “i might just read it a second time to piss you off.”

he laughed, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist again. “okay, my turn. i’ve been reading dead poets society because, you know, the movie hit me in a way i wasn’t expecting. figured the book would be even better. and man, it’s just… so much more introspective. the whole thing about seizing the day, about living for your own passions instead of what’s expected of you… i think i needed to hear that,” he admitted, his tone growing a bit more serious.

the chat started spamming with comments about their own experiences with the book and movie, sharing how it changed their lives or inspired them. you smiled, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from matt’s face. “see? i knew you’d love it,” you said softly. “it’s the kind of thing that sticks with you.”

matt nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that sent a flutter through your chest. “yeah, well, i’ve got you to thank for that,” he said.

“speaking of things you have me to thank for,” you chimed in with a grin, “i made matt watch little women for the first time recently, and he has thoughts.”

“oh, here we go,” matt groaned, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his enjoyment.

you leaned in, eager and animated. “i just don’t understand how this boy managed to go this long without seeing it? disgraceful. tell them what you thought.”

matt chuckled, leaning back slightly. “i gotta admit, it was way better than i expected. i mean, i went in thinking it’d be some boring period drama, but it’s actually… really good. the dialogue? it just feels so alive, you know?”

the chat agreed with a chorus of messages, and you nodded eagerly, jumping in. “right,” you continued, leaning forward with excitement. “i need all of my editors in the fandom to get to work: ‘bite the hand’ by boygenius as the audio with clips of jo and laurie. like, the lyrics are just… them. ‘i can’t love you how you want me to.’ it’s perfect. i need an edit of them to that song,” you ranted, your hands gesturing animatedly.

matt watched you with an amused smile. “someone in the chat better make that edit happen, ‘cause my girl has had this vision for weeks now.”

the viewers were already responding with promises to create the edit, and you felt a little spark of joy at the idea.

matt laughed at your enthusiasm, his eyes bright with amusement. “i’m so proud of you, pretty girl, overcoming your anxiety to be here. you’re so damn passionate about everything.”

“can’t help it,” you replied, shrugging playfully. “i just love stories that make you feel something.”

the chat buzzed with excitement as they both continued sharing their thoughts, and it wasn’t long before someone mentioned winnie the pooh.

“oh, don’t even get us started on winnie the pooh,” you said, your eyes lighting up.

matt immediately perked up, a grin spreading across his face. “okay, but listen,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “eeyore is my guy. he’s just… real, you know? like, everyone’s so busy trying to be happy all the time, but eeyore is like, ‘nah, i’m gonna be me, and that’s enough.’ i respect that.”

you laughed, nodding along. “and i adore pooh. he’s just so pure and kind and always looking out for his friends. plus, his whole thing about appreciating the simple things in life? i think we could all use a little more of that.”

as you both talked about their love for the winnie the pooh franchise, you started showing off you collections—vintage books, stuffed animals, figurines, and even a couple of blankets with the characters on them. the chat exploded with messages about how wholesome it all was, with fans showing off their own collections in response.

hopping up from matt’s lap with an excited grin, matt looked at you with a confused expression as he felt your loss of contact. “i got us these sylvanian families blind bags, and we’re gonna unbox them right now.”

matt chuckled, his eyes following you as you hurried back over with the tiny packages. “you’re so cute when you get all excited like this,” he said softly, his voice just for you.

you blushed but didn’t let it distract you. “okay, here we go,” you announced, tearing open her bag to reveal a tiny buckley red deer dressed in a red romper with an apple on its head. “oh my god, look at this little cutie!” you exclaimed, showing it to the camera.

matt followed suit, opening his bag to reveal a walnut squirrel baby in a brown romper with a little acorn cap on its head. “look at this guy,” he said, holding it up for the chat. “did you know these little caps are called cupules?”

you both laughed, making the two tiny figures kiss in front of the camera as the chat went wild, suggesting names for your new babies

matt leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “think we should wrap it up?” he whispered.

nodding in response, matt took the initiative to end the livestream. “alright, i think that’s a perfect note to end on,” matt said, his voice warm and content. “thanks for hanging out with us, guys. i’ll see you next time.”

with a final kiss between the tiny figures, you both waved goodbye to the stream, sharing a private smile as the screen went dark. the room felt cozy and quiet once more, filled only with the soft hum of the rain outside and the warmth of each other’s presence.

ᨳུ⠀𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @l34n @sturniolossss @eternaldecisions @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @chratts-left-ball @fiowerbeds @fratbrochrisgf

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ me 🤝 adding the nichest shit in my fics and making my characters losers bc of it 😭😭 3k w.c ! hoping that this wasn’t too boring, please send in requests or asks of what u want to see in my blog or just to talk to me i beeeeeeg !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my inbox is always open !!! pls feed it some content ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰ likes, comments & reblogs are highly appreciated. xoxo

© SIRENEDESLILY 2024

[astraystayyh]

inhale, exhale.

model!hyunjin x photographer reader. mutual pining and tension and flirting. friends to lovers.

prequel to Breathe, so i highly recommend reading the second part if you haven’t already hehe. reader is wearing a dress/heels.

hyune gives me photoshoots and i give you brainrots in return it is the natural circle of life.. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too 🥹 feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

Hyunjin’s eyes are piercing, locking onto your figure with an intensity that seems to capture you in place. He’s leaning casually against his sleek black car, one leg crossed before the other, arms folded over his chest, unmoving as the sound of your heels echoes against the cobblestone.

Instead, he tilts his head ever so slightly at your approach, his eyes tracing the contours of your silhouette, setting ablaze the scarlet fabric of your gown with their fervent scrutiny.

It was those very brown eyes you first noticed when Minho showed you Hyunjin’s portfolio. You now know that he is drowned in a sea of accolades regarding his physique— his sculpted proportions, the tantalizing curve of his lips and the seductive caress of his fingertips against them, and above all, his alluring aura and the way he works the camera as if it as an extension of his being.

But it is his eyes that have drawn you in first. Piercing, even through a stack of printed photographs in Minho's hands, burning through paper to ensnare your attention. Even more so, when these same eyes found you for the first time, in an outing your best friend Minho organized— an aspiring photographer shaking the hands of an established model, it was a match made in heaven, per se.

Though heaven was the last thing to grace your mind as you looked at Hyunjin, at the way he carried himself with a grace, and a slight cockiness that only comes from knowing your worth.

You caught his eyes multiple times across the dinner table, your knees grazing his underneath it. You returned home with his perfume imprinted into your skin from the lengthy hours you spent talking over drinks, long after Minho went home to his lover, and three cats. You knew then that Hyunjin could never be just a friend to you.

You are even more sure of it tonight, a fleeting four months later. Minho, the heir of your country’s biggest talent agency is hosting his parent’s annual party, gathering photographers, models, and artistic directors alike, a chance to network and score deals you wouldn’t find elsewhere.

Hyunjin insisted on picking you up.

You pause barely a few inches away from Hyunjin, close enough for him to behold the glitter gracing your eyelids, shimmering beneath the moonlight. Smelling his perfume feels like coming home, and you close yourself for a millisecond longer, allowing yourself the electrifying pleasure of being a mere breath away from him.

“Hello, love,” he speaks softly, and his words morph into invisible fingers trailing down your spine, igniting goosebumps in their trail. You’ve never gotten used to this nickname and the way it stumbles so easily from his lips, as if you could, one day indeed, be his love, a reality hovering just beyond your grasp.

“Hi, Hyunjin,” you smile and his placid facade cracks a little, a glint of a grin shimmering on his lips. He drinks you in, his scrutiny deliberate and unhurried, his gaze moving languidly across your form, flickering between all your features as if he beheld time between his palms, and all his seconds could be spent admiring you. It is only when he seems satiated does he speak again.

“You’re beautiful,” he says earnestly, and you don’t miss his choice of phrasing, you’re beautiful as opposed to you look beautiful, as though it matters not what you are clad in, but the fact that it is you wearing it.

Oftentimes, your compliments to him feel superfluous, your words faltering when you think of the many times Hyunjin must have heard the same adjectives describing him. Yet tonight, you cannot conjure a sarcastic retort to drown his sweet words, not before his ebony suit and the satin shirt peeking beneath it, worst of all, the delicate cascade of gold necklaces that glisten mockingly underneath the stars, taunting you, almost, for being able to graze Hyunjin’s skin when you cannot.

So, you settle for the truth.

“So are you.”

“Complimenting me quite easily tonight?” He smirks, and you respond with an exaggerated eye roll, leaning in closer.

“Forget it. You're actually insufferable.”

He mirrors your movement, drawing nearer until your breaths mingle in the space between you both. “I am actually very lovable, thank you very much.”

“Says who?” you challenge, a hint of defiance coloring your words. The kiss he imprints on the tip of your nose comes like clockwork at your words.

“You,” he grins, and you falter, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness of his gesture. Heat rises to your face, a blush betraying your composure, even beneath your already pink-kissed cheeks, and you curse inwardly at your own vulnerability.

You hate him. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to kiss someone this badly.

He observes your reaction with amusement, a knowing smile playing upon his lips as he taps the car door once before opening it for you. “After you, love.”

Stepping into the sports car feels like walking into Hyunjin’s essence— the rich cognac and oak notes ricocheting off the interior, the scarlet red cushions echoing the passion Hyunjin seems to carry within him.

And amidst the opulent interior, the small water lilies keychain you brought him seems almost out of place, as it dangles from the rearview mirror. Yet, it makes you feel as if part of you has intermingled with Hyunjin’s being, even in the most simplest of ways.

“Are you nervous?” Hyunjin asks ten minutes into your ride, his fingers drumming along the edge of the steering wheel. Your gaze drifts to the golden rings adorning his fingers, each one bearing the iconic emblem of Versace's Medusa. In another life, he could easily be their ambassador and muse.

Hyunjin’s eyes are piercing, not only because of the flames they dip your body in but also because of the gentle way they unravel your layers, understand your silences more than others grasp your words.

“I am. It’s my first time coming as a graduate, you know? What if I don’t leave a good impression on anyone?”

“Impossible.”

Had someone else uttered those words you would have been inclined to contradict them, but Hyunjin speaks with utmost certainty, as if his words are the only conceivable reply to yours.

“Okay.”

His fingers trail along the shell of your ear, delicately tucking a stray lock of hair behind it. The breaths in your chest ebb and flow more rapidly, you don’t know if it is from nerves or his touch.

“Inhale with me,” he instructs, and you follow his lead, synchronizing your breath with his. His hand glides down your jawline, a gentle caress that soothes your racing pulse. “Exhale,” he murmurs, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding, comforted by the weight of his touch.

You know the ghost of his fingertips will remain with you as the night wears on, a reminder that he is near, just around the corner, waiting for you to call him.

“You’ll do well, I’m sure of it.”

The gathering is held in a different location every year, and this time, Minho chose an intimate setting—a dimly lit hotel bar, graced by the warm glow of chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, brown leather seats surrounding glass tables, and extravagant flower arrangements.

For a split second, your back instinctively hunches, a reflexive response before this detailed showcase of luxury. But then you straighten your spine, comforted by the sound of your clicking heels against the polished floor, and Hyunjin's warm palm against your lower back.

You reach for a drink from a passing tray, the glass cool against your fingertips as you swirl the cocktail within. You take note of the numerous guests, as you cast a glance around the room, each one a titan in their creative field. Hyunjin stands at your side, his shoulder brushing against yours, as he too takes his time in assessing the room.

“Seems kind of boring,” Hyunjin remarks, his voice laced with a hint of disinterest as he leisurely sips his drink.

“Seems like your scene,” you tease, flashing him a playful grin, and he arches a brow in response.

“Oh yeah? And what is my scene?”

“An intimate setting with romantic lighting and jazz music,” you explain, taking a step closer and resting a hand delicately on his arm. “And some wine,” you add, though his attention is captivated by the movement of your shimmering lips as you speak. “And pretty people eyeing you all over the place.”

“Are they?” he counters, his hand sliding slowly to your waist, drawing you nearer with a subtle pull. “I only see you.”

“Really?” you challenge, trailing a finger tantalizingly slow along his jawline, “Then make sure your eyes never leave me throughout the night.”

His gaze remains fixed on your retreating form, a mixture of bewilderment and desire swirling in his eyes. He mutters a curse at the sight of your backless dress— it seems more than likely that you are a killer sent to end him by the end of the night.

It’s a few hours later, and Hyunjin has exhausted every social bone in his being, each interaction draining his reserves of charm and charisma. All he craves now is rest, and the comfort of his home—it turns out that, lately, it is more and more wherever you are, rather than the confines of his house.

He spots you sitting in a secluded corner, bathed in the soft glow of a solitary candle. A gentle smile graces his lips as he observes you, engrossed in nibbling at the snacks laid out before you.

Do you even realize how beautiful you are?

“You’re whipped,” Minho's voice interrupts his thoughts, Hyunjin does not contradict him.

“Is it that obvious?” he replies with a hint of amusement, his eyes never flickering away from your figure.

“You should see how you look at them.”

“Is it weird that everywhere we go, the world seems to narrow down to them alone?” he admits, a tinge of uncertainty coloring his words. The silence that follows from Minho makes a scorching heat creep up his neck, so he unbuttons his shirt for a bit of respite.

Minho shakes his head, a small giggle escaping his lips, before offering a reassuring clap on Hyunjin’s back. “I’ll see you around.”

Hyunjin quickly strides towards you, eager not to waste any seconds far from you, propelled by a longing that grips him like a second skin. He thinks you’re much closer to his heart than the necklaces brushing against his bare chest.

“Found you,” Hyunjin announces with a grin as he settles onto the couch across from you. Your body relaxes once you recognize him, your smile blooms akin to the first petals unfurling in spring.

“See, you didn’t look at me all night,” you pout teasingly and he chuckles, tipping his head back.

“I actually was. I was looking at you, through my heart.”

“How does that even work?”

He hesitates for a moment before his next words spill forth, unfiltered and raw. “I don't need to see you to know that you are near, I just feel it.”

A moment of silence hangs between you before you smile sheepishly, tilting your head to the side in wonder. “How was your night?”

“Productive but tiring, and you?” he replies, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your presence.

“I got a booking, a big one,” you announce with a grin, and his own smile mirrors yours instantly, his happiness following yours as if tethered by an invisible string.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I think I'll need your help. It needs to be in a bathtub and I know you are busy so it’s okay if—”

“I’m all yours,” he interrupts without hesitation, and you nod, heart swelling with gratitude.

It is quiet then, as you rest your head against the corner of the couch, and Hyunjin mirrors your gesture, his gaze never wavering from yours. The soft flicker of candlelight casts a warm glow upon his bare skin, the one unveiled by his unbuttoned shirt. And your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your heart suddenly aches, for him alone.

He brings his hand near his face, his rosy lips brushing against his knuckles, as your eyes trace the contours of his face— it seems to possess an otherworldly radiance, with dark locks cascading like silken strands, as if meticulously arranged by the hand of Aphrodite herself. Surely, she would adore him too, as would anyone who had the privilege of knowing him.

But you believe your adoration surpasses that of most.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to rest delicately on his knee. “For finding me again.”

In response, his eyes soften, a gentleness that transcends mere words seeping into his gaze. He's no longer just around the corner; he’s right behind the door, both your hands poised on the doorknob. It is only a matter of time before one of you takes the plunge.

“Thank you for letting me find you.”

[tofixtheshadows]

I should've made this in the first place to go as a reference to my post about Kabru rarely being shown eating (and when he does it, it isn't pleasurable) and linked it somewhere. I didn't feel like I needed to go through every example and based on people's tags I do think everyone gets it ... but I'm compiling this anyway because I find it really interesting from an artistic/writerly standpoint.

Like, Kabru obviously is eating meals in the abstract sense. But as I said, Kui almost never actually draws him putting food in his mouth. At first I assumed that she was avoiding it to save on space because he needs to be shown talking instead, but as I've looked back, I've noted that she doesn't usually shy away from giving characters speech bubbles even when they're chewing or they have utensils in their mouths. Unless they're Kabru.

This would realistically be the best time to actually show him eating, since it's a normal meal at a normal restaurant, but no. He doesn't actually put food in his mouth in this entire scene. They show him taking a bite in the anime, so I almost forgot, but honestly the manga just makes it look like he's picking at his food. Again: I'm sure he does eat this meal. My point is that I think it's a deliberate choice to keep that off-page, to contrast all the other characters who get to both visibly eat food and enjoy it.

As mentioned, Kabru is only shown drinking wine while his party eats the snacks in chapter 32. I think it's possible to infer that he doesn't actually eat any food here at all.

The harpy egg omelette bit barely counts as eating lmao we all saw him struggling to even swallow a bite down. Let's move on.

Quick sidebar:

Are we all going insane over this panel or is it just me? Okay continue.

Like with the omelette, it gets a checkmark for actually going into his mouth but no checkmark for enjoyment. He hates this. He's being spoon fed bad cake and patronized.

Next:

Literally the worst meal in Dungeon Meshi lmao.

Barometz:

He does actually eat this. Rare Kabru mastication panel, not clickbait. But it's kind of a sad moment when you remember that he was looking forward to a cultural dish of his mother's- literal comfort food from his childhood- and instead got the weird godless crab-meat-plant that is the barometz. This may be the only time Kabru goes looking for comfort, and he's pointedly denied it.

Next:

Yeah he isn't drawn eating during this entire scene either. Only drawn holding the food and his utensil.

As stated: still never shown eating. Deliberately shown getting Mithrun to eat instead. Kabru, the call is coming from inside the goddamn house.

Bavarois is next, and once again it gets a checkmark for actual on-page chewing but as we see, he still hates it and has to concentrate very hard and block out all thoughts of what he's doing in order to swallow it down without making a scene.

Okay. Faligon feast. Kabru does canonically spend days eating for the sake of Laios and Falin! Yay! Caloric fucking intake! Clean plate club!

And yet.

Literally shown stopping himself before he can put the food in his mouth.

Mickbell is so real for this. No one needed to hear a lecture from Senshi more than Kabru.

Anyway. Given how surgically precise Kui is with everything else in this story, I just feel the choice to constantly show Kabru focusing on his worries during mealtimes, instead of drawing him just enjoying food, was purposeful.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

a singer!reader where she writes a super sexy song and the fans are going crazy because she's never written a song like that. she goes to some talk shows bc she has to promote the album of the song, and they ask her about it and if its about her boyfriend tom blyth!!!!

Never be like you || Tom Blyth x singer!reader

A/n: lowkey need Gracie to do a cover for this song bc I feel like her voice would suit it sm and I wanna see her do this type of vibe!!

Warnings: fem!reader, swearing

Wc: 719

Tom Blyth x singer!reader au masterlist

“Our next guest, is a Grammy nominee for best new artist, performing her single never be like you for the first time, please welcome Y/n Abrams!” Jimmy Fallon announces as the crowd erupts in cheers. You take the stage, the crowd hushed in anticipation. The spotlight illuminates you, clad in a sultry ensemble that's a departure from your usual style

“What I would do, to take away, this fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain,” Your fingers wrap around the mic as you close your eyes. “Now I’m fucked up, and I’m missing you, He’ll never be like you,” The atmosphere shifted, and you began to sing the sultry lyrics in a way that surprised even your most dedicated fans. The audience was captivated, and whispers of amazement spread like wildfire.

“I’m only human, can’t you see? I made, I made a mistake, please just look me in my face, tell me everything’s okay,” Your hands, usually strumming a guitar, were instead in your hair as you tilt your head back almost in a sexual manner. The crowd, initially unsure how to react, soon becomes entranced by your unexpected venture into this new style.

The song's sensual undertones echoed through the venue, and you felt an electrifying connection with the audience. This style of song was something you’ve never done before. That’s why you really enjoyed producing it. It brought you out of your comfort zone; a deliberate choice to express a different side of yourself.

"How do I make you wanna stay? hate sleeping on my own, missing the way you taste," your voice, rich and alluring, wraps around the lyrics with a sensuality that catches everyone off guard.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes," a smile naturally played on your lips as you delivered that line, intentionally fixing your gaze on the camera, fully aware of Tom's watchful eyes. The lyrics, tailored to hit home with your boyfriend, spoke directly to his captivating deep blue eyes – the kind that always left you spellbound, and no amount of time together could diminish the flutter of nerves they induced.

"like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why, now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you, he'll never be like you," Backstage, Tom can't tear his eyes away. The way you command the stage, blending vulnerability with a newfound confidence, stirs something within him.

He had heard snippets of the song before its release, but experiencing it live brings a visceral intensity he hadn't anticipated. The lyrics, once a private exchange, now echo through the venue, leaving everyone captivated.

As the performance concludes, the audience erupts into applause, their astonishment turning into admiration. Tom approached with a grin, desire in his eyes, expressing his awe at your unexpected and alluring rendition. "That was incredible," he whispers, pulling you into a passionate embrace.

Word spreads like wildfire. Fans, accustomed to your previous style, can't believe the transformation. Social media buzzes with speculation, theories swirling that the song must be about someone special.

In a promotional interview, the host, with a sly grin, asks the question on everyone's mind. "Rumors are circulating that the inspiration behind your latest single is none other than your boyfriend, Tom Blyth. Care to shed some light on that?"

A coy smile played on your lips as you glance at the crowd, then back to the interviewer. "My supporters sure are smart, huh?" You giggle softly to yourself. "But, yes, it is about Tom."

"It's quite different to my usual style, but it was very fun to compose," You smile. The revelation sends shockwaves through your fanbase. Speculation turns into fervent curiosity, and they dissect the lyrics for clues about your relationship with Tom. Social media explodes, and you find yourself at the center of a newfound spotlight.

Tom, for his part, embraces the attention with good humor. During his interviews for "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes," fans playfully tease him about being the muse behind your provocative song. He takes it all in stride, admitting with a smile that he's flattered by the attention.

"So, Tom, we've all heard your girlfriend's new song 'Never be like you' and everyone knows it's about you. What are your thoughts on it?" the interviewer inquired, a playful glint in their eyes.

Tom chuckled nervously, a light blush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, it's certainly an interesting experience," he replied with a sheepish smile. "I'm flattered, to be honest. My girl is incredibly talented, and she expresses herself very well through her music, something I admire,"

As he spoke, his castmates, Rachel and Hunter, couldn't help but interject with mischievous grins. "Oh, come on, Tom! 'Interesting experience'? That song is steamy!" Rachel teased, eliciting laughter from Hunter.

Tom rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. "Alright, alright. Maybe 'interesting' is an understatement. But seriously, I'm incredibly proud of her. She was worried her new style of music not being a hit, but she nailed it."

The banter continued, but beneath the teasing, there was a genuine camaraderie. Tom's supportive words reflected not only his admiration for his girlfriend's artistic expression but also his pride in you.

As your relationship becomes a public fascination, the dynamics of your performances shift. Fans attend your shows not just for your music but to catch glimpses of the chemistry they've read about online. The narrative surrounding your love story becomes intertwined with your artistic identity.

Tom's become a regular at your shows, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you own the stage. Your private affair has gone all public, and now it's like you and him are this dynamic duo everyone's rooting for. The crazy twist in your music style? It's like you cracked open a whole new world for yourself, and at the same time, it's made you and Tom this inseparable couple in the eyes of your fans.

[trans-cuchulainn]

contrary to my entire vibes i do actually enjoy anachronistic media sometimes. a knight's tale is one of my favourite films. the thing is, the anachronisms in AKT are done deliberately to achieve specific effects. singing queen during a joust is a choice to establish knights as the rockstars of their age and this moment as the popular culture/entertaiment of its time. that is a decision made for artistic effect and to convey a specific mood.

what would have pissed me off is if, instead of using queen, they had decided to use, like, baroque string ensembles, because all history's history and who cares that it's three or four hundred years off, it's the past, ain't it? or if they had treated lances as if they were made of metal and interacted with them as if they were made of metal and all it would take is one google search to confirm that no they don't work like that and they didn't do it -- and at the same time had put a ton of research into another aspect of material culture, like making all the heraldry spot-on...

when you aim for historical plausibility in some areas of your story and then completely miss the mark with everything you didn't care about enough to even google it, that is when i get pissed off, and i am also pissed off that no editor, copyeditor, proofreader etc so much as went "hey, does parchment work like that?" because they SHOULD have done

[sith-shenanigans]

The thing about the Omelas story is that I don’t hate it, actually.

Don’t get me wrong. Usually, when I think about it, it drives me up a wall. I also—on the subject of responses to it—didn’t really like The Ones Who Stay And Fight. (Most of my reasons are said, better, in this article. Not the part about the tone, but that it shot for ambiguity and ended up in “somehow, the clearly magical power of child suffering made more sense than intolerance being a memetic virus that can only be solved through police murder.”) I’m fond of responding to trolley problems by asking who’s tying people to trolleys, and then insisting that it is morally relevant that someone tied those people to the tracks, because you wouldn’t be deciding who lives and who dies if someone hadn’t made the deliberate choice to put those people in mortal peril for no pressing reason.

(I like to think I’d save the five people. I think a lot of us would most likely panic and do something entirely unhelpful, and in practice, I have no idea if I’m one of them, because no one has ever tied anybody to a trolley track in front of me. It just hasn’t come up. But the ideal would be to save the five people. That’s not my answer in the organ-harvesting version, though, because it’s bad for everyone to live in a place where a surgeon can decide to kill you for your organs, no matter how many people doing it just this once would save.)

But I don’t dislike the story that Omelas came from. I don’t even dislike trolley problems, unless people are trying to insist that the context doesn’t matter. (The context always matters.) The problem is that everyone treats Omelas as a trolley problem. “Here’s a utopia where one innocent person has to suffer horribly. Is it worth it, to keep so many other people from suffering? Would you stay and be complicit, or would you walk out to go anywhere else?” The child is the central feature of Omelas, the only thing that matters. The child is nonnegotiable. You can’t rescue them, you can only walk away.

But the narrator did give us the chance to believe, before adding the child in.

Omelas is described to us as half place and half thought experiment, by a narrator that adds things as they go, a narrator that says this at close to the opening:

As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.

And goes on, in the narrative, to consider the reader’s opinion, to ask what they’ll believe.

I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however – that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. – they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn't matter. As you like it.

[…]

But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate. […] Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be?

Omelas is a story being told to a listener, a utopia being described; the reader is an implied participant in a conversation, the narrator reacting to what they said where the page couldn’t hear. And so, after all of that, the narrator says:

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.

And the narrator goes on to describe the child, the terrible price, the self-justifications that people employ. Because the listener doesn’t accept the festival, the city, the joy—only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. So the narrator engages in “the treason of the artist” (if you can't lick 'em, join 'em) and regales us with the child’s sorry state.

[…] They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible?

I don’t think we’re being asked, as readers, to consider whether it’s worth it, though it’s certainly something we can consider if we want. But the narrative seems quite clear that it isn’t: to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. A description of Omelas, of why Omelas should be believed in, but how could that be anything but a condemnation of a city powered by a forsaken child?

And, of course, everyone wants to ask—why don’t we free the child, why don’t we comfort the child, why don’t we change things and take the risk of making everything worse? Why is the best thing we can do to walk away?

Because we needed the utopia to have suffering in it, to believe it. Because it couldn’t be real until there was a cost, a price, something cruel and unfair to balance out the scales. Something had to be wrong with Omelas, as the narrator spun it up before us. Yes, perhaps we could save the child, perhaps we could ruin everything, perhaps we could be heroes—wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be the story we want, here, where someone is suffering and only we (who are of course more compassionate than everyone else) can fix it? That would make it a real utopia, if we could kick down the doors and fix everything ourselves.

But it would have been better to believe that Omelas could exist without someone suffering for it, when we were asked.

[anotherghoul666]

i JUST started listening to sleep token and went to the tag only to find you there, please tell me more about this band?? collective?? i need more

You got it buddy! One order of a full Sleep Token beginner primer, coming up!

Sleep Token are a rock? metal? genre blending collective based out of England, tho nobody's 100% sure of where the members are from because they are also a masked and anonymous project. Their style of music varies greatly from album to album and song to song. From soft ballads, to electronic music, to indie, to progressive / prog metal, to post-rock / post-metal, and now with their newest singles, a definite shift into heavier sounds with roots in djent and -core genre elements like breakdowns and scream vocals, let's just say they are very diverse and there are not many bands that sound the same out there. Their blending is pretty unique, and imo will prove to be genre-defining in the coming years. They are signed to Spinefarm records and they're touring as we speak in Europe.

They formed in 2016 and self-released their first EP called One that same year. Their second EP aptly called Two was released in 2017 on Basick. They currently have two full length albums out on Spinefarm, 2019's Sundowning and 2021's This Place Will Become Your Tomb, which are the crux of the material you wanna look into. I always advise that you listen to the whole albums front to back because artists plan these tracklists deliberately, so we owe it to them to consume their output the way they intended us to, but! I also realize nowadays nobody does that because of Spotify and streaming, unfortunately, so: for Sundowning, I'd recommend Sugar as a first track because it touches on both the soft and harsh sides of the album beautifully; and for TPWBYT I'd say start with Alkaline (bonus points for a delicious video to get you into their visual side too). On January 6th and 7th 2023, they released two new songs to showcase their new sound, Chokehold and The Summoning. These two singles seem to be the optimal path currently to get into the band. There are rumors of a new album called Take Me Back To Eden to be released this year, there's a tracklist floating around online though we don't know if its legit, and there are also rumors for new singles coming out, at the time of writing this, tomorrow and in two days, on the 19th and 20th of January 2023. There's also a recording of an acoustic show called From The Room Below floating online, with new takes on their previous songs and a few choice covers like Billie Eilish's When The Party's Over, surprising crossovers that are emotional experiences.

Now, visually and in theme, you'll notice the band has a storyline of sorts. The lore of Sleep Token is this: the band was formed after an ancient deity called Sleep (a reductive name that doesn't encompass the deity's nature at all, but its true name cannot be spoken in any human tongue) revealed itself to the singer, Vessel, in his sleep. Sleep appears to be a powerful force worshiped in ancient civilizations, that gave them the blessing of dreams and the curse of nightmares. Since this apparition, Vessel's life purpose has been to worship and make offerings to Sleep via music. The members of the band are all called vessels, we can infer vessels for Sleep. The singer is Vessel I, but the fandom's moved to just calling him Vessel. The other members are just called by their numbers. II is on drums, III is on bass, IV is on guitar. They're all vessels. They wear masks to hide their identities, with what seems to be full body black paint and some variety of stage costumes including hooded coats and capes and now apparently full pauldrons and void wizard staves.

You'll come across some specific lingo when encountering Sleep Token content or in the fandom. These terms mostly come from their official social media so they use them themselves, it's not fan made. "Worship" is the tagline, kinda like "Nema" is with Ghost. You'll see fans telling each other that all the time. To Worship is to take part in enjoying the band in any way you can: listening to the music, watching videos, streaming their stuff, spreading the word, going to shows, buying merch, etc. Sleep Token's shows are called Rituals, like Ghost's. Pictures and videos are referred to as Sacred Moments, or Sacred Moments in Time. The bands they tour with are called Brethren. Sleep Token's songs are called Offerings. Because they are written as a means to Worship the Sleep deity. Offerings can also be in the form of instrument playthroughs, videos, etc. What the band produces. When you listened to new material or acquire merch, you also Consume. A note on their anonymity to finish: while there are rumors about who the band members are, nothing's confirmed and the band's explicit wish is to maintain this anonymity, so it fundamental to respect those wishes and not try to dig. They value art for art, they let the music speak for itself, and they explicitely wish for their music to be detached from who they are as people. Let's leave the magic in place both for them and for us!

Welcome to the fold! Worship!

[stxrr-strxckk]

Something I noticed about I Saw the TV Glow that I haven't seen anybody mention yet

I saw this movie in theaters back in early may when it was released (Twice!), and it's been lingering in my head ever since then. Something I noticed on my second watch through: When Owen (and the audience) first see the Pink Opaque, we see Tara and Isabel in this sort of 90s nostalgia light, and I always thought they looked quite similar to Maddy and Owen. For example: Here is Owen and Isabel next to each other for reference.

While it's not entirely the same (Owen has softer features and is warmer toned, Isabel is more sharp and cool toned), they do look like they'd at least be related, cousins at least?

Same with Maddy and Tara, though not as much. (They looked more similar after Maddy's haircut, but I'm too lazy to change the photo)

But then, at the end when Owen is rewatching Pink Opaque? It's completely different. That nostalgic effect is gone and all of a sudden Tara is nowhere to be seen (Since Maddy left the world they were trapped in), and Isabel is completely different. Instead of being the confident, strong, WOC we see her as originally, she's just the same boring white protagonist of every little girl's show we grew up on.

And of course Owen is panicking, realizing that he lost his chance: He buried Isabel; she's dead underground, without her heart and instead of being who he truly is where he truly belongs, he's just... Owen. Stuck in suburbia, living the hell of being a queer kid growing up in the suburbs. Except now, he's an adult living a lie, knowing what he could have had is gone and he's stuck.

And another thing: I think the choice of the fun zone being where Owen works is deliberate. Sure, they could have kept him at the theater, but the theater shutting down is not only accurate (sad but true- please support your local movie theaters!) but shows how everyone is moving on from that experience of going to see a movie in person- choosing streaming instead.

And we also notice this change in the Pink Opaque when Owen is watching it streaming. This is a reflection of how media felt more special growing up when it was in a physical form. Cds, vinyl, Dvds, casettes, film reels, even game cartridges, we've always had some physical object that bonds us to the worlds of creativity in which artists express themselves. And whether you've noticed or not, it's a special sort of feeling that just... Dies with streaming. Its like you own a piece of the media. Like saying: "This is mine, it's my personal piece of media that belongs to me and only me." and that's always made it feel special. Sure, there may be multiple copies, but this one belongs just to you. Not to mention the ritual of actually putting in cds, dvds, casettes into a player, or playing vinyl on a record player. There's this action you have to take to consume this media that's familiar and sort of gets you to anticipate what you're about to watch (much like Owen and Maddy's ritual of Maddy taping the show then leaving them around school for Owen to find) whereas now, you're just on a streaming service that lots of people own, and you're just mindlessly scrolling through hundreds of options.

Another thing: What do we see when Owen cuts his chest open in the final few minutes? TV static. Like when a tape finishes and you don't take it out of the player. Now with streaming, you don't get that static. His connection with the Pink Opaque stems from his friendship with Maddy, the nostalgia of his favorite childhood show, and of course: his own queerness.

It's no secret this movie is about growing up queer and feeling like something is wrong. Like some part of you missing, the part that makes you normal. I've seen many reviews on IMDB that clearly missed the point, so I really want to spell it out here: THIS IS A MOVIE ABOUT QUEER PEOPLE FOR QUEER PEOPLE. And I've never seen a movie so perfectly encapsulate that feeling more than this one.

From my experience as a queer POC growing up with little to no representation I know this feeling all too well of seeing someone and realizing: "Wow, that's me." And projecting who I wanted to be onto that person. Then, later revisiting that media to realize that a: you've become them, your true self, or b, in Owen's case: that you've buried that person alive and barely recognize yourself.

It's really such a unique experience that I've never been able to put into words before. These scenes gave me such a visceral feeling and I almost cried in the theater. The scene of Owen in Isabel's dress is just the cherry on top. I myself am lucky enough to not need to transition and growing up I didn't feel as much dysphoria as my other trans friends, but this reminds me of a good friend of mine who used to dress in heels, makeup, skirts, and dresses to try and lessen the dysphoria she felt growing up in the wrong body.

I also love how the movie shows being queer in school.

Like how Maddy asks Owen if he likes girls or boys, and he replies with: "I think I like TV shows."

Avoiding the question because you either don't know the answer, or are so afraid you're gonna get bullied even more for being who you are.

Growing up, there weren't many queer kids in my school. So when we found each other, we stuck together. But for most of school, we were alone. No groups, not many friends, no space at the lunch table for us.

And seeing Owen, I just felt this connection to him almost immediately. Alone, not part of any group, until he finally finds Maddy. They don't have anything in common except the show, which is really the only reason they're friends, but it keeps them together, They're bonded.

For me, I see this as finding another queer kid in a mostly straight school. You may not have much in common, but that identity means you two will stick together, no matter what.

TLDR: I love isttvg, it makes me cry, everyone in gay and fuck imdb.

[nalyra-dreaming]

COMMENTS on 2x05 - SPOILERS ahead, obviously^^

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

First off - this episode made me throw out some things out the window, and rearranged some things, confirmed others - HOLY HELL. A lot of screaming this time, the comments are a bit incoherent because holy fuck. I will need a few days to rearrange stuff after this lmao. . . . . . . . . . .

the (hot) bantering that Daniel does not buy once more

loved Daniel honing in on the change in narration

“narcoleptic pull of the sun” for the younger vamps… I guess that is how they adjusted the lore

MALIK - oh he’s LUNCH. Armand is fucking playing with his food, and honestly, that is quite the… well. Sadistic hunt, to be frank. Supposedly of course those who “deserve” it, but it really reminds me of the “hunting evildoers” they do later, and who they then put into the dungeons for easy snacking

“half in love with an easeful death”

“his methodology is never violent” 💀 (just fatal, depends probably on how you define “violent”)

God Daniel remembering and how they did that is CREEPY

The piano notes - pushing our noses to the important bits, oof

Daniel thinking they had sex (and the reactions both in the past and in Dubai, lol, cute!)

Louis “dined” almost every night he was there….

Mhhhhh Louis’ fangs, and Daniel shaken to the core

Daniel telling Louis he was lonely HIT

“naahhhh”

Them quoting the book there - I love it. Whole passages just recited from the book. Louis reading Lestat for filth, lol - love the dynamic he and Louis have there, lmao.

Oh Louis, sweetie. The way he halted, when Daniel said he was his “first love”

Ah, that is interesting, Daniel questioning Louis not going with Claudia after that bench… “the only choice, the wrong choice” (!!!)

“And then what” looool :)))

Daniel playing the extended file.

OMG

OH MY GOD

Armand going he is at home and always cleaning up after Louis

LOUIS going at Armand for being BORING. Holy shit. “dull as fuck”. “Suffocation by the world’s softest, beigest pillow.” OMG. I know it’s not funny, holy shit, but the DELIVERY?!!!! Oh yeah, Louis loves crazy and apparently he misses it - badly. “Did you want to lick my boots or chop my hands off? Is it the gremlin or the good nurse tonight”!!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Armand mocking Louis “oh it’s so hard to be me” - “It’s so hard to be me” oh my fucking god

AND THEM MOCKING FUCKING THEIR PASTS

AND ARMAND TELLING LOUIS that Claudia did not love him, not like Lestat did, not like HE has. …..

AND OH MY GOD - it’s the Merrick reveal!!!!!!! Of her hating him. Of him having lost her and Lestat. Oh he’s HEARING her calling him!!!! IT’S FUCKING MERRICK in a mixup with the Tulane draft of Armand saving him then (without the Lestat involvement!) FUCK!!!!! I fucking love/hate the writers!!!!!!!! I KNEW THEY WOULD GO THERE BUT HOLY SHIT LIKE THIS???????????

Oh god the wounds. The makeup artists had fun oO.

Ohhhhhhhh Armand is … hurt there. And not having it. Ugh, I get him, but holy shit

Oh hell, the music, and Daniel being slammed around in punishment for Louis!!!

Ohhhhhhhh Armand is full on “gremlin” there. Terrifying shit. “Rest”.

Fascinating, indeed. On all levels, lol. While Louis is screaming in the next room.

“A splinter of coldness in you”

The emotion in “Louis thinks I’m boring”. Ugh.

Armand starting to tell his story, and then breaking off - oh, god, I want him to tell his story to Daniel later, please. Please let it be Daniel in the show, not David.

Love it that Louis and Daniel try to remember pushing their feet into the little rocks next to the tree

Daniel seeing Armand trying to communicate

And HOLY SHIT - that image of Louis in the coffin?!? Tell me I’m not the only one seeing the similarities???? oO

Armand calling out Louis there, deliberately calling Lestat trash, and OH MY GOD Armand theorizing that is why Louis wants to do this, to get the book out?!! To MAKE Lestat chase after Louis because of it!!!!!!!! God the way they call back to the original novel plot lines is AMAZING I literally screamed at that.

And oh my god, the way his voice breaks on the “insanity” part, on “if you want to escape from this prison of empathy I’ve locked you away in” - holy hell. And that small smile.

And him offering to reach out to Lestat for Louis and then NOT TELLING WHAT LESTAT SAID AND CUTTING IT OFF!!! GOD DAMMIT ARMAND. AAARGGHHHHHHHHHH. And the way Lestat’s voice is shaking with fear there. And then screaming!!! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?! WHY IS ARMAND KEEPING THEM APART?!" AND HOW????

“… have I atoned for my part in Paris”. Ugh.

Armand slowly and gently spellbinding Daniel there was almost beautiful.

And then Louis, NOT asking. And the dynamic changing, immediately. … brutal. Armand’s face there.

And then, and then Daniel suddenly knowing what the words meant, and then. The memory making sense. THEN them both knowing Armand fucking meddled with both their minds. The proof of the fucking “tinkering”, both only having a “truncated version”. “Same precise edit, on two brains.”

And god, Armand coming back, and Louis MIMICKING HIM.

Louis’ face.

GOD YES. HE IS PISSED.

HOLY SHIT. 💀 (again) A lot of my theories are evolving now, with them having pulled up Merrick.

With Armand knowing where Lestat is, and not relaying the message as promised.

With Louis now knowing Armand influenced his mind as well. Holy shit.

They should have called this episode “No Pain” (All the pain). -.-

And the preview, of the blood, and Louis comment of “can you imagine me without the burden of her”.

The BURDEN of her.

Ouch Louis. Just… ouch.

EPISODE INSIDER

“It explains the betrayal” …. (see below)

“It explains everything that is going to happen”(!!!!) Mark Johnson once more.

“The relationship[] has all kinds of problems, many of the same issues he had when he was with Lestat have resurfaced.” (!!!!!) 💀

Assad: “Armand is always conniving. He is always working, and I think that is also the tragedy of him, it’s that he can’t ever relax with the truth.” HOLY FUCKING SHIT

Jacob: “It’s kind of the biggest betrayal, isn’t it, when you choose to spend your life with somebody, you accept each other. I can’t think of a bigger betrayal than lying to that person in such a significant way to the extent that you would rewrite their history.” 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 *Jacob: “It makes me angry, now, Armand is so wrong for that.(!!!!)

Eric: “We both discover the depths of duplicity that Armand has gone to, and what he’s done to each of us.”

... what an episode.

[betweengenesisfrogs]

A HOMESTUCK MANIFESTO

I want to think about what comes next after Homestuck.

That’s a challenge to the world as much as a personal mission statement.

I want to see writers and artists and creators making the next Homestuck, taking its themes and binding them into new fabrics, giving life to new creatures even more beautiful and uncanny than the original species.

I hunger to see new forms of story and image evolving with Homestuck in their DNA.

This process is already underway. Homestuck is a massive boulder dropped into the waters of culture, and the full wake of its ripples is still to be felt. But let’s call attention to this process and ask: what would happen if we engaged in it more consciously? If we sifted through our feelings about Homestuck to create something new, deliberately, with great and wonderful purpose?

The tools we need are within our grasp. Homestuck presents itself as magic, but it’s a work constructed in time out of specific storytelling choices. So let’s understand those choices. Let’s understand how Homestuck did what it did, and use Homestuck’s tools to build art that grips the soul of future generations as strongly as Homestuck did ours.

What follows is not a traditional literary analysis. It does not cite its sources; it does not seek to give us a comprehensive understanding of Homestuck. If it does, it does so only to the extent it suits its larger purpose.

Our goal here, our quest, if you will, is not to understand the Homestuck that exists, but the Homestuck that comes next.

Let's begin.

0. THE WILD GARDEN

Let’s lay the absolute groundwork here.

Homestuck is constructed as a re-appropriation of itself. Or to put it another way, it’s a big improvisational move, a process of “yes and”-ing so hard it develops a sprawling continuity.

Tiny details are constantly re-contextualized to become part of something else. A joke might turn tragic. A silly aside might turn into something profound.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

It’s crucial to understand that what we experience as continuities were in fact choices made at specific times. Homestuck is a garden where seeds were scattered in every direction, grown en masse, then weeded down to create patterns and forms.

The shape of the garden is designed to conceal the gardener’s hand. But the gardener’s choices are there, every step of the way.

If we are to follow in its footsteps, what choices should we make?

Let’s talk about themes.

1. THE MEANING CRISIS

Nobody in Homestuck knows what they’re doing.

And neither do we.

All the old idols have broken down. The values we were taught in our childhood fail to measure up to the problems of the world we live in. We grasp after careers and lives we were told would make us happy and wonder why we’re left empty. The selves that we were told were us now fit us about as well as clothing we’ve outgrown. Crises loom, political, economic and environmental, and everywhere it feels like the people who are supposed to guide and lead us aren’t doing enough.

It's widening gyres and slouching beasts all the way from here to Bethlehem, is what I’m saying.

The reason people go absolutely insane for Homestuck is that it depicts this crisis of meaning. It shows the questions we might want to ask, and attempts to provide some kind of answer.

The protagonists of Homestuck struggle with what I’ve called “received narrative.” That is, they’ve inherited stories from their families, from the world, that they try to use to define their lives, and it doesn’t work. But these stories are so familiar that it’s hard to think outside them. They have to develop new stories by which to live. Sometimes they succeed, but other times they can’t escape the gravity of the ones they were given.

With me so far?

Great. Now understand that all this was improvised and discovered largely accidentally over the course of ten years.

Here’s a seed that became quite an impressive tree:

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

It’s a joke. But it was never just a joke. There’s an idea here of dissatisfaction with the stereotypical idea of American suburban life. Egbert here is looking for something more, dissatisfied for reasons they can’t fully articulate. This is typical fantasy protagonist stuff, but there’s something more here, too.

Eventually it’s redirected towards the idea that there really is an unseen riddler. But let’s put that aside for now.

This page, in its moment, says: your life is not the full picture. There’s something else out there, waiting, that’s going to change everything.

That's a potential set-up for a very powerful payoff. It gives us the sense that Egbert and all their friends are going to have to rethink what they know. That this suburban life is not going to be enough for them, that somehow or other they’re going to encounter something they aren’t prepared for, and they’ll have to find a new way of acting and being. That, try as they might to avoid it, they’re going to change over the course of this journey.

But to understand how they change, we need to talk about SBURB.

2. THE PORTAL FANTASY OF IT ALL

A lot of people like to joke that Homestuck is an isekai. I think it might clarify things to use the term portal fantasy instead.

Portal fantasy is simply the fantasy subgenre of characters, usually kids, going to a magical other world. Maybe they make friends, maybe they learn lessons and stuff. You know the drill. I don’t have to to tell you more because the story structure is already so familiar. That’s what gives it power.

Portal fantasy differs from the related Japanese genre of isekai in that isekai in its current form is much more heavily based on video games such as MMORPGs. In the most pervasive isekai narratives, protagonists are rewarded not so much for achieving personal growth as being able to exploit the game mechanics of a game-like system. That’s pretty different from your typical Narnia scenario.

The influence of portal fantasy is everywhere in Homestuck, especially in the beginning. We have nods to the fantasy films of the 1980s that gave us our contemporary idea of this story structure, such as The Neverending Story (itself, in its original book incarnation, a phenomenal commentary on the genre). Our protagonists are genre savvy; they recognize what’s happening here.

But it doesn’t fit quite right. The odd note is first sounded when Egbert asks Nanasprite if what they’re doing is going to save the world. They’re bit unsettled to learn the answer’s no, that something else is going on here. Next we have the fantasy worlds: the planetary lands each present a veneer of exciting adventure. But their inhabitants, the consorts, aren’t fully-realized people, they’re largely cute animals going through the motions, not really understanding the story they’re telling. The carapacians are a little better, but they’re still trapped in a fatalism that feels uncomfortable.

As things rev up in Act 4, we learn about doomed timelines from alt-timeline Dave and Rose, how your entire existence in this setting may be fodder for something other than you. When we learn the true purpose of SBURB and its froggy details in Act 5, we see that SBURB is more like a biological creature, mainly interested in its own reproductive desires. It was never really about the portal fantasy at all. The kids are just along for the ride.

So when we see that Rose wants to tear through SBURB, find out a way to escape fate, and snatch meaning from the jaws of futility, it makes sense. We’ve been given hints already that this is the conflict at hand: the characters vs the story that’s telling them. 

(Note: it’s certainly possible to have a reading that SBURB is not evil so much as empty, that it reflects what you bring into it, that its will for you is your will for you. But that’s also a difficult thing, right? If you lack self-understanding, it’s a struggle to bring about your ideal reality.)

What we haven’t mentioned yet is that this is all mediated through the lens of video games. Which makes perfect sense. Because where do we seek meaning, especially as kids? In imaginary worlds that make more sense to us than real life, that give us achievements to take pride in and clear objectives to pursue.

SBURB evokes mechanics from games like Final Fantasy. We see its players complete objectives, cast magic spells, gain power-ups with colorful costume changes. But unlike the narratives implied by traditional video game progressions, leveling up doesn’t mean you grow as a person or process your trauma. Later, in Act 6, when we meet a player who has made his life about winning the game (Caliborn), it’s horrific to behold. 

Homestuck is a portal fantasy, but it’s fundamentally a portal fantasy about games. It’s a portal fantasy that shows us how characters seek meaning in being the best at arbitrary game mechanics, but ultimately fail to find it.

So I guess…it actually is an isekai? Huh. Wild.

(But seriously, Homestuck is actually fairly prescient in predicting the ideas that come out of isekai and LitRPG. It’s engaging consciously and deconstructively with the weird ideas of self-fulfillment these genres are drowning in.)

So what might a Homestuckian work look like? It will almost certainly critique a false narrative we live by. It may comment on portal fantasy, or our personal satisfaction that comes as easily as playing a video game. But it doesn’t have to be limited to these things. It might talk about our popular TV shows and movies. It may take apart what’s flawed in Marvel, the latest triple-A game, or the modern dark fantasy novel. 

Among its tools will be discomfort. Showing a disconnect early on between our character’s expectations and their happiness can serve as foundation to build on, so that when the flaws of the genre narrative are revealed, it feels like the truth. We may see characters who accept their narratives passively, or rebels like Rose Lalonde, who chose to rip everything apart in search of something better.

These are only some of the possibilities.

When I tell you the stories we live by mislead us, what is your relationship to that? If you were to tear these received narratives apart, what would you focus on, what would you try to say? The art that comes out of this question will be deeply personal to the soul who makes it.

But here’s another question:

Just who is giving us all these narratives, anyway?

3. THE PARENT FLIP

The world we live in was not made by us. It was shaped by forces that predate us, over which we have no control and are born into the grasp of without the knowledge of how to escape.

For instance, our parents.

The guardians who raise us provide our template for how to interpret life. We spend a large part of our lives immersed in the world they built, believing as they believe, living by the values that they instruct us in, so that we might carry their goals forward to the future.

This is an effort that is certain to fail.

Because the problems of today aren’t the problems of twenty or thirty years ago.  At best, their messages can only to help in a limited way with the crises we go through as we live our lives. At worst, they actively hinder us from dealing with them productively.

If we are to escape the broken patterns of our world, then we need break out of the stories an earlier generation gave us.

How are parents discussed in Homestuck?

Initially? As jokes.

If we take our “future knowledge” goggles off for a moment, we can see that the early depictions of the kids’ parents are a goofy parody of standard parental tropes. Mom and Dad are nameless, faceless, exaggerated cartoon stereotypes, and conflict between them and their children is initially expressed through a silly video game fight.

There’s a seed of something real here, though. What we’re parodying is a familiar trope of tension between parents and children in kids’ fiction and YA fiction. But that trope exists for a reason. This conflict is rich with potential for any story about growing up. And Homestuck has smuggled the idea of it in as a silly RPG parody.

So we can extrapolate, for instance, that there’s tension between Egbert and their father in part because Egbert doesn’t know yet who they want to be, and that Rose and Mom’s relationship is awkward and contentious, with alcohol involved. We see that there’s something profoundly uncomfortable going on between Dave and his Bro, and Jade’s life in the shadow of a dead Grandpa suggests a psychology that’s not entirely a healthy one.

Understand that I’m not saying that all this was there from the start. Rather, a choice was made to develop these interesting possibilities out of the jokes, to tell a story about how parents that act like these ones might have affected their children.

A major turning point in this regard is when Egbert learns their father’s seeming clown obsession was the result of a failed attempt to connect with them. It’s quite silly, but it plays around with the idea of a gap in perception between parent and child. It’s also a sign the story’s starting to take more of an interest in character psychology, suggesting that what Egbert processes consciously is not the same as their deeper unconscious feelings. This in turn can become a setup for a portrait of Egbert as someone who represses things they don’t want to think about. From this moment, in the long term, comes June Egbert.

When the psychology machine revs up for all the characters in Act 4 and Act 5, it’s able to do so because this foundation was laid.

We also, as early as Act 3, get hints that the parents have intentions and personalities outside of how the kids perceive them. The original purpose is to hint at a larger conspiracy around SBURB, with Mom building a secret lab, Dad trying to investigate the mystery, and Grandpa jumping in and out of time. But what this suggests is that the psychology of the parents might at some point come into play.

But the most exciting development in the relationship between parents and children is Act 6.

The great role reversal. The parent and child flip.

How do you make your faceless parent figures into characters?

By making them kids.

We’re so used to this concept now t that it’s hard to remember how wild it is that Roxy is a teen version of a main character's mom. But the concept is genius. Meeting these characters on the same level forces our protagonists to understand them as people and reflect on their fallibility.

For us as readers, it adds detail and nuance to the cartoonish portraits we got in the beginning. Conversely, we also see what our protagonists might have been like as parents themselves—and turns it from a story of “parents just don’t understand” to a story of how people, despite their best intentions, can wound each other.

(The Homestuck Epilogues are a difficult text to evaluate, but one of the best things within them is Egbert’s arc in Candy, where we see how Egbert might have done as a parent, how their struggles with finding purpose in the world might lead them to embrace a narrative of parenthood yet struggle to have a good relationship their kid. It’s brilliant, and the culmination of everything we’ve talked about here.)

Thus the Homestuckian work of art will be concerned with themes of parents and children. It will play with the boundary between what children understand about their parents and what they don’t. It will show parents as people—fallible people, who make mistakes with severe costs, whose stories fail their children and themselves. It may build from a simple base of what children understand, or it may weave parent and child perspectives together. It may even show us how children fail when they become parents themselves.  It will show us the cycles we are trapped in, how we wound and are wounded by our context.

And it will force us to look for a way out.

4. CLASSPECTS AS SIGNPOSTS

Hey. You want to know a secret?

Come closer, and I’ll whisper it to you.

Classpects aren’t actually all that complicated. Ultimately, they boil down to one thing:

Symbols we can use to construct a self.

If Homestuck is about a crisis of meaning, then classpects are part of its answer.

What do we do, when the world gives us no story we can live by?

We make one. We make one out of whatever symbols and messages we can find and put together from the stories we’ve read, from the people who teach and inspire us. Such collages are powerful things. They give us a way out of the dark, they give us a sense of something we are and can be, where there was nothing before.

They give us, in short, a personal mythology.

Classes and Aspects have often been read as codes to be unpacked and solved. It might be more productive to see them as creative tools, signposts designed not to narrow down meaning, but to allow us to explore it.

For instance, the portrayal of Light in Homestuck is unique. As a symbol, it combines notions of brightness, knowledge, future, luck, wealth, and narrative focus. These things aren’t inherently linked out in the world, but they are here, and that’s a choice, and an interesting one. It encourages us to imagine connections between these concepts, and to see if they have any relevance to ourselves. Identifying with the concept of Light, in other words choosing to value clarity, luck, and importance, might be a powerful tool for finding one’s way in the world.

Classes play with signposts at an even more basic level. Sure, we can talk about what a Knight does in the context of the story.

But a knight is already a powerful symbol. We bring so much cultural context to it. The word conjures up images and narratives of devotion, duty, violence, the slaying of dragons, armoring oneself against the world, and the rescuing of princesses. If we put that together with a concept like Time, we get a distinct character. If we put that together with our own experience of the world, we can create powerful concepts for who we want to be.

Interestingly, this complicates what we said about SBURB. As much as our protagonists struggle to find meaning within it, there’s still something there that they can latch onto. Classes, aspects, denizens, even consorts and lands—these things don’t have to be devoid of meaning. We can choose to affirm them; we can build something out of them, and say, yes, this is me, this is myself.

But it’s a double-edged sword.

We are responsible for the narratives we choose to live by. And we may find ourselves falling into a narrative that hinders us more than helps us, that creates a self-destructive self.

What does it mean to believe deeply that you are a thief, that taking from others to benefit yourself is the best way or comes to you the most naturally? What does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you’re a prince, with all the attendant baggage of power and grim responsibility that comes with that concept? Or, to follow the path further, what does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you are a destroyer or must be destroyed?

If we are to escape the story we’re trapped in, we must take care, lest we trap ourselves in a story of our own making.

Homestuck never quite resolves the ambiguity around these symbols of self, around whether SBURB hurts or helps, whether classpects are things you create or things that create you. But this ambiguity is a productive one. It gives us symbolic tools we can use in the creation of meaning, and it shows us the side of them that should make us wary.

The work that is to come after Homestuck will be about symbols. It may show us how we seek them in popular culture, or the people around us. It may use some of the clusters of meaning that that we see in Homestuck, but it will not be limited to them. It will write its own language of symbols, joining Light and Time to notions like Memory, Need, Rupture, and War, and be filled not just with knights and princes but brigadiers, lancers, healers, druids, taxidermists, sentries and waifs.  It will build with tarot cards, enneagram types, and Babylonian gods. It will place all the signposts we’ve created in millennia of existence into new contexts and meanings.  

By such means will it show us a way forward.

There’s one kind of symbol we haven’t talked about yet, however.

The kind that holds a mirror up to the world.

5. THE POWER OF ALTERNIA

There’s a reason dystopias have been so popular in young adult fiction. Sure, they’re cliché now, but they speak to something raw and visceral.

When you’re growing up into a world that doesn’t make sense, it’s natural to find refuge in emotional extremes. Stories of blood and violence, fates worse than death, and governments that demand horrific things of their citizens speak to the anxieties of the adolescent mind. They validate the feeling that something is wrong—that the world we’ve inherited is broken and unfair and has no place for us. And they’re right.

Alternia taps into these dystopian feelings perfectly. What makes it so fun is that it’s an inversion of a teenage fantasy. It’s a world where there are no parents, where kids can have access to power and violence, where you can sit around and play video games and design your own house. It almost feels like a response to the “parents don’t understand” themes of the early acts.

But the dystopia’s there, and it’s sneaky. A land of lost boys and girls isn’t actually all that great to live in. It’s lawless, survival of the fittest, with children killing each other left and right. And the future adult roles most of the troll kids aspire to are a glamorous veneer over competition for slots in a fascist military hierarchy. Which is to say nothing of the blood caste system as a way in which the kids are taught by their world to abuse and exploit each other. Crushes, personal slights, competition for status, group dynamics, attempts to define identity – all these familiar teenage dynamics play out on a backdrop of maiming and murder.

Which is perfect. Because when you’re young, all those social interactions genuinely do feel like life or death, and adulthood a regime of exploitation and horror bearing down on you. Alternia is a heightened, exaggerated version of reality. It expresses an emotional truth, not a literal one, validating our most intense feelings and giving us a road map to understanding them.

No wonder so many people wanted to skip to Act 5 and get to the trolls.

(See also Hiveswap Friendsim and Pesterquest, which explore these themes really really well.)

And Alternia, for a world where parents aren’t really a thing, tells us a surprising amount about the parental generation. In mid Act 5-2, Ancestors are added to Alternia’s wordbuilding, and we learn that as much as the trolls skipped having traditional parental figures, they were never devoid of role models. The deeds and exploits of notable figures throughout ancient Alternia gave them models to think about each other and themselves—even when those models were toxic ones. In a way, this isn’t so far from the human kids at all.

Furthermore, as time goes on, we acquire an origin for Alternia’s fascist worldview. Doc Scratch, manipulator of society, stands in for all those aspects of the world that work to create the false narratives we are born into, a true evil father figure – or uncle, if you prefer. And he's an extension of the ultimate evil father figure, Lord English, who controls not just Alternia but the timelines of the human children as well, whose belligerence and apathy give us aeons of toxic narratives and abuse. We see that story played out in Alternia in every interaction, in every moment, the beliefs its architects live by.

This is the power of dystopia—it can hold a broken mirror up to the world we live in.

Therefore the Homestuck that will come after Homestuck will worldbuild gardens of horror. It will not pull its punches but show us insidious societal systems and the effect they have on the people who live under them. It may depict fascism, authoritarianism, feudalistic tyranny, or all three. It will be unafraid to evoke blood and guts but use them to paint a picture of what we want, what we fear, and how we break under our false horizons.

As it depicts the path out, so, too, will it have its reverse side—it will show us all the hells and purgatories we’re trapped in.

6. SAILS TO THE WIND

Much has been written (including by this very author) about Homestuck’s metafictional aspects – the way it comes to foreground a more direct clash between character and narrative.

But the point I want to make here is that the metafictional angle wouldn’t work without these earlier choices. They allow the comic to talk about these concerns long before any notion of canon rears its head.

There are many ways of approaching these themes, and we don’t have to be limited to notions of Ultimate Selves and Beyond Canon to explore them. Such things are valuable, but they are only one retelling of the myth. If we are to make the next Homestuck, we must make our own.

I want to illustrate the space of possibility by offering some examples of works that explore similar themes. Note that I’m not saying these works were influenced by Homestuck in any way, but rather that they use some of the same tools to speak to the same questions, anxieties and concerns.

In trying to make what comes after Homestuck, we might consider:

Revolutionary Girl Utena, which foregrounds the archetype of the Prince as duelist, tyrant, and hero and dares its characters to break free from the false reality that shapes even these aspirations and dreams.

The Familiar by Mark Z. Danielewski, author of Houseof Leaves, whose core narrative concerns an twelve-year-old girl in thrall to an entity whose intentions are unclear but may be shaping the fabric of reality itself; which depicts the inner lives and uncertainties of her parents with just as much detail as they struggle, and sometimes fail, to make the right choices to help her; a story which, even in its incomplete form, explores a notion of a greater S.E.L.F that is not just you but also those who share something with you, where characters from other realities blur into transcendent archetypes in this one.

Digimon, perhaps the quintessential work of portal fantasy, not only Digimon Tamers, which steers the genre into a place of trauma, cosmic horror, and adults horrified by children saving the world, but also Digimon Adventure, which creates strong character arcs for eight very different children as they try to navigate a strange alien world, and shows us their struggle to reconcile with their parents as part of the process of understanding themselves.

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende,foundational text for Homestuck, which tells us not only about the rich possibilities inherent in reading oneself into fantasy worlds, but also the terrible potential for harm in making oneself an emperor over them.

Pale, by Wildbow, author of Worm, an urban fantasy story about three teenagers thrust into a world of magic and murder, a world where symbols literally create reality, where concepts like Carmine and Aurum have a powerful pull, where the Self is something that can be nourished or taken apart and put back together, a story where the parents are not just supporting cast but fully realized people forced to reckon with the ways in which they have deeply failed their children, and which contains perhaps the most thorough investigation of the question of “is it good for children to go on magical adventures?” ever committed to the page.

Heaven Will Be Mine, by Aevee Bee,in which the giant robots we pilot through space become the symbolic manifestation of our inner selves and our way of bringing about our ideal reality, and, relatedly, We Know the Devil, in which the repression of those selves causes them to burst out from us in terrifying and glorious new forms.

Crow Cillers, by Cate Wurtz, an often trauma-filled horror comic in which a group of kids and, eventually, adults, tries to fight back against an ever-present death cult that has its grips on every corner, all the while encountering Psyforms, beings made of pure mind, while characters from television and cartoons dance in the margins and all the while the line blurs between audience and art until it becomes difficult to tell who created who—a story that asks what it means to find meaning in stories when the corporate entities that own them are trying to devour us.

It's a tragically short list, I know. But perhaps it conveys some of the angles we might take.

We can also look at works that are known to have inspired by Homestuck. There aren’t many yet, but there are a few.

Undertale is famous for its Homestuck influences, with parallel timelines, an idea of agency that persists across them, and a contentious relationship between player and character, but for my part, I’m just as interested if not more so in Deltarune, which seems to be slowly building a grand thesis about portal fantasy, where the kids' adventures in the Dark Worlds seems to be offering them an escape and helping them become their best selves—but hints at a coming challenge to that simple worldview in the question of who’s really experiencing that escape.

The Locked Tomb, by Tamsin Muir – This is the big one, that really shows what building on Homestuckian themes can achieve. It turns out there really is an audience for weird aggro formalism in scifi publishing if you make it sufficiently gay. But smartly, like Homestuck, the Locked Tomb builds its weird mysteries gradually, adding on layer after layer on the solid foundation of characters we can follow and get invested in. There’s so much to notice – there’s the highly categorized teenagers involved in a murder feud, there’s the constant whiplash of humor and tragedy, there’s the endlessly open spaces in the story to interpret and project on to.

But to me, what stands out the most is the portrait of God and his court as every bit as emotionally chaotic as the sniping teenagers. You go to heaven, and God’s making out in the corner with his friend group, and you look for the adult in the room but the adults in the room don’t know what they’re doing and they never really did. It’s a portrait of the parents, it’s a portrait of the Ancestors, it’s a portrait of the gods of the new world, and it’s exquisite.

The Locked Tomb gives us a world at war with its own mythological narrative, rich with angst and irony. It’s a worthy successor to everything Homestuck was doing. It shows us how much these themes can say to us, and it gives us a hint at how powerful Homestuck's legacy might be.

7. THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMESTUCK

There’s a lot of discussion about how to continue Homestuck. How to do it justice. What post-canon might look like, and what it might not. What fan comics, what fan fics, what semi-official works truly live up to the spirit of its characters and its multiverse.

To be clear, those discussions are awesome. I’m so glad those things exist, and it’s wonderful to see them unfolding.

But I don’t want the process to stop there. I'd be disappointed if it was only about adding to and re-articulating Homestuck itself.

I want this—

—This multifaceted, complicated, emotionally laden thing that is the experience of engaging with and creating with and interpreting Homestuck—

To go out into the world and to be infused into the world, to become waves spreading further and further. I want to experience the Homestuck artistic movement, the Homestuck school of thought. I want it to be an influence on the fiction of the coming generation of authors, and the next, and the next.

I want Homestuck to be one of those albums that's too obscure to be known by the general public, but everyone who listened to it went on to start an enormously successful band.

Homestuck can appear like a thing that was conjured out of the ether, but it isn’t. It’s a product of a particular time.

But that in itself is profound. When you create art, you reach back to all the things that have shaped you, and you listen to what the world around you needs, and you try to say what needs to be said. Which means you're a part of a history and culture that needs to say those things, which will be different from the things that needed to be told yesterday, and different from the stories that will be needed tomorrow.

There’s no otherworldliness to it, no platonic other reality. But for all I've talked about art being made of choices, there's still something transcendent here.

To make Homestuck—and to make art inspired by Homestuck—means being a node in a web formed of millions of people, where a light passes down the chain to you, and for the briefest of moments, you get to be filled with its presence, before it moves on to the next person in the chain.

That light isn't yours. Not really.

But at the same time, you do get to choose how that light manifests.

And to engage with that process consciously—to think deliberately about what we want to create—that gives us power and agency over that process, our sense of the world, and ourselves.

So let’s do this. Let’s make the thing that Homestuck is telling us can exist, the thing it’s paving the way for, the thing we know in our soul can come to be.

Let’s make the next Homestuck happen.

—Ari

POSTSCRIPT

“To put out a manifesto you must want: ABC

to fulminate against 1, 2, 3

to fly into a rage and sharpen your wings to conquer and disseminate little abcs and big abcs, to sign, shout, swear, to organize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evidence, to prove your non plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life… I write a manifesto and I want nothing, yet I say certain things, and in principle I am against manifestoes, as I am also against principles… I write this manifesto to show that people can perform contrary actions together while taking one fresh gulp of air…”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

"The cyborg is resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity. It is oppositional, utopian, and completely without innocence....the cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of re-turning to dust...This is a dream not of a common language, but of a powerful infidel heteroglossia. It means both building and destroying machines, identities, categories, relationships, space stories...I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess."

— Donna Haraway, "A Cyborg Manifesto"

“What we need is works that are strong straight precise and forever beyond understanding... let each man proclaim: there is a great negative work of destruction to be accomplished. We must sweep and clean…to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them—with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least…freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE.”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

“These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.”

—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

𖤓

[fikeoff]

Inked Surprises

The late afternoon sun poured through the large windows of the tattoo parlor, casting a warm, inviting glow on the various art pieces adorning the walls. You sat in the chair, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing inside you. Today, you were getting a surprise tattoo for Dominic—his initials on the side of your boob. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

The tattoo artist, Mia, was prepping her station, her experienced hands moving swiftly. “You ready?” she asked, her voice reassuring.

You nodded, smiling. “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

Mia began by cleaning the area and applying the stencil. The design was simple but meaningful: “D.F.” in elegant, cursive letters. You took a deep breath, feeling a rush of adrenaline as the needle buzzed to life.

The sharp sting of the needle quickly became a dull, manageable sensation. You focused on the thought of Dominic’s reaction, imagining the look on his face when he saw it. The tattoo didn’t take long, and soon Mia was wiping away the excess ink and applying a bandage.

“All done,” she said with a smile, handing you a mirror.

You peered into the mirror, your heart swelling with pride and love. The tattoo was perfect, a beautiful and intimate symbol of your relationship. “It’s amazing,” you whispered, running a finger gently over the fresh ink.

Mia grinned. “I’m glad you like it. Remember to follow the aftercare instructions, and it’ll heal beautifully.”

You thanked her and headed home, your excitement growing with each step. Dominic had no idea what you’d been up to, and you couldn’t wait to show him.

When you arrived at your apartment, Dominic was lounging on the couch, strumming his guitar. He looked up, a smile spreading across his face when he saw you. “Hey, beautiful. Where’ve you been?”

You walked over to him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I had a little errand to run. And I have a surprise for you.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Oh? What kind of surprise?”

You took a deep breath, lifting your shirt just enough to reveal the bandage on the side of your boob. “I got a tattoo.”

Dominic’s eyes widened, his guitar forgotten as he sat up straighter. “No way. Can I see?”

You nodded, carefully peeling back the bandage to reveal the fresh ink. His initials, “D.F.,” stood out in delicate, cursive script against your skin. He stared at it for a moment, his expression a mix of shock and awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, his fingers gently tracing the letters. “You did this for me?”

You smiled, your heart pounding. “Yeah. I wanted something that would always remind me of you. Something permanent.”

His eyes met yours, filled with emotion. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude. “I love it. And I love you.”

You leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you could see the love and appreciation in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “This means everything to me.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of connection and love. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

Dominic’s hands roamed gently over your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. “You’ve definitely done that,” he said, his voice low and filled with desire. “But I think I need to show you just how much I love and appreciate you.”

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom. As he laid you down on the bed, his eyes never left yours. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, his hands exploring your body with reverence.

The night was filled with whispered words of love and the gentle hum of intimacy. The tattoo, a symbol of your commitment and love, added an extra layer of connection between you. As you lay in Dominic’s arms, feeling his heartbeat against your own, you knew that you had made the right choice.

The surprise had brought you even closer, and as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of many beautiful moments together.

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's talk costuming: Avaunt!

So I think we can all agree that Aziraphale looks his most traditionally angelic in the Job minisode, no? In fact, all of the angels' costuming increases in drama for this particular episode. This is, obviously, a very deliberate choice on the part of wardrobe, so let's discuss.

On a technical level, the biggest thing that stands out to me about this fabulous robe is the draping. Oh, the draping. It feels like a classic angel 'fit because on a very fundamental level, it is. A lot of what we think of as angelic draws on Renaissance artists' depictions, with flowing robes, fluffy wings, and glimmering halos. In art from this era, there is a strong attention to detail on the natural flow of fabrics that makes Renaissance sculpture so breathtaking, such as here: (The Ecstasy of St. Teresa, Bernini, 17th century CE)

It's this ability to make solid marble look like fine silk rippling with movement that leaves such a strong impression in my mind when I look at these kinds of works.

In painting, too, there is a similar effect. Something about the material culture of the Renaissance really lent itself to this style, perhaps fueled by the rise in new textile luxuries that occurred in vaguely the same period. This is seen especially strongly for angels, such as in the sculpture above, and in this painting: (The Annunciation to the Virgin, Botticelli, 15th century CE)

There's a stark contrast between the dress of the two figures. The virgin Mary is no less ornamentally or expensively dressed, but her style is rather minimalistic next to the angel's voluminous robing. It paints a very clear impression of angelic dress, and the designers for Good Omens would have been aware, in at least a small way, of the art history precedence for such a thing.

The poof of the sleeves, the tucks down the front, the little belt with the train tucked in, the gathers, the weight of the fabric, everything about this robe is constructed to carefully recreate the rather fantastical imagery of renaissance art. It's not necessarily an easy texture to nail down, given that the artists themselves had no concerns of gravity, comfort, or the way it would look in actual 3d motion, while our brave costumers were dealing with all three as well as a budget, time constraints, and the constant consideration that white fabric just gets dirty so easy.

Here's some of the other angels as well, so you can see how theirs reflect those same dramatic themes.

And then, of course, when costuming a show you have a second question: What does this mean for our character? Or rather, we know how, but WHY did they make him look so traditionally angelic?

Well, thematically, the Job minisode centers around Aziraphale's struggle with being a good angel and Crowley's struggle with being a good demon. Aziraphale is learning how to be an angel that follows along with heaven as far as we can, and he's so terribly torn up about it. He spends a lot of his time fretting about doing what's expected demanded of him, even if perhaps he doesn't believe it to be the right choice. Natural, then, that he should look the part of the perfect angel whilst sorting out these ethereal woes.

Crowley even draws attention to it himself, giggling a bit at the suggestion that Aziraphale, with his fluffy hair and flowing angelic garb, could possibly become a demon. And it is a rather silly mental image; the garment itself would be comically silly in really ANY other context at all. In the same manner, his performance of angelic archetype borders on excessive:

He's trying so desperately hard here to be the angel he wants to and is supposed to be. He's dressed the part, he's using his big scary angel voice, but deep down he's clinging to an identity that doesn't quite fit.

(You'll notice in this shot the distinct difference between his and Crowley's dress on the level of silhouette as well as color. We see this a lot from the two of them, but with the points I made above it felt worth pointing out in this particular scene)

Here at the end, as he's coming to terms with the cracks in his heaven-given identity, his robe is largely in shadow, blurring out its startling whiteness. We do not see him dressed this way again. (He continues to wear white, obviously, but from here on out his style of dress mimics the human trends of the time rather than that classical angelic imagery)

[onlycosmere]

Fernican: At any point, did you contemplate the possibility that Yumi would actually die at the end of the book? Or did you know from the beginning that she would survive?

Brandon Sanderson: I contemplated it. This was a tough one for me, because the more artistic ending and more appropriate to the source material that was an inspiration to me is the ending where she dies. And Yumi’s been a Cognitive Shadow all along.

But why did I make the change? There’s a couple reasons that I decided to go that way. It’s not like I made a change; don’t take it like that. It’s not like I had an outline for one, and I went the other way. The outline always went this way, but there were times when I was building that outline. And there’s a couple reasons.

Number one: this is a gift for my wife. And as a gift for my wife, I want the ending that she will love.

Number two is: we do have this sense in our society that sadness is artistic. And I’ve rejected that notion, that artistry must be sad. You can see it very clearly in what we give awards to. Sad endings can be very artistic; but you know what has a really fantastic happy ending? Lord of the Rings. Granted, there’s some bittersweetness to it, but you know what? Frodo has been through hell. That’s the bittersweet part; he can never really be part of society again. But they all make it. Lord of the Rings wouldn’t be better if the fire just killed Sam and Frodo at the end. You know what? It’s better that they make it. And I’m okay with sometimes being like, “This is the ending that I want.”

And the last reason, one of the best comps for Yumi is obviously Your Name. I mentioned that in the epilogue. I made some very deliberate choices to make Yumi read differently from Your Name. The story I wanted to tell is: what if you had to watch someone else doing your job poorly; and you, kind of as a ghost, had to learn to coach them along. I also wanted these two to be bound together, so that the romance worked as a romance between them. Your Name is really awesome for its ending; it has one of these kind of more uncertain endings. I won’t say it’s happy; I won’t say it’s sad. More uncertain. It’s really appropriate for Your Name, because the two characters didn’t really know each other, ever.

They knew each other’s lives and friends and families, but they didn’t actually have a chance to really get to know one another, and the ending to Your Name is a perfect nod to that. It’s a chef’s kiss sort of ending for that specific story, where two people didn’t actually know each other, but knew so much about each other. And I love that aspect of Your Name. I needed a different ending for this, because it is a very different style. It’s two people who actually got to know each other.