#GENUINELY IT WAS A GODDAMN RIOT

[thistaleisabloodyone]

Still thinking about making a gif set for winning MV - if Summer Riot wins, I riot and throw my computer out the window, then fight with making a gif set with whatever remains.

[linddzz]

Sat here and combed through all your jayvik analysis posts giggling and kicking my feet but PLEASE tell me more about the whole dom/sub thing, especially the whole “they have absolutely not discussed that this is the dynamic, it just happens and neither of them acknowledge it” because that is genuinely so interesting. Like I could already tell Viktor had hella ‘quiet calm collected dom’ vibes especially compared to jayce’s ‘excited protective puppy who would FOLD at being called a good boy’ energy…

But the whole bit on the bridge where Viktor smacks his hand away without even looking? And Jayce EARNS BACK TOUCHING PRIVELEGES? Fucking scrumptious please tell me more.

god i need to get to writing my fic bc I feel like "talk more about it" would be solved just by me dropping the link This ended up being TOO LONG so I split it between me going feral about that bridge scene and then me going feral at other moments of nonverbal communication that I use to feed my Dom/sub "oh you two are just LIKE THAT" interpretation. So. here's part one

That bridge scene tho...im so normal about it

hhhggg god that bridge scene is one that I rotate in my brain so much because it is such a small moment that makes so much of their dynamic click. For me, specifically, it clicks the "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" dynamic, where Jayce is, on a surface level, the stronger and more forceful of the two while Viktor is the one actually holding the leash (until he's too tired to because he's dying, and I only half joke when I say that their issues at the end of season 1 are because Jayce is suddenly the equivalent of a dog holding it's own leash and getting stressed out about it.

Jayce's touching before the bridge come across as pretty overbearing honestly. He's holding his hand out to keep Viktor from speaking out...

Heck, while the still screenshot doesn't show it too well, Jayce slings an arm around Viktor with enough force that it knocks Viktor off balance for a second and shoves him forward a little.

Viktor got dragged to the hexgate when Jayce is looking into shipping discrepancies happening there, even though it obviously doesn't involve him and he does NOT want to be there.

(In hindsight this is a hilarious bit of showing that it did not occur to either of them that there's no goddamn reason for Viktor to be here. This is council business, Jayce outright says "I'm a councilor now Viktor" which does not answer why tf Viktor needs to be there. these twits just handle all problems as a unit lmao. The tragic flip is that this is could then be a breaking moment when Viktor goes back to the lab, realizing that him and Jayce are not, in actuality, a single unit anymore. because Jayce got a second job that is not Lab With Viktor oh my god you codependent dweebs)

Up until that point it would be really easy to see Jayce as being presumptive and unintentionally overpowering Viktor in personality. Heck, it's what I thought the dynamic was as I was watching Season 1, though even as I thought that it seemed somehow...not quite correct.

And then the bridge scene.

Even before the hand-smack, there's a flip on the reading up to this point that Jayce has been accidentally bowling over Viktor by force of personality/physicality. Jayce comes in hot, upset, angrily standing over Viktor and chewing him out, and Viktor is just like "....and??"

Viktor is calm if baffled and annoyed at Jayce's frustration (also; Viktor just rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the actual riot happening a few yards away? hilarious. i love him.) His almost nonchalantly confused tone when he asks "what difference does that make?" always gets me. the entire back and forth says, to me anyway, that Jayce may be more brash and socially competent, but he's not overpowering Viktor at all, actually.

Viktor is going to do whatever the fuck Viktor wants.

This is immediately made clear by the much beloved hand smack. Viktor doesn't even look up, and his smack shows that he is perfectly capable of setting a hard boundary on Jayce's touching, and that Jayce will IMMEDIATELY fold and apologize when that boundary is set. That smack makes it suddenly clear that when Jayce goes for the shoulder touch right after apologizing, Viktor consciously allows it.

idk WHY but I also love this little tiniest moment when Jayce is going for the second touch. Viktor glances back as Jayce approaches him (looking like a cat with its ears pinned back lmao), then looks away as he accepts the second touch and they move on. It's such a tiny detail of showing Viktor, who is still pretty pissed at Jayce, seeing the touch as it comes in and then deciding to let it happen. im rotating them in my mind. please send help

In my framing of them being a guard dog/handler dynamic, the bridge scene is us seeing a moment of the leash getting a sudden sharp tug to bring the guard dog to heel. It resets all the earlier instances as being ones that Viktor allows to happen, because he doesn't see a need to correct it.

fuck man this doesn't even get into the bridge scene as a major crack between them as the moment Viktor loses his trust that Jayce will understand his decision. i am unwell

[anonymous-dentist]

Okay I did some vod searching and here’s Cellbit’s pov of the prison announcement (in the form of a pretty badly clipped video lol)

A couple of things to note:

The silence

The stammer

The knife

The eyes

First, the silence, because it could be easy to miss from another pov because he was already pretty quiet before. But you can see the literal second it registers what Forever had just said because the change in the silence is palpable. He didn’t even raise his voice above the noise when he asked Forever if he was being serious.

Second, the stammer. This is a man who is very good at talking. Look at him during the presidential debates, nothing was able to keep him from talking, not even his own suicide. But then here he… can’t talk. He’s that shocked, and he’s terrified. See:

Third, the knife. Now this knife. Now this knife. It’s his emotional support murder knife. He only brings it out when he feels scared, and it’s gotta be a real deep fear for him to bring it out. It’s only been a few times, namely when he’s been triggered over his past, most notably when he and Richarlyson explored the Federation prison after Pac’s kidnapping.

And then fourth, the eyes. After he takes the knife out, Cellbit’s eyes flick back and forth between Forever the audience in what appears to be genuine confusion. Because, and this is important, Forever never told Cellbit about the prison. So between the fear and the Horrors, there’s some actual legitimate confusion in there because he didn’t know about this.

So now, after all that, let’s take a look at q!Cellbit’s character in general because I know there are people who don’t know about his very tragic backstory.

So Cellbit was in prison for… something. Probably murder tbh, but that was never confirmed. He was in prison with Pac e Mike and he was a really bad person. As in, murdering people, threatening people, ripping human ears off, stabbing, inciting riots (I think???). He killed Felps. He almost got Pac and Mike to kill each other.

And then, after being left to die alone on an island, Cellbit got some goddamn help for the first time in his life.

Before prison, he was in a war (ie the Hunger Games.) Then he was in prison, and the math is hunting towards him being incarcerated prior to his eighteenth birthday. He was 18-ish when he was in prison, and he’s 26 now, and he spent those eight years in therapy. Now he’s a better person, and he’s a very scared person.

He has many triggers, but the one that’s come up the most has been prison. He killed Abueloier that first time because they were in a prison-like cell. After hearing that Pac e Mike were arrested, he almost became another person as he interrogated Foolish (just watch that vod back, the whiplash is there.) When exploring the Federation’s prison, he was visibly on edge, clutching his emotional support murder knife and tensing when he saw all of the cells and almost stabbing Cucurucho when it appeared. Foolish asked if he could arrest him, Cellbit immediately turned him down, and he went behind his husband’s back to convince Foolish not to arrest him, either. (I’m not sure if he knows in-character about the prison cell in the new murder mystery game, but he will Not be happy if he gets put in there.)

So. Prison.

He wants to be a better person, is the thing. Cellbit doesn’t like thinking about who he was as Cell- he canonically even avoids cellphones when he can (see: Abueloier.) But he can’t help what happens when he’s triggered: he killed Abueloier, he almost attacked Cucurucho and risked his whole new infiltration plan. He’s worried about hurting someone again, because he knows he’s capable of it. He might not be the best at pvp, but that doesn’t matter when half the server is just as bad as he is (/affectionate.)

He doesn’t want to hurt his family, and there being a big huge physical trigger all of a sudden in the form of this prison he wasn’t ever told about has clearly made him realize that, oh shit, this could be bad. Bad for himself, and thus bad for others.

[confused-disaster32]

hi I'm here regarding your tags: Cara's terminal illness? He's not having a good time with it but the presence of his rash means he's in secondary stage, which comes prior to latent, asymptomatic phase. The vast majority of people who suffer from syphilis don't actually live long enough for any other reason to EVER hit the tertiary stage which causes death. I think it's safe to say Caracalla's immune system is weak as all hell and he probably won't be that lucky, but he has the best part of his infection ahead - the part where it stops existing, sometimes for decades, before coming back with a vengeance. In theory, if he made it through the fevers and the rest of all that is going wrong with him in the time we get to know him, eventually, it would ease up. For years.

Also, without Macrinus - Geta was actually coming to learn to play the crowds. He listened to Lucilla when Lucilla chose mercy for Lucius against their rhino rider. He hesitates to make the call to the archers - despite all of his rage and hurt - when Lucius refuses to execute Acacius on command. Without Macrinus egging him on, he was hearing the crowd. Despite everything.

This is such a cope but it's also all true. They had hope. They're so goddamn young, but they were going through their hard lessons, and at least one of them was learning. The other one needed bed rest and antibiotics.

Oh - the terminal part I tagged that mostly cause I saw someone else who tagged it the same way and saw that syphilis could possibly get to a worst stage which I knew you could treat with antibiotics nowadays but wasn't entirely sure what happened back then when that wasn't really a thing.. (though I'll admit that I should've done a bit more of a search before that because I don't have a very in depth knowledge of how syphilis works and didn't know how long syphilis takes to get to the terminal point) - and honestly I'm still kinda learning a lot about their characters, which is why I honestly adore your posts though I do still always feel quite awkward/bad whenever I mischaracterise them cause they're genuinely such wonderful characters and I think sometimes I'm a bit too caught up with what they were in the films (manipulated and therefore not rlly having a great time...) and I don't give enough time to think about what they could've been had things gone different ways such as if Geta had had a chance to continue to grow as a person/emperor without Macrinus messing around in the background (though I was mostly basing that tag off of the fact that on the night of Geta's death people were really starting to riot and I didn't think enough about the fact that those rioters don't even get in that night cause like the next day Caracalla has a chance to announce the new consuls and eventually continue with the games and stuff - so my brain decided to just hand me a scenario that wasn't even all that canon compliant in the first place).

Idk if I'm actually getting my thoughts down as much as I'd like bc it's a little late for me rn but

Thank u for this tho bc I much prefer when someone tells me when I'm off then they just let me be cause I hate it when I accidentally mischaracterise a character esp if I'm fond of them 😭

[firebirdsdaughter]

Words cannot express…

… How much T&B genuinely fucking means to me.

I was both excited and scared for the new season bc I wasn't sure what they were gonna do… And now two/three years later, I get the courage to watch it all the way through and… Yeah, some things I'm Upset about (listen to me Yuri is FINE, he's FINE, he got therapy and retired and moved to the country in a little cottage w/ a flower garden and his goth af boyfriend and he's FINE—okay fine that's my oc shut up, point is, they're FINE), but all in all, genuinely fucking loved it. They pretty much kept up the energy and quality from s1.

The kids are gonna be okay. Like tbh, I'm not bothered by Kotetsu retiring bc it was never played as he's completely cutting ties, which these things sometimes do. They knew there'd be a riot if they acted like those two were gonna separate forever, so they didn't. Plus, they successfully created a set of new generation heroes that made me feel comfortable leaving things in their hands? Like, genuinely, the kids are gonna be goddamn okay. Bunny's got maybe a couple more seasons in him, and Nathan, Keith, and Antonio are taking good care of them anyway. And the kids are okay. Thomas and Subaru are already having the Tiger and Bunny brand of miscommunication (I'm trying to spare your feelings, but you're trying to spare mine etc. etc., but if we're in a fight we're telepathic), Pao-Lin is so excited to be a big sister, she and Lara will do great. Ivan, Karina, and Ryan have all matured and are not just competent heroes, but also strong mentors for the younger ones as well. This was passing a part of the torch and it ended up working so damn well. I absolutely think that Kotetsu will always be the Team Dad of all of Stern Bild now (get me started on the implications of him being the one to start the speech when they called out Fugan and Mugan—bc he's Tiger, and in Stern Bild, if Tiger says it's okay, it's gonna be okay), that he's a symbol of endurance and hope and just The Heart, but it's gonna be okay if he can't be in the field. He's gonna be okay, and the next gen has got it covered. Bunny can finish his run, and then they can retire to the suburbs to be closer to the family, and check in periodically.

It'll be okay. The kids are okay. Everyone is okay.

Especially Yuri, who is FINE.

[marq-lynch]

i’m so sorry you went all the way to la for revolution and the live crowd was so shit. especially since the show was that incredible. why do you think that is?

Thanks, I'd be lying if I said it didn't ruin my enjoyment of the event a little (mostly just seething with righteous indignation and fury on behalf of our crew) but it was still worth going in person. I have had absolutely FANTASTIC experiences at in person wrestling events for AEW, and this was interesting to put in context.

I know my tag is Monty Rambles but I'm Gonna so:

For example, at WrestleDream 2024. I got asked by a friend after this show how bad the vibes were in the arena. I hadn't even noticed the reaction was bad because the audience reactions to pretty much everything except Kenny and Takeshita was so muted all night that even though WD was a much smaller arena, I couldn't even compare the Truly Rancid Vibes (/pos) of misery, like a just popped balloon, a-just-about-to-surface riot. I'd called the ending of both shows and felt narratively satisfied by both so I hadn't really been tapped into either so I didn't even notice until I was asked.

My partner says the most likely thing is 'LA Clout Culture', and thinking back I have to agree. The only other time the audience rose to their feet was Big Boom AJ & the fucking Rizzler like the goddamn national anthem. There was just... No passion there. He complained about how much the camera was cutting to Ken Jeong and Leslie and the other celebrities at ringside all night, and when I told them that and showed him some videos on my phone... it made sense. That isn't just to show off that you had celebrities at Ringside. There were no fans. No one brought signs. No one stood. No one cheered. Taya and Johnny got extra nasty on the pre-show for a PPV and Taya yelled something like 'kids don't belong here' and it's because when people like me tried to start a chant or yell something like 'You Sick Fuck' you'd get dirty looks making a scene.

When you watch the PPV it's shocking to notice in this Stunning, sold-out arena (it really was gorgeous) there are fewer signs in the whole thing than a 300 person house show. And half of them are in the VIP section. "Oh," my partner said, "The celebrities they picked were the ones who were actually fans and would get a little energy going." "Yeah," I said, "The rest of them would sit quietly like a movie premiere where it was impolite to interrupt by clapping. I've seen more energy from 50 year old Japanese housewife fans. They know to clap when fucking Okada walks out so he doesn't have a face that looks... Genuinely hurt."

Everyone was constantly on their phones. Everyone. Not just for the high spots. God knows that. Because they never got on their feet for the high spots. There was a sea of t-shirts, about 1/3 AEW events or wrestlers of some kind, so it felt like the loosest kind of wrestling fans, but not even 'WWE Fans at an AEW show'. Just 'no idea how to act at a wrestling show'. Justin Roberts man... Tried so hard and got so... Nothing and I love him for it but he was doomed to fail from "We're about 10 seconds from going live folks you can get on your feet and you don't have to stay quiet" *muffled cheer that totally went silent by the time the AEW opening blacks rolled around*.

I need to make a compilation of moments that piss me the fuck off the most just to get it out. And a few comparisons from my phone. Because the audio mixing team did Gold Standard work trying to hide that shit. And I want to commend them. But some acts like the Outrunners just Do Not Work without energy and man there wasn't a pink shirt in the house. You ever see the Outrunners wrestle in total silence? You have, you might not just realize it. Put their cheers back in and see how it does that was a hell of a match.

I think a more interesting show to compare this to is the GalaxyCon Collision show. That was another show that was... Not AEW Fans, to be blunt. I have talked about that experience too, but it was maybe 20% AEW fans who came just for the show, 50% WWE fans who had seen an episode or so of Dynamite and a PPV, and the rest their friends they were dragging along to the show / random convention nerds who were looking for an activity before calling it a night. People didn't know half the people on the card, who was a face or heel, etc. It was... Unnerving honestly sitting by the back entrance, but also kind of magical seeing how great the crowd was in retrospect. It was full of passionate nerds who just wanted to see something cool. Komander came out and was getting Boo'ed for the crime of being a lucha against the bigger name who was presumed to be the face, and within 10 minutes of... Being Komander, he had won over that entire fucking crowd. That's what you need. There was no turning the crowd at Revolution because there was nothing to turn. They didn't care. They didn't really want to be there. And the few moments that got them to look up from their phones were a win.

But again. I had a Great Seat for cheap, if the goal was to market to people who clearly hadn't attended in person shows before they did it (but man TK i hope you learn to get a bit more of a ratio), I saw some truly amazing matches, got some banger merch, and @ringsidechoir even made me a custom bracelet that I cherish. 💜

[redrosydiaz]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @stevecarrington!!!!! I HOPE TODAY IS UNBELIEVEABLE!! i'm so glad this fandom has brought us together, you're such a wonderful friend and im very lucky to know you!! i know how much you love steddie AND ted lasso so i whipped up a little steddie lasso for you, i hope you enjoy 💕💕

⚽️✨️⚽️✨️⚽️✨️⚽️✨️⚽️✨️⚽️✨️⚽️

Eddie is not quite sure how he got here.

One day he was sprawling across his ornately carved DM throne, gleefully ruining the lives of those brave enough to sit at his table and dip their toes into his particular brand of tabletop roleplay chaos, and the next he was packing up his life and getting on a bus heading west, back to god damn Hawkins, Indiana — the hometown he swore he'd never come back to all to coach soccer.

Yeah. That's right. Soccer.

The thing is — he's never been a sportsball kind of guy. Not baseball, not basketball, not football. Certainly not soccer. Outside of ogling the players for their tight little shorts and their calf-hugging socks, of course. The only reason he knows even the slightest brush of the basics — and even then, it's a strech to say he knows it — is because Wayne is a sportsball guy.

But apparently that incredibly bare quasi-knowledge of it was good enough for Chrissy — Eddie's best friend extraordinaire and prominent figure in the sports world (truth be told, Eddie really couldn't tell you what her actual position was — all he knew was that she did everything and was everywhere. Seriously, it was insane how many connections she had in the world of professional organized sports.) — because when she heard the words "looking for strong leadership" and "to build comraderie" and especially "with a creative, outside of the box approach" when the league announced that they were looking for a new head coach, she had immediately submitted Eddie's name. Without even consulting him on it. Without even telling him in the first place.

It was a true testament to just how desperate the club was that they had actually chosen him.

Getting that call had boggled his damn mind.

Still does, if he's being honest.

And now here he is, fresh off the bus and standing in front of Nancy goddamn Wheeler — the tiny, but incredibly intimidating owner of the whole goddamn team.

"Eddie, welcome," Nancy says, flashing him a perfectly pleasant smile that still somehow makes him feel like prey. "It's great to meet you."

She holds out her hand, and Eddie quickly wipes his palm against his jeans before accepting it. Her handshake is firm — she's not fucking around.

"It's lovely to meet you too, ma'am," Eddie replies, with his politest midwestern manners.

Nancy's lips press together, turning down at the corners, and for a brief moment Eddie thinks he's somehow managed to fuck this up already. Could you get fired for sweaty hands? Was that legal?

But then a small laugh slips from those lips and Nancy says, "Just Nancy. Ma'am makes me feel like I'm seventy-five and belong in the bingo hall."

Eddie can't help the bleat of laughter that bubbles out, probably a little too enthusiastic. "Hey, the bingo hall's a riot," he says.

That gets Nancy to chuckle again before she clears her throat and smooths down the lapels of her blazer. "Well, thank you so much for taking on this position, we're really grateful to have you here, and we look forward to seeing what you can do for us," she says, and she sounds genuine about it, which puts Eddie a little more at ease. Nancy barrels on, "I'm sure Chrissy had briefed you about speaking with the press?" She asks, but she doesn't give him a chance to answer. "You'll just be sitting down with some journalists and answering any questions they may have — and I'm sure they'll have plenty."

Eddie lets out another nervous titter. Yeah, he's sure too. "Sure," he says. "Um, and that's... tomorrow? Later this week?"

Nancy makes a face, a sort of half grimace, half sympathetic thing.

Eddie's stomach turns.

"Actually," Nancy starts, eyes flickering towards the door behind Eddie, "it's right now."

Shit.

"Did— did Chrissy not let you know that?" She asks, chewing on her lip.

"No, no!" Eddie is quick to reply. "She did, I'm sure she did, I just— probably wasn't listening. It's kind of been a... crazy fucking day—" his eyes go wide, "— I mean—"

Nancy laughs. "You can say that a-fucking-gain," she agrees, and Eddie's shoulders relax from where they'd tensed up to his ears.

"Well, I'm sorry to just throw you to the wolves like this, but we can't really call it off now," Nancy continues, giving him an apologetic look.

Eddie glances towards the door too and nods. Rolls back his shoulders and straightens his spine. Let's himself slip into his DM persona — the guy that can handle every punch that's thrown his way, no problem.

"No, it's fine. I got this," he says, nodding again.

Nancy smiles and leads him towards the door. "Whenever you're ready," she tells him.

Eddie takes a deep breath, steels himself, and turns the handle.

Immediately he is bombarded by flashing cameras and an increase in volume as dozens of eyes all pinprick right onto him.

He's got this. They're just people. He's good with people.

Eddie climbs the two steps leading up to the staging area and swaggers to his place behind the desk, dropping himself into the seat. He reaches out to tap the microphone, which emits a sharp whine that shuts the crowd up.

He stifles his grin and leans into the mic, "Let's start this thing, shall we?" He pauses, scans the audience, quirks a brow. "Questions?"

Almost every single hand shoots straight up.

Yep. Should've seen that coming.

"Okay, okay, you know what? Let's just—" he motions for everyone to put their hands down, "— yeah, there we go. Great. Thanks. Right. I'm sure a lot of you have some of the same questions, so why don't I start by clearing a few things up first."

He wriggles in his seat, getting comfortable. "Yes, the rumors are true. No, I have not coached soccer before. Haven't coached anything before, actually. Hell, I'm probably the least qualified guy they could have hired for the spot," he laughs, and a murmur goes through the crowd. "I don't really know the first thing about soccer, but what I do know is that this team, the Hawkins Demodogs FC, these ferocious warriors of sport— they're going to get out on that field and they're— they're gonna put all of their intelligence and wisdom and strength into it," he says firmly, falling back on his trusty DnD knowledge. Game of sports can't be that different from a campaign, right? "They're gonna put their constitution to good use and fall back on their dexterity and they're going to defeat their enemies — I'll make sure of it."

Glasses guy in the second rows eyebrows lift, almost like he recognizes the terminology.

"Now," Eddie says, clapping his hands together. "I'll take one question from the masses. Make it a good one."

The hands shoot back up again, but the only one Eddie notices is the one belonging to glasses guy. It raises it a beat after the rest, lifts his hand into the air relaxed, easy, like he doesn't actually care.

It intrigues Eddie. He intrigues Eddie.

"You, in the second row," Eddie says, pointing right at the man.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he rises to his feet, clicks his pen, pushes up his glasses again.

"I like your glasses," Eddie comments, unable to help himself.

The guy's smile twists at the corners. "Thank you," he says, and his voice is smooth, rich, like honey. Eddie kind of wants to bathe in it.

His stomach swoops. "And you are?"

"Steve Harrington, the Indypendent," he says.

Eddie leans forward on his elbows, lets his smile turn a little flirty. "What's your question, Steve Harrington from the Indypendent?" He asks, stretching out Steve's name, loving the way it tastes in his mouth.

"Yeah, I've just got one question for you," he says. He fixes a narrowed, nettled look on Eddie, cocks a hip, and says, in a perfectly, deliciously, bitchy tone, "is this a fucking joke?"

Oh, he's going to be a fun one.

[blacclotusss]

What Can the Damned Really Say to the Damned?

Just a bit of meta on my favorite scenes from episode one of season two!

Louis and Lestat in the Field

At this point and time, using context clues, we know Lestat is conjured up from Louis' mind. Personally, I think Louis conjured him up due to the fact that he's surrounded by dead bodies and the most recent "dead" body he's cared about is Lestat. So now, he's thinking of his past love and the murder of him, the only time he's felt like he murdered someone. "Oh love, I'm merely waiting until you're happy." This seems to be the opposite of what Lestat has done to Louis in season one. He would always try and catch Louis when he was down and make the situation worse e.g. Paul's death, the church turning, the closing of the Azalea, the riots, etc. It's interesting, especially, considering Lestat isn't actually saying any of this. Crazy how Louis' brain is working in this moment. A friend of mine also brought up that Louis is in a period of desperation and despair and I think it may have brought up thoughts of home, the home they left Lestat to die in.

Claudia and Louis' Argument in the Boiler Room

The first time we actually hear, from her own mouth, how much Claudia resents Louis for the fact that Lestat is still looming over them. "I forgave you for messing up my plan, I did not forgive you for bringing him with you." Louis, in that moment, seems to want to make nice with people on their journey and dismisses Claudia's concerns and ideas, which may build even more resentment. "I'm looking for one, just one, that ain't a goddamn bastard!" Her search for vampires seems to be her both wanting answers as well as her own companion to escape the bastards she's encountered as a vampire.

Claudia's Dreams/Nightmares

This one is a bit tricky for me to understand because the only thing I can think of what Louis is trying to say is that she is lying, but I don't think he'd call her a liar. I believe Claudia only said she couldn't dream because Louis was getting on her nerves. I hope to God that is not the angle we're going with because I will personally raise hell for her.

Morgan Asking Louis for Help

Very short point but it's so interesting that Morgan thought Louis would help and I was somewhat surprised that Louis left it alone. I think that those four years have hardened him just a bit and he's over the humans for now. Another point, a bit of racism slipping through that Morgan thought the Black man was going to help.

Daciana and the Fire

Two interpretations of this scene and I'd like to believe that the both of them have some truth to it. One (brought to me by my friend @nakiaslilhoodoo), Daciana and her killing her children relating to Claudia. Even in season one, we see just how much he cares for Claudia, even going so far as to postponing his suicide so that she wouldn't have the memory of her brother dying on the same day as the beginning of her journey of traveling. I think Daciana jumping into the fire after losing her children could show how Louis will lick the fire (internally) once Claudia is gone. 

Two (another point made by a friend of mine, Daciana and Magnus being one in the same in this scene. The both of them walked into the fire after feeling defeated with having no companion. I didn't realize this until a friend brought it up to me and I think it makes the situation even more tragic.

Louis' Speech to Claudia

A very bittersweet moment for me, and the way the trailers and clips are set up makes me believe this may fall apart. I thought I'd feel stronger about Louis telling Claudia about having a shitty life, I still don't think it was quite necessary because I'm sure she knows that and her life was shitty before she even met Louis, but it didn't leave a poor taste in my mouth like I thought it would. The soft words he gave her was what genuinely broke me. I think it hit me because I know Louis genuinely believes what he said to her and how it's her and him against the world, but I know it's going to go left. Even when they held hands together after getting off of the van, they really could be everything if they keep each other close. You could tell by Claudia's face that she's been waiting to hear that from, (Delainey said this as well) but she also seems a bit skeptical and questioning whether he'll stick to his words, which I don't blame her for. And then Louis conjuring up Lestat as he's telling her this...I know there will be problems on the rise.

Louis and Armand in the Bedroom

First of all, the bedroom seems to be gorgeous and I would pick it apart more if it weren't for the bars and the painting in the back. The bars are a bit jarring because I don't know who they would represent. Would it be Louis feeling confined to this relationship and life he's made with Armand or would it represent Armand holding back his emotions and how he feels? And the painting of Jesus and Judas, who betrayed Jesus, hanging in the back is a wild concept. But, I did enjoy the softness each of them displayed with one another. The talk of Claudia's diary pages could have easily blew up into an argument, but they each know each other well enough for it to remain calm. Even Louis' face before he kissed Armand was quite reassuring. Love what I see from these two so far.

[quietpagan]

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish and yes I'm late, so sue me

I wasn't going to watch any of the PiB movies but I heard 'Death' was a character, so

First two minutes: It's GORGEOUS and here's an entire post of me freaking out over the visual mastery of this film

If I'd seen this in theatres today I'd get kicked out for gasping so much

I can't even

The animation style is so beautiful I'm gasping out loud and had to stop three minutes in to begin this post, it's wild. The particles - !

LOOK AT THE TEXTURE OF THE LEATHER HAT. THE ANIMATORS ARE FLEXING AND THEY ARE FLEXING HARD.

Every single frame of this film is a goddamn work of art. Look at the stars on the wooden ceiling. Look at the lighting.

Even the reflection in the glass, holy shit

They need to stop flexing before I have a frickin heart attack here

Also thank you for putting actual blood and not just a reddish cut, actual dripping blood, thank you :)

This is such a love letter to animation and art and I'm here for it

The scene transitions are absolute *chef's kiss*

THEY ACTUALLY *BEEPED* OUT A SWEAR WORD it's a third of the way through and this is my new favorite movie

Each glitter particle glistens in its own moment, I cannot

I feel like a lot of modern movies have some weird fear of putting genuine color into a film. WELL NOT HERE FOLKS. ABSOLUTE PSYCHODELIC COLOR EXPLOSIONS THROUGHOUT.

What the fuck, that escalated quickly

SIR WHAT ARE YOUR QUALIFICATIONS?

THe dog has a potty mouth and every swear word is BEEP'd out and he swore a LOT

I love how all of the characters just rant the fuck off in Spanish when they get mad

I didn't see the other Puss movies but Softpaws?? Was declawed at some point?? That's so mean?? that's literally amputations omg her poor hands

And she left Puss at the altar at the same time that HE left HER at the altar, these assholes deserve each other at this point because absolutely nobody else will put up with either of them on a serious level

except for the dog, who deserves the world. LOOK AT HIM

Kitty wasn't going to wait for a egocentric asshat to put down his ego for her, YOU GO GIRL

somebody put the puppy in a sock and tried to drown him omg

he has the saddest backstory but he's just happy to have his life and his friends, whereas Puss had nine lives and didn't appreciate any of them, okay, I get it now

The dog actually calmed Puss down from a panic attack and you could hear his heartbeat calming and it was really sweet

The framing of this film is fantastic. Also, Death? Actual Death? The thing that Puss wasn't aware he was afraid of or even needed to be afraid of yet was running from his entire life? Such an incredible villain

I can't concentrate on anything else about the movie because everything is just so goddamn pretty.

The movements and the visuals are just a little bit choppy and a little unfinished, making every still look like a painting. It's so stylized and wonderfully so

jesus christ what a visual callback

Okay movie's done and I can talk now

THE CAT LADY i love her <3

I appreciate that Goldilocks finally accepted her family but it's okay to want other things, I think, as long as you're not taking for granted what you currently have. That said, they're definitely going to have to talk it out because stuff like that doesn't just go away with a quip and a new business plan

One that note, the fucking cricket was hilarious. John Mulaney's character was a riot and I appreciate the cricket giving up on him as a bad job.

I was worried about Death's defeat being a bit of a cop-out but it wasn't. Death was angry that Puss was given so many lives and appreciated exactly none of them, thinking himself invincible forever, not understanding consequences because they never really applied to him, so they decided to cheat and take his last one early. But Puss accepted his mortality and began to appreciate his last life properly, so Death let him live it. It was done well.

I don't really like the 'tough girl no trust femme fatale love interest' thing, I think it's tired and overwrought, so Kitty wasn't my favorite, but I liked her anyway. And I liked that she's able to poor-little-meow-meow Puss when he least expects it.

The doctor scene where we went through each of Puss's lives was storyboarded so beautifully, even the title cards were gorgeous

the fight scenes are so pretty

I can't do anything besides gush over how fucking pretty this film was, I'm useless

Anyway watch the film, it's just a masterpiece and the music was fantastic and I loved the whole thing

[britainsvoice]

the   rantline   is   rafe   caldwell’s   weekly   voicemail   segment   on   his   siriusxm   radio   show,   v   non-stop   pop   fm,   where   listeners   leave   passionate,   hilarious,   or   completely   unhinged   messages   about   football,   wrestling,   and   pop   culture.   every   week,   rafe   plays   these   voicemails   live   on-air,   reacting   with   his   signature   wit,   playful   mockery,   and   genuine   warmth—making   it   one   of   the   station’s   most   popular   (and   chaotic)   segments.

rafe   (on-air):

“ alright …    this   one’s   from @usouptight   out   in   newark ,    new   jersey.   think   we   know   where   this   is   going.     alright mate , the rant line is yours. ”

voicemail   (airing   live):

“GUNTHER — YOU   FKING   MONSTER — BLEEP ! — WHAT   THE   FK — BLEEP ! — WAS   THAT?!   YOU   TIED   JEY   TO   THE   ROPES   AND   BEAT   THE   ST—BLEEP! — OUT   OF   HIS   BROTHER   IN   FRONT   OF   HIM   LIKE   IT   WAS   A   GODDAMN   HORROR   MOVIE.   YOU   FREAK.   YOU   ABSOLUTE   FKING   BLEEP—BLEEP!—WHO   THE   FK—BLEEP!—DOES   THAT?!   I   HOPE   YOU   CHOP   A   WALL   AND   BREAK   YOUR   OWN   HAND,   I   HOPE   YOUR   MUSIC   HITS   AND   THE   POWER   CUTS   OUT,   I   HOPE   YOU   FKING   SLIP—BLEEP!—ON   A   WET   FLOOR   SIGN   YOU   DIDN’T   SEE   ‘CAUSE   YOUR   GIANT     A**—BLEEP!—WAS   TOO   BUSY   BEING   A   SICK,   SADISTIC —BLEEP!.   I   HAVEN’T   YELLED   THIS   LOUD   SINCE   BROCK   TOOK   THE   STREAK.   I   SWEAR   TO   GOD   IF   JEY   DOESN’T   GET   PAYBACK   I’M   STARTING   A   RIOT   IN   THE   PARKING   LOT."

[atopvisenyashill]

@thaisthedreamer do you think Cersei you blow up the Sept and kill all the Tyrells?

genuinely unsure. i mean she has to be unseated from KL somehow but Cersei using wildfire to blow up the sept? Like, specifically that chain of events?

you can't just blow up a house of religion and get away with it. whole wars have been fought over stuff like that, that's a catalyst for a crusade or an invasion or something awful. IF she does something as extreme as set fire to another building (rip the tower of the hand) her life is functionally over, even if the lords and the sparrows don't get her, the common people definitely will!

Wildfire cannot be controlled!!!! Look at how crazy the Battle of the Blackwater got with Tyrion's use of it and that wasn't even the worst wildfire can cause. If she aims for an area in the middle of KL, it's going to spread to other areas.

I simply think Qyburn is smart enough to talk her out of doing something that stupid. I know he's crazy too but he seems more inclined to do things in a more subtle evil way so they can stay in power and I do think he'd talk her out of that one.

Half the Tyrells aren't even in King's Landing anymore, Willas is still in the Reach and Garlan is off fighting the Ironborn (and I think his wife is at their new hold too?) and Loras is kinda MIA, but if she blows up Olenna, Mace, Alerie, a wholel bunch of Tyrell cousins, and Margaery, you can bet Willas, Garlan, and maybe Loras if he's still alive are going to square the FUCK up.

KING'S LANDING LOVES MARGAERY OH MY GOD SHE CAN'T KILL THE QUEEN. Cannot stress enough how absolutely stupid this would be to get caught murdering Margaery. The smallfolk were ready to riot to protect her when she was taken for questioning, just no way there's not a storming of the red keep if the sept of baelor goes up in flames.

NOW. All that said, I do think there's some evidence that Cersei is going to do something drastic to get herself out of this situation once Qyburn and Ser Robert Strong win her trial. I think the blowing up of the sept was them ending like six story lines in one move.

The main thing for me here is I'm just really unsure of the sequence of events because I have no goddamn idea when the Others are going to be relevant. Some things that are going to happen include:

Cersei's trial

Probably some mess from the Sand Snakes

Some more power jockeying from the new High Septon

Young Griff is recognized as a real claimant on the level of Stannis, Robb, Robert's boys, etc. aka he stops being a nuisance and starts being a threat. I expect Tarly will side with Griff, likely Dorne as well.

The Reach/Tyrells is fighting with Euron

Dany has to reach KL

KL has to go boom

I am of the opinion that Cersei's ultimate fate will come for her in Casterly Rock, as she's fleeing from whatever happens in KL. But like...do I know the order of events in how she gets there? I have no idea, genuinely, or what she could possibly be planning. I think she might try to put her own yes man in as the high septon if the high septon dies somehow (like if she frames him for something) but otherwise I think it's a bit tricky to say for sure what's she's going to do, besides saying whatever she's going to do, she will not just get to keep being Queen if she's caught blowing up the Sept or murdering the High Septon and Margaery.

[jacquelinemerritt]

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 57 Review

Originally posted September 8th, 2018

A brand new character steals the show.

Hercule Satan fucking rules.

That could legitimately be my entire review of “Opening Serumonies,” and I don’t think anyone would mind, because first, it’s obviously true, and second, it’s about all that needs to be said about this episode. Hercule Satan is a goddamn incredible character, Antfish brings him to life brilliantly, and all of the jokes around his character land with aplomb. I don’t need to provide a good defense here either, because if you’ve seen the episode, you probably already agree with me that he’s a fantastic character, and love him just as much as I do.

I say all of that, and yet I know full well that based on this episode alone, I can’t exactly justify or explain my love of Hercule Satan, though he does get a hell of an introduction here. Satan is very much the kind of egotistical character we’ve come to love in this show, but unlike Vegeta or Freeza, he actually starts off as a genuine hero, entering the #CellGames and stepping up to fight Cell one-on-one, despite not having an inkling of how strong Cell actually is.

Even as Satan hogs the spotlight in this episode though, both in the narrative itself and also literally taking the spotlight off of Cell and our heroes, we see a glimpse of depth to his character in his detailed explanations of how Cell is pulling off seemingly impossible feats, as well as in his urging to children to not recreate the violence they see on screen at home, aware of how his celebrity makes him a role model.

We also get to see a vulnerable side of Satan, as he is at first baffled by, and then apprehensive in responding to Cell’s detailed personal insults, calling for a commercial break to recover from the shock of Cell seemingly being able to describe his personal history in great detail. He’s also made vulnerable in a much more literal sense, as when we finally see him attempt to take on Cell, he’s swatted away like an annoying bug, slipping down a mountain as a bloody, beaten mess.

With all of that, you could be forgiven for assuming that the episode is literally just about Hercule Satan and the lead-up to his battle with Cell, but his story actually only takes about a third of the episode’s runtime, with the rest focusing on our main cast’s arrival at the games, and apprehensions about taking part in such a violent contest.

The only two characters who seem to be unaffected by the #CellGames are Goku, due to his love for fighting, and Android 16, who is far too distracted by finally meeting the man of his dreams, the man he wants oh so desperately to kill, and yet cannot bring himself to muster the courage to ask Goku to do so until it is far too late. It is clearly one of the great tragedies in our modern storytelling era, and if anything happens to 16 to stop him from getting to fulfill his dream of killing Goku, then I am going to riot.

#JusticeForAndroid16

Rating: 4.5/5

Stray Observations

I am just now realizing that all of the characters wear pointy boots because Akira Toriyama probably can’t draw or hates drawing feet. And it’s kind of adorable because those pointy boots mesh perfectly with Toriyama’s aesthetic.

Oh, I fucking love Jimmy Firecracker too, he’s exactly the kind of awful, trend-chasing, sleazeball journalist that would cover something like the #CellGames as a wrestling event, and Xander Mobus does a near pitch perfect impersonation of Jeff Bennett’s radio announcer from The Legend of Korra/that same old-school radio announcer voice that you hear when a TV show or movie wants to call back to serialized 1930’s adventure, and I am all about that type of voice.

Critical Eye Criticism is the work of Jacqueline Merritt, a trans woman, filmmaker, and critic. You can support her continued film criticism addiction on Patreon.

[rescue-ram]

traphawk and trapper/louise for ship bingo

TrapHawk

MI AMORS!!!! The ultimate friend!ship, I love them so muchhhhhh. Almost tagged criminally underrated because they deserve the WORLD but kdjdkfjk Baby boys, OTP, I love them 🥰

TrapLouise

GOD. We don't get an excess of info about their relationship in canon, but you have already gotten a sneak peak at the TrapLouise Cinematic Universe that lives in my head, and I have soooo many headcanons about them. Failmarriage of my heart ❤️ I have so many headcanons about how/why they suck, I feel so so bad for Louise and want her to have Catharsis, and also I like to imagine they would genuinely be friends after the divorce and Louise got to read Trapper the riot act a few times for his bullshit ❤️ I have not seen a fanon take on them that matches my imagination, most people make Louise too cool with him or skip the step where he Makes Some Goddamn Amends, but their horrible marriage that is equal parts resentment and affection is part of Trapper's characterization that gives me brainworms, so I love the version of Louise I made up lol

[victorlincolnpine]

far too many people make a living announcing their stances on things while doing nothing about it. Simply talking and getting money for it.

the pulpit or the town's square has become a performance venue where people stand in the center of attention to speak their calls to action for a paying audience who then go home and do nothing except wait for the next person to stand at the pulpit like a weekly episode of TV drama.

This is so pervasive that real calls to action, where a genuine cry for hands on deck to change the world for the better, is raptly paid attention to for only the duration of the rant, and is promptly fucking forgotten.

Meanwhile a hateful piece of shit with some funny memes, quippy garbage and bigoted ideologies can get people laughing and convince them to hurt their own goddamned children in the name of "saving the children". They can just go out and say "look at these things, they're so disgusting. It would be funny if somebody killed them, haha." And generally get their godforsaken request answered by somebody somewhere in the world.

Do you see the fucking problem with this picture? The problem of calls for good things being turned into a dog and pony show while chuckles filled with violent and evil innuendo always hit their mark to the death of a trans kid or a black kid or a disabled kid etc.

I genuinely think the dog and pony show needs to end so riots can take it's place.

Don't you?

[pinkrelish]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶One missed call. No new messages.✶

NSFW — angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for smut

chapter: 9/15 [wc: 4.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 9: A Slow Rejection

——January 1, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Hey! It’s getting pretty late, so I thought you’d be back by now.. Call me when you get this, so I know you made it okay.”

——January 3, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Are you back to working on Fridays? Wayne let me know you made it home safe. Uh.. Miss you and stuff. Call when you can.”

——January 12, 1986——

[Two missed calls. Two new messages.]

“Been missing you, again.. Been so long, I’m starting to forget what your voice sounds like. Ha, I know, I’m being dramatic, but yeah.. It’s really not fair Wayne’s gotten all your calls, while I pick up the ones from bill collectors. I’m sure he’s a real riot, too. Telling the same story about how he tore his thumbnail clean off in that accident at the plant, but need I remind you, I’m the one you’re supposed to be.. Oh, fuck–shit–!”

“Man, sorry about that. You ever manage to burn pasta? Anyway. What was I saying? Right! We should try scheduling calls again, so we stop missing each other. Well, I guess we’d have to talk in the first place, but you know what I mean. Hope to catch you soon, so we can work something out.”

——January 24, 1986——

[Three missed calls. Three new messages.]

“I know you’re out of town for a meet, but Goddamn, I hope you don’t mind me ranting–because–holy shit, I just dropped the biggest plot twist on the club tonight. They totally didn’t see it coming, and shit, I’ve been planning it from the start. I’ve got even more twists later in the campaign, but this one was so good.. Hey, If I fill this whole cassette, I’m sorry, babe, I’m just excited–”

——January 27, 1986——

Every part of you ached. Wincing at the smallest tasks like lacing up your boots, and zipping your winter coat. Lower back pleading with you to stop bending over to pick up your purse. Arms shaking under the strain of textbooks. Eyes burning from lack of sleep. Head spinning. Water. Food. You needed both, had time for neither. Instead, you grabbed your waitress uniform, loaded your other shoulder with your gym bag, and walked the three flights of stairs down to the parking lot.

“God fucking damnit.”

You dragged the door closed from the white abyss, and stomped up three flights of stairs, rage simmering to a boil as you remembered you left the ice scraper and shovel behind.

But as soon as you entered the hallway, you sprinted. You could hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?” you answered, disguising the nauseating hope in your voice under a layer of genuine curiosity at who would be calling at dawn, and a touch of fear in case it was bad news.

It was never bad news when it came to him.

“Hey!” The pure relief in Eddie’s exhale wrapped you in a warm hug, placed a chaste kiss on your chapped cheeks. “I finally caught you.”

Finally. God.. finally you could reconnect with him after he swept you off your feet on New Year’s Eve.

You imbued your gratefulness into your voice, trusting he’d understand the magnitude of comfort he brought you, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school too, Munson?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised with that little laugh of his, surely grinning ear to ear, pacing around his kitchen, probably annoying Wayne. “I just had a feeling I should try calling in the morning, and hey, it worked out. Do you have time to talk?” He knew the answer as soon as he asked, hearing the pause.

“I’m sorry.” Another pause. He didn’t interrupt. “My car’s buried under snow, and I’m running late as is.”

“It snowed there?”

“Mhm..” Certainly did, and if you didn’t get a move on, your coach was going to chew you out. But the temptation to keep sharing this blip in time was too enticing. Pretending things were better. “If you were here, would you shovel the snow for me? Scrape the ice off my windows?”

Eddie’s boyish, smitten murmur tingled across your skin. “Of course I would, baby,” he spoke in a lower range, in a whisper from where his heart resided. “Wouldn’t even have to ask. I’d take care of it.”

You knew he would. He was reliable like that.

“I’d have breakfast made, too,” he said. “Probably something frozen, but! Not to brag or anything, I know the exact amount of time to microwave a burrito so the inside is cooked, but the outside isn’t soggy, nor stale.” His warmth coaxed you into joining him in laughing, but it was repressed. Hollow. Delaying the inevitable. You both knew what was coming.

Aware he was burning the spare minutes you could afford, he asked the question you dreaded answering, “Do you have time to talk later?”

Oh, Eddie. Silencing your apology before it upset him more, you explained, “I have work later. What about Wednesday?”

“I have a date booked with Jeff’s mom. They moved into a new house over the weekend, and need help fixing faulty electrical stuff in their bathrooms. His dad is out of town in Indy. How about Thursday?”

“I’m usually in the gym until 11, and I have an exam to study for the next day.. I’m really busy during the Spring semester, with competing and stuff, on top of school bullshit–exams, papers, projects, whatever–and waitressing.”

“Mm..”

“Yeah..”

“Yeah.”

Ugly silence.

He said, “Well, I’ll let you go. We can work something out some other time.”

“Of course,” you promised. “Some other time.”

——February 8, 1986——

[No missed calls. One old message.]

“Uh.. I had to convince your roommate not to answer the phone, so I could leave this, and uh.. Now I feel super cheesy, but I wanted you to have a message waiting for you when you got back from New York–and–here it is, I guess. Jessica, are you listening to this? Whatever, I wanted to say I missed you, and hope you won all golds. I know you did, because you’re the best, but I wanted to wish you all the luck in the world, regardless if you needed it or not. Think of it like you opened a chest and found a Stone of Good Luck. +1 to all your rolls.. or tumbles, I guess.. Jesus Christ, I swear I’m done being weird. Call me when you’re back. Okay, bye.”

——February 9, 1986——

You called. No answer.

——February 10, 1986——

You listened to the fourth ring on the other end, and hung up. Defeat welcomed you like an old friend. Draped its blanket over your shoulders, squeezed you tighter than the lump in your throat, and reminded you to grab your new grips for the uneven bars on your way out of your dorm. It’s not like you had time to talk, anyway. You just wanted to try.

————

Eddie sprinted from his van. He heard it, he heard it, he heard it. Trailer door was locked. Wayne wasn’t home. God. Fucking. Loose doorknob he’d meant to fix yesterday knocking his keys from his shaky hands. Hehearditheheardit. Scraping his nails on the steps. Couldn’t find the right key. No, not the gold one, the bronze. Fucking hell. The ringing stopped. Maybe he could still–

He got the door open and dialed your number faster than his tunnel vision could discern. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Ringing, ringing.

It rang. It rang.

It clicked over to voicemail.

——February 12, 1986——

You took matters into your own hands.

——February 15, 1986——

“There’s a letter from your girlfriend waiting for you on your nightstand,” Wayne told him.

Eddie reminded him with a dull glare, “Not my girlfriend.” To which his uncle’s grin grew, watching his nephew fidget under the scrutiny of his curious gaze.

“It was delivered yesterday. What exactly do you call someone who sends you a Valentine’s card?”

Paling, then flushing at the suggestion, Eddie’s tongue stumbled over a half-assed response about the date being a coincidence, and disengaged from the odd twinkle in Wayne’s eye, hurrying down the hall to his room. Closing the door behind him, and locking it just in case.

The density of the card was substantial in his palm. He wanted to take his time, but his eagerness got the better of him. He ripped into the envelope and pulled out the thin letter stuffed with goodies. Beige cardstock. Crinkled along the top.

He meant to read the note first, but when he unfolded it, an abundance of riches slid to the floor, onto his dirty Reeboks. “What the..” With shame, he gathered the money first. It was no secret Wayne was throwing away the bills before Eddie could see the bright red stamps of FINAL NOTICE on them. Any time the lights went out, they would share a look from across the trailer, or a sigh if it was at night, until they flickered on due to a random outage. Things were rarely permanently cut, they made sure of that–with longer shifts at the plant, and Eddie selling weed, amps, acts of service, whatever he didn’t need–but there was always the looming threat. A voice in the back of his head when he needed to buy milk, and it had gone up another 4 cents. Morals; that’s what those voices were. Allusions of rules set by the wealthy. He bought the things he cared about, and stole the rest.

But with what you gave him..

“Damn,” he whispered, counting. Recounting. The weight of the money was comfort stacked in his dirty hands. A warm greeting after a long, cold day of working on his pregnant neighbor’s car for next to nothing. Granting him, and Wayne, the luxury of rest. It was enough to pay what they owed. Maybe more.

“Luckiest man on Earth,” he said, in reference to his sweet girl. “And you sent me..” He picked up the Polaroids and matched them to the paragraphs in the letter. One of you on a podium when you won first place overall; the picture was taken from the sidelines, far away. Another one of you competing on beam. Cute. Nice back shot of you in a leotard, too. Then..

You were at the edge of a pier overlooking the Statue of Liberty. Another girl was beside you, arms hooked around each other’s waist, having the other hand raised in the air as if you were holding the torch. The pose helped open your jean jacket, and beneath that, he saw peeking between the buttons, his Hellfire shirt.

“Sweetest girl.” He shook the picture steadily, like a nod. Gradually doing it more vigorously, until he was outright slapping it across his other fingers. “Goddamn, baby. You make me so proud.” Wearing his Dungeons and Dragons shirt out in public.

You would be a keeper, if you were his.

——February 17, 1986——

He meant to write back.

——February 22, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“.. I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry I haven’t called. Things got busy over here. Seems like when one thing goes wrong, more piles on. Did finish my book report for class, though, so you can be proud of me for that.. Yeah, miss you. Hope you’re doing okay. I don’t know if you’ve been calling and we’ve both been missing them, but Wayne hasn’t heard from you, either. You’re competing out of town today, aren’t you? Uhm.. Call when you can. And thank you for sending us money. Bye.”

——February 26, 1986——

You meant to call back.

——March 1, 1986——

Nothing really happened to trigger it, he was just sad.

Eddie sat at the kitchen table. Small and cramped with magazines and mail. He picked at a scab on his knuckle, twisted the black ring around his finger. Was tired, hungry. Quiet, and reserved from his usual personality, using all his energy yesterday to entertain Hellfire. Wayne would be back soon, he knew. The grocery store closed in 30 minutes. He just needed to occupy himself until then, but couldn’t find anything to do. New Metallica album in two days. He could listen to his bootlegs and finesse a song. But.. None of it sounded intriguing right now. Instead, his mind filled in the blanks. What were you doing on a Saturday night? Were you in your dorm? Out with friends? Working? Training? On a date–?

No. He stopped himself from fleshing out that last thought.

Tucking himself into the corner, huddling until his shoulders sagged, and drawing a knee to his chest, he grabbed the phone from above his head and dialed.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t talk for long, he just wanted to hear your voice. Your voice would make things better. Shake him out of this cycle. These unfair consequences of being the one who could leave remnants of his heart for you to listen to at your leisure, but wasn’t afforded the same luxury. Unless you were both available, he didn’t get to hear you speak. Just ringing, ringing, ringing. Suffering ringing.

Wrapping his arm around his leg in a hug, he rested his temple on the stained wallpaper, and rocked his head back and forth, grinding his forehead into the wall. Ringing. Ringing. The same position he took when he was a boy, on the rare–very rare–occasion his mother called on his birthday, or Christmas. Mostly Christmas, that was easier for her to remember. And he sat in this exact arrangement, curled up as small as he can be, wishing the person on the other end of the line loved him.

“Just thinking of you,” he said, after swallowing the thick spit in his mouth foretelling the water in his eyes. “Miss you. Call me when you get this.” He hung up.

——March 5, 1986——

You wanted to call, but last week’s graded essay was burned onto the back of your eyelids. So much red ink.

Under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the library, you squeezed in the last of your allotted time before they closed, and forced your cramped hand to write, making it to your dorm in time to pass out.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 8, 1986——

He meant to start his letter to you. Really.

——March 10, 1986——

The quarter-sized blister on your palm you attained due to your own negligence around the flat top griddle at work burst on your fourth pull up. Fluid snaked down your forearm, cutting a stark line through the chalk. Coach would be livid if he knew you had a job. No distractions, he said. Not for champions like you.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 15, 1986——

Wayne took one look at him and sighed. He pulled Eddie’s wobbly desk chair up beside the bed, and sat facing him, lighting a cigarette. The heavy wooden box beside his nephew’s feet told him everything he needed to know.

Eddie held out his hand for Wayne’s lighter and lit the end of a joint.

“So,” his uncle started, drawing his eyes from the decades of memories stacked neatly in the keepsake box taken from the top shelf of the closet, to the Polaroids tacked onto the wall above his bed, to the worn black journals spread around the boy who laid there with his eyes on the ceiling, moping. “What’s gotten to ya, now?”

“Same old,” Eddie answered. Nonchalant, he took a drag on the joint pinched between his thumb and index, and rested his wrist on his forehead. Wayne waited patiently. And as usual, Eddie caved under the silence. “Unless she’s purposefully calling when we’re busy, she’s just.. not calling at all, and I don’t know what pisses me off more.” He shook his head. Long shakes, rolling cheek to cheek on his limp pillows. Eyes drifting closed. “I think I fucked up.”

Wayne leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, preparing himself for a long conversation. “Why do you think that, son?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory. “I promised her we’d be together forever, and she said ‘okay.’ That’s all. ‘Okay.’” He started to mock himself, “I want to be with you forever,” and shifted his pitch higher, “Okay!” Eddie stopped his theatrics, and sank to his mattress. “Jesus.”

“You seemed really happy the next morning when I came home.. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into her reaction? Maybe she was surprised, is all I’m sayin’.” Eddie didn’t give so much of an eyeroll, as it was him sliding his gaze away from Wayne, disinterested in analyzing what he’d been poring over for the past few months in solitude; as the phone calls decreased, and his loneliness worsened. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you said?”

At an impasse, they inhaled their vices at the same time, and tapped them into the ashtray on Eddie’s nightstand in sync.

“Fine,” Eddie heeded, “But it’s not like I remember it verbatim.” Wayne spun his hand in encouragement to try. “It was something along the lines of.. I don’t know, man. She has these amazing opportunities lined up for her, and I told her after I graduate, I’m gonna work odd jobs, so wherever she goes, I can go with her, so we can.. you know, be together. Forever. I explicitly stated ‘forever.’ I’ll follow her forever, so we never have to be alone.”

Wayne spoke with the cigarette between his lips, “Sounds sorta stalker-like.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just givin’ ya a hard time,” he said, after a slight laugh, and a coughing fit. His nephew seemed less amused, rubbing the back of his thumb across his forehead in a self-soothing gesture. “Was there anything else?”

Eddie burned through another fraction of his joint as he recalled that night. “She sucks at taking care of herself, so I said she needed her best friend there to look after her. Meaning me, obviously. Y’know, help keep her car functioning, make sure she gets rest so her injuries heal, cook for her because she doesn’t eat when she’s stressed. Stuff like that. I just want to be there for her, and.. Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Cigarette paused half-way to his mouth, Wayne debated with himself over which style of guidance he should take. For as long as he’d known him, Eddie was stubborn. Liked to figure things out for himself. But this? This was a little much for Wayne to sit back and watch.

“You told her that.. platonically?” he asked, a touch of astoundment at his nephew’s stupidity in his inflection.

“Yes.”

Jesus, kid. Get a clue. “And did it ever occur to you..” he drawled, waving his cigarette, “to tell her how you really felt, so you wouldn’t have to go through this? So you’d have a definite answer, whether she rejected you or not, and we could avoid all this back and forth worryin’?”

Eddie begged him to understand, “You know I can’t just.. say that to her. I mean, I said everything but that and all she could say was ‘okay.’ What if I actually told her? Made some grand confession at midnight, and kissed her? Christ, at least she still sort of talks to me.” He cut his arm across his chest. Quick, hard, and final. “No. No way am I doing that.”

Calming himself down, the joint between his fingers burned to a nub, and he spoke through the haze. “We’re finally friends again. I’m not going to jeopardize what we have by talking about my feelings.”

“Well, you’ve already lost her once, and you’re worried it’s happening again.. So, why not risk it?”

“Because now I know what it feels like for her to be a stranger.”

~~~

More words were exchanged, and many of them circled around the same subject without a resolution, but Wayne made sure to end the night on a positive note before he left for work.

He leaned over and dusted the ash from Eddie’s hair, pushing the fringe out of his face for a sincere, long moment of eye contact. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“I hope she calls. I’m sorry, son.”

——March 16, 1986——

The red lights on your alarm clock blared 2:35AM. You rolled over, adjusted the foam cups of your headphones onto your ears, brought the quilt to your chin, and rewound the tape to play it from the beginning.

“Crashed at Rick’s last night.. Sorry if you called.”

Then, a slurred message an hour later. “M-Mm.. Miss you.. I.. Hm? I.. Damn.” A drink spilled. Music played in the background. Something recognizable in the depths of your subconscious, but too quiet to place. Eddie inhaled deep, held his breath, and resumed with a steady cadence, “Wish you were here.”

——March 19, 1986——

Black. Black. Black. Searing white.

You came to holding onto a rope, and someone’s hand gripping your shoulder, acting as your sole buoy in the sea of your dizzy spell.

“Are you okay? Don’t answer that.” Katherine’s voice cut like a snake’s tongue. She lowered you to the spring floor next to the foam pit, and released a string of infuriated whispers about miracles, and you not falling from higher up. They came muffled against the high-pitched whine in your ears, and the pounding heart beats racing blood to your face.

She had a first aid kit with her. “Hello? Do you not feel that?” You looked at your hands. A cold flash of sweat prickled your skin. Nausea rose. The bleeding wasn’t bad, but it did leave a streaking trail on the last few feet of knotted rope dangling beside you.

At least Coach was in his office while the rest of you did your conditioning, so he didn’t see.

You rubbed your knuckles into your brow bone. “I think those caffeine pills caught up with me,” you muttered. Kat sucked her teeth, and handed you what you needed to patch up your torn calluses.

“I wish you’d stop taking those and give yourself a break. Rest isn’t a punishment.”

You may not have known her long, but she was the first friend you made, and her disappointed voice struck you in a way your Coach’s didn’t. Kat understood. She had a similar upbringing to you, and could relate. She also worked at the diner, and you helped cover for each other when other girls asked why you couldn’t make it to their bonding nights out.

And being vulnerable with her meant she knew intimate details of your life no one else did, and you were beginning to regret it.

Not really. But it sucked when she knew she was right.

“I can’t take a break now,” you mumbled, surveying the rest of the gym to make sure your conversation was private. “I’ve gotta study for next week. Gotta go to work. Gotta make money. Gotta–gotta–” You moved your hands erratically, drying the sharp sting of rubbing alcohol on your palms. “Gotta live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“Why not at least cut your hours at work? I know you don’t need the money that bad right now.”

“No.. But he does.”

The exasperated sigh Kat released grazed your cheek. She placed the first aid kit in her lap, and shifted closer to you. The side of her thigh squished against yours, and you wondered if anyone else on Earth would have stopped breathing at the small sign of affection. If anyone else’s eyes welled with tears at what others took for granted.

Kat’s tone went gentle, “You’re killing yourself over a guy who will never commit. You deserve better than that. Why not try going out with Roger again? You already know he likes you.” She bumped your shoulder and tipped her head at the group of sweaty guys standing under the rings. Most notably the stand-out amongst the men’s team jumping and grasping the apparatus, hoisting himself up for minute-long holds in poses that had your abs burning in empathy.

Roger was nice. His smile was nice. His short, sandy blonde hair was nice. Your date with him at the Italian restaurant in town was nice. He paid for the meal, which was nice. His eyes crinkled when he laughed at your bad jokes in a nice way. He made it a point to walk you to your dorm at night, like a nice man. He spoke to you nicely. He hugged you tight, and long. And when you made your intentions clear, he accepted you didn’t want a kiss, and left like a gentleman, without complaint. Nice. He was nice.

“You didn’t hear the way Eddie said–” the most romantic thing anyone had ever promised you.

“He called you his best friend.” She took over bandaging for you, turning her body to block the others from seeing the tears run down your cheeks. “He doesn’t love you like you want, and you’re starting to worry me. Well.. You’ve been worrying me. You need to take care of yourself, first. Coach might turn a blind eye because you’re still able to compete, but I see the way the stress has been eating away at you.” An opportune moment for your stomach to growl. “And I love you, and I want better for you than some guy who’s not into you, taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Eddie’s not like that. He’s different..” you offered meekly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“Just.. consider going out with Roger again. Pay attention to the date. How he treats you, what he says. Maybe compare him to Eddie, and see what I mean.”

Done patching you up, Kat tossed the first aid kit to the side while you chalked your hands over the bowl, not caring the white powder clung to the wet smears on your face. She opened her mouth when you grabbed the rope again, fists on her hips not unlike a mother who actually cared for her children.

“You’re going to get hurt,” she said.

You put your weight on the rope. Your open flesh wrung against the fiber, padded by a few layers of athletic tape rapidly losing their adhesive from the blooming blood soaking through. The pain stung deep. Not enough for you to quit. You could persevere. Climb up to the rafters of the gym, and back down again without rest two more times, as Coach instructed. You could remain calm. Focus on the task, finish it, and still read your textbook until the crack of dawn, and go in for a quick morning shift at the diner before your afternoon class. You could do it all. You could. You could do it all if it meant securing a future for you, and for Eddie.

You replied, “Maybe I will.. But it’ll be worth it.”

Kat waited until you were half-way up to question, “Will it?”

——March 21, 1986——

If Eddie answered, you wouldn’t go out with Roger. That was the deal.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you whispered with your head resting against the doorway to the back of the diner. The two line cooks gave you sympathetic looks. “Pick up,” you pleaded with a bite of anger.

You hung up.

Dialed again.

“Come on, Eddie..”

When he didn’t answer, you let Kat embrace you in the walk-in cooler, blotting your tears on her brown uniform shirt, and she listened to you sob about how not only had the phone calls stopped, Eddie had stopped calling you by pet names long before that.

————

Roger was soft. His grin was soft. His hair was soft, brushing across your forehead. The callus on his thumb was smooth, soft as he traced your bottom lip. The back of his fingers were soft as he caressed them over your cheek. His lips were soft, too. Placing them gently on the corner of yours after you turned away at the last second.

His voice was soft. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m sorry..” You struggled to say more. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said, and left. Softly spoken through the rejection, and accepting it like the nice man he was, not coercing you into more.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, long after Roger walked away. You went inside your dorm, and did the thing you always did, pressing the blinking light on your answering machine, noticing the cassette through the plastic window hadn’t moved.

[One missed call. No new messages.]

Oh.

He’d never not left a message before..

——March 22, 1986——

You awoke with a start. “Wha–?” Your bloodshot eyes refused to open under the disturbing amount of daylight streaming through your window. What was that noise? Was the phone ringing? 

The phone was most definitely ringing.

Answering under the grog of not knowing when you went to sleep, nor what day it was, you said the first thing that came to mind, “Eddie?” You winced, and jerked the phone away, taking a moment to place the loud, exuberant–panicked–voice on the other side. “..Dustin?”

Taglist: @xxhospital-for-soulsxx @myfavoritesareproblematic @henhouse-horrors @tlclick73 @sidthedollface2 @i-will-duckyou-up @qnsfwthoughts @captainonaboat @eddiemuns0nl0ver @godcreatoreli @harrys-tittie @eg-dr3amer3 @trixyvix88 @venomsvl @lacrymosa-24 @sashaphantomhive @sharp-and-swift @emokid-ellie @mantorokk-writes @drdvlss @mirrorsstuff @bebe0701 @eddiethesexy @edsforehead @b-irock @brittney69 @princesseddie @hes-a-rainbow @churchmuffins @barbielibra 

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Hello, I've been watching your content for a while. While I quit League a long time ago I still hold partial interest to Runeterra's lore, (such as it is) . In particular I really enjoy Bilgewater in general as well as Illaoi and Ezreal as individual characters and I've enjoyed your takes on said things. (Also fuck Demacia) And I wanted to ask you, after so much dissillussionment from Riot's content, in particular from the latest "cinematic" , how they have always prioritized e-sports and skins over actually giving the lore a proper direction and conclusion or how Legends of Runeterra is getting downsized and unlikely to last much longer, why do you still do League content? You are clearly very critical of a lot of the decisions the higher ups do that affect the output of artists and writers in charge of Runeterra's universe and character designs. And there has not been much sign of improvement since a lot of your points. It's like screaming into a brick wall at this point, so why not move on?

Why not spend your time on something that doesn't lead its fans along with empty promises, breaking them, promising to do better next time and then repeating the cycle all over again for years like an abusive relationship. Beyond doing it because it's what you're most well known for, why stick with content that you know will keep disappointing you?

I'm glad you are diversifying your content but I personally feel your passion for art, animation and writing analysis would be better spent away from League and into more games beyond that (in particularly really liked your take on "Despite everything, it's still you" from Undertale). The indie scene in particular is chock full of incredible and unique takes in terms of character design and narratives I'm sure you will enjoy. League is clearly not worth the time for people who are into the lore, art and setting of videogames anymore. I hope I wasn't too personal or intrusive with my question. Cheers.

So that's a very long question. I'll start with the short and cynical answer:

I am doing League of Legends content because that is what my audience wants, and that is what makes me most of my money.

My channel is a League of Legends channel primarily, the algorithm likes it and pushes it that way, and League of Legends is an absolutely enormous intellectual property with an absolutely enormous player base, which means there's a big audience for my content about the game. A large audience means more engagement, means more ad revenue, more sponsorship opportunities, more subscribers, and so on and so on.

That's the cynical part of the answer. I don't want to sidestep it with some guff about "being passionate about the subject," because the truth of my job is that it is a job. I'm not sailing freely on the oceans of creative impulse pursuing my bliss, I'm trying to pay my rent and my pets veterinarian bills and pay down loans and have enough left over to help my friends when they need it.

I approach this job much the same way I approached being a freelance illustrator - having passion for the subject is a nice bonus, but you don't always need it to do good and valuable work.

And with the cynicism out of the way... I also just genuinely love the fucking League of Legends universe. With all its many, many stupid flaws and its garbage corpo owner and its years of systematic neglect and the constant disappointment, god help me, I still love this stupid shit. And when management gets out of the way and lets the good writers at Riot be good at their goddamn jobs, amazing things can happen.

The Ashe: Warmother comic is still such a beautiful short narrative work, with such visual verve and empathy for the characters it's depicting.

It zeroes in so acutely on the idea that Ashe and Sejuani are shaped by their difficult relationships with their mothers, and that THAT is ultimately the difference that drives them apart when they should by rights have had the chance to be sisters. When they become warmothers of their own tribes, it is the memory of their mothers that drive them, and just as the Freljord is divided by generations of strife engineered by Lissandra, the matriarch of the whole region, that generational trauma resonates into Ashe and Sejuani and sets them against each other.

Or Ekko's short story, where he has been accepted to the fancy Piltover academy that's supposed to be his golden ticket out of poverty, his chance to escape Zaun, everything his parents have worked their whole lives to give him, and...

Like, FUCK, you can't just invent these silly cartoon muppets to throw at each each other in your dumb MOBA beat 'em up and then give them INTERIORITY like this??? Apply their silly cartoon powers in way that explores their emotional difficulties and works thematically with their internal philosophies?

god dammit I love this stupid game's universe, I cannot be saved, leave me and go before it infects you too!