#I am so sorry this got so long

[wulfdreaded]

@princetaled location: le edge of the forest

never  did  the  wolf  think  he'd  be  doing  this.  never  did  the  big  bad  wolf  think  he'd  be  sitting  here  by  the  river  waiting  for  a  prince  to  meet  him.  long,  longer,  longest  story  short  ...  the  portals  made  the  royals  reconsider  their  current  opinions.  zeke  attending  king  stefan's  festivities  at  the  castle  &  got  to  witness  the  charade  all  these  fake,  snitching  royals  put  up  to  lick  each  other's  boots.  honestly,  he  didn't  care  what  they  did.  it  was  none  of  his  business.

not  until  he  was  dragged  into  it  by  none  other  than  a  young  prince  himself.  clumsy  little  thing.  honestly,  zeke  didn't  know  why  he  bothered  to  save  his  life,  but  before  he  could  ponder  over  that  ..he'd  done  it.  a  debt  ..  that  could  not  be  repaid  now,  could  it?  the  worst  was  that  the  little  prince  insisted  zeke  met  his  father  -  the  king,  who  ended  up  with  a  rather  peculiar  proposition  for  him.  not  only  was  he  going  to  be  forgiven  all  his  sins,  which  -  if  you  asked  him..  was  ridiculous,  but  he  was  also  begged  to  help.  long  term.

protect  the  prince.

now,  he  didn't  see  himself  as  a  protector  of  ...well,  anybody.  maybe  he  was,  maybe  the  reason  he  bit  rory  was  ..  that.  he  didn't  know  &  he  wasn't  going  to  think  about  it.  now  here  he  was,  sitting  on  a  rock  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  -  the  castle's  walls  standing  tall  in  the  distance  &  waited  for  the  little  prince  to  find  him.  zeke  wasn't  afraid  to  set  foot  into  the  village  alone.  oh  no,  he  wasn't  afraid  of  anything,  he  was  realistic  &  careful.  yes.

footsteps  announced  his  presence  before  zeke  could  see  him,  one  of  his  furry  ears  craning  back  to  follow  the  noise  as  it  approached  while  zeke  drank  some  water  he  picked  up  with  his  palms.  "'bout  time."  he  was  told  the  prince  had  something  planned  for  today.  he  ....was  not  curious  what  that  may  be.  not  at  all.  standing  up  &  using  the  same  water  to  freshen  up  his  face,  he  spun  around  to  greet  the  other.  “where'd  you  wanna  go  today?”

[allylikethecat]

Omg, also a TS fan since debut and I massively took a step back from her personally prior to the reputation era because of her antics and victim complex. The music will always mean so so much to me, her lyrics mean so much to me, but her actions as a person and TS™️ as an entity is just weird and greedy. I think she accrued a lot of fans when she disappeared for a while who've completely constructed a narrative in their heads of who she is and they believe it and are eating up this current era, but those who've been here a long time know how PR and image driven it is. Exhausting.

I apologize in advance I have been having way too many feelings about this whole situation and how it relates to my identity as a 28 year old woman and you are about to get an oversharing novel in response lol

Also, I guess CW: this post is about Taylor Swift and if anyone sends me any kind of hate or whatnot related to my own personal opinions and feelings I will be deleting it because I am NOT playing that game.

My Aunt bought me the Debut album CD at a concert after seeing her open for Rascal Flatts. She was like "I thought that you would like her!" and she was RIGHT Taylor Swift became my entire personality. One of my FAVORITE core memories as a child was the day Fearless came out. For some reason we didn't have school, and my Mom and I watched Taylor on the Ellen show, and then we went to Target and bought the physical CD, we then drove around town so we could listen to it together. My mom hasn't been well and that is one of my favorite memories of us together. It's silly but when you're in middle school that kind of thing is important to you. Then in high school I actually got MADE FUN OF for wearing Taylor merch and being excited about Red. BUT I loved her music and felt like she actually stood for something, so I brushed it off and continued to be a HUGE Swiftie. I had the Taylor Swift dolls, I had the perfumes, I had the LOVE LOVE LOVE bracelet, I had the sundresses from WALMART. I saw her on the Fearless and 1989 tours, I had the fucking 1989 haircut. I was supposed to go to Loverfest.

I was still a HUGE Swiftie during the post 1989-pre Reputation eras, then the Reputation era. I'm a few years younger than her, but I felt like I could relate to the kind of manic panic that she was sharing with us (lol turns out I was just unmedicated and we're doing much better now). It felt (in my probably naive mind) like she was experiencing the same insecurities that I was and reacting accordingly. Was she playing the victim at times? Oh 100% BUT I also fully believe that she thought she was one. (Plus... Kim is my least favorite Kardashian lol)

I LOVED the Lover era even as it was shit on at the for the sunshine rainbow hyper colorful aesthetic. Like, I don't know if new fans realize but when Lover was released? It was NOT as beloved as it is now. Then Folklore and Evermore were absolute genius, it felt like Taylor had grown up, and she got all of these new fans, which was great! She was in an "adult" relationship and her music and publicity choices seemed to reflect that. It was so refreshing to see a celebrity keeping their personal life, personal, and sharing what they wanted to share through music. Midnights broke all kinds of records, again, amazing! Even if it wasn't as strong as say Folklore. I fought for my life and got Eras Tour tickets (opening weekend!!) I had the BEST TIME EVER.

Taylor has always been extremely calculated with her public image. She was over exposed during The 1989 era and the public turned on her, so I truly cannot figure out why she is doing it again 100x in this new era of whatever the fuck this is. I don't know her, maybe she is legitimately happy, or maybe this is a cry for help. But I have been so grossed out by her behavior lately, and how in your face everything is with Kelce. It's no secret that I hate Kelce (and people that know me IRL know that it's not a new Taylor related thing lol) and if she actually loves him, fine, that's great for her, BUT we don't need to see it! Yes she was public when she was dating Calvin but ALSO she was what 25-26? She's a 34 year old woman now with the biggest platform of any celebrity ever. She feels too old (and this is not me age shaming her because I would be grossed out if my friends were doing it, and I would be embarrassed if *I* were to ever do it) to be licking a man's face in public like this. This feels like sorority girl in her first college relationship (I was *in* a sorority for a hot second so this isn't hate on sorority girls either!) and not record breaking Grammy award winning artist. ALSO I feel like she used to come across as so articulate and well spoken? Controversial opinion but I thought she sounded like a fucking idiot in that Time Person of the Year piece.

I think that this whole thing is PR for something, but because it just feels too icky to be real, but I don't know what it's PR for, (trying to bury the Matty situation from May? Because if so that just makes me even more sad for him or trying to get back at Joe? Which if that's the case, I feel bad for him too and she's even more immature than I thought) and now, for the first time, AFTER SIXTEEN YEARS I'm embarrassed to be a fan of her, both because of her own actions and also the actions of her fanbase as a whole.

It feels really weird, and I know I'm being parasocial about it, but when the times got bad I always had her music to fall back on and now I just, I don't know it feels cheapened somehow because the current image that's being crafted doesn't match the one that we originally fell for. And you know what, people change, she's a celebrity, I don't know her, what she does DOES NOT affect me any way, and how I feel does not AFFECT HER in the slightest, and I know it's being parasocial but I feel like a big part of me is in mourning about it. Less because of her changing her image so drastically, and more so because I feel like I'm mourning the loss of childhood and joy that used to be associated with her music for me and I think that's what's making me the most sad.

I have Eras tour tickets for one of the London dates this summer. I'm probably going to still go, because I paid for them, and I also have tickets to see Noah Kahan that same week in London (... and also the Longines tour has ALSO decided that the London stop is that week...) But I don't consider myself a "big fan" anymore. Maybe I will be one day again, but this current image that she's putting out just isn't it for me.

Sorry for the longest Taylor related novel in existence, I have had a lot of bottled up feelings about this that feel ridiculous typing out and sharing out loud BUT I know I will feel better sending them into the interwebs and your ask was the perfect catalyst.

Thank you so much for sending this in and for your continued support! I hope you continue to enjoy my fics and my secret sports hot takes 😂

❤️Ally

[ashendalia]

Bet, tell me more about Griff cause I wanna know more about your boy

HI YES SO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT GRIFF

ALSO THIS IS LONG SO SORRY ABOUT THAT

Griff wasn't always a quiet meek mannered person, in fact when he was younger he was actually the opposite. He was short tempered, loud, arrogant, and honestly quite a huge asshole that most people did not like.

He did not get along with his parents at all because he wanted to join the army and fight for his country while they were anti-war activists. His father was actually killed by the army because of it too, but at that time he took it more as a sign that he needed to do something and actually make a difference instead of just preaching something.

So he joined the army, but when he told his mom she told him he was insane. His ideals were so opposite that right then and there he stormed out and left. That was 8 years ago now, and he only recently spoke to her again through telegram for the first time since then.

When Griff's finally in the army, he gets placed in a squad under a captain that doesn't take priority in crushing the enemy and instead places it with the safety of his men. And he is NOT happy about it and he makes it known out loud, and he also butts heads with most of his squad mates because they're there for the money and not the honor of fighting for their country. He is dead-set on fighting for his country and getting a medal for his loyalty and work that he doesn't hear out any other views (and also he is young and a jackass).

Despite being this loud, confrontational, quick tempered asshat, he actually did make a friend and the two had a sort of camaraderie despite being in the army for different reasons. This guy was probably his only friend too because no one else except superiors put up with his shit.

Eventually there came a battle where beforehand Griff tried to argue with the captain that his plan wasn't effective and that there was an opportunity to strike at the enemy and deal a huge blow to their forces, but the captain didn't want to risk his squad's lives for it. Well, Griff managed to get some soldiers on his side and during the battle they broke off and went and attacked the enemy directly. And it worked! The enemy got crushed, though the soldiers that came with him were killed too.

As he made his way back to his own camp, he found that the whole place was burning down and there were bodies everywhere. The further he continued, the more dead soldiers from his squad he saw and he couldn't wrap his head around how this happened. He eventually found an instructor barely alive and they told him that the captain knew he would attack the enemy so he changed the formation to try to save him and that's why the camp was how it is now, and then died right after.

Griff couldn't understand why the captain would do this after he had always caused so much trouble for the man and starts looking for him. Instead he comes across his only friend, barely alive and left leg blown off from an explosion. His friend is glad to see he's okay, and Griff starts apologizing for what happened because of him. His friend isn't angry or anything though, he even tells him that he would've liked a medal too before passing away.

Griff keeps going trying to find the captain, and he is breaking down in tears now, and the whole time he just keeps seeing the bodies of his squad mates all around him. He finds the captain finally and rushes over to him to try to wake him, but gets no response. He grabs the man's hand because he wants so badly for the captain to reprimand him for what happened, he needs the captain to do to him for what he caused because this is his fault.

Griff is barely able to begin to form the words to apologize, and his crying is not helping at all either. The captain is able to come around just long enough to hear him and tell him "I'm glad you survived..." before passing, and Griff is left the only survivor.

Well, he finally got his medal. He's a hero now and the enemy withdrew, and all it took was losing his whole squad in that battle.

Griff is absolutely a mess after this though. He's given time off, though all he can bring himself to do his hide in his house and try to drink away pain. He wakes up, drinks until he passes out, and the process repeats day after day after day. When he's awake he replays the memories in his head and when he's asleep he has nightmares about what happened on that battlefield, and ultimately no amount of alcohol is going to drown it away.

His thoughts spiral deeper into regret. If he hadn't ignored orders and gone off on his own they would all be alive. What even was the point of doing it? Was it for pride? Justice? Selfishness? A goddamned medal?

At this point he thinks the best thing to do is end it all and loads his gun and puts it to his head. He didn't get the chance to pull the trigger though because him being in his drunken state caused him to lose his balance and pass out after hitting a table. When he wakes up he sees the letter congratulating him and and giving him the date for being rewarded with a medal of honor and being promoted to captain, which is tomorrow.

He takes some sleeping pills and goes to bed. He dreams about that battlefield again, and this time in his dream he tries to change things. He doesn't go off on his own, he stays at his base and kills any enemy soldier he sees. But even this changes nothing because he eventually looks out on the battlefield and sees the faces of his squad on the dead bodies. He finally realizes that no matter what he does, he can't save them.

When he wakes up he asks his captain what he should do and how to atone for his sins. He then gets dressed in his formal wear and accepts the medal and promotion to captain.

AND THATS ONLY HIS BACKSTORY

As a captain himself, he's very wary of putting his own men in danger and always pulls them back before anything bad can happen to them. His plans are always very cautious and he's always putting their safety over wiping out the enemy. Some of his own men call him a coward for his tactics and even started calling him 'Captain Craven' behind his back, but he lets them continue because his highest concern is their safety and making sure they stay alive.

This doesn't mean he isn't ruthless in battle still though. His squad and he have completely and utterly wiped out enemy forces and bandits that were threatening villagers before, and if his men aren't in high danger they will kill. He's not afraid to kill enemies, it's his job as a soldier, and he'll continue doing it to protect his country and his men. Even then he does feel guilt for having to kill so much.

He's very much living for the sake of others at this point. He sees himself as unworthy of redemption and so he does everything he can to make sure others survive, even putting himself in mortal danger just to rescue someone across enemy lines.

Now he's much more reserved, quiet, and very nonconfrontational. He doesn't care if his men insult him behind his back because all that matters to him is keeping them alive and safe. Truthfully though, I'm sure the longer his men are with him the more the understand that his orders are the way they are so that they can go home when this is all over and they do appreciate him for that.

ON A LIGHTER NOTE

His favorite food is smoked fish! And he's very skilled at games that use perfect information, like chess, checkers, and Reversi!

also his hobby is drinking alcohol but that is not a lighter note and it makes me sad

IN CONCLUSION

I love him 🥺

[hotdogmchiggin]

Company Mandated Fancy Fits on the Tulpar 😏

Also had to include the REAL star of the show (and a bonus)

Based off of this and this. Thank you very much joetastic for being inspirational 👍

The REAL reason this is late

[paintedcrows]

Evening in the Lab

[zodiac-monkey]

[lxnarphase]

Screaming, crying, violently shaking the bars on my enclosure for thigh grinding. Please.

i had to let this marinate for a little, this is actually so good i love the idea of just plopping yourself on their lap, straddling their thigh when you want their attention when they're doing something. and you gave me free reign on who to write so i am in heaven with these thoughts. i thought about adding 'who would pretend to not notice' and 'who would make you do it until you squirt' but i think i already got carried away with this little thirst ❤︎

WHO ENCOURAGES IT: g. suguru, n. kento, h. kinji, f. toji

the second you sit on him, his attention snaps to you, inquisitively raising an eyebrow. but once you tell him to focus on what he was doing, he bites his lip as he feels you grinding yourself on his thigh.

suguru's abandoned his show, leaning back on the couch and putting his hands on your waist, guiding you back and forth against his leg. "oh, pretty babyyyy, go on, grind on me. does it feel good?" he's a little upset you aren't facing him, but whenever you turn your head over your shoulder, he coos at you so sweetly. he even brings his hand down to your front, playing with your puffy clit through your soaked underwear. "look at you, your gonna get my leg all wet...tsk, you're gonna lick it up for me after, right?" kento turns a pretty shade of pink, chucking as he shakes his head. he texted you only 2 minutes ago, responding to you pouting and asking when he'd be done with work, he didn't think you'd show up this soon. "have i been neglecting you, honey? mm, i'm sorry, love. you can keep going," he encourages, his hand on your lower back as he looks up at you from his leather desk chair. oh, he could never get tired of his view. if he could, he'd have you sit on his thigh every time he worked in his office, but...he knew that wouldn't work out, he'd never be able to get work done with you sitting all pretty on him like this. "i'll take a break from work, okay? mhm, just for you. now keep going, honey, i want you to feel good." kinji stops everything immediately. "well, hi to you too, cupcake," he whistles, his hands instantly starting to rub up and down your sides. "needy cunt wanted some attention? aww, she needs her kinjiiii, ain't that right, doll?" his hand trails down and smacks your ass before grabbing a handful. his eyes are lidded but filled with excitement. oh, he looooved when you took control of your pleasure and used him to feel good. knowing that you needed him so badly that just grinding on his thigh could make you cum made his ego shoot through the roof. "c'mon, wanna have you soak my thigh before i touch you, baby, lemme see how messy you can get." toji is pleasantly surprised when you come to him with that pretty little pout, cooing his name in just his black sweater. his thin pajama pants can't be that good to grind on, the fabric isn't nearly rough enough, but he can feel how hot and wet you're getting, how sticky your panties are getting. seeing how you're getting frustrated, toji just lifts you up and plops you on his dick. "hey, pretty mama, you strugglin'? mhm, yeah, i knowww. my pants aren't enough for that pussy t' cum, are they?" he helps you move your hips back and forth, lazily smirking up at you. "yeah, that feel better? grindin' on my cock instead? y'so pretty, mama, so so pretty."

WHO CUMS IN THEIR PANTS: g. satoru, k. choso

it's hard not to get turned on from seeing you hovering over him, eyes lidded and filled with need, using their thigh to get yourself off. you just look so fucking gorgeous they can't help but move you off their thigh to their lap.

satoru lets you grind on his thigh for a little bit, kissing all over your neck as he fucking giggles into your skin. when he gets that pretty whine of his name after mouthing your pressure point, he pulls you onto his lap, grinding up into you. "baby, baby, baby, you're so cute, s'fuckin' cute! f-fuck, shit, 'm gonna cum, h-haah, you'd gonna make me cum in my fuckin' jeans, c'mon." he lets out the filthiest moan, laughing deliriously as he cums in his jeans. he barely gives himself a second to breathe before he moves you onto your back on the couch, sliding your panties to the side and pulling out his cock that's still hard and covered in his cum. "tsk-tsk-tsk, little dumplinggg, you made me waste it, 's a baddd girl...now i gotta fuck you 'til it leaks out, m'kay? my cock feels so much better than my thigh, angel, let 'toru into this lil' cunt." choso looks up at you with wide eyes, and you barely get to grind on his thigh before he whines, slowly pulling you towards his lap where his hard dick is pressing against his shorts. "b-babe," he whimpers, finally feeling you grinding against him directly. "y-you, i-i, mmn, i can feel your pussy, y-you're grindin' right on the tip, keep going, p-please?" he's activitly fucking up into you, uncaring that his gym shorts are getting soaked with his precum, eyes rolling back in his head as he keens your name. "pleasepleaseplease, 'm gonna cum, lemme cum, i wanna cum against you like this, please!"

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[teshiee]

i did not think this out much...at all, but drawing it was a lotta fun!

also i almost made lloyd veronica but i changed it to nya before i even started working on the. actual heather trio so yay!!

[pixlatedvampire]

hi the literal whole entire reason i made these was bc i watched this 10 sec clip on youtube pls watch

[guardian-angle22]

911: LONE STAR | TARLOS ↳ EVERY KISS (Season 1 -> Season 5)

[miettes-house]

hi again!! i know i draw patty in a lot of casual clothes so i wanted to try and actually experiment with her costuming, and give her some actual devil hunter attire. enjoy :^D!!!!

below are some alternative versions + some notes on my design and thought process, if anyone's interested :^) !!!!

I had so much fun designing these outfits for her. I made a lot of alternative color versions, not all of them made it here. I designed 2 outfits and 3 hairstyles for her, as well as her guns. (note: this is mostly an exercise in character costuming)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Some things I wanted to keep in mind when designing (or rather, costuming) her was:

keeping in line with the general aesthetics of the DMC series + imagining my own take on an adult Patty, which we've only seen as a kid in the anime thus far.

I wanted her adult design to be chic, modern, and as practical as possible while still preserving a sense of fashion, and make her recognizably 'Patty'.

I didn't want to make her fashion too similar to how it appears in the show, since she's like 9-10 and for me it didn't make much sense for her to dress the same as she did when she was a kid haha

maintaining a limited palette of blacks, browns, pinks, and reds

adding my own personal style and tastes for fun :^)

this is such a little thing, but her voice cameo in dmc5 came off a little bit valleygirl-esque to me? very stereotypical teen girl, so I went with a very high femme aesthetic to try and match that energy a little bit.

for her guns: I wanted to ofc reference Dante & Trish with ther respective handguns. But I did take a few pages from Bayonetta's book and gave her little gun charms. (i do think if she were a playable character, she would have similar game play to V maybe?)

1st design (alt colors) :

For this take, I wanted something that was both chic and slightly grungy and more aligned with what the other devil hunter characters wear- lots of leather! Generally speaking, the dmc characters have rather limited palettes, so I didn't want to go overboard with my color choices. i dabbled a little bit with giving her pink accents, as we see her in pink a considerable amount in the show. I referenced Dante and Lady's designs a lot for this particular look, for things like the leather boots and jacket. I think this outfit is a little bit less practical, but I think it's a little bit more in line with the actual character designs of dmc5 in particular.

2nd design (alt colors) :

for this second look I wanted something a little bit more practical and refined. I took a lot of inspiration from other adult patty designs ive seen on here !! as well as more inspiration from her anime appearance for this look. I wanted something a little bit more gothic and "straight-edged", and I accidentally designed a very 70's two piece set, haha. Again, maintaining the same limited color palette as before. This design has a lot less accent colors and is a little bit more cohesive, tried to avoid making a bland design, which i hope was successful!

[peace-hunter]

I just realized. One thing that Optimus will certainly be educated on by the Primes in the Haunted AU is the various was One Can Kill A Quintesson! Leaving some Autobots confused at times when he's teaching them in return because 'This sounds pretty Specific...???'

It's slightly competitive on the Primes' part because yeah, the Deceptions do got the High Guard being good at killing Quintessons too but. They're the Real Experts. (Are they salty? Naaaah they're not. Much. Kinda.)

AKJSHDK YEAH YOU'RE SO RIGHT I LOVE THAT <333

they got so good at squishing the goddamn bugs and they're thrilled they can save Optimus the pain of figuring out their weak points through trial and error like they did. they're gonna make a pro out of their baby brother in no time.

and if they just so happen to know some of the Decepticons will be majorly pissed off at the fact OP is already on par with the best of what used to be the High Guard when he only has a fraction of their experience... well, happy coincidences, y'know?

and if they happen to teach Optimus how to crack open a Quintesson in just the right way to make some Decepticons see ghosts through him... that's between them and the people they're haunting :)

haunted au

[overtake]

"With age on his side, he could yet go onto break all the records to be the most successful of all time."

Quotes from: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window. 

It’s not happening. 

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his. 

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light. 

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone. 

Who’s hurting you, Steve? 

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and— 

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.” 

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will. 

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again. 

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so… 

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem. 

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe. 

It’s just not tight. 

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it. 

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?” 

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm. 

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time. 

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.” 

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again. 

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small. 

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.” 

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks. 

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about. 

God, he never did like blood. 

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?” 

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.” 

“Her.” 

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right? 

“What?” 

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own. 

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.” 

That's... really fucking endearing, actually. 

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet. 

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out. 

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion. 

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?” 

Oh no. 

“Why’m I in y—“ 

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?” 

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer. 

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too. 

Past all of it. 

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house. 

But he can’t. So he breathes. 

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people. 

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers. 

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?” 

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.” 

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now. 

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel. 

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view. 

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice. 

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe. 

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?” 

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?” 

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.” 

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again. 

“Ed. Are you in trouble?” 

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“ 

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?” 

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.  

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.” 

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?” 

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.” 

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole. 

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side. 

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door. 

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this. 

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much. 

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on. 

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now. 

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask. 

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me? 

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile. 

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen. 

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now. 

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away. 

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break. 

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?” 

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest. 

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder. 

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady. 

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know.” But maybe I will. 

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.” 

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.” 

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.” 

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is. 

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.” 

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home. 

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible. 

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie. 

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back. 

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch. 

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear. 

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.” 

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up. 

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away. 

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not… 

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier. 

These things don’t happen. They don’t! 

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.” 

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately. 

In. Hold. Out. Hold. 

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void. 

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad. 

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. 

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue. 

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. 

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve. 

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.” 

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right. 

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue. 

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds. 

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers. 

”I want my mom.“ 

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?” 

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away. 

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama. 

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.” 

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared. 

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted. 

And now… 

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?” 

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this. 

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…” 

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment. 

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that? 

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk. 

“Thank you.” 

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie. 

“For, uh. This.” 

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.” 

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.” 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation. 

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out. 

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking. 

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small. 

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again. 

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words. 

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?” 

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“ 

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again. 

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?” 

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is. 

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug. 

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt. 

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest. 

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again. 

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment. 

“Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.” 

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them. 

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth. 

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car. 

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Later, Ed.” 

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real. 

But it did. And it is. 

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside. 

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

[drwolfen]

The long awaited hunt.

5/15

[namisweatheria]

One Piece means a lot to me as a disabled person, which I think would be pretty surprising to anyone who only has a surface understanding of it. The supposed central theme of "follow your dreams" would be pretty alienating to someone like me, right? It really, really would be, if that's what it was actually about.

However, that ignores that Luffy's dream is to be the most free person in the world. And to attain that goal, the first thing he does is find friends to live life with. Over and over again, from the very beginning, he takes on their burdens, all in the name of being the most free.

Do you see what that would mean to me, as someone who needs more help to get by than is considered culturally normal, to the point that it puts me in a whole socially manufactured category of "other"? Not to mention, because of the infantilization of me due to that category, because of being forced so squarely into the "cared for" role, taking care of other people is deeply meaningful and empowering for me. However, the myths of independence and universal natural ability often make it emotionally difficult for my loved ones to accept that care.

The fear of asking for help, the guilt of being cared for, the weight of someone you loved who could not be as free as you, the insecurity of not contributing enough, the fear that you were born wrong, the self-hatred that says you are not worth the effort, Nami Sanji Zoro Usopp Robin Chopper Franky Ace they all explore the painful obstacles to free connection. Through deeply impactful stories that weave beautifully into the larger one.

All centered around this one person who views loving them and living with them and carrying them as essential to his freedom. Who cannot, for countless reasons, live a normalized life of Structured Relations. Who views exploring and bickering and suffering and laughing with them as the ideal way to live. Who repeatedly puts his life and limbs on the line to do so.

To me, it is an ultimate privilege and freedom to carry other people's burdens. To care for them and live with them. This is central to my whole perspective, and is completely informed by my life experience as a disabled person. I rarely see it reflected back to me. Let alone as powerfully and beautifully as Luffy does.

Nor the other half of it, of wanting to create this life with people in ways that aren't socially normal or approved. Of creating many varied lifelong intimate relations among equals, rather than conforming to the expectation of choosing One Person to live life with and then Creating More.

The utter lack of roles and norms is just as integral and powerful to the exploration of freedom and connection! It is meaningful to me as a queer person, yes, but even this is deeply influenced by my disability. I could never be that One Person, despite everything I have to offer, there is logistically far too much that I cannot do to be someone's equal partner in this society that demands so much from all of us. However, even if I could, I wouldn't want to! It doesn't make any sense to me to only have two people navigate life together on such intimate terms. Can't the demands of society be more comfortably met in a group? Isn't life more fun that way?

We are taught that we can and must do everything ourselves, I just happen to be one of the people that never had a chance to buy into that lie. To learn very early not just the necessity of interdependence, but the joy in it. To learn that it is most comfortably lived with more people involved. To me, close relationships are, love is, a natural extension of that understanding. One Piece celebrates interdependence constantly from the start, while never pretending that it is always easy.

The obstacles to free connection that I mentioned before, they are interspersed throughout the story, and they are always met with "I do the things you can't do, and you do the things I can't do." With, "Of course I can't use swords you dumbass! And I can't cook either! I don't know a damn thing about navigation! And I can't lie! I know I can't live without help from a lot of people!"

These are intentionally impactful moments, and they define the series. I found it very fitting that the Fan Letter focused on a character who was empowered by Nami to feel free and live adventurously despite not being the most physically capable. The character is able by our definition, but the story is very affirming in a disability way, and it was extremely One Piece. I loved how it acknowledged this deep connection between One Piece and the lived reality of disability and celebrated it as integral as it is.

I also believe that absolutely none of this is intentional. It is simply an earnest exploration of human relationships, emotions, and behavior, and it naturally arrives at a radical and disability-affirming viewpoint. Because we are the monkey wrench in the deeply unhealthy (lol) and dominant line of thinking that independence is all. So naturally anything that also disputes that thinking has a disabled-perspective feel to it. The best part is how much it doesn't give a fuck! One Piece is aggressively against conformity in human relationships, in a way that is hard to find in our new world of self-conscious authors.

It's also, you know, the worst part, in terms of all the outrageous bigotry and offensive character design, but god damn it if it doesn't elevate the good parts to unbearable heights. Even the bad character designs can sometimes be more impactful for their intentional "ugliness", when those characters are inevitably taken seriously despite their appearance and the stereotypes they play on, it hits hard every time. I do have a simple hatred for many choices, there is no pay-off for much of the awful problems in numerous character designs and dialogue. But no matter how upset I can be by those things, in the end they can't succeed in pulling me away from One Piece. It's just so crazy and unique and great and terrible and beautiful and I LOVE IT.