Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Aziraphale is names Azariah, Crowley just goes by Crowley, Aziraphale is a religious studies professor, Crowley is a philosophy professor, More like a lead up to the class, Rather than the shenanigans of the class
Summary: Majoring in anything philosophical is usually seen as killing a career before it can even begin. Majoring in anything with a religious focus sends you down a narrow and poorly paved path to changing majors to archaeology or linguistics. Creating a cocktail of the two is a bitter and confusion-inducing field of study reserved for the more masochistic crowd.
I’m so happy to present this story to you all! There is also great art for this story by @goodomensislife that can be found here!
Rating: M
Summary: Majoring in anything philosophical is usually seen as killing a career before it can even begin. Majoring in anything with a religious focus sends you down a narrow and poorly paved path to changing majors to archaeology or linguistics. Creating a cocktail of the two is a bitter and confusion-inducing field of study reserved for the more masochistic crowd.
Chapter 1:
Majoring in anything philosophical is usually seen as killing a career before it can even begin. Majoring in anything with a religious focus sends you down a narrow and poorly paved path to changing majors to archaeology or linguistics. Creating a cocktail of the two is a bitter and confusion-inducing field of study reserved for the more masochistic crowd. Curious parties often find themselves in crises of faith and become fodder for online forums of Christian mothers claiming the evil of universities.
Foolish scholars, the lot of them.
Those who decide to study one of the two aforementioned fields, and dedicate their lives to it, usually find themselves with two options when faced with the current job market. Firstly being a life of scraping by in some job at a corporation where their knowledge will cause questions of if their jobs and, by extension, their lives have any purpose. The second is going all in, attaining a PhD, and then become a professor that will watch the vicious cycle of their own mistakes repeat with a group of new faces every semester.
The second option is where one Doctor Azariah Fell found himself, in his office with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dust rag in hand. His usual coat was hanging by the door, bowtie draped over the hook as well, the first couple of buttons of his shirt undone. Blue eyes gazed over his small office of bookshelves of various sizes and one large mahogany desk, that took up most of the space, while a few chairs and boxes filled in the rest. One lone Epipremnum aureum plant draped over a bookshelf. He scratched his head, short, blond wisps of hair waving back and forth.
“Where to begin,” he gave a wondering sigh, but not even an echo came to answer.
Each book in the small office was a prized piece of literature. Some were more modern analyses of recent global issues that were rooted deep in religious history. Most were original theories and investigations into social repercussions of the creations and deaths of various religions. The few more dedicated students that made it into Dr. Fell’s office hours were graced by the presence of great religious scholars through texts dating back to 440 BCE. Most were wise enough to know better than to touch the books. Others were promptly asked to leave. On top of the bookshelves and the desk, pictures of Azariah’s expeditions from Ajanta Caves to L'Abbaye-aux-Hommes were the only evidence that could convince his students that he did leave the small college town.
While he found the rumors of his life outside of the classroom rather immature, he could understand where they came from. Azariah took great pride in each of his books and had created a rather clever system to read each one in a cycle. He didn’t want any to feel left out, after all. Which is also why he took the time, even if it kept him late into the early mornings, to personally clean his office. Especially at the end of each school year.
While the university did have janitorial staff, he found himself in a rather enjoyable tradition of cleaning and reorganizing his office before the beginning of the summer vacation. He found it therapeutic, taking each title into his hands and removing what little dust sat on the top and cover. It wasn’t essentially uncommon for him to become lost in them, losing hours on end, and having to extend the cleaning into the nights and days following. His record for the quickest cleaning was 5 days, according to his co-workers. During his fifth year of this tradition, Gabriel came on the third day and gave him a copy of the keys to the department building with annoyed and sleep-deprived scrutiny.
He didn’t mean to keep the man, he really didn’t. It also wasn’t his fault that the building that kept their offices was one of the oldest on the campus, having no automated doors like the STEM buildings or keycard access like the Language Departments. It was a small, outmoded building with only four offices, creaking doors, and few windows. But it was like a second home to Azariah, even if his co-workers made their disdain for the building known regularly. His office offered him a reprieve from his obligations to the administration and students alike. The building was so well hidden, tucked behind a new, taller building that had been in the process of being erected for the past few years. In fact, if it was not for Gabriel’s popularity with students, Azariah was certain that the students would never know the building even existed. It would be much easier that way, he assured himself as he took down his personal copy of Frank M. Cross’s Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic.
Dr. Fell had tried the book as a required text for his first semester of teaching, but it was proven out of the range of most students—if the mid-term tests were anything to go by. It led to a rather demeaning conversation with Gabriel about their “commitment to the students’ education and making knowledge more palatable”. Azariah quickly took on a commitment to figuring out ways out of commitments. He had fulfilled his last commitment of the year to the university by attending the all too hot graduation ceremony, feeling as if hell itself was rising up around them that year. It was quite unfair that the fall graduation, being an annoyingly diminished number comparatively, used the campus’ gymnasium for their ceremony every year. He was never asked to attend that ceremony. Or rather, he had politely denied the request three times in his early years and the administration finally got around to understanding subtlety.
Azariah’s personal copies of History of Religions from The University of Chicago Press were next, all 39 volumes. He took great pride in his collection of books and had gone to great lengths to acquire a few of them. However, the volumes of this particular journal pre-dating 1980 were quite elusive. He could access quite a few articles online from various universities’ databases, and probably could find some copies in libraries, but…
“Who would settle for just sampling such material?” Azariah picked up the newest volume, sitting down to take a quick break.
A loud knock at the door saw to it that the break was exactly 3 minutes and 33 seconds long. Quick indeed.
“I’ve already sent in grades to administration. If you are looking to persuade me to change yours, go home,” Azariah called out, not bothering to look up from his book.
“Azariah, it’s Gabriel,” a familiar and muffled voice responded.
“Oh, come in then!” Azariah called out again, marking his page as the Department Head entered his office.
Long legs, wide shoulders, strong jaw, violet eyes, and a few dignified silver hairs made up one Doctor Gabriel Leone. He had been the Religious Studies Department Head Teacher before Azariah had even begun working at the university. The students flocked to Gabriel’s classes as if the man was Jesus himself, but Azariah knew better if the way he spoke of his students (and colleagues) after a few beers was anything to go by. Gabriel looked around the room before lowering his eyes to the book in his colleague's hands. “Annual cleaning, I take it?”
“Yes, well,” Azariah promptly stood, clearing his throat as he set the book aside, “Did you know there is an interesting piece on animal sacrifices in Judaism, Christianity, and-”
“Yes, very interesting,” He turned around, eyes scanning over the walls and floor, “Azariah, when was the last time you checked your emails?”
“Last week, I believe. Is something wrong?”
“Well, yes,” Gabriel retrieves his smartphone from one of his slacks’ pockets, unlocking it and holding it up, “I think it’s been longer than a week, Azariah. I sent this notice out two weeks ago.”
Azariah takes a step back as he adjusts his glasses to focus on the words on the screen.
Religious Studies Department Faculty:
I hope your students have finished their final exams, essays, or projects. It has been a long year, but we are at the final stretch. And as the school year comes to an end, changes are taking place. We have long loved our little corner of the campus, with all its faulty wiring, lack of air conditioning, potential asbestos, and absolute lack of access to the wifi. That being said, I have the honor to announce that our patience has paid off! Our department will be moving locations into the new Liberal Arts building on the North side of campus. The current building will be demolished over the summer vacation to make way for a new lecture hall. Please see me about your new office room number and prepare your belongings to move. We will officially cease operations in our current location a week after graduation.
Congratulations to us!
Doctor Gabriel Leone
Azariah looked up from the phone, swallowing at Gabriel’s smile. One week. One week from graduation would be the next day, giving Azariah–
“You have until 7 PM tomorrow to pack everything up and move it to your new office. You have 26 hours to do so,” Gabriel pocketed his phone and headed towards the door. “Oh! Your office is 302 and the door is a code lock. The code is your ID number, so no more keys!”
Azariah was thankful for the click of the door’s bolt, bringing a quiet pause to his thoughts. He stood, taking in his office once more, and felt his heart begin to race. 26 hours. Why had no one told him? Did everyone else already move out? How was he going to move everything over? Would there be enough room for everything? What about his desk and bookshelves? What was wrong with their current building? Why hadn’t they noticed he wasn’t-
“Oh, you are not a first-year student! Get it together, Azariah,” he smacked his cheeks, leaving pink traces across them. “I suppose I should see the new office before I begin hauling boxes.”
The new Liberal Arts Building was in the North quad while the old Religious Studies building was in the East quad. In theory, they were close. In practice, with buildings being locked up for the summer, it took Azariah nearly 20 minutes just to reach the front doors. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but a few books and his lone plant in his arms kept him from reaching his handkerchief. Soon enough, the building (all white, box-like, and uncharacteristically new) loomed over him, offering a reprise from the sun. He jumped a couple of centimeters when the doors opened, a gust of cool air rushing out to counter the roasting heat waves.
‘Well, that is a nice change, I suppose,’ Azariah thought as he elbowed the elevator button.
The first thing Azariah noticed was that corridors were immaculate and very white, save for the light wood floors. His steps echoed down the hall as he passed various study areas for students, coming to rooms 310 and 311 before realizing how far down his room was. Curiosity came over him as he paused, looking right and left to read the names on each door.
310
Doctor G. Leone
Religious Studies
Department Head
311
Doctor B. Bubb
Philosophy Studies
Department Head
“Philosophy? Well, it’ll be nice to have new neighbors,” Azariah muttered before continuing his trek, arms beginning to feel sore.
Passing the offices of Micheal, Uri, and a couple of other familiar faculty (along with many unfamiliar ones of the left of the hallway that Azariah couldn’t put enough energy into remembering names), Azariah let out a sigh of relief. As he was only a few steps from room 303, muffled music drifts through the air. The source was coming from the room across from Azariah’s office, room 302. Azariah stared at the door, attempting to make out the music for a brief moment before scoffing.
‘Bebop,’ Azariah rolled his eyes as he set down his plant to punch in his faculty ID number into the keypad above the handle. The door opened easily, almost weightless, to a space that was… well, for lack of a better term, bland. It was large– almost twice the size of Azariah’s current office. But it was so clean, bright, and empty. The only color came from a large tree that could be seen from the large bay window, pushing out from the wall to create a nice nook to sit. The floor was the same as the hallways and Azariah was eager to move his rug that he received from a nice man (that he may or may not have had relations with one summer) from Casablanca into the new space.
Setting the books down on the nook, Azariah gazed out the window to find a small courtyard below. A couple of benches faced each other along a diagonal path that connected to the outlined paths of the square. It looked as though plants were in the process of being integrated into the space, but only dirt so far. Which made the large tree quite out of place, taking up a large portion of the courtyard.
“Speaking of plants…” Azariah pushed away from the window, heading back towards the door to retrieve his Epipremnum aureum.
He opened the door, only for a sound ‘What the fuck’ to follow a rather loud thump. Azariah quickly pushed the door open wider looking for the source, only for another thump to come from behind said door.
“For fuck’s sake! Close the door!”
Head whipping around the door, Azariah looked down at his plant, the only living thing he could trust himself taking care of. However, it was no longer on the floor, but rather in the lap of someone with their ass on the ground, hunched over, hands pressed into his face, and with very little sense of grace. Shoulder length red hair was the first thing to catch Azariah’s attention, shortly followed by the now clear and loud sound of an electric guitar coming from across the hall.
“Oh! I’m very sorry about that!” Azariah stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He bent down, trying to get a better look at the redhead. “Excuse me, but what are you doing with my plant?”
A pair of black sunglasses, round in shape, were perched on the man’s pointed nose. Said nose was quite red along with his right cheek that a hand was still pressed to. He tried to snarl but winced with a slight groan as his other hand came up to rub his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The stranger was a mess of sharp edges that were accentuated by tightly fitting black clothing.
“Well, if you hadn’t left the thing out here in the cold air like an imbecile-”
For a split moment, confusion of several factors in this situation collided within Azariah’s head. One was the plant. Two was the stranger. Three was the poorly chosen music. But of all things to focus on, his mind decided:
“Aren’t you worried about heatstroke in all that black clothing?”
Azariah quickly regretted opening his mouth, his cheeks heating up as silence overcame the two parties, both staring at each other for more than a few seconds beyond what would be socially appropriate. Azariah looked away in shame before laughter erupted from the stranger. Maybe ‘laughter’ is too generous to describe the cackle that overtook the music. The man seemingly calmed down enough as Azariah’s embarrassed face slowly morphed into one of disdain, blue eyes narrowed at the man’s feet.
“Hey, don’t be glaring at me like that. You’re the one that abandoned this guy out here!”
“Well, you don’t have to laugh. It’s a serious concern! And I didn’t abandon it, I just set it down as I saw to my new office.”
The stranger looked up at the closed door then back at Azariah before snickering. He stood up, plant in one hand while the other dusted off his jeans. Azariah followed suit, with eyes on his plant and a piece of his mind that wanted to yank the pot out of the man’s hands. But before that piece could convince all the other parts, the plant was held out before him, the pot balancing in the man’s palm. Taking the plant, Azariah looked up at the man, mouth open but tongue still.
“Name’s Anthony Crowley, but everyone just calls me Crowley, from the Philosophy Department. And,” Crowley held his thumb towards the open office door, music quieting down towards the end, “This is my office.”
A feeling of relief came over Azariah, knowing now just who this stranger was that he had hit with his door. And then a wave of panic set in as he realized he had hit his neighbor in the face, with his door.
“Oh Lord, I am so very sorry!” He paused in a slight panic, stepping forward to try and look at the damage he had caused. The panic increased as he pulled Crowley’s hand away from his nose, apparently opening the gates for blood to dribble out. “You’re bleeding! I should have looked earlier to see if there is any damage…” He looked around, spotting a restroom sign right down the hall.
Now, Crowley, for all intents and purposes, was not one to be simply dragged along in things. He was such a petty enough of a being that he went out of his way to do quite the opposite, much to the constant annoyance of his colleagues. But, whether it was due to the curiosity of his new neighbor or the smack to the face had caused a delay in his brain, he found himself being dragged down the hall quite willingly. He also willingly let the man wipe his face with a wet paper towel before watching him look around for a first aid kit, plant still in hand, as he instructed Crowley to hold the towel to his nose. Curiosity indeed.
He finally found his voice after a few minutes of just watching. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s not broken or anything, and I have ice in my office.”
Azariah finally stopped moving. “You do?”
“Yeah, I have a mini-fridge in my office. It has a freezer.”
Taking a step forward, Azariah moved the towel away from his face. “Can you remove your glasses? I would like to just make sure it’s not anything serious.”
Crowley took a step back, bringing the towel back up to his nose. “Nah, it’s fine,” He poked and pinched his nose like some sort of proof. “Come on, I have some coffee on in my office.”
“But-”
“It’s fine, uh…” Crowley stared at the man. ‘Shit. I forgot to ask for his name!”
Azariah returned the look for a moment before gasping. “I’m so very sorry for not introducing myself! I am Doctor Azariah Fell.”
“Azariah?”
“Azariah.”
“Bit… religious. Isn’t it?”
“One of the many reasons for my field of study.”
Seeing no reason to argue such a simple question, Crowley nodded. “Well then, shall we?”
Azariah’s smile seemed to shine as he followed Crowley back to his office. He could spare a minute or two before worrying about moving his belongings.
Bonus:
Many hours later, as the sun was setting with the illusion of cooler temperatures, Crowley found himself regretting his clothing choice. He silently cursed his choices that lead to him, Azariah, and strange woman from the English Department that knew Azariah from some conference, hauled boxes of books from the East Quad to the North. At least there was a promise of alcohol for his good deeds.
you’re sitting across from me in a shitty diner in anywhere, america, and i watch you pour too much creamer in your coffee and i think “i love you.” you look up, catching me staring, and for a moment i think i’m brave enough to say it, but i take too long and the moment passes. i take the balled up straw wraper and flick it at you, pretending that was my plan all along. you laugh. i never want to go another day without hearing that laugh. i think i will have all the time in the world to say it.
On November 24th, 2018, I posted a list of major deletions of sites or of content on sites that stripped fandom of its history. A bunch of pro-shipper blogs had just been deleted, and people were nervous. I suppose I was thinking “All this has happened before…”
On December 3rd, 2018, Tumblr’s Department of Irony announced the NSFW ban. Thanks for providing this salutary lesson to The Youth and a billion reblogs to me, I guess.
Today, we have AO3 for writing. Audio, images, and video are in as much danger as ever, yet fans attack AO3 every donation drive. For those of you who forget our past…
HERE IS WHAT HISTORY HAS TAUGHT US!
1992 - Chelsea Quinn Yarbro forces a zine to be destroyed
1995 - Viacom/Paramount goes after fansites
1995 - Anne Rice gets IWTV fic deleted everywhere
1997 - Fox and Lucasfilm go after fansites
1998 - AOL goes after X-Files fansites
2000 - Warner Brothers goes after Harry Potter fansites
2000 - Anne Rice anne rices again
2001 - Tripod Massacre
2001 - Anne Rice goes after IWTV fic on FFN
2001 - The Bronze shut down as Buffy changes networks
2005 - Sheezyart bans adult content; y!gallery founded
2005 - Viacom/Paramount goes after fansites again
2006 - Sakura Lemon Archive suddenly closes
2007 - Strikethrough, Boldthrough on Livejournal
2007 - Youtube institutes Content ID, deleting many fanvids
2008 - Slash Cotillion closes, taking much historical m/m with it
2009 - GeoCities shuts down, taking old fannish websites
2009 - Greatestjournal shuts down; RPGs deleted
2009 - Marvel gets scans_daily deleted
2009 - imeem, major vidding hub, closes suddenly
2010 - FFN forums purged for inactivity
2010 - DeviantArt purges adult fanfic
2010 - Literate Union goes after Twilight fandom on FFN
2011 - Delicious destroyed by Yahoo’s incompetence
2011 - China arrests women for writing m/m; destroys danmei.org
2012 - major FFN crackdown on porn
2012 - Megaupload deleted for piracy; also destroys vids, podfic
2013 - Max-Dan-Wiz.com purged of fan-generated content
2014 - Quizilla shuts down
2014 - China purges m/m story websites; arrests female authors
2014 - Blip.tv deletes vids
2014 - Viddler deletes vids
2015 - Journalfen’s servers become fully robust, deleting Fandom Wank
2016 - y!Gallery deleted
2016 - Elfwood goes offline
2016 - Audiofic Archive corrupted; major blow to podfic
2017 - Chinese author jailed after being ratted out over fandom drama
2017 - Parents get queer Warrior Cats fic purged from Wattpad
2018 - Tumblr deletes pro-shipper blogs
2018 - Tumblr announces NSFW ban
2018 - Wattpad deletes accounts/fics without warning
2019 - China purges weibo of m/m; more women jailed
This is only a small taste of the many times that:
Fannish moderators got bored, ran out of money, or had a falling out, deleting a site/list/forum along the way.
Sites got bought out and closed for being unprofitable.
Fandom got hit as governments targeted piracy or political dissidents.
Fans grudge reported each other.
Official forums got deleted when the canon finished.
It’s not always malicious. It’s not always about us. But we lose every time.
Some of these purges hit everyone. Many of them hit m/m content specifically or female gaze-y material in general. This is why antis are dead wrong. This is why anti-fujoshi policies end up being anti-m/m policies. This is why we need clear labeling, not content restrictions.
This is why we need AO3.
And it’s why we need a solution for audio, visuals, and video too.
Blizzard banned pro Hearthstone winner for supporting free Hong Kong and took away his prize money. It would be SUCH A SHAME if Mei became a symbol of Hong Kong democracy and got Overwatch banned in China like Pooh did.
Join us! Draw this in your style or any blizzard game characters as a Hong Kong protester. Don't let the Chinese government control our free speech!
My biggest advice to men talking to women: ask questions. Like beyond if we’ve heard of something. I’m talking to a guy right now who is nice, he’s very nice, he’s interesting, it’s fine, but he has not asked me anything except if I’m familiar with the thing he’s currently lecturing on. And god knows I’m talking a lot too because I know how to elbow my way into a conversation, especially if I disagree, but it is an epidemic (especially when I’m talking to nerdy boys, I gotta be honest) that they just. Don’t. Ask. No one likes to spend a conversation feeling like an audience who occasionally is allowed to shout something at the stage.
I wrote this post like two years ago after talking with one specific man but I could slot in at least a dozen other men who I liked! Enjoyed spending time with! Thought were interesting! And yet who didn’t believe in ever ending a sentence in a question mark.
the water warriors fighting for access to clean water for all
the teenagers imprisoned for fighting back against oppressive regimes
those fighting for access to education for all
for the future of the planet
for gender equality
for safety and protection from gun violence
for governmental representation and engagement for youths
for the rights of immigrants
for syria and the rights of refugees
for literacy and the representation of WOC in books
for trans and queer rights
for protection of girls against forced marriage and child slavery
i hope that one day we live in a world where children are allowed to just be children, where they dont have to fight tooth and nail for their rights and their futures, but i could not be prouder of this generation
(from top to bottom: Autumn Peltier, Amariyanna “Mari” Copeny, Ahed Tamimi, Malala, Greta Thunberg, Melati and Isabel Wijsen, Artemisa Xakriabá, Ridhima Pandey, Jamie Margolin, Rowan Blanchard, Jaclyn Corin and Emma Gonzalez, Shamma bint Suhail Faris Mazrui, Sophie Cruz, Bana al-Abed, Marley Dias, Jazz Jennings, Sonita Alizadeh, Payal Jangid)
I saw this before I left work last night and had a quiet hope, and today I checked my phone at about quarter to two, while I was still on my lunch break, and I’ve just got a job interview with the BBC next week
I’m not a big believer in anything much but I’m so happy holy shit. So like unrelated note but something real good happened to me at 1.42 today lol
I reblogged this last night not thinking this would work. Around 3 hours ago I dropped my phone and broke it. I looked up to see a phone store and i got a perfectly brand new phone with a great price. I’m telling you guys when good posts like this are posted magic really happens.
I have this too, and like a bunch of the other people who say they have this in the notes have described: it’s like...less prophetic full fledged dreams and more like a 2second snapshot of you doing an activity with no context. Like cutting paper then looking up or opening your purse with specific scenery in the background. Then you wake up and you’re like “what was that pointless dream scene.” Then later (sometimes weeks or months later), when you’re doing The Thing you’re like “oh”
Does anyone have this, but you get mad anxiety because you got the Bad Ending in your dream? But then it doesn’t happen when you experience irl? Like, you hear a *click* and go into instant Fight or Flight Mode, but your sister is just turning off the stove and sitting down for dinner and you have to act like you didn’t just foresee the stove was going to explode???
you cannot tell me that Crowley, at his most vengeful, doesn’t follow Aziraphale around the bookshop annoying the ever-loving fuck out of him like a petulant toddler.
If Aziraphale were to cut off the wine supplies or decide to skip out on dinner in favor of translating the new stack of bibles that came through, Crowley would absolutely use every demonic trick in the book to make his existence a living hell. After all, he wasn’t just the demon of Earthly Temptations and Small Inconveniences. He was the department head. He’s a first class demon, and he’s got one or two tricks up his sleeve to create pandemonium.
He could make Aziraphale rue the day he’d ever chosen Heaven over Earth.
And I don’t mean he’d ruin any books.
And I don’t mean he’d set anything aflame.
And I don’t even mean he’d threaten or bribe or torture or main or hurl cruel insults towards the heavenly shopkeeper.
No.
Crowley would just fan out his wings and wind them around Aziraphale, blocking out all the best book reading light, and do this.
I feel like we are possibly not giving Principality “That Means I’m The Dad-Bastard” Aziraphale due credit. Crowley might get away with this once, for about five minutes, but the absolute second that Aziraphale loses his patience or his place in his book it’s game-over for AJ “Evil Contains The Seeds Of Its Own Inconvenience” Crowley.
Crowley: nighttime
Crowley: DAYTIME!
Crowley: nighttime –
Aziraphale: *manifests a halo so bright that it singes Crowley’s primaries while simultaneously lifting a book over his head to smack Crowley in the forehead with it.*
Crowley: *stumbling backwards and patting out the flames on his wings* Angel what the fuck
Through the perspective of an outsider -Adam, for example- there is one truth that lingers.
Watching as Crowley squawks and scrambles, corrupting the bookshop with minor annoyances.
Watching as Aziraphale loses all patience and lets his Bastard Flag Fly.
Watches these two immortal being -one eloquently flapping about shouting nighttime dAYtiME YOU RIGHTEOUS PRICK whilst the other begins to seethe with the fresh embers of a truly terrifying Fuck With Me I Dare You sort of glow.
Adam will tilt his head up towards the skies and sigh.
“So… these are the two that stopped the world from ending?” he’ll mutter towards a watermark on the ceiling.
I ASK MYSELF THE SAME THING EVERY DAY, ANTICHRIST, the ethereal voice declares from above.
From the other end of the bookshop, Crowley can be heard snarling, “Nighttime Daytime, you Bastard!”
“You’re asking for a smiting, demon,” sneers Aziraphale.
“We’re still alive because of them,” says Adam.
EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. says God, who sits back in her heavenly chair and tries not to think about it too hard, or it’ll give her another migraine and lord knows California needed a second earthquake that month.
It just kills me when writers create franchises where like 95% of the speaking roles are male, then get morally offended that all of the popular ships are gay. It’s like, what did they expect?
#friendly reminder that I once put my statistics degree to good use and did some calculations about ship ratios#and yes considering the gender ratios of characters#the prevalence of gay ships is completely predictable (via sarahtonin42)
I feel this is something that does often get overlooked in slash shipping, especially in articles that try to ‘explain’ the phenomena. No matter the show, movie or book, people are going to ship. When everyone is a dude and the well written relationships are all dudes, of course we’re gonna go for romance among the dudes because we have no other options.
A lot of analyses propose that the overwhelming predominance of male/male ships over female/female and female/male ships in fandom reflects an unhealthy fetishisation of male homosexuality and a deep-seated self-hatred on the part of women in fandom. While it’s true that many fandoms certainly have issues gender-wise, that sort of analysis willfully overlooks a rather more obvious culprit.
Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we have a hypothetical media franchise with twelve recurring speaking roles, nine of which are male and three of which are female.
(Note that this is actually a bit better than average representaton-wise - female representation in popular media franchises is typicaly well below the 25% contemplated here.)
Assuming that any character can be shipped with any other without regard for age, gender, social position or prior relationship - and for simplicity excluding cloning, time travel and other “selfcest”-enabling scenarios - this yields the following (non-polyamorous) possibilities:
Possible F/F ships: 3
Possible F/M ships: 27
Possible M/M ships: 36
TOTAL POSSIBLE SHIPS: 66
Thus, assuming - again, for the sake of simplicity - that every possible ship is about equally likely to appeal to any given fan, we’d reasonably expect about (36/66) = 55% of all shipping-related media to feature M/M pairings. No particular prejudice in favour of male characters and/or against female characters is necessary for us to get there.
The point is this: before we can conclude that representation in shipping is being skewed by fan prejudice, we have to ask how skewed it would be even in the absence of any particular prejudice on the part of the fans. Or, to put it another way, we have to ask ourselves: are we criticising women in fandom - and let’s be honest here, this type of criticism is almost exclusively directed at women - for creating a representation problem, or are we merely criticising them for failing to correct an existing one?
Also food for thought: the obvious correction to a lack of non-male representation in a story is to add more non-males. Female Original Characters are often decried as self-insertion or Mary Sues, particular if romance or sex is a primary focus.
This doesn’t even account for the disparity in the amount of screen time/dialogue male characters to get in comparison to female characters, and how much time other characters spend talking about male characters even when they aren’t onscreen. This all leads to male characters ending up more fully developed, and more nuanced than female characters. The more an audience feels like they know a character, the more likely an audience is to care about a character. More network television writers are men. Male writers tend to understand men better than women, statistically speaking. Female characters are more likely to be written by men who don’t understand women vary well.
But it’s easier to blame the collateral damage than solve the root problem.
This is certainly one large factor in the amount of M/M slash out there, and the first reason that occurred to me when I first got into fandom (I don’t think it’s the sole reason, but I think it’s a bigger one than some people in the Why So Much Slash debate give our credit for). And nice point about adding female OCs.
In some of my shipping-related stats, I found that shows with more major female characters lead to more femslash (also more het). (e.g. femslash in female-heavy media; femslash deep dive) I’ve never actually tried to do an analysis to pin down how much of fandom’s M/M preference is explained by the predominance of male characters in the source media, but I’m periodically tempted to try to do so.
All great points. Another thing I notice is that many shows are built around the idea that the team or the partner is the most important thing in the universe. Watch any buddy cop show, and half of the episodes have a character on a date that is inevitably interrupted because The Job comes first… except “The Job” actually means “My Partner”.
When it’s a male-female buddy show, all of the failed relationships are usually, canonically, because the leads belong together. (Look at early Bones: she dates that guy who is his old friend and clearly a stand-in for him. They break up because *coughcoughhandwave*. That stuff happens constantly.) Male-male buddy shows write the central relationship the exact same way except that they expect us to read it as platonic.
Long before it becomes canon, the potential ship of Mulder/Scully or Booth/Bones or whatever lead male/female couple consumes the fandom. It’s not about the genders involved. Rizzoli/Isles was like this too.
If canon tells us that no other relationship has ever measured up to this one, why should we keep them apart? Don’t like slash of your shows, prissy writers? Then stop writing all of your leads locked in epic One True Love romance novel relationships with their same-sex coworkers. Give them warm, funny, interesting love interests, not cardboard cutouts…
I’m going to bring up (invent?) the concept of subjectification.
As in, people gravitate to the characters given the most depth, complexity, and satisfying interactions for their shipping needs, because those characters are most human, and we want the realest characters to play with.
In a lot of media, the most depth gets handed to male characters.
And, oftentimes, even when the screentime and depth and interactions are granted equally well to female characters, there can be a level of, for lack of a better word, dis-authenticity to those female characters: they are pared down, washed out, or otherwise made slightly less themselves than they could be, in the interest of making them decorative, or likeable, or “good,” or keeping them from upstaging or emasculating their male companions, or just that the writer whose job it is to write them doesn’t know how to write women the way they write men.
And you get the characterization equivalent of that comparison chart where so many animated female characters have the same facial features because the animators and designers are so worried about not letting them be ugly.
When you have a group that’s allowed to be themselves, warts and all, and another group that has to be decorative at all costs, the impression given on some level is that the decorative quality is making up for a shortcoming. That they wouldn’t be enough in their own right.
And sometimes that cost is authenticity. The interesting, striking, awe-inspiring, bold and glorious unapologetic selfhood that draws the viewer most particularly to those characters who are unapologetic in their particular existence, standing clear of the generic and bland and unchallenging “safe” appearances.
It is authenticity, not beauty, which powers subjectification. The love for a character, not because they are perfect, but because they are them.
They can be pretty, sure. They can be sweet. But being pretty and sweet is not a replacement, and too many female characters have been written by writers who think it is, while the interest—in appearance, in personality, in interactions, in plot development—goes to the men.
And when that happens, well. Surprise, surprise, that’s where the shipping goes.
Yeah I don’t really ship but I do write a fair amount of fanfic, and in most franchises working with the female characters is a chore.
You have to do so much of the work yourself, because the canon left them unfinished, with huge gaps or unexplored contradictions that you have to somehow resolve. Every female character you decide to integrate into your fanwork in some major role constitutes an undertaking in her own right as you patch together an understanding of her sufficient to model a consistent set of reactions and priorities &c.
The dudes just get handed to you. Even the ones whose canon is a mess have properly developed character cores.
That you don’t have to unearth and piece together like some sort of volunteer archeologist coming up with theories way more complex than the available artifacts truly support.
I just remembered that apes smile when hostile. This isn’t a happy scene. This monkey has full meter and a full screen projectile in it’s move list. This is an invitation to death.
Humans have this distress response too! If you watch the smaller of their young you will spot the occasional baring of teeth in upsetting situations. You can see this with adult humans as well, but it’s harder to catch because they have a fairly deep somatic vocabulary assigned to smiles; it is probably easiest to recognise after minor injury like stubbing a toe or receiving an injection.
It’s a lot of fun comparing how related species have related behaviours, and also neat to contrast how they have specialised them!
Thanks for the question! My area of expertise is more generally avian than it is mammalian (or primate), so I don’t really know the technical nomenclature for the specific stage of human offspring development I mean to communicate.
With the vocabulary I have the closest I can get semantically is ‘mid-nestling to fledgling fresh-fallen from the nest’ but the concepts don’t quite map to how human offspring develop. Another way to phrase it is able to move around under their own power but still heavily dependent on parental intervention for survival.
Hope this helps clear things up! Have a nice day :)
