#I mean it’s not the end of the world but it does make me feel lonely | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hitlikehammers · 3 days ago

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the light behind your eyes (steddie timeloop; pre-bat attack🦇)

feat. Eddie falling hard and fast when Steve's had innumerable loops to have already fallen ✨🖤✨

“Not that I am not, hmmmm,” and he can barely bite back a moan; “not that’s I’m not fucking ecstatic, Harrington,” Eddie mouths against the lips on his, and he means it, too, he is in fucking heaven right now because not only is the hottest guy Eddie’s ever seen in real life and probably also in, like, magazines and stuff too: that guy is kissing him, touching him, running hands up under his shit and teasing his waistband, rutting a little against his thigh but…he’s doing it almost like it’s routine, like it’s not quite desperate, or not just desperate, expect for the touch of it and so no, Eddie doesn’t have to understand it at all for him to not be fucking complaining in the slightest—

Save that pointing out that he isn’t complaining stops Harrington’s hands on his body cold, freezes the lips pressed against him mid-suck and then they pull back, and Eddie’s panting so hard it burns, and he wants to whine, he’s only just learned the taste of this man but he wants more, it’s like he’s addicted already but then kinda like he always has been, like the deepest cells of him, the mitochondria from the textbooks he didn’t fucking read: it’s like it all knows the shape of this body, the flavor, and—

And that’s fucking ridiculous, but when Harrington pulls away?

Eddie kinda feels like the world’s ending.

And it is ending, in a way. Interdimensional madmen serial killers and all that, but.

This is different.

“Steve.”

Eddie frowns and can’t help but reach, frame Steve’s face even as Steve tries to shy away but still leans into the touch, and Eddie doesn’t understand; not least how Steve sounds so fucking shattered around his own goddamn name—

“Can you,” and Steve’s breathing heaves, shudders: the kind that lives between sobs but Steve’s cheeks are dry under Eddie’s palms and that almost feels all the more heartbreaking:

“I know it feels like you barely know me but,” and Steve blinks so fast, then he’s scrunching his eyes so tight and that, that might be why his cheeks are dry and oh: this is it. He thought before but:

This is the heartbreaking thing.

“Could you call me Steve? Please?”

And god, good fucking god but he asks it so small. It’s pleading and kinda edged in something desperate but here, from this titan of a man Eddie’s seen anew just these past days, this warrior barbarian his sheepies sand the praises of, this paladin out of the shadows come to save them all: he’s so small.

Eddie’s hands don’t move from Steve’s face, just draw him closer, upward on instinct until their brows touch, until Eddie can breathe in every shaky exhale that spills forth.

“Steve,” and maybe Eddie doesn’t quite understand the why, here, but he sure as shit savors the shape of that name on his tongue anyway, fucking sue him; “not that every single fucking version of my gay little fantasies aren’t dancing like they’re at queer fucking prom,” and he pauses, because he expects Steve to snort, maybe, expects to lighten the moment so charged, and not just with the kind of tension that tightens Eddie’s jeans—and Steve does make a sound for Eddie’s stupid little not-quite-joke, but it’s not a chuckle.

It’s a moan—but not the good kind. The kind that means pain.

And it’s almost worrisome, how when Eddie pulls Steve closer, he doesn’t fight it one bit; leans in almost…not even greedy. Almost fucking anguished.

“But this is just because it’s the end of the world, right?” Eddie makes himself ask, because too many things don’t add up, not least how Steve doesn’t even try to pull away, barely moves at all save just to breathe, and just to press closer into the crook of Eddie’s neck to do it.

“It’s just because I’m a wanted man whether it’s the cops, or the feds, or that fucker with the clock and the music,” Eddie rambles; doesn’t move his hand where it’s slipped to the side of Steve’s neck like an intimacy, though, doesn’t even consider shifting a fucking centimeter away from the heavy pulse of life surging under his palm. “Like, I mean, whether it’s 20-to-life or an electric chair or the bats—“

It’s the way the chest against him shudders that trips him up; not least to realize how close they are, that they’ve gotten, that Steve’s heartbeat’s something he can tease out without effort at all there, too, and…

Eddie glances up a little further to see Steve staring at the ceiling of the trailer, eyes glistening, the effort not to fucking cry evident as anything and, just, like…

What the fuck?

“Steve?” Eddie hedges a little, gentles his voice further because even though he doesn’t let a single tear fall, just seeing this man so close to it, while staying so close to Eddie, it’s, he just…

He can’t even try to lighten the moment, can’t even push didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, fuck past his lips.

“Give me a minute,” Steve doesn’t even rasp, just says even but so so quiet, and again, just so so small. It’s…

It’s not even heartbreaking anymore. Eddie’s whole chest just fucking hurts.

“You okay?” Eddie ventures after what has to be more than a literal minute; when Steve stops staring at the ceiling but screws his eyes close tight again to pull creases at their corners, between his brows; and Eddie whispers the question when he even dares to speak at all because something in this moment feels…fragile. Sacred in some way, even if he can’t name how or why. He waits, and Steve doesn’t move, barely breathes for the longest time so much it starts to kindle real fear in Eddie’s chest, so it’s only once Steve half-gasps and gets back to his lungs working like Eddie wants them to, once that holds for a while and Eddie understands that the closest to an answer that he’s going to get—he lets Steve breathe, and lets the feeling of it calm Eddie down, too, before he does the stupidest, most selfish fucking thing and asks, again:

“What is this, though?”

The way Steve sucks in his breath at the words cuts Eddie sharp; he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have let this lie and just…enjoyed a little bit of impossibility at the end of the world that wasn’t a bad thing.

He thinks maybe that’s what pushed him over, though, and made his tongue move, to shape the question at all: it’s so fucking far from a bad thing that it’s…it makes too much lightness in Eddie that he’s never felt before. Even in the absolute shit of this entire situation, Eddie’s basically nonexistent future on the horizon if he manages somehow to make it out of the next 48 hours alive: this is something that makes him feel like he could hope.

Hope even for the most absolutely absurd fucking things.

And hope like that has to make anyone fucking selfish.

“This?” Steve glances indicatively between them, with a quirked brow that he pulls off perfectly but it can’t land like it should, not for Eddie who’s just watched this gorgeous human swallow the stages of grief whole where he’s…he’s pulled back, Eddie realizes, Eddie can’t feel him chest-to-chest anymore and the idea of it’s a crushing thing, but it’s got nothing on the reality—either way, though, he’s hovering over Eddie now, still close, likely has been for a while and…and shit: his arms hadn’t even given out.

What the fuck kind of…superhuman stuff is this man made of?

“Thought it was obvious,” Steve chuckles, and that part, that sound rings hollow: Eddie’s had enough of a latent-forever crush on this boy for enough years to maybe have never heard this kind of chuckle but, it’s off. Eddie knows it’s not…what it should be.

Steve laughing is some kind of sunshine, nearly always, like a rule. Eddie knows that much.

“Must have lost my charm,” Steve grimaces while he looks down, down, hides from...Eddie doesn’t know what from, exactly. Save that whatever it is, he wants to hide a little, too.

But hiding, now, means that he’ll turn from Steve. And Eddie…Eddie wants to hide from the nameless horrible thing that’s swelling up in the space around them.

But Eddie doesn’t want to miss a second of Steve. He’s kind of afraid of the very concept of it, missing any…part of Steve. He knows they’re on borrowed time. He’s also not entirely sure this isn’t all of fever dream, maybe he got scraped by one of the nasty-ass rusted nails in the boathouse and all of this is just tetanus or some shit. Maybe it’s the X-Men-knockoff wizard fucking with Eddie’s head by giving him the unthinkable sort of thing he’s always wanted.

Whatever it is: Eddie cannot miss a second of it.

“This, yeah,” Eddie reaches to brush Steve’s chest where his heart’s still pounding, even when it’s not presses flush to Eddie’s anymore, even when they’e stopped kissing too many minutes ago for an excuse; “you more that live up to the hype, big boy,” Eddie chuckles a little, tries to make it warm, fucking grateful; “exceed it even,” Eddie adds, can’t help but splay his fingers and stroke up and down a little over the street of Steve’s shirt.

“But,” because Eddie’s selfish. Because touching Steve slow like this, even as he’s so stiff and his pulse is so fucking scared: take out the frantic pace of what it means to feel him, and Eddie…the hope’s all the stronger, now. The wanting.

The selfishness.

“This,” and Eddie lets his hand move to the notch in Steve throat, like his body knew he’s feel the pulse there as much as the shiver, and the hard swallow after he asks, one more time:

“What is this.”

And Eddie forces his gaze from Steve’s skin to Steve’s face, where his eyes are blown and his color’s off, too pale even in the dark.

Where he’s fucking beautiful, even as he steels himself and takes a deep breath, less like a diver to the depths and more like a man facing an executioner. Jesus.

But his gaze is still so tender, like whatever hurt he comes to know for what he’s about to do is acceptable, so long as it doesn’t touch Eddie, doesn’t spill over. Like he’s…shielding Eddie from something worse than everything that’s already come, somehow, and that’s fucking terrifying in and of itself but—

But Steve—Steve who he barely knows but feels like he knows somewhere deep in his chest that feels knew and known somehow before these moments, like it was made only for the feelings and the certainties he holds in regard to Steve, Steve, Steve, like maybe that space inside of him was only made on some cosmic level not just for the person who made him feel this way against all odds, but maybe made only and specifically just for Steve—but Steve protecting Eddie, and hurting all the more for taking the hit?

It’s unacceptable. It’s sour in Eddie’s veins.

“If I fuck it up again, it won’t matter, I guess,” Steve seems to speak to himself, mutters low even for the soft quiet they’re holding between them. He doesn’t even know if he’s seeing Eddie for how far away he looks, sounds, like he’s reasoning with the universe.

That tips the sour feeling straight into full on sick.

But before Eddie can say anything, do anything, Steve’s sitting up, drawing back: Eddie can’t help the way he whimpers in the back of his throat for the loss; if the loss feels like more than just the closeness, the promise of it—if it feels like the moments to come are poised to change the world.

“Don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” Steve asks, implores. Eddie’s powerless against it.

His throat’s already too dry to do anything but nod.

Steve looks, nearly studies him, wide-eyed and needy and…Eddie just wants to hold him.

He just wants to hold him, and keep him.

“‘Kay,” Steve exhales heavy, shaky, like his heartbeat’s knocking around his lungs so there’s no possible world where he could have breathed out steady, where no one could, no matter how strong.

“I’m in love with you.”

Eddie—for wholly other reasons he suspects—gets his own dose of his lungs getting knocked around for how his heart trips and stumbles around those wholly fucking impossible and insane and desperately wanted words echo through his head, his ribs.

“And it might not make and fuckin’ sense to you, but,” and Steve’s breath hitches as he reaches, as he pauses like he’s not sure he’s allowed; “Eds,” and that’s not a thing he’s called so often, and certainly not in that tone, gutted but so steeped in…he said it and it’s true, because that name, hisname on Steve’s lips is fucking saturated in love and how, sure, but the fact of its undeniable enough that the semantics, the mechanics of it: irrelevant.

Would have mattered in the face of something lesser, but.

This isn’t that other-lesser thing.

So Eddie grabs those questioning hands and brings them to his cheeks where they’d been looking to land, to frame his face: to let them both feelthis, however it came to be, whatever else it holds inside.

He looks Steve in the eyes as he holds Steve’s hands to frame his own face like he’s something dear: because it is love. Unmistakably. Steve isn’t lying, or exaggerating.

And Eddie’s halfway fucking there with him, just to look at it.

Save for the way it also looks devastated. Also looks…in the kind of pain that doesn’t end, but somehow doesn’t fade. The scab you rip off to start the process over and over, to hurt all over again.

“I’ve been trying to save you so many times,” and Steve’s voice hitches some more around it, and it should probably cause more question, those words; should definitely cause more questions for Eddie himself, given how he accepts it so fast—the fairly clear implication.

“I’ve held your body in my hands so many times,” and Steve sounds broken for it in ways that even he, Edward Munson, who has seen what he’s seen these past few days, didn’t know a body, or a soul, could withstand and survive.

Also: okay. Okay.

More than an implication, before. Yep. Okay. But—

“Times?” Eddie finds himself croaking because…he’d jumped straight to saving his life but, but: times?

How many fucking times has Steve scratched the scar off and started again? How hard, how deep is the scar tissue?

“I’ve broken your ribs trying to convince this,” and Steve’s hand’s sliding down from one side of Eddie’s face to settle over Eddie’s still fumbling heart, hand stretched wide like it wants to hold the thing whole and true and safe: “to come back, back to me—”

And Steve’s voice cleaves down the center then, just flat out fucking gives out. And Eddie…

Eddie’s an impulsive person. Eddie’s not what you’d call…circumspect, doesn’t pull his punches once he feel inclined to run, to or from or alongside anything in his life.

And even he has never felt so strongly about anything than then thing that spills form him in absolute earnest, with the whole of his mess of a chest and the entire weight of his wild frantic heart:

“Sweetheart,” Eddie takes the one hand that’s not holding Steve’s to his face anymore and reaches, strokes his thumb so gently over Steve bottom lip, and yeah he takes in the way Steve’s eyes widen for it, the way he shifts from shattered to shocked in a second: but it’s all peripheral.

But the whole of Eddie is invested in the one thing he needs to know. More than he needs air to fucking breathe:

“How can I stay with you?”

And he watches Steve’s jaw drop as he moves his hand from those lips to cover Steve’s own hand one more time, still on toppings chest and he doesn’t think twice before damn near close-on begging:

“What do I need to do?”

Steve stills. Blinks.

“What?”

“I might not have had the pleasure just yet,” Eddie tries to sort the words out as he goes because his heart hurts so hard but at the same time it’s so full: “but I’m looking at you,” and he is, he’s looking at Steve and seeing so much, so many things, things that are there and things that could be there in the foreseeable future and things that Eddie can fantasize and dream of being his whole-ass future and just, just, just—

“You love me?”

Steve nods, lips still parted. No hesitation. Not a question.

Jesus.

And Eddie’s heart’s still racing, faster now, even but for…

Not just for fear, or shock, or lust, or…any of it.

Not for anything so simple as all that, now.

“And I die?” Eddie chides himself when Steve flinches ever so slightly, tries to find a gentler way to pitch the words when he speaks again because the point itself is thorny, he can’t make it soft:

“I’ve,” Eddie licks his lips; “I’ve died a lot of times?”

And he waits, and Steve’s blinks a lot of time really fucking fast, but then, again: he nods.

And Eddie’s heart hurts harder at the confirmation, and Steve’s clear bid not to shed a single fucking year—his heart hurts harder, but poundsharder for bigger reasons because fuck, fuck—

“And you’ve loved me enough to somehow bend time and space to try and undo it, to try and stop it?”

And if Steve’s got the trick to that magic, it stills the moment, stops time around them both as Eddie sees the words as they sink in for Steve, as they register and shift the shade of his gaze ever so slightly, brighter and deeper and magnetic and Eddie…

Eddie doesn’t need him to nod. Just looking him, just feeling everything that gaze is giving, solely for him, is all the answer he needs.

“So how do I get even the chance to stick around enough to deserve it?” Eddie asks, because he needs to know so that he can make sure he does it to the letter, and then fifty million times over to be sure. “To get to feel it full on,” because for as much as he’s already feeling, he can’t only imagine what it would be to feel it for an hour, a day, a week, a…a lifetime. He can only image.

And he fucking wants.

“What do I have to do to be able to feel this for more than a couple minutes,” and Steve’s eyes shift again, because he hears what Eddie’s saying, not hiding so much as trying to cram in: he feels this already, and at the same time knows it’s sample sized when what he craves, what he needs is something too big to measure; “to feel this, and return it twenty-fold and for the long haul,” and Steve’s still staring, still kinda gaping, so Eddie forces himself to pause, to ask even if everything points to a singular answer—he forces himself to wait and make super fucking sure:

“If you’ll have me?”

Steve blinks, frowns, then asks, voice hoarse:

“You believe me?” and he says it so slow, disbelieving himself. “Like, you get what I’m saying, and you, you,” he flounders, looks cast adrift and closer to tears now than he’s been yet and Eddie…

Eddie can’t let that just be.

“Of course I do.”

And maybe it’s not of course exactly, in the sense that Eddie doesn’t have questions, like a fuckton of questions but: he doesn’t have doubt, not in Steve. Somehow of all that he doesn’t know and that makes no sense, he does know that Steve is where his faith—if he was ever going to have any in anything—is meant to sit, whatever that means, whatever that demands accepting.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says with so much of himself he never knew was actually inside him to speak, to beg such truth. He didn’t know.

“So please, please tell me,” he fucking please it; “what do I do?”

Because he knows now. The breadth of what can, could, does, will live in his chest. And once he knows it?

He’s gonna fight like hell to have the whole of it. For always.

“To get to have this,” Eddie reaches, can’t help but brush some of Steve’s hair behind his ear and just…consider him. Marvel a little at the fact that the world is changing, Eddie can feel it, and it’s because this man loves him.

Him.

“This thing I’ve never even considered getting to know,” Eddie strokes Steve’s jaw and asks the only question left:

“What do I have to do to have the chance fall in love with you?”

Because Eddie doesn’t care if he has to lob off a fucking arm. He’ll do it. He’ll learn to play his guitar with his goddamn feet before he lets this chance go.

“Don’t be a hero.”

Eddie’s face must do something at the sorta sudden kind of outburst from Steve, because Steve ducks his head down a little and smiles almost apologetic, and still so fucking sad.

“I tell you not to be cute about it, and not to try to be a hero, but you are, you do, every time,” Steve tells him, explains, and that part at least tracks: he’s a contrarian to his detriment but…he doesn’t want to believe he’d do it when the stakes are this high. Not without a good reason and he can’t…imagine a good enough reason to leave this man so broken, and still fighting nonetheless.

He can’t imagine any reason in the whole fucking world good enough for that.

“Then I won’t,” Eddie says, because: well. It’s an easy fix in general, but like, he’s no fucking hero, so then it’s even easier.

“You will,” Steve smiles the saddest goddamn smile Eddie’s ever seen in his whole entire life., I too of the string of sad smiles he’s been treated to so far. “You always do,” and the resignation in stage a tone is only outweighed by the…pride, almost, for what he’s declaring against all odds to be true.

“Just, just,” Steve seems to debate with himself for a second, maybe whether he wants to fight the weight of established precedent one more time, wants to scratch off that scab in a whole knew way, because it felt like Steve was watching this play out different when Eddie believed him, and asked to work with him to make the wrongs right instead of aiding the process of his own ruin, and what looked like Steve’s own process of self-immolation in slow motion, over and again. Eddie gets why he pauses.

But it’s not even long enough to be called hesitation, really, before he’s diving in and giving Eddie the playbook, with no guarantee or even a whole lot of hope based on existing evidence to trust.

Eddie feels the magnitude of the living in a whole new way, on a whole new level, for that, as Steve speaks:

“When you do, when you’re a hero again because you always are, I need you to run when you’re done. We will be okay, I know what I’m dealing with now, I know how,” Steve says with. Steel creeping into his tone and Eddie wants more than anything to know what he’s planning to deal with, how Steve plans to stay safe because now Eddie’s heart’s tied up on the opposite end of the equation and he…he can’t survive and have it only flip the tables, have there still be a loss because Eddie’s not made of what Steve’s made of, and sure he’s only had a taste of this, but he…

He won’t survive losing it. Even just the taste.

“Don’t buy us more time,” Steve cuts back into Eddie’s headspace, the more important voice; the most important; “you do more than enough, I need you to trust me and I know you don’t have a reason to—“

“I trust you.”

And that’s unequivocal. Eddie trusts Steve. The end.

“How will I know when I’m done?” Because if Steve’s willing to go through this for him, he’s going to fucking take notes to make sure he does his part in turns, makes sure this is the last fucking time.

“Play the puppet master song,” which Steve doesn’t know, no way he’d fucking know on his own and Eddie didn’t doubt, but, like…

Jesus.

It takes a fucking second, just digesting what it means to be right for no doubting. It’s heady. Terrifying.

But also like stars in his stomach. He feels reborn in the simple reality of believing in this person who loves him this hard.

“Block the vents, don’t ignore the vents. When Dustin goes up the rope, you follow. Pull it up after you and block it off, hold them off in case any stragglers stick around,” Steve tells him, doesn’t sound skeptical, exactly, but just…maybe wary. Rightly so, given the…previous rounds of things. “We’ll need you to throw it back to us when we’re done.”

Eddie feels his face screw up a little because he wasn’t paying the most attention but he really thinks, like:

“Aren’t there closer gates—“

“I’ll need to,” Steve swallows hard, the bob in his throat almost painful to watch because Eddie can almost imagine the weight of it, the way the same motion’s been repeated so many times and yet he’s still at it, he’s still trying—

For Eddie. Jesus fuck.

“I’ll need to see.”

And if the hard-swallow wasn’t heartbreaking—again, every time Eddie thinks he’s been gutted entirely Steve goes and ups the fucking ante, good god, and he keeps doing this? He continues to say yes to this, these feelings, this, this…this, because if, for, for…

But regardless how you slice it: the way Steve’s voice cracks, on just those four words?

Holy fucking Christ—this has to be what’ll kill Eddie harder, deeper down than anything Steve’s trying to save him from.

“I won’t fail you this time, Steve.”

And Eddie means it, even if the words themselves spill from him automatic: they’re there to spill at all because Eddie means it, because Eddie’s heart’s never felt swollen like this before and he wants to give whatever it’s all fat and tender with to this man he barely knows but…maybe he knows more important things about him than he knows about most people in his life. Nearly all people in his life.

And that’s fucking has to count for something. For more than something.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, like he wants to argue some point but Eddie isn’t gonna have that, not now.

Not ever again, if he has anything to fucking say about it.

“No,” Eddie cuts him off and this time, this time, it’s Eddie who reaches and cradles Steve’s face, holds him like he’s precious, as much as he can because this man is precious beyond reason, but human hands are only capable of so much care: he gives what he can.

He knows it’s not enough, and hopes his heart in his words will make up the difference.

“No, this,” and he runs the pads of his thumbs beneath Steve’s eyes, because as gorgeous as they are, as he is: those eyes used to be bright. They were bright…before. When did they change, when did Steve from now like Eddie become Steve who’s tried to start Eddie’s heart with his own hands, and couldn’t?

Doesn’t matter.

Steve’s eyes aren’t supposed to be hollow behind the color; there’s only supposed to be the sunshine.

Not the endless dark.

“I’ve been taking it away, haven’t I?” Eddie breathes out in a level of horror at the realization that’s settling in the more he looks at Steve, and reads the toll he’s been paying, for Eddie. “I hate that, I hate that I—“

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, and the only shine in his eyes is tears and it’s wrong, it’s just wrong.

“It gets taken away because yours isn’t there anymore,” Steve reaches back, now, and holds Eddie’s face in his broad hands: “the light in you,” and his voice cracks and he blinks and one tear.

One tear falls.

Eddie’s sternum splits in two.

“I want to know what it is to fall in love with you,” Eddie says in a rush, demands on the whole fucking cosmos: “the whole way, because I think I’m already halfway there,” and it’s true, it’s true because he’d give his life for Steve already so he understands, of Steve’s in longer and deeper, why he’s fighting despite the hurt, but, but…

No more.

“And I want to earn it,” Eddie tells him. “I want you to fall for me not just because of, because of life and death stuff, or tied up in losing,” Eddie tries to fit the avalanche of feelings in him to words, prays it’s enough:

“I want it to be a,” he chokes, shakes his head and bites his tongue: “a good thing,” because he wants to be a good thing for this man. He wants to be only a good thing, as best he knows how.

“You are a good thing,” Steve counters, and fierce with it; “you’re the best thing.”

Eddie’s not strong enough to hold himself to just one tear when the floodgates break.

“I run when Henderson runs,” he breathes shakily. It’s a vow more than anything he knows how to give.

“You don’t run,” Steve tells him, so soothing, still so protective of Eddie, always protective of Eddie; “you’re so fucking brave, and you save our asses,” and he brings their foreheads to lean against each other as Eddie’s inhales trembles: “you’re just gonna fall back this time, so you don’t break my heart, too, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie would agree to anything, at this point; this is easy. This he can do, no problem.

This he will do, no question.

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, because…because he has to.

He is so fucking sorry.

“You’re…” Steve starts, uncomprehending as Eddie just shakes his head, almost like a compulsion.

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so many times,” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, tries not to descend into blubbering, tries to maintain something like, if not composure, the capacity to be heard and known when he promises with his whole heart:

“I won’t do it again, I swear.”

And Steve watches him, eyes red rimmed and still brimming but carefully, assessing.

Eddie can help, though. He can put him a little bit at ease, or damn well fucking try.

“I already feel something,” and he brings Steve’s hand to his chest again, reminds them both his heart’s still beating in this world, in this time. “And I’m too selfish Steve.”

Steve cocks his head in question; Eddie wants to watch this man’s quirks, learn the minutiae of his every expression.

Forever.

“I need the whole shebang.”

Steve smiles, watery and still strained but less sad, and that’s something.

It’s all they have time for, because he can hear everybody coming back with supplies, remembers they’d been prepping for war.

It’s all the have time for—for now.

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, a little watery, a little shaky, a little unconvinced but wholly filled with love, still, and all together isn’t only serves to harden Eddie’s resolve that much more.

“You flake on me again?” Steve flips his fingers backward against Eddie’s shoulder in a poor excuse for a smack: “I’m gonna tie you to the driver’s seat next time, and leave Nance with Dustin.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Eddie answers, dead serious; “except for one thing.”

There’s something molten, a glint that isn’t tears when Steve lifts a brow in askance; when Eddie leans in and kisses Steve hard, deep, quick because they have to but it doesn’t have to be anything else because he leaves his heart and soul in the exchange, willingly and willfully and all fucking in.

“There’s gonna be a next time for that. I swear to god,” Eddie murmurs against Steve slips when he pulls back; “we’re gonna have so many next times.”

And when the door to the RV bursts open and everyone else spills in, Steve’s lips are a little swollen if you’re looking.

And Steve’s eyes still have that light.

For @klausinamarink, who requested 'The Light Behind Your Eyes—My Chemical Romance' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #time loop #angst with a happy ending #pre-S4 vol 2 finale #time travel #true love #eddie munson lives #(in this timeline?)#basically: eddie munson lives (?) but steve has been going through it™ trying to save him for like a bagilion resets of the time loop #stranger things #gift fic #a-little-unsteddie #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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vigilskeep · 2 days ago

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give me the Sol good & bad endings in detail pretty pls 💖

sol as a character is defined by the crows and the blight, so here’s a spread of what i might have to work with

some bad sol endings:

crow version: the Widow Dellamorte. sol commits to being first talon lucanis’ right hand, but fail to protect him when the rest of the crows go to war with the ascending dominance of the dellamorte-de riva-cantori block. desperate to cling to whatever they have left of him, they allow themself to be possessed by spite—a fuller meld than spite/lucanis ever was, more in the anders/justice style—and become a vengeful winged monstrosity effectively haunting the dellamorte villa. black veil over golden heavy armour. for now, they still recognise their friends

blight version: the blight finally catches up. sol was intensely careful about fighting the blight right up until the final days, where there was nothing for it but to cut blindly into blight cysts. obviously it’s awful and pointless for them to suddenly die after all that, which is why i think we should at least explore the possibility. for awful and pointless drama. the ending they were kind of hoping for, just when they no longer want it??

alternate blight version: okay this isn’t an ending per se but i still think ghilan’nain should have gotten to turn them into a sick crow-themed blight monster at some point, as a special treat. this can also be a neutral or good ending depending on how much of themself they retain and how much of a monsterfucker lucanis is. sorry for saying that

some neutral-ish sol endings:

crow version: the First Talon’s Executioner. this is the version where sol goes back to the crows and it’s essentially business as usual. i can’t imagine this as good, but with their renewed appreciation for what they have and the lifetime of focus and activity ahead in order to just keep their heads above water, it could be survivable. and lucanis is there. but then i think about how permanently damning the step is where you start raising the next generation for it and i feel a bit sick

blight version: warden sol! sol finally gets up the nerve to cut ties with the crows, making the necessary choice for themself even if it means losing the people they love most. they take the joining and build what life they can alongside davrin, evka, and antoine, slaying darkspawn and finding a new path for the wardens following the tracks of a changing blight. it’s ugly and terrifying and hard, full of horror they never get used to, that will still be making their skin crawl until the day it kills them and drags them down, far from the comforts of home. but as a life, it is, at least, theirs to choose

some good sol endings:

crow version: a newly re-energised sol takes their place at lucanis’s side but considers things in ways they never could have before. why does going back to the crows have to mean they’re locked in place? they aren’t the underdog just clawing for survival that they once were, and they don’t have to act like it. they can do better! they have viago and teia and lucanis and people listen to them. if the dread wolf can change, can’t the crows? through a certain connection via the wardens, they make a contact who has very interesting ideas on the crows’ future

blight version: sol accepts they can’t stay with the crows, does a whole tear-stained confession to a shocked and distraught lucanis, and walks away. they settle into helping davrin, evka, and antoine against the changing blight. nobody actually requires them to take the joining because, hey, they’ve already gotten rid of more than enough archdemons for one person (showoff), and sometimes it is actually helpful for them to do their crow thing as the combatant the darkspawn can’t sense coming. maybe a year or two later, the world’s most miserable first talon (“they don’t even let me do my own assassinations anymore!”) quits his job, thoroughly disappoints his grandmother, thrills his demon, hands all his power to teia, and shows up somewhat nervously with as many antivan delicacies as he fears forgiveness will require

#veilguard spoilers #sol de riva #in the last one sol would have not even a thought that forgiveness is required here #it’s actually assan you have to placate lucanis. good fucking luck he’s up to your shoulder now

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utilitycaster · 2 days ago

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The thing that I think gets me about Neve the most, and this is past the point where I personally am in the game, is that you can still romance her after you've chosen to prioritize Treviso (which you can't do for Lucanis if you do the reverse). The thing is, it makes sense. Neve judges you negatively for trusting her. There's a dialogue in the Shadow Dragons hideout where Tarquin (Shadow Dragons faction agent) gripes about The Viper (Shadow Dragons faction agent and leader) running background checks on him, before admitting he'd probably do the same. And the thing is, if you tell Tarquin that this seems reasonable he accepts it, but he seems irritated. Neve doesn't.

You meet Neve striking a pose, having frozen her assailants, needing none of your help. Neve does not, on the whole, ever seem to want your help until she begs you to save Minrathous. She approves of you taking her to interrupt the ritual, and seems to be entirely unbothered by the fact that it leaves her badly bruised - indeed, you have to actively choose to leave her behind later when you go looking for Bellara.

Neve loves Minrathous and Dock Town, which means she also hates them. She takes you there, if you do the companion quest, which you should. She invites you after Bellara fangirls out over some news pieces about her (Neve drily remarks they were hit pieces), to go pick up some leads and some serials Bellara wants. For all she's sarcastic, gruff, and even a little snide with Bellara (and with my playing of Rook, who is fairly direct and positive with the Veilguard companions) and doesn't believe a Tevinter serial would ever truly end happily if it were remotely realistic, she still wants to get those serials for her teammates. She's not here to make friends, though she's slowly doing so, but she also believes in working with your allies even when they're sunny and scatterbrained or bracingly positive and you're an exhausted, cynical detective.

Exhausted is I think the most salient point. Neve is fucking tired. She tells you she's lived in Dock Town her whole life, and she became a detective, taking on cases for people who weren't helped by the Templars (who, you learn in one of the core missions prior to your choice to save only one of Minrathous and Treviso, are corrupt all the way up to the top). After solving a missing person case successfully, with an implication that she freed a slave in the process, the Shadow Dragons recruited her, but she's been doing the same work she always done. And the Shadow Dragons, meanwhile, in addition to attempting, with limited success, to infiltrate the Magistrate and fight for abolitionism, also do a lot of work like Neve's: helping people on the street. Their basement is full of unhoused and hungry people with nowhere else to go.

Neve is tired because, I think, she doesn't really believe Minrathous will get much better in her lifetime. She tells you in her companion quest, as you eat street food on the docks, looking out into the ocean, that she treasures the small wins because that's what she gets. Whereas the Crows remember a free Treviso and fight for that, Neve, in particular, feels like she's just trying to keep things from getting worse, and maybe help a few people. She's cynical because dreaming big probably won't pan out and she knows it so she's not going to waste her time.

Her work is her life. Her gift is literally just more evidence. Harding, Lucanis, and Bellara all reminisce about friends and family, but Neve still hasn't yet. You get the sense that Rana, one of the few clean Templars with whom she works, is probably the person she'd put down as an emergency contact. She doesn't even really get along with Tarquin, though, to be fair, doesn't seem like anyone does. Her world is a network of people who are useful.

I'm going somewhere with this, and that's, unsurprisingly, to Critical Role Campaign 3, because after all that here's my thesis: Neve is what people want some of Bells Hells, but especially Ashton, to be.

I've seen defense of Ashton's abrasiveness because many leftists are abrasive people, and the thing is, that's not untrue, but they're abrasive because they're like Neve: they're doing endless difficult work with very little reward or thanks, and at most they get small wins.

What has Ashton done for their communities? The Nobodies and Krook House aren't feeding the hungry or fighting corruption; the former is a group of thieves with no particular cause and the latter a punk co-op house. What was Ashton doing for the people of Jrusar or Bassuras? I struggle to find anything tangible. There's a lot of talk and no action - punk aesthetics and a lot of talk about standing for the weak, but when do they actually do that? It's all very surface level, and so the defenses of Ashton must focus entirely on what and who they are (nb, disabled, punk, had a terrible childhood) and what they say but never, ever, what they do. It's posturing.

Neve? It's entirely what she does. She is, for what it's worth, disabled and queer (and played by a woman of color, though whether she's coded as such in-game probably requires an academic background in both the history of Thedas and the history of the real-world Black Sea region) but we don't know a damn thing about her childhood yet. We don't know if she's been hurt or heartbroken or abandoned until we, as Rook, have to decide whether to do that to her. And when we do? She takes her time (she's not back yet in my game) but in the end, she blames the actual root causes of the elven gods sending the dragon and blight, and the Venatori working with them and, as far as I know, gets back to work. As she always has.

#m guards the veil #cr tag #or to be a little bit meaner about it neve is cranky in activist meetings but shows up every time and does the work #ashton posts a whole lot on social media and has never gone to an in-person meeting and then complains the world isn't fixed #anyway. neve. character of all fucking time. i'm THRILLED someone made a woman who is Like This. it's so fucking rare.

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queenshelby · 2 days ago

Text

The Peaky Role (Part Eight)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad, Some Smu

CILLIAN'S POV

Later that day, at Cillian's house, during dinner, laughter and chatter filled the air as Nina, Cillian, and her siblings gathered around the table while Danielle had gone away for the weekend.

The aroma of roasted vegetables and herbs wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the sound of silverware clinking against plates after Cillian had prepared dinner. Making dinner was a ritual for him, a way to channel the noise of the world into something quiet and nourishing.

"What's for dessert?" Cillian's son, Max, asked, his eyes wide with hope as he pushed his plate away, his stomach still rumbling with anticipation.

“It's a surprise," Cillian grinned before diving into a serving of broccoli.

Nina raised an eyebrow, playfully skeptical. “Please let it be chocolate pudding. If it’s anything like the last time, I might cry.”

Cillian chuckled, a hint of mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. “Oh come on, my creme brûlée was a culinary masterpiece!"

Nina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Masterpiece? That was more like an abomination!" she teased Cillian feigned offense, dramatically clutching his chest.

"Now eat your vegtables guys, otherwise you won't be having dessert," he warned, adopting the classic 'dad voice' that made his children giggle.

"What is the dessert though, dad? I want to make sure me eating the broccoli is worth it," Max demanded, a playful grin on his face.

Cillian leaned back with amusement. "I just bought magnums," he announced, grinning as his kids cheered in unison, letting out whoops of joy that echoed off the walls, seeing how this was their favourite.

After dinner, Nina helped Cillian clear the table while her siblings rushed toward the living room, their excitement palpable as they imagined the sweet reward to come.

“Dad, can I ask you something?” Nina asked as she stacked some dishes into the dishwasher.

Cillian turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Of course, what is it?” he asked, his brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering in his blue eyes.

Nina shifted, glancing toward the livingroom where her siblings had settled into the couch, their animated voices filling the room as they debated what movie to watch.

"I had breakfast with Y/N today, you know?” she said, biting her lip as she felt the weight of both her concern and her curiosity.

Cillian’s expression darkened slightly. “And?" he asked with a mixture of fatherly instinct and curiosity swirling within him.

“She is going through a little rough patch with her boyfriend,” Nina confessed, crossing her arms tighter, as if warding off any impending judgment. “And I was just wondering whether you could cut her some slack next week on set in case things take a turn for the worse.”

Cillian’s expression softened, understanding intersecting with concern. “Is James being... difficult again?” he asked as he shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, exuding an air of protective authority.

He had met him a few times before, at your house and it was no secret to him that the two of you were having problems.

“Ugh, you wouldn't believe it," Nina said, rolling her eyes. "He keeps hounding her about driving down to Cork to see him, like it’s the end of the world if she doesn’t drop everything. I mean, she is only here for the weekend and he expects her to drive down there to see him. She should just dump him, don't you think?" she continued, exasperation creeping into her voice.

Cillian frowned, his expression turning serious. "Well, she’s got a career to think about. This is an important time for her," he said, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over him. "But in the end of the day, what she does with her life is her choice and it doesn't matter what either of us think about it.”

Nina huffed, pushing back a piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re… well, old...," Nina shot back, trying to point out that he was at a different stage of life than her and you.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Old?” he repeated, pretending to be offended. “I prefer ‘seasoned’,” he quipped, arching an eyebrow. “But seriously, you’ve got to let her figure this one out for herself. She is a smart young woman and, if shit does hit the fan, then I am quite certain that she will still perform on set," Cillian added, his tone shifting from playful to earnest. “She’s got enough talent for that,” he continued, hands tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe.

Nina sighed deeply before nodding. "I just wanted you to be aware so that you can keep an eye on her. You know, in case she needs someone to talk to and she said that you are the only one she knows. She can be a bit stubborn about these things.”

“Stubborn, huh?” Cillian chuckled, his eyes glinting with humor. “I've noticed quite a bit of that lately and I can tell you that she doesn't really socialise much on set either," he admitted before pushing off the counter, leaning slightly closer. “But yeah, I will keep an eye on her at work, just in case."

Nina relaxed a little, her shoulders dropping. “Thanks, Dad," she then said, a small smile breaking through her earlier tension. “That means a lot. Just… don’t be too dad-like."

Cillian laughed and held his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright!" he said, his grin breaking through the tension before finishing up the dishes.

After Cillian and Nina cleaned up, they both settled down with Nina's siblings on the couch, where the kids had already searched through a selection of films, finally deciding on a light-hearted adventure flick.

After the movies everyone then went to their room, calling it a night and as they retreated to their bedrooms, the hallway filled with the soft sounds of yawning and shuffling.

Cillian, too, was tired after such a full day, but sleep eluded him. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, shadows shifting as the moonlight filtered through the curtains.

Just like the last two nights, thouughts of you crept into his mind, swirling around like leaves caught in a storm. Your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about music, and that moment on the plane when you clutched his hand as turbulence rattled through the cabin like a rogue wave. He replayed the feel of your small fingers wrapped around his, the warmth of your palm breaking through the chill of the flight.

“Damn,” he muttered quietly to himself, shifting beneath the covers as he tried to banish the thoughts. What was happening to him? The questions looped in Cillian's mind like an endless song, each note tinged with an unsettling mix of desire and confusion. He turned over, seeking comfort in the familiar folds of his sheets that, instead, felt like a prison, reminding him of all the boundaries he was treading on and, just as he almost managed to drift off, the memory of your sscene together interrupted the silence in his mind—an image he couldn't shake.

You, atop him, the softness of your skin brushed with the innocent thrill of pretending. The awkwardness of it all felt like a double-edged sword; on one hand, it was simply acting, something he had done countless times before, yet on the other, it struck a nerve deeper than any role had.

The sound of your moans floated through his mind, echoing against the walls of his memory like a haunting melody. He pictured the way your hair cascaded over your bare breasts, with each adjustment made by the crew, the intimacy of the moment growing more palpable. He could almost feel the heat radiating from your skin as you leaned closer, teasing him with a hint of vulnerability and just like that, Cillian felt the weight of it—an undeniable pull toward you that tethered him to his own desires and unease.

For the past few nights, he had managed to push away those thoughts, silencing them under the guise of exhaustion, but now, in the stillness of his room, this desire he had was all too raw, too real.

He imagined what it would be like to touch you, to taste your lips as he covered your body with his own. He imagined what you would feel like beneath him, your body trembling and arching against his as he entered you, your moans and gasps matching his own. His pulse quickened as he pictured the look of pure ecstasy on your face, your eyes alight with desire and satisfaction.

The vision was almost too much for him to bear, his hand sliding down towards his boxers as his body responded in kind.

He closed his eyes, imagining your fingers brushing against the bulge in his briefs, the fabric straining against him as you stroked him, drawing him in, fueling his need for you.

Cillian groaned, letting out a string of swear words as he felt himself getting harder, and he knew that he had to relieve himself . With one swift motion, he pushed his boxers down, his throbbing erection springing free.

In the dark solitude of his room, he let his imagination take over, picturing you in front of him, wanting him as much as he wanted you.

"Fuck," he moaned, taking himself into his hand and stroking slowly, building up the tension that already coursed through his veins. He could almost smell your hair or feel its silky softness between his fingers.

His mind had become his worst enemy, but he couldn’t help it––he imagined you begging for it, your body exposed under the soft glow of his bedside lamp.

Slowly, he began to get lost in the fantasy, his breaths getting heavy as he stroked himself faster, imagining the shape of your hips and waist beneath his hands.

“God,” he murmured to himself, the thought of being inside you setting his body on fire. He couldn’t stop himself, his mouth spilling obscenities as he grew closer to release.

“This is fucking killing me!" he whispered, the words thick with frustration. His grip on his cock tightened erratically, jerking and twisting in a desperate attempt to escape the agony.

Cillian moved his head from side to side, muttering curses, a cocktail of expletives and obscenities slipping from his lips as he let loose a tirade of anger and intense need. He felt like a caged animal, the tension building up inside him until he neared the point of explosion.

Nearing his own climax, Cillian bit his lip, groaning deeply as he moved his hand faster over his cock. His hips bucked, grinding up against his fist as he felt his cock pulsing with anticipation.

His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the anticipation overwhelming him as he finally let go, surrendering to the blinding orgasm that spilled forth.

"Fuck !" he cried out, his voice echoing in the dark room as ropes of cum shot from his cock, painting a messy pattern on his stomach, leaving him spent and dizzy.

For a while, Cillian just lay there in the dark, his mind abuzz with what had just happened. His heart raced, his breaths still coming in hot, heavy pants, the sweat drying on his skin in the cold air.

As the initial rush subsided, a wave of guilt and shame crashed over him, more potent than the waves on the nearby beaches.

Cillian felt disgusted with himself, hating that he couldn't control his desires for you.

"Fuck," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What the hell am I doing?" He couldn't believe he had just done that - allowed his mind to wander to a place it shouldn't, giving in to desires that could never be realized.

He got up and walked to the bathroom, turning on the light and gazing at his reflection in the mirror. His face was flushed, eyes glazed over, and he looked like a man possessed. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, trying to snap out of it. "Get it together, man," he told himself sternly.

He wiped his face dry with a towel and looked back at the bed, his thoughts still swirling with images of you, his daughter's best friend and his best friend's daughter. "We can't do this," he whispered aloud, "we just can't,'" he murmured to himself, thinking about the potential consequences.

The guilt lingered, but the desire that had awakened in him was not so easily tamed. He knew he should resist, that it was wrong. He was married and you were, most certainly, off limits.

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lucky-clover-gazette · 2 days ago

Text

rating the volo voice lines from pokemon masters ex as i hear them for the first time

youtube

“I’m Volo of the Ginkgo Guild, the go-to choice for your mercantile needs.”

Sounds like he’s practicing his merchant persona in front of a mirror. Very pleased with his own performance. Might break out into song about it. 8/10

“Allow me to present this to you.”

Spot-on cadence of Chris Traeger from Parks and Recreation. 4/10

“Here’s a special treat for you!”

Creepy. Feels like he’s going to hand me a bomb. 2/10

“Oh! It’s looking lively around here.”

Sounds like he thinks he’s too cool for the party you’ve both walked into and wants to know that you hate it too. 7/10

“What a joy to be alive!”

Said with the paradoxical determination and resignation of someone who values his own life too highly to end it, but hates that life so fucking bad. 10/10

“Oh! My heart is racing with excitement!”

Sounds like he just made himself think of something he actually cares about in order to generate enthusiasm about your thing. Also, overdoing it on the “oh,” there. 7/10

“If we use this well, the world will open up.”

Whatever you say, beautiful. What are we talking about? 8/10

“I like you better and better!”

He’s telling the truth, but he likes me for reasons way less innocent and simple than my continued business. Regardless, the praise is appreciated. 10/10

“Fancy running into you again!”

Two possibilities: he very intentionally arranged this meeting and is pretending to be surprised, or he was surprised by the meeting and is pretending to be chill about it. 8/10

“Maybe we’ll get to know each other better now!”

Sounds like he’s about to ask for my social security number, and if I’m into men, and if I’m into giving men my social security number. 6/10

“Of course. I’d be glad to help.”

He’s foaming at the mouth to involve himself in whatever protagonist shit I’m up to right now. 9/10

“I can see a whole new world!”

According to Bulbapedia, he says this “upon reaching max level.” Is that like a relationship level? Does that mean I’m his world? Knowing his motivations in PLA, this could easily have a double meaning—getting close to me, and therefore Arceus, allows him to create a new world. This concerns me less because of the world erasure thing, and more because it might mean he doesn’t actually care about me. 1/10

“Let the battle begin!”

Doing a pretty good job sounding normal with this one. 3/10

“That’s it! Go right ahead!”

According to Bulbapedia he’s saying this to Togepi, which is very sweet. Also explains why it doesn’t sound fake as hell. 10/10

“Here you are!”

He says this to Togepi when he gives her an item in battle, I’m assuming a potion? Which is, again, extremely sweet. 10/10

“Pay me later!”

He says this while “using Trainer move,” which I assume is like his signature flourish during battle. The reference to his merchant persona is clever and he sounds like he’s very proud of it. I’m amused by the implication that I’m supposed to pay him for something, though. Is he helping me or battling me? Both? What are we, Volo? 4/10

“Delightful!”

Accompanies the “nice” emote. I’m not going to complain. 5/10

“Careful now!”

Accompanies the “watch out” emote. He sounds concerned, but like, in a “please don’t inconvenience me with your pain” way. I wish he truly cared, but maybe if I lie to myself, I can believe that he does. 3/10

“I’m filled with curiosity!”

Said with the exact cadence of Grunkle Stan talking to idiot tourists at the Mystery Shack. Ostensibly laughing at himself, but actually laughing at the people who are stupid enough to believe him. 9/10

“Pokemon battles are always good fun!”

He only says this when he wins, which means they’re not always good fun. Makes perfect sense for the character and I like the delivery. 8/10

“Too powerful…”

He says, actively fantasizing about eventually proving himself more powerful. 10/10

“BEHOLD! DESTINY! LEGENDS! UNDONE!”

Bulbapedia identifies these words as things he yells during “unity attack/theme skill.” I have no idea what that means. It sounds to me like he’s accidentally taken a double dose of his ADHD stimulant medication and is just saying whatever the fuck comes to mind. 6/10

“Allow me!”

Said while “switching in.” Assuming he’s helping me, this is rather nice to hear. I’m more than happy to set this strange contemptuous man on my battle opponent. 9/10

“Oh dear, that’s too bad.”

Said while “recalling fainted Pokemon.” Option 1: He’s recalling his Togepi and trying very hard to sound brave about it. 10/10. Option 2: He’s taunting me about my fainted Pokemon with a sickly-sweet condescending tone. Also 10/10.

“Good morning! Are you heading out today?”

I appreciate the casual greeting and barely-contained rabid interest in my protagonist activities. 8/10

“In that case, potions are a must.”

Thoughtful and dedicated to his quotas. It does feel like he’s five seconds from calling me “milady,” though. Wait, in PLA I think he actually does that. It might be “madam.” He’s so embarrassing. 7/10

“The weather outsider is lovely today.”

Sounds like he’s about to take his lunch break so we can enjoy it together. 8/10

“So, how about it? Care to go on an outing with me?”

Already beat him to it. He’s trying so hard to sound chill, but I think if I said no it would ruin his day. Also, what’s with “outing?” Just say “date.” The game knows you’re saying “date.” This is a dating sim. 10/10

“Please, don’t overexert yourself too late at night. I don’t want to lose one of my loyal customers!”

First, that’s what she said. 6/10. Second, he’s negging me again. 9/10. Third, he has other loyal customers?! 0/10

“Ah!”

Sounds like the peanut butter baby from that 2016 viral video. 4/10

“Rrrrrrr…”

Nintendog. 7/10

*Sighs deeply*

Agreed. 9/10

“Yes.”

Me when I say “yes.” 5/10

*Increasingly loud fake bouts of laughter*

This man is going to end up on the news. 10/10

*Evil chuckle, tapering off into deranged humming*

This man is going to end up at the Tony Awards. 10/10

*Bitchy throat clear that turns into a laugh*

This is how he laughs at the PLA protagonist after he insults their “curious getup.” 10/10

“Outstanding!”

He’s high, tipsy, and/or sleep deprived, and someone just suggested getting takeout. 6/10

“As expected…”

Apropos of nothing, but he does like to feel smart. 7/10

“CONGRAAAAAAATULATIONS!!!”

This is perfect. This is a perfect voice line. The voice actor understands the comedy of Volo’s character perfectly. Divine madness aside, he is a merchant NPC almost obsessively invested in the protagonist’s adventures—but unlike many such cases, the narrative both understands and demonstrates how fucking weird and off-putting that is. 1000000/10

“I wish you great fortune.”

Reminds me of the PLA line, “Supporting you now is actually an investment in my own fortunes.” The voice actor nails the double meaning. 7/10

“HOOOOW DARE????!!!!”

I can’t find an explanation for this line. I think it’s just random. He’s so fucking weird. Did he read that in a book? Is he in a bad play? 10/10

*Whimpering*

Took a quick break to walk around my apartment and poorly make the bed. No further comment. ?/10

*Relieved sigh*

It’s a relieved sigh.

*Literal actual moaning*

???????????????????

*Various other noises*

The people in the comments of this video were not exaggerating. Holy shit.

“Have some mercy!”

WHAT IS THIS GAME RATED??????

*Deep sigh* “Now then…”

I have no words. I don’t know. Why does this exist in the way it exists.

“Right! Thank you!”

I feel like I just witnessed something that I did not ask to witness. Does the Ginkgo Guild have a HR department?

“My apologies.”

That is not helping his case.

“Leave it to me!”

Good voice line. Great performance. He would say that. We’re back on track, love it. 5/10

“No thank yewwwwww…”

Bitch. 8/10

“Please!”

“Indeed…”

“That is quite something!”

All very normal. 5/10

“You’re too kind.”

This is the weirdest line delivery yet. He sounds unhinged. Something happened around the 1:19 point of this video that neither of us can pretend didn’t happen. ???/10

“Until next time.”

Spoken like a charming male musical theater lead who just did a little song and dance about his life philosophy. 9/10

“Come on, now.”

Getting weird again. There is nothing I could possibly possess that would necessitate that amount of beleaguered desperation. 6/10

“Let’s get our blood pumping!”

Not on the first date—sorry, outing. ?/10

“The mysteries of the past… oH-hO! How they tICKle my curiosity!”

Sure. Why not. 5/10

“Investigating the odd and novel is key to any good merchant’s success.”

This is delivered pretty much how I would imagine in the game! Also just such a fun line for him—he says this as if it makes all the sense in the world, but it literally doesn’t? It’s a total non-sequitor. Investigating the odd and novel have nothing to do with being a successful merchant, and later in the game he even admits to ditching work to do his research. I’ve always appreciated that part of his characterization—the way he knows that he’s bullshitting everyone and getting away with it, and is simultaneously so smug about his clever ruse and so miserable to be alone in his truth. 10/10

“A HISTORIC MOMENT!”

Deeply bizarre final line for a deeply bizarre character. I hope he says this about mundane shit like dropping a cup of coffee or getting an email. 10/10.

#my conclusion is ????????????#it was somehow more insane than i thought it would be #why did they do this #pla #volo #merchant volo #pokemon masters ex

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silamander · 2 days ago

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People who hate Joker and want to see him gone for good are so funny to me because they clearly don't understand why Joker is so important to the Batman mythos and why he's Batman's arch nemesis.

It's the duality that makes them interesting. And the fact that Joker is right in the sense that one bad day made the two of them who they are.

Joker is nihilism incarnate, he believes that life is one bad joke and that deep down everyone is capable of being just like him, they just have to be broken down to the point of no return. He believes it's humanity and the corrupt system it created that caused him to become who he is. So he doesn't feel bad about the horrible things he does because in his twisted mind it's all just a game, and it's what they deserve. Joker believes Batman is just as insane as he is, and he's not entirely wrong. To be the living embodiment of a strict form of justice and devoting your life to it is pretty insane. Bruce doesn't HAVE to be Batman, he's a billionaire, he can live his life any way he chooses, but he chooses to dedicate his life to his crusade.

I mean what is he? Stupid? (I'm so sorry)

But that's the thing. While Joker is the embodiment of nihilism and cynicism, Bruce is the exact opposite. Underneath the Batman persona, Bruce is a flawed, broken man who at his core is someone who doesn't want to see anyone suffer the way he's suffered, and doesn't want anyone to die if he can help prevent it. The reason he doesn't kill his worst enemies, as much as he really wants to, as insane as it is considering how it contradicts his goal of keeping Gotham safe when Arkham is quite literally a revolving door, isn't because he'd end up killing non-stop or some bullshit like that. No, the real reason is because of his parents death, Bruce believes in the absolute sacredness of human life. He believes that everyone deserves a chance to live, no matter how wicked. He believes that everyone can become a better person if they're willing to put in the work to do that, and deserves to at least try that and give them the help they need. And no matter how horrible, cursed, or doomed to forever be a city where crime will always run rampant, Bruce never backs down on this belief, and will always fight for the people of Gotham. His one true superpower isn't his gadgets, or his money, or his plot armor, it's his empathy.

But Joker can't wrap his head around this. He's so deep into his own belief that everyone is just as insane as him but doesn't want to admit it, that he can't understand why he would save anyone of Gotham's rogues, especially himself, arguably the worst of them all. So Joker makes it his mission to break Batman, and drive him insane, to prove him wrong. To prove that no one is entirely good, and can be driven to the point of no return like he was, to go down a path of anarchy and mayhem. If he can push Gothams hero to insanity, then he can prove once and for all that he is right, and he'll have the last laugh.

The duality between them is one of the most interesting things I've ever seen (when it's written well, that is). Batman and Joker are two people who are so similar, yet they act in the complete opposite way. Joker kills anyone and everyone just for a laugh. He's a sadistic, narcissistic mass murderer who lacks any empathy for anyone and wants to see the world suffer the way he's suffered. Bruce will save anyone no matter how heinous their actions are, because he's a flawed, but well-intended man who believes everyone deserves a shot at redemption. He's a man who wants to prevent the suffering of others because if he couldn't save his parents, then he can at least try and save everyone else.

They're two sides of the same coin, and that's why they need each other.

#i feel very strongly about these two in case you couldn't tell #joker haters and comic twitter can suck my balls #batman #the joker #the batman #joker dc #batman and joker #dc #dc comics #dc community #dcu #dc universe #gotham city

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loulovingho · 2 days ago

Note

I was planning to wait to see how this episode played out but the clip annoyed me so much I had to write to ABC.

I’ve waited a week to write in because I hoped to feel more settled with my emotions before I sent off a message to whomever is responsible for collecting and dispersing the responses received in the aftermath of 8x06. I feel more clear headed now that the initial rush of disappointment has passed but, unfortunately, that does mean that I’ve had the ability to look at both the handling of Buck and Tommy’s relationship from a bisexual perspective and the show in a larger context.

I had hope that 9-1-1 was improving when it joined ABC after the dull and inspired final seasons on Fox. The excitement of the opening disaster combined with the revelation of Buck’s bisexuality gave me hope that this show was turning a corner. Having read interviews after the fact from the show runner, Tim Minnear, who said that he intended to treat this storyline with care, I was optimistic. Sadly all of that optimism is gone. Season eight has been a rushed disaster. We’ve barely had any time to spend with the characters—Hen and Karen have, yet again, been stuck fighting for their child only to have it all resolved in the space of 42 minutes; Eddie is still in desperate need of therapy and yet has made no moves towards that aim; Bobby and Athena are still struggling with communication; and now Buck is single again after a beautiful episode that highlighted his relationship with Tommy that made me truly believe the show was going to honor its promise to the audience in how it handles Buck’s sexuality.

The disappointment I felt at not only the played-for-jokes reveal of Tommy’s engagment to Abby (that doesn’t even make sense in the context of the show’s history) but the fact that many characters seem to have forgotten that Buck is bisexual and not gay to the abrupt and deliberately painful ending of his relationship with Tommy is real and true. Although this is a silly firefighter show, it was set up to deliver a truly beautiful love story between two adult men learning how to love each other in this world with all their baggage and it was thrown away for what? It’s hard to tell.

I did think, perhaps, that maybe there was a larger plan at play but given the clip released from 911 today of Maddie and Chimney telling Buck to move on and the casual biphobia of “which pond?” (in case help is needed, it’s all the same pond) has filled me with the realisation that there’s nothing there. We were—and I don’t say this lightly—queer trapped by the show, the show runner, and the network into watching because of Buck and Tommy but now that you have your viewing numbers, it seems fair game to play fast and loose with the viewers.

I am so incredibly disappointed in the show and specifically disappointed in Tim Minnear. He knew exactly what he was doing when he crafted 8x05, manipulating us into investing in this relationship only to pull it away because he’s incapable of planning a story arc more than a day in advance of shooting.

Furthermore, the silence from everyone involved in this show on the death threats and harassment received by Lou Ferrigno Jr., for simply doing his job is unacceptable. The guest stars on this show have always been treated appallingly by a toxic subset of fans who believe that bullying and vitriol is what will reward them with their much-vaunted ship of Buddie (Buck and Eddie). It’s hard to ignore that the show runner is playing into this and perhaps he needs reminding that they are only a small minority and that the wider, quieter viewing audience have been much more captivated by the romance of Buck and Tommy.

I hope that this reaches someone’s ears and makes the smallest difference because you had gold in your hands and threw it away for absolutely nothing.

As a final note, please have someone from the LGBTQ+ community consult the scripts before they’re filmed because there is no excuse for the type of biphobia that keeps cropping up.

Yes!!! I am so proud of you for writing in!!

#911

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dummiebrat · 2 days ago

Text

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal (Mentioned)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: A monologue from a young Agatha Harkness, reflecting on her first encounter with Rio Vidal, a personification of death. Set in the aftermath of her Coven's destruction, Agatha is consumed by a mixture of fascination, longing, and existential recognition.

Notes: Tarot Symbolism, Rio Vidal (Mentioned), Salem! Agatha Harkness, Angst, Longing, Monologue and Existentialism.

Author's notes: This is my first time posting what I write, I hope you like it. English is not my native language, please forgive me for any mistakes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤI saw her first through the smoke and ruin, the embers of my world still glowing red-hot as if they might sear her image into my memory forever. Rio. Her name tastes ancient on my tongue, like the first breath of a long-forgotten prayer. She moved like the shadow of a storm, cloaked in night, her presence a force of nature that could strip the marrow from your bones and leave you grateful for it.

But even then, as the weight of her settled upon the clearing—upon me—I did not feel fear. No, fear had died alongside my Coven, their lifeless forms twisted and blackened around me. What I felt was something far more dangerous, far more consuming. Curiosity.

Her face is etched into my mind now, clearer than any memory I have of the women who raised me. Her beauty defies description, for how can one describe the juxtaposition of death itself? The hollow perfection of her skull, bare and gleaming like the moon, balanced against the soft humanity of her lips and the cold fire in her eyes. It is a beauty that demands surrender, a beauty that promises ruin.

And oh, how I wish to be ruined by her.

She spoke to me, and her voice was the end of all things. Low and steady, like the final toll of a bell, each word slipping beneath my skin to settle in my marrow. “You carry the weight of them now,” she told me, her tone neither cruel nor kind. And I, broken and burning, could do nothing but believe her. How could I not, when she was the very proof of the weight I bore?

In that moment, I thought of The Lovers. The tarot card that someone once showed me, the one she said was meant to guide my path. I used to laugh at it, at its foolish romance and impossible choices. Yet now I see it clearly, its meaning so sharp it cuts. The Lovers is not just about love — it is about union, about two halves becoming a whole and the impossible balance of what is chosen and what is fated. I see it in Rio, in the space between us.

She is death, cold and inexorable. I am life, wild and unyielding. Two forces that should repel one another, yet I feel the pull like gravity, drawing me closer to the void she carries within her. We are the two sides of the same coin, two halves of an unfinished story. Where her hands take, mine give; where her presence consumes, mine creates. And yet, standing before her, I feel as though I have never truly lived until now.

Her words lingered in the ashes that surrounded us: Death is not scary. Life is. How could she be so cruel as to speak a truth so profound? It is life that binds us, that breaks us, that chains us to one another even as it promises freedom. Life is the fire, the storm, the chaos. And death… death is her. Quiet. Inevitable. Beautiful.

I wonder if she knows what she has done to me. Does she see the way my fingers itch to touch her again, to trace the sharp lines of her face and learn the secrets of her unyielding form? Does she feel the tether she has wrapped around my heart, pulling me toward her with every breath?

Rio Vidal, death in human form. I should fear her, and yet I want to claim her. To make her mine. I have lost everything — my Coven, my mother, my innocence — but I will not lose her. She is the opposite of what I am, and yet I feel as though we are the same. Two flames destined to burn together, consuming all in our path.

I will find a way to bind her to me, to tie her essence to mine as tightly as life is bound to death. If she is the reaper of souls, then I will ensure she has all she needs. And perhaps, in giving her that, she will give me what I crave in return.

Her presence lingers still, like smoke in my lungs, like the memory of a dream that refuses to fade. She will return. She must. For how can The Lovers exist if one half of the pair is missing?

#agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario #agatha all along #tarot cards #monologue #agatha x rio

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tellmeallaboutit · 9 hours ago

Note

Since we don’t know Raphael’s exact POV in knock, knock would you be willing to share how he truly feels about Anya, our world and if he actually loves her? I know there’s a big discussion on if Raph is even capable of love and I’m curious on what his true feelings are.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Raphael's plan with Anya from the very beginning was to get her to kill Raul and make her kill herself (and thus lay a not God-contested claim to her soul). When he says "your work for me is not yet done" when they first fuck (sleep paralysis scene), that's what he means.

So it's hardly love. He did covet her physically despite her not being beautiful in a conventional way because she represented power to him, and he lusts after power very much. He also was massively flattered by her blind devotion to his character, and he appreciated all the ways she tried to whitewash him. Anya's feelings towards him is the closest he felt to being genuinely loved.

So, Anya is very important to him as the ultimate trophy on his shelf. Crown of Carsus, the reality-bending sorceress and the key to his new kingdom - Earth.

He also covets Earth, because he is correct in the assumption that's where real power, even power about Asmodeus, resides. He is not correct in his assumption he would ever be allowed to get close to it.

He never said "love" or "I love you" in the end because Raphael cannot lie even if he wanted to. That is, he himself does not believe that he loves Anya. He did follow on his promise to take her as his consort on Earth because he does not break his word.

The whole debate if Raphael can love is funny because I realized what vastly different definitions of love people have. I always use that non-conditional self-sacrificial version when I speak of love.

After Anya bruteforced him into being what she wants with zero regard for what he truly is, he does love her, yes, in exactly that "I'll die for her" way. His whole character would start to disintegrate from this change, tho. He wanted Anya to go crazy, but that ricocheted right back at him.

I do HC that Michael helps him realise what happened when he grows up because Michael is the only variable Anya did not control and he, the Prince of Earth, the son of the Prophet, raised basically by his religious fanatic grandmother, absentee mother and half-mad father, would grow up worse than both of his fathers (the inverse of Samael in HWLL).

Thank you for the ask and an excuse to yap <3

#knock knock #asks

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botanikos · 15 hours ago

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Good evening!

While I hate to make such a large announcement and “kill the vibe” for the weekend, I really do need to set something straight. The world outside of roleplay is tumultuous and full of horrors, ailments, and struggles unique to each day. Writing is a hobby for many of us, I assume, and a reprieve from the chaos that hounds us. However, I cannot speak for anyone else; these are my words, and my feelings.

I made this blog as a means to connect with others and write! Roleplay, to me, is what I have always enthusiastically described as collaborative storytelling. Not only that, but it is one of the easiest and most accessible and enjoyable means of relief for me. I get on my silly little blog to write and goof off. To step away from everything else around me. Sure, occasionally I let my own feelings for the day seep into my writing - but who doesn’t use their muse as a means to an end when things have been a little rough? In the end, I am here to have fun!

Like anyone else, however, I am unfortunately and fatally…human. I have feelings such as doubt, anger, frustration, anxiety, joy, compassion, etc.. There will be times where I may have the desire or need to let these feelings be known in an OOC post. It is my blog, and that is my right! That is every individual’s right; your blog should always be your safe space, and that is exactly what mine is: A safe space. That being said, I work hard to keep my blog safe not only for myself, but for my mutuals or anyone who might come across it. I tag anything and everything I should or can, when I remember to do so and as I see fit. What I will NOT engage in however, is drama, venting, or negative specific vague-posting. And I refuse to consistently let it be a constant presence any longer.

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

My blog will remain a safe space for anyone seeking comfort, reprieve, or looking for advice provided we are mutuals. You may always approach me with any questions or concerns, especially if it is in regards to my/our writing or content on my blog. I encourage any discussions to be held in privacy between us either through tumblr IM or Discord (available upon request or when I occasionally offer it on the dash).

I will NOT unfollow anyone for the occasional vent post. OOC venting and feelings are FINE! I make those too! My blog will have a LOT of OOC postings throughout the week and even peppered between replies and activity. My DMs are ALWAYS open if you are having a particularly hard time, and need someone to talk to (albeit, I may be delayed).

What I WILL UNFOLLOW FOR includes but is not limited to: harassment of any kind, bullying, constant negativity, constant trauma dumping, constant acknowledgement of anonymous hate-mail, constant complaints of lack of interaction (ONLY if I have knowledge that I have reached out multiple times or reason to assume others have done so too), negative or derogatory vague posting of other users. Also, please keep in mind that I have other responsibilities outside of tumblr. While I may not immediately receive your message, see it, or response to it, it does not mean it will go ignored! Though it is no one's business, I have my own chronic conditions and experience varying degrees of social burn-out. I love chatting but can become easily overwhelmed! Give me time!

IN REGARDS TO BLOCKING - I do not block anyone without reason. So far, I have only ever blocked spam or porn bots. However, if I grow uncomfortable or have reason to doubt the safety of my space, I will not hesitate to hard block. You will not be given a warning, because again, I do not do this often / at all thus far. And for me to take this sort of action, it simply means I am unwilling to communicate my discomfort and for what I believe to be, good reason. I do not immediately block people I unfollow because on most occasions, if I unfollow someone it is either A) an accident or B) just that I don't vibe or see us interacting anytime soon or in the future. This does not inherently mean this won't change! Maybe later on I have expanded my abilities or have newfound interest / new perspectives! Neat! But unfollowing does not warrant an immediate block from me. Blocking is a SOLID and DEFINITE sentence. I do not do it lightly.

Please understand that I still wish to be a positive presence and will continue to do my best to provide this! But even I have my limits, my own external struggles, and I am weary… So very, very tired.

If you have any GENUINE questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me! I value communication and compassion above all things, and will happily engage in a civilized conversation about anything you might find unclear.

Thanks for reading!

Jude

#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : jude speaks.#✧･ﾟ･ﾟ✧ | ☾ | : psa.#long post tw #tw long post #long post cw #cw long post

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kyoteugly · 21 hours ago

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911 8x07 Hotshots

This episode didn’t give me much to work with, so it’s not really a meta post but something in between with my personal opinion. Mostly about Buck.

First of all I want to say that Tim commenting fandom through FlashRob and Hotshots - nice move. Also Bobby storyline - awesome! Love it! So much fun!

BUCK: Too many baking scenes for my taste. 3 time reminder can be a little annoying, but… I thought about it in context to the lightning strike and Brad saying his character is in a coma. Buck knows calling Tommy is wrong, because deep down it’s not Tommy he misses but how comfortable in his own skin he felt and of course the rush of new relationship which allowed him to explore his sexuality. So yes, baking is about Buck not understanding what his next move should be in terms of being bi. The line about which pond to jump into is the quintessence of his dilemma, the core of falling into baking string. Tommy didn’t teach him anything, didn’t show him queer spaces, didn’t introduce him to people who would make Buck feel more sure/comfortable about his sexuality. Buck didn’t seem to need it, because he felt comfortable with Tommy, and this is what is drawing him back. It can be scary to take that step alone, and while I have no doubt Buck wouldn’t have a problem flirting with guys, I believe he is stuck at the start line, meaning he doesn’t know which guys he can flirt with. It’s not rocket science, but when you’re sitting alone at home, thinking you want some intimacy with a male friend, you suddenly realize you have no idea what to do, where to look, so it’s natural you miss and seek familiarity. Let’s circle back for a moment. Buck said he doesn’t know which pond to jump into… he didn’t say he doesn’t want to jump at all, or that he’s not ready. And this is why I think his obsessive baking has nothing to do with Tommy and everything to do with his sexuality and understanding himself. He followed an easy path - a guy kissed him (confusing him about his feelings by the way), they got into a relationship and he never analyzed it too deeply what it meant to him. Now he’s left to figure it out by himself. And here is where coma comes into play. Buck is stuck right now, unsure, a little lost. If you want to go further you can say his world has changed and he has to learn the rules anew (like in his dream). The key to waking up from a coma was to realize that being Buck is enough. Well, it’s still true in terms of his sexuality, and I think that calling himself ‘bisexual’ on screen would be a nice end to his struggle and a nice step forward.

It would be really funny if Buck would figure himself out in the same episode that Brad’s character would wake up from coma.

Another thing about Buck I want to mention is more sweet and Buddie related. The scene in the firehouse, how Eddie steals Buck’s phone, playing hot potato with it. Come on, it’s basically a school puppy courting. If Buck had braids Eddie would be pulling them. And Buck even asked the teacher for help, and Bobby actually had to admonish/tap Eddie to give Buck his phone back. It’s a nice way to show that Buck is not alone, and his family, however savage sometimes, are there for him. It’s also a nice way to show goofy Eddie, the one who tries to be joyful (that little hop over the couch, awww), and it’s easy and natural with Buck. This scene also made me think about what Maddie said: “So does this boy-crush on Eddie mean you’re finally ready to move on from Abby?” I’m probably seeing too much into this, but it makes me happy so… who cares!

Now, I see a lot of people upset about Buck and Eddie being stuck, like there is no progress compared to the last episode. But I think it’s not that bad. These things, figuring yourself out, takes time, and I believe Tim is taking every opportunity to tell their individual stories right. It’s better to drop a few short scenes telling the audience “Buck is struggling, Eddie is choosing joy” than put something more significant into the episode with 2 other big plotlines. I know it feels like Buck and Eddie are on two different paths, parallel to each other, but those paths will meet eventually and we won’t be prepared for that.

We should watch our backs, because something is coming right at us. This is actually the theme of this episode…

Starting with Athena - at that sting operation, when she was told she’ll have a rookie and later when she shares her opinion about him. Gerrard and Bobby have Brad creeping behind them. Eddie get scared by the Chief, and of course his scene with Buck when he gives the phone back (and this one is the closest of them all).

Now… I would ignore it, call it a comic relief if that would happen once or twice (Athena with the rookie, and Bobby with Brad), but seven times? Something’s up… And I have a feeling it's about next episode. Maybe someone's past will catch up to them, or someone will hear something they shouldn't, or not being aware of their surroundings will put them in danger... I don't know, there is something ominous about it. Or you know, I missed something deeper in this episode or this is a message for us, fans, like I said, to watch ourselves because we have no idea what’s coming. Or maybe... someone is watching us...

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #911 abc #my stuff #911 spoilers #911 season 8 #911 hotshots #if not buddie why buddie shaped?

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sevikas-biceps · 2 days ago

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[TLDR: me rationalising and then ranting about why Caitlyn and Cassandra are both in the wrong]

Y'all. We love Cait, and we do stan Cassandra in some regards—but be fucking for real. Think of them as real people, in the real world, doing real things. Y'all would hate them. I'm putting Cait's gay love and Cass' gay support aside—because I really do feel like a lot of people gloss over their flaws just because of the queer rep and allying.

Think of it. The Kiramman's ventilation system was the bare fucking minimum being done for the people of Zaun. Caitlyn weaponising it is literally a violation of human rights practices. We know how privileged Topside is, we know there are at least sympathetic characters out there—and both of these are true for the Kirammans. What does this imply? That the Kirammans were essentially one of those at the top of the hierarchy, and this put them in a complete position of ability to help.

But they didn't. That's the issue, people.

One of the previous matriarchs putting the vent system into place was to solve the matter of the air pollution, yes—but arguably, the people of the Undercity shouldn't have had to deal with that problem to begin with. Cassandra might've been aware it existed; she gave her daughter the key, after all. However, that does not mean she actively came to the aid of the people of Zaun. Hell, do you think she was even aware of Silco, for instance? At the beginning? Maybe she'd've heard whispers from informants, about some old peacekeeper people called the Hound, and then about some mysterious tycoon taking his place. Maybe Grayson said something about the Undercity's concerns in the past, during the time of the first insurrection, but the Council took no note of it. Maybe Cassandra had someone else in place to make her dealings, if ever she dabbled in that black market shit.

Whatever else you can think of with that line of thinking; at the end of the day, it just proves that Cassandra herself was only another person stuck in the cycle—she did her job, she was cunning and selfish, she played the game. It's just business. It's just politics. No more, no less. The original line-up on the Council had members that were either ignorant, negligent, or corrupt (and yes; that includes Heimerdinger, Mel, and Jayce you guys)—and Cassandra was no better. Again, they all were part of the same damn cycle to begin with.

What makes Cassandra remarkable as a character—to us, the audience—is that she's remembered as someone redeemable because of her love for her family, for Caitlyn; that she was willing to try for her daughter's sake and happiness. Caitlyn. Not the city, not her kid's new girlfriend, and most certainly not Zaun. Above all else, it boils down to her little girl. Her only child. Cassandra being on the Council meant that she could give that child the best life that she could; Cassandra being on the Council meant that the child has a future. It implies that peripherally, she was aware of the Undercity's issues—hence the little frustrations exchanged about Caitlyn becoming an officer and venturing into the Undercity in Season 1.

That's her redeeming quality. Duty for family.

[If you want a visualisation of her actual nature, I'd honestly recommend using Olenna Tyrell, Tywin Lannister, and Jon Arryn from ASoIaF/GoT as points of reference.]

Now, onto Caitlyn herself. Credit where credit is due; the girl is in the middle of grieving, and she's being denied the chance to have even that. She doesn't deserve that. No one does. It would be unfair to deal her an amount of resentment for going unstable, when we'd all been rooting for Jinx for half of the same reasons in Season 1. But that's the issue: half of the same reasons.

Let's be honest for a quick second here. Do we really think Caitlyn would've ever gone down to the Undercity had Jinx never attacked on Progress Day? With someone like Marcus hot on her trails, if he lives in this hypothetical alternate reality, I imagine she wouldn't even be placed near the bridge(s) to begin with. And if, in canon, he'd survived the explosion, I can also see Caitlyn being put on house arrest—because if Marcus himself is outed as working with Silco (similar to how Grayson did with Vander), then that's all the more reason to keep the Kiramman heiress away from danger, or worse, death. If things are so bad that the Sheriff, symbolically a paragon of justice and protection, resorted to consorting with the enemy...well, what then? What does that say about the system? What does that say about Piltovian society?

Back to Caitlyn. I'm a firm supporter of the idea that she never would've been put into a potential line of fire had life gone on normally. If Jinx never stole the hexcrystals, then Caitlyn would have no reason to snoop around; Vi is still in Stillwater, Silco is at large, and so on and so forth. Caitlyn remains largely ignorant of the world she lives in. It's noble that she genuinely wanted to help people. But in a place like Piltover? She'd be worse than Jayce when Season 1 began. I'm sure she'd no doubt notice the surrounding manipulations in her life, or how flawed their reality could be—but the point is, at the end of the day, it's still a privileged life that she leads.

Let that word sink in. Privileged. This isn't to disparage her original desire to make her society a better place—I do think that Caitlyn has the potential to do so if she exerted her efforts into long-term developments that could fulfil that vision. But this is where it gets tricky—especially in the context of Season 2. She had all of those resources at her disposal. She was aware of the consequences in using them—how it might affect civilians, innocents. And she still did so anyway. Strike one.

For all that she was a decorated officer, it's really the personal vendetta against Jinx that made her unfit to lead the strike team to begin with. I imagine Vi refused the enforcer position at first not just because of her and her people's history with the authority, but because it's so blatant that doing so enabled Caitlyn to act in her anger. By accepting the badge, Vi validated Caitlyn's need for vengeance. Not that Caitlyn is unreasonable in wanting such a thing, mind, but what is unreasonable was how tone-deaf she'd become in the process of grieving, forgetting that it's not just her own interests on the line, but others' too. Strike two.

There's nothing wrong with Caitlyn at the beginning—the girl just wanted so solve a crime. But then circumstances came up. And then, all of a sudden, she has to choose between duty or self-interest. What the show does is that it gives a convenient solution for Caitlyn to be able to serve both her duty and her own self-interest(s): invade/scour Zaun, she catches a criminal and delivers justice for the Council; find Jinx, Cassandra is avenged and Vi may find closure. The fight at Janna's temple is where it all indeed goes to shit, as we can see, and that's where Caitlyn really slips off in my opinion. She'd toed the line when she asked Vi to wear the badge—but it's really when Isha (a child) got involved and later on when she struck Vi herself (a betrayal), that her motives get warped. Strike three.

My main argument is that Cassandra and Caitlyn were both in the wrong, in one way or another, albeit for different and varied reasons. The former didn't do enough for the situation at hand, and the latter seems to be doing too much at once. Cassandra herself seemed to have enabled her daughter's worse traits, too, whether directly or indirectly; and this is what makes up much of the character that we see Caitlyn evolving into.

There are many aspects of both mother and daughter that have always been there, or, at least, have had the potential to be there, such as: the ruthlessness, the narrow focus, the determination, the strictness—and, most of all (and I have a feeling this is going to be controversial), the hypocrisy. We know, for a fact, that Caitlyn and Cassandra are at least self-aware. To merely label them as naïve or inexperienced (to life) is a gross disservice to their characters. On some level, they're cognisant of their status and ability in society (evidenced by baby!Cait's scepticism regarding Grayson's trophy, and Cass' agreement to support their case at the Council meeting)—and they both have exacted measures in the face of what is demanded of them.

This is the reason that Caitlyn weaponising the Grey, using the Kiramman's ventilation system, is more or less unforgivable. Just because it had Vi's hesitant approval, it didn't make it right. Vi counts as an unreliable narrator in this case—when we know that she, in multiple instances, easily caves when someone she's attached to doubles down on her.

We, as the audience, can at least agree on the moralities regarding the authorisation of the strike team; and that means that we, as people analysing the show, can also agree that the effects of an act such as using the Grey can be devastating. We see this in Viktor's chronic illness, we see this with Silco's asphyxiation trick on the Chembarons, we see this when Jinx knocks out Sevika, we see this in Cassandra's notes. Stop trying to downplay the Grey. Stop trying to justify a fucking war crime. 'Oh, but it's just knock-out gas'—baby, no it's not. It's really not. Smeech explicitly says this: factory smoke trapped underground. Smoke. It's still gas. There's no safe way of administering it in high doses. That's like smoking Marlboro Reds taken beyond the extreme, and fuelled by gasoline of all things.

I'm not villainising Caitlyn, but some of y'all also need to stop excusing what she did—and I'm saying this because a lot of you also did the same with Jinx in Season 1. For the lack of a better example; it's very much like excusing what serial killers of the past had done because they were 'interesting' or 'charming' or hell, relatable. Be Gay, Do Crime is most definitely not applicable here, you guys. Seriously.

That is literally the reason Vi snaps at Caitlyn after the fight with Jinx. Why are you the one acting like her? It's not just a comparison between Caitlyn and Jinx, it's not just vendetta against vendetta; in a broader context, Vi is asking: Why are you resorting to the same acts of terrorism? Why are you enforcing the same tactics your predecessors used? Why are you turning into what you once swore not to become? Why are you doing this? What are you turning into?

Vi asked Caitlyn to promise her not to change. But she did.

Why are you betraying yourself?

#sorry y'all I had to vent #also made some edits to this but people already reblogged it. oh well #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane league of legends #arcane analysis #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #cassandra kiramman #cassandra arcane

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