#except I have no idea what my final theory is. The last one is the most likely but I'm starting to doubt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kinardsevan · 2 months ago

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What is your opinion on Tommy coming back or not? And in they case we see him again, do you think it’ll be just for closure (ex: Abby in season 3) or maybe for a BuckTommy second chance?

fun fact: i was considering doing an entire breakdown with a bunch of Oliver's interviews from the start of this arc until now to point to my opinion:

Tommy is coming back. The romcom theme is still in effect, and we're only about midway through the 3rd act.

Long story short (and without sources right now), I think that the interviews were actuallly pointing in this direction with the wording for a hot second. We have OS telling us that he thinks the best relationships have a "will they, won't they" bit where the audience and the characters are pining. We've seen this play out on the show. And we also have to remember that Oli knew during this interview that the breakup was coming. We also have the interview (I believe it was the Decider one I linked last week) where he mentions choosing to fight for the relationship or not. I feel like a lot of people have taken the context of that and twisted it into "they didn't do it right away, so they're not going to". Except, there's ANOTHER quote of relevance, which is Oliver talking about how Buck's queerness isn't tied to Tommy or Eddie, and only to himself.

Obviously, there have been things said since 806 that would point towards me being delulu, except, here's the issue: TM, OS and LFJr are NOT going to tell us that Tommy is coming back if that's the intention. It would spoil the surprise of it all, and the win of it all. What fun is there in that? What TM has said is that Tommy is Buck's romantic past but that doesn't mean he won't turn up again in the future (all relevant and true facts which do not shut down a reconciliation). Lou never out-and-out said he was done with the show. He's said time and time again that he wants to come back. TM has mentioned Tommy coming around again. OS literally said in an interview "they may run into each other on scene and have it be awkward".

Now obviously we don't actually have the full story with how things went down and the show decided to go with splitting the boys up. I think the fact that Lou has called out the bullying but says he wants to come back suggests that it wasn't him saying it was too much. I have two theories that could honestly run concurrent with one another:

Evan and Tommy break up in 806 at the end of the episode. With 911 having 18 episode seasons, this quite literally only makes up the first third of the season. It set up the beginning of the year for us. We're now two episodes into the second part of the season with a pretty clear idea of where the next three will go and suggestions (by fans, nothing official) that the "soonest" we could see LFJr again is 812. This is reasonable, as it would be the end of the middle of the season. Knowing that TM has suggested he might do a multi-episode season finale, pushing LFJr back into the show in 812 (or even the end of 811 if we go with my theory that Eddie could possibly leave around this time and Tommy helps them pack up/his and Buck's first time spending time around each other again), there would still likely be something around this time period that would be around when they would open the doors to this. As it is, we know that 809 and 810 go together, and then we'd have 811 to really flesh out the end of Buck's fling. I think there's even more possibility of LFJr being in this episode as well because if the plan is to bring them back together (which everything has been suggested so far ON screen in terms of keeping Tommy "in" the story), three-episode arc gives us several things: a. it allows the show to make the point that Buck's queerness is not intrinsically attached to Tommy; that his interest in men is as equal as he know his interest in women is. b. it gives them the ability to also show that his feelings for Tommy are not based in Tommy being his "first", or Evan needing to "discover" more about himself. They're in love with each other, and the show has given us the pieces for that. LFJr has acknowledged it in an interview, Tommy loves Buck. We also know that Tommy's line to Evan is "you'd end up breaking my heart, and I don't think I could deal with that". When I hear that sentence, what I'm actually hearing is "I'm already in love with you, and if I let myself fall more in love with you by being with you every day all the time and this ends, I won't survive it". By relation, we have Josh ask Buck if he loves Tommy and Buck waffles, but I think this has more to do with his lack of understanding of what a healthy love is in a relationship, given his past relationships. He never got to tell Abby. Ali left. and saying I love you to Taylor wasn't about the core of actually being in love with her, which I think is another important piece for BuckTommy: they don't just love each other, they're in love with each other. Still, sometimes it's hard to quantify that feeling, and I think (as I've referenced before), for Evan it was easier to ask Tommy to share a living space with him than to share how he feels about him because historically, things haven't worked out well for him when he's been in love outwardly. Further, the questions Josh asks Evan are directly correlated with loving someone, and Evan answers yes to all of them. (I don't think I need to add this, but he also sees a future with Tommy, talks about being engaged or married. He's serious about Tommy in a way he never has been before.)

There's also the theory that the breakup happened because of scheduling conflicts. Now obviously the show could've found other ways to work around LFJr's scheduling issues by having Tommy go on a trip or what-have-you, but let's remember OTHER things that have been said by OS in prior interviews: a. back in June, he did an interview where he stated that he wanted and hoped that BuckTommy would go through issues that couples normally go through in their first year together. He wanted normal issues. This storyline IS normal. b. he didn't want to repeat Tarlos. By the very definition of what the show is doing right now, we're not. Tarlos and BuckTommy are their own things with their own reasonings.

One of the other things I also keep being pulled back to is these issues: first of all, we know how LFJr plays with the 911 demo, given that they got to see it last season. It's why he was written into more episodes after his initial four episode arc and brought back. ABC has also used BuckTommy in their own adverts, which suggests that they are very supportive of the relationship continuing because it draws in viewers. Truly giving that up for good feels like dousing yourself in gasoline and then considering striking a match. Second, people also keep calling out that TM only plans a few weeks in advance. I believe this is true with story beats. We know that the writers room has a general idea on character arcs, thanks to some of the discussion on the cheese page post-806. I really struggle to believe that TM didn't know going into going forward with the breakup whether or not he wanted to bring LFJr back. We know he waffled back and forth on the idea of the breakup, meaning he probably had other solutions on his mind for whatever LFJr's schedule needed adjusting for, and this is what he decided on. Also, even if 8b hasn't been broken down yet (we know it hasn't), they would still know at this point what they do or don't want, what their ideas might be. Solidification for why Tommy should be brought back is directly shown in the reaction by the GA and the fandom to the breakup. They may not know exactly how that reunion happens yet, but what they have suggested is that Buck's new relationship will be short-lived. That he's using it to cope. We also know he's still processing the break-up and still misses Tommy. These are all things that point to the story not being over. Plus, I feel (once again), if the story really was over and they didn't have plans to continue this in 8b, LFJr wouldn't be talking about wanting to go back. It be far more "yeah that sucked, but it's over now and what can you do? I'm off to this new show and I'll never be back." (I've commented also on the fact that the fangirlish interview comment about his "i'm going here, doing this, have some opportunities" statement is very run-of-the-mill. Obvs I could mean something. Or it could literally just be a canned answer.) (This might feel a little off-center, but I think his commentary on trusting TM and knowing what he's doing in one of his post-806 interviews directly suggests that he believes the story is going to be handled properly.)

I realize at the end of the day, all of what I'm piecing together could mean zilch and Tommy could possibly never come back. They could truly just drop the story and never circle back around, set fire to a beautiful arc and lose thousands (possibly millions) of viewers. I've certainly suggested myself being one of them. But I don't see BuckTommy only getting an Abby fix for two reasons. LFJr wants to come back and continue the story, and Connie Britton only ever intended to do one season. Also, the fling has been called out as being planned to be short-lived. Why bother mentioning that if you don't have other plans for the story.

The last thing I'll leave you with is my commentary from the interview Oli and Aisha did with the guy from Chicago. That reporter obviously liked the BuckTommy storyline and said he's choosing to believe that the relationship is paused, not over. By relation, we had Oliver say three things: (1 and 2) Buck is still looking for love, both in himself and with another person. (3)The season is only half over. Circle that back to 806-808. Buck is finding love in himself by dealing with it in a healthy way (so far) with the baking. We've also seen the "cracks" Oli mentioned with his continued urge to want to text Tommy, as well as him fighting it off by baking (referencing the "pendulum swinging"). Looking for love in others will likely be this arc where he tries to deal/move on. I feel like we collectively watched the end of 806, and then 807 and 808 yelling at the TV "you're in love with him, piece it together already!" (or maybe that was just me???). But truly, whether it's a fling, his therapist, or Bobby/Maddie/Eddie who finally spells it out of or him, I think there will be a point at which we see that come to fruition. The seeds were sewn in for it in the scene with Josh. Now it's just about watching those seeds sprout.

Final note: we've had a good run up to this point with these two. Did we truly thing that the honeymoon phase would last forever? (I didn't. Conflict and the pink bubble popping have to happen eventually.) If we really want to suggest that what BuckTommy has is real, they have to go through this and come out the other side. I think everyone is justifiably frustrated due to the 4 month wait on new episodes (I personally would not have left people hanging quite like this, but that's just me), but the narrative does lead us toward what the show is doing with the suggestion that it does have a natural (and good) conclusion. (Possibly with a helicopter/truck/jeep crash?!)

And just as my singularly LAST note, here's my other thing: Evan and Tommy both have abandonment issues. (Tommy's are clear based on the break up and we know Buck's.) By that correlation, when these two finally get back together, they're never going to fucking let the other go.

(This was so much longer than I intended it to be, but that's my answer 😂😂😂😂😂😂)

#mel's musings #anon ask #ask me anything #my asks are always open #911 discourse #bucktommy #tevan discourse #lou ferrigno jr #mel writes essays as answers #psychology breakdown

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brunchable · 3 months ago

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POV: You're sucked into your fanfic - Part One

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fanfic Writer Reader.

Themes: Comedy - Chaotic Reader. Action scenes.

Summary: Waking up in a forest straight out of her own fanfic was not on Y/N's to-do list, especially not when she’s suddenly the villain about to fight Bucky Barnes. Decked out in an impractical gothic outfit, complete with a corset she can barely breathe in, Y/N realizes she’s written herself into a showdown she’s destined to lose. But instead of following the plot, she’s fangirling while getting her butt kicked by her fictional crush—and making things even worse with every sarcastic comment. Bucky thinks she’s insane. Y/N thinks she’s in heaven. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Isn't this anyone's dream? LOL to live your favorite fanfic LMAO.

You yawn as you type away on your laptop, the dim light of your screen the only illumination in the room. It’s late—way too late—and your bed calls to you, but you’re deep in the middle of a new scene for your latest Bucky Barnes fanfic. This one is different. This one is more intense, more dramatic. You smirk at the screen as you write your villainess character, who’s about to have a showdown with none other than Bucky.

“I’ll finish this tomorrow,” you tell yourself, half-heartedly knowing that you won’t. You glance at the clock and wince at the time. Ugh, work in the morning... okay, just five more minutes.

But even as you type that last line, exhaustion takes over, and your eyelids droop heavily. Before you know it, your fingers still on the keyboard, your head hits the pillow, and the world fades to black.

× × × ×

You wake up with a start, a cold breeze biting at your skin. Sitting up abruptly, you blink against the sudden brightness of your surroundings. Trees? The smell of wet earth? Slowly, you stand, your heart racing as you take in the unfamiliar scene around you.

Wait... This looks familiar. Too familiar.

The clearing. The night. The ominous, misty forest that surrounds you. No way...

The scene clicks in your head. This is the exact setting of your fanfic. The one where your villainess has her big moment—where she’s supposed to face Bucky in an epic, final showdown.

“Okay... maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m still asleep,” you mumble to yourself, rubbing your eyes. But the cold wind is sharp, the sounds of the forest too real. You frown and glance down at yourself.

Your stomach drops.

You’re not wearing your usual pajamas. Instead, you’re decked out in a gothic nightmare of an outfit. Long black cloak, intricately laced corset, and leather boots that look cool in theory but are so tight you can barely walk. You tug at the uncomfortable collar of your dress, feeling more like a cosplayer gone wrong than a terrifying villain.

“Oh no. No, no, no...” You spin around, trying to figure out what’s happening. “This can’t be happening. I did not just wake up in my own fanfic!”

But before you can even begin to comprehend your situation, a voice cuts through the trees. A voice you know all too well.

“Give it up, villain. You’re not going to win.”

Your breath hitches, and you freeze. Slowly, you turn around to see none other than Bucky Barnes, in all his intimidating glory, walking out from the shadows, his metal arm gleaming under the moonlight.

Holy crap, he’s real. He’s actually real.

But there’s one problem. He’s looking at you like you’re his enemy.

“Well?” Bucky’s deep voice breaks through your panicked thoughts. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Your mind goes blank. All those hours spent imagining this very moment, and now that it’s happening, all you can do is stand there, gawking like an idiot.

“I, uh... look, Bucky—” you start, but then it hits you. You’re the villain in this story. The bad guy. He has no idea you’re just a fanfic writer who’s been plopped into this nightmare.

You quickly glance around for an escape route. But there’s nothing except more trees, mist, and darkness. No way out. And then you remember what comes next in the story. The fight scene. A scene you wrote yourself... with the villain—you—losing.

Oh god. I am so screwed.

Trying to think fast, you wave your hands in surrender. ��Wait, wait, wait! We don’t have to do this. Can we just, like, talk about this?”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, suspicion clear on his face. He takes a step closer, hand twitching toward his gun. “Nice try. I know your tricks.”

You cringe. Of course he wouldn’t believe you—you wrote him to be suspicious of every word the villain said!

“I’m serious!” you squeak, trying to keep the panic out of your voice. “You don’t want to fight me. I, uh... I surrender! Yeah, I totally surrender.”

But Bucky doesn’t back down. In fact, he steps even closer, and now you can see the lethal determination in his eyes. “Surrender, huh? Sounds like a trap.”

You mentally slap yourself for writing him to be this distrustful. Why did I make him so paranoid?!

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you ramble, desperately searching for a way out. “You’re probably thinking I’m trying to pull a fast one on you, but I swear, I’m not evil. Not really. It’s... complicated.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, you wouldn’t be either if you were him. He raises his metal arm threateningly, ready to fight, and you know you’re out of time.

In one last-ditch effort, you blurt out, “Wait! I love you!”

That stops him in his tracks. His brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. Did I just say that out loud?

“Yes! I mean—no! I mean...” You fumble for words, feeling your face flush. “What I meant was, you’re amazing. You’re... everything. I’ve, um, admired you for so long, and I really don’t want to fight you. I’m just... a huge fan?”

Bucky stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “A fan?”

You nod furiously, praying this works. “Yes! A huge fan. Of your work. Uh, your missions? And, you know, your... metal arm? It’s so shiny and, uh... powerful.”

He stares at you for a long moment, clearly baffled by your bizarre behavior. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

You groan internally. Of course he’d think that. You wrote him to be impossible to convince!

Meanwhile, Bucky’s stance shifts, preparing for a fight. You realize with growing dread that if you don’t come up with something fast, you’re going to get your butt kicked by your fictional crush.

And it’s all your fault.

× × × ×

Without warning, Bucky lunges forward, and you yelp, instinctively trying to duck, but the heavy corset makes it hard to move.

“Wait! I’m serious! We can talk this out—oof!” You squeak as Bucky’s metal arm knocks you flat on your back.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, lying on the ground, staring up at the stars. I’m getting my butt kicked by Bucky Barnes. This is the best and worst day of my life.

Before you can even get your bearings, Bucky grabs you by the arm and flips you up like you weigh nothing. You manage to stand, but just barely, wobbling in your ridiculous boots.

“Oh my God, he’s strong,” you whisper in awe, dazed. “This is like, the hottest thing ever—wait, no, focus!”

Bucky, looking at you with complete disbelief, narrows his eyes. “What is wrong with you?”

You try to explain, but then he sweeps your legs out from under you, and down you go again. This time you land face-first in the dirt.

“Hnggh... I deserved that,” you mumble into the ground. “I wrote this. I brought this on myself.”

You roll over, still fangirling, despite the pain. “Wow, even in pain, you’re gorgeous.”

Bucky looms over you, looking more confused than ever. “Are you hitting on me while I’m kicking your ass?”

“Yes,” you wheeze, still on the ground, clutching your ribs. “I regret nothing.”

Bucky sighs heavily, and for a split second, you think you catch a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re insane.”

You grin up at him, despite the dirt smeared across your face and the throbbing ache in your back. “I’ve been told that before.”

He shakes his head, clearly still trying to make sense of the situation, but you can tell he’s holding back laughter now. You’ve confused him, at least. That’s something.

“So... are you gonna help me up?” you ask hopefully, extending a hand.

Bucky stares down at you for a long moment, then mutters, “You’re not even a good villain.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groan dramatically. “It’s harder than it looks.”

With a roll of his eyes, he finally relents and pulls you to your feet again—though not without a little extra force that nearly sends you stumbling again.

You clutch your chest, still a bit winded, but can’t help the goofy smile on your face. I just got beat up by Bucky Barnes. And it was glorious.

× × × ×

You’re still catching your breath from being unceremoniously flipped, kicked, and restrained when Bucky wraps his metal arm around your waist and hauls you up against him, keeping a firm grip on you. He pulls out a pair of cuffs—the same cuffs you wrote about, of course—and slaps them onto your wrists.

“W-What are you doing?” you sputter, still in awe at how close you are to him now. You stare at his arm holding you in place, feeling your heart race like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Oh my god, am I being arrested? By Bucky Barnes? This is... this is a dream come true.”

Bucky looks at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Stop talking.”

“No, seriously. Where are you taking me?” you ask, wiggling in his grip but mostly just to make yourself more comfortable because—holy hell, his muscles are everywhere. You’re about to pass out from sheer fangirl euphoria. “Is it to a secret Hydra base? Are you throwing me in the trunk of a car? Wait, is there gonna be an interrogation? Do you have a secret lair? Because if there’s a lair, I’d love a tour.”

He tightens his grip, hoisting you up with one hand as if you’re nothing more than a grocery bag. You flail your legs a bit but quickly stop, realizing how cool this actually is.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Bucky says gruffly, dragging you through the trees.

“Oh! Is this like one of those slow-burn captor-captive situations?” you say, eyes wide with excitement. “Are we going to have a moment of shared vulnerability? Will we bond over our tragic backstories? Because, listen, I wrote an entire chapter about this, and let me tell you, it’s steamy.”

Bucky stops dead in his tracks, clearly regretting every life decision that brought him here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You grin, too giddy to care about the situation. “Oh, you’re gonna find out. I’m a lot.”

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh and continues dragging you through the forest like you’re a troublesome cat being hauled to the vet. You stumble along behind him, your boots still making it difficult to walk, but you’re too caught up in your own fantasies to care.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you gasp, pretending to be serious for a second. “Are you taking me to the Avengers? Am I about to meet Steve Rogers? Oh my god, if this is a prison transfer situation, I’ll take it. Honestly, throw me in a cell, just tell me Captain America’s on the other side of the bars.”

Bucky groans audibly, muttering under his breath. “You’re literally the worst villain I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, thank you!” You beam, still being pulled along like a rag doll. “I tried to make my villain complex, you know? With layers. You’ll see. There’s more to me than just an evil laugh and a cool outfit. I have depth! Trauma! A tragic backstory, even!”

Bucky finally stops and spins you around, looking you dead in the eyes. “Shut. Up.”

You blink up at him, biting your lip to suppress a fangirl squeal. “Wow, even when you’re angry, you’re hot.”

For a second, you think Bucky might actually lose his patience with you, but instead, he just rolls his eyes and resumes dragging you through the forest.

“You’re taking me to the Avengers, aren’t you? You can tell me! I won’t spoil it for anyone,” you whisper conspiratorially. “I mean, you know, since I’m totally going to escape and wreak havoc... right after I meet everyone and maybe take a group photo.”

Bucky doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he hoists you up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking faster. Your head bounces a little with each step, but you can’t help but notice how strong he is.

“Is this the part where I pretend to hate being manhandled, or...?”

Another groan from Bucky. He’s definitely considering just leaving you tied to a tree at this point.

You sigh dramatically as you dangle over his shoulder. “You know, I could help you with your characterization. Maybe throw in some emotional depth, give you some really meaningful dialogue in your next big scene. Maybe a nice brooding monologue... You’re into those, right?”

“Where I’m taking you,” Bucky says, his tone clipped, “there won’t be any brooding. Or talking.”

You perk up. “Oh! Silent treatment? Broody captor vibes? I love it.”

You can practically feel the exhaustion radiating off him as he mutters, “I need a vacation.”

With a smirk, you reply, “I’m free this weekend.”

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therainscene · 1 year ago

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I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

#stranger things #will has powers #willel #byler #will byers #el hopper #max mayfield #barb holland #henry creel #mind flayer #my analysis

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lord-shitbox · 20 days ago

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shitbox guide to making touchstarved character info sheets:

aka i have no idea how to start making one for my OC before I break down how all the canon character ones are made. here are my notes:

#character bio, the one with likes/dislikes:

extra 2-word character description at the top, DND-esque; usually adjective-noun & establishes What they are [ex repentant angel, demon renegade, cursed outsider, heroic mage, chained charlatan] personality: (disposition adjective) + (role noun). ex "melancholic observer," "mischeivous thrillseeker" likes: self explanatory, but tend to have a good amount of ones that arent immediately discernible from the rest of their info sheets dislikes: same as above fatal flaw: plot relevant issue other: something unexpected quote: something they said in game that succinctly illustrates their personality or role in the story

captions: makes a question out of one of their notable traits, + relevant emoji (ex: One way to warm Mhin’s icy heart is with tasty sweets. What kind of dessert would you gift them? 🍰 / The last person who saw Vere's sketchbook mysteriously went missing… What do you think they saw in it? 🔪)

#character bio, character/narrative descriptions

2-word character description at the top again paragraph 1: establishes their role in the world, general disposition and reputation, a hint of their deep secrets & a subtle hint at what core issue plagues them (thing that defines their arc) paragraph 2: what they want/how they interact with you (core issue style), ends with their narrative question (the implied yes/no that determines good or bad ending) [ex: can you redeem him, or are you the final entry in a long list of tragedies?]

captions: restates implied core struggle & narrative question [Some people are beyond saving. Ais teeters on the brink of the abyss… Can you help him or will he drag you under? / Many Monsters lust for blood, but Vere promises to protect you. His collar prevents him from harming humans… But can it contain his deadly appetite?]

#relationship chart:

close/like/dislike arrow to each character, plus a two-bit blurb on how they think or feel about them. [ex. Mhin's only friend. As much as Mhin wants to trust him, they're afraid of being hurt. Or worse.] also have a little quote about how they view others/the nature of relationships [ex ais: "not bad to be the black sheep. you get the clearest view of the world" / kuras: "friends are fleeting, but no less precious for it"]

captions: posted twice, once with a caption that summarizes their general social attitude, followed by an engagement question [Kuras doesn’t mind most people… except Vere. They certainly have some kind of history, but do you have any theories as to what it is? 🤨/ A certain spoiled pup is missing from Ais’s chart… 🐕 How did your MC react to meeting Princess in the demo?] and once with a caption that summarizes their reputation, followed by a somewhat surprising tidbit [To stave off his constant boredom, Vere causes trouble all over Eridia 🧨 He’s likely the culprit behind several local ghost stories…/Leander gets along with everyone and he's extra frisky when drinks are involved 🍻 Despite his popularity, he doesn't have any close friends…]

#stat chart:

stats: 1-5 for strength, luck, and wisdom, followed by 2 character-specific notable stats at the bottom [ex. forbidden magic, rizz / animal handling, small talk / empathy, handwriting] blurb: abt one sentence, describes their typical behavior & maybe hints at some stuff [while more than capable in a fight, leander avoids unnecessary bloodshed to uphold his spotless reputation and to protect his handsome smile // Ais is a man of many talents, adept in the fine arts of bashing skulls, intimidation, taming wild beasts into submission, mastering long-dead tongues, and murder // thankfully, kuras is more interested in helping than harming others. his true power is almost as unfathomable as his handwriting // for decades, vere has left the remains of the drunks, swindlers, and amateur thieves that mistook him for an easy mark on the doormat of kuras's clinic // mhin may be short-tempered, but their sharp tongue and propensity for violence bely their wealth of knowledge]

captions: memey summary of their personality/habit they have [If Mhin wants to recite the entire Bee Movie script to you, it’s basically a love confession 🥰 If you say no, you will get stabbed / Many a drunken brawler has taken Vere for an easy mark, but his pretty face belies a shockingly high body count 🔥 / Wow, Ais is so talented… We love a guy who can give people a good pounding 👊🤯💥 in a fight]

#character lore

a) sentence that establishes relevant worldbuilding, followed by b) elaboration on it that doesnt explicitly mention the character; then c) some extra detail (sorta a climax; most significant info) -> d), a short resolution that implies a direction for the relevant lore subject

ex:

a, relevant worldbuilding) Mhin: in a bygone era, before eridia became the last bastion of humanity, there was Lovent / Leander: Visitiors drawn to eridia are often surprised by the senobium's apathy towards the surrounding city / Kuras: the senobium's folklorists note a curious pattern in humanity's oldest tales.

b, elaboration) yet where a bustling metropolis once stood, there is now only a blasted crater and empty ruins, blanketed by fog. / Lacking the senobium's protection, Lowtown has been divided into territories belonging to several gangs. / Though the details vary, these stories share a common theme: an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge.

c, most crucial info) the inhabitants, and large chunks of the city, had vanished into thin air. / While a significant portion is watched over by Leander, he refuses to stoop to bribery or senseless violence to maintain his power. / Alchemy and literacy, art and war...supposedly this being shared all they knew with the earliest civilizations.

d, direction) over the following years, scholars flocked to the ruins in earch of answers. like the loventians, they disappeared without a trace, and none ever returned. / locals speak praise for the charming leader whose seemingly benign reign extends even below the city streets into the shadowed depths of the Silent Crypts. / In some tales, the otherworldly teacher is a loving, benevolent figure. In others, they are a harbinger of chaos and ruin.

Captions: relevant quote from the character [not all seen in game so far. ex “Obedience suits you, sparrow.” / “Hope. A strange concept, after so long seeing myself as the agent of ruin.”]

#touchstarved game #will this make me make character sheets? lets be real probably not. but i had fun

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endearing-dalliance · 1 month ago

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My two cents on Jayce's final speech

While I do not consider myself disabled, I have chronic health issues that are sometimes disabling. And I'm used to having to live my life with that in the back of my mind. Not in a self-hating way, simply pragmatically. I need certain medications and technology in order to function in a way I find worth living for. While I certainly don't speak for the entire disabled community, I'm not unfamiliar with the struggle™.

TLDR: they really, really needed a sensitivity reader or disabled person's input. A for the idea, F for the execution

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You've always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg."

Jayce: *breaks leg* *leg can now no longer support his weight* *builds brace to compensate for leg weakness* *proceeds to shame Viktor for wanting a permanent fix for his own leg issue*

"Your disease."

Last season, when Viktor's disease was actively killing him, Jayce got Heimerdinger voted off the Council so Viktor could keep researching what Jayce himself joyfully admitted was a potential cure. How hard did this man's head hit the bottom of the pit?

But you were never broken, Viktor.

Why is Jayce the one getting to say what is and isn't broken? Broken is literally defined as "damaged and no longer in working order". The man was in chronic pain, visibly wasting away before our eyes, and born with a body that was not functioning as it should. Viktor describes his body as "eroding". He has never said that it makes him feel bad about himself as a person. Even when he called himself a cripple, its one of a list of obstacles he’s had to overcome to get where he is now. He isn't ashamed, he's proud. And Jayce is inspired by it enough to not to give up on his work. Or his life.

Side note: Some neurodivergent and disabled people use the term broken in a non-offensive way. For some, its a reminder that they the *person* are not broken. For others, its simply a fact of life they adjust to. But that doesn't mean other people get to label them as such.

"There is beauty in imperfections."

Sure, in the same way they used to call tuberculosis "consumptive chic" because it made you pale and thin with red lips. Death isn't beautiful, its devastating.

"They made you who you are, an inseparable piece of everything I admired about you."

Except, Viktor wouldn't be any less brilliant or determined or humorous if he wasn't disabled. Instantly made me think about this scene from Bojack:

Over and over I have watched the disabled community patiently explaining, passionately advocating, or righteously, ragefully, unceasingly insisting that they are more than their disability. That their disability doesn't define them. To see past it to who they are as a person. That regardless of your personal opinion, they have the same inherent value as an able-bodied person.

I get what Arcane was going for here. I really do. It was a nice idea in theory. But what they ended up with was a well-meaning, able-bodied, privileged person assigning labels to a disabled person's own opinion of himself, tell him what he should and should not do with his body, and then tie this deeply questionable conversation about Viktor's body to Viktor as a person.

And for once true to his S1 character, THAT DID NOT SWAY VIKTOR AT ALL. The last time he saw Jayce, he got soundly rejected. The next scene of them is him continuing to "evolve" Jayce. Ekko's device gave Jayce the opportunity tell Viktor how much he wanted him and THAT made the difference.

#arcane #disability #ableism #arcane criticism #good damage #arcane critical #arcane s2 #arcane season one #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #jayvik #arcane ekko #bojack horseman #bojack quotes #bojack diane #diane nguyen

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munson-blurbs · 10 months ago

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: What started as a quest to prove Eddie's 'manhood' ended with a gesture that had you hurtling towards your future--ready or not. (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, parental conflict, poverty, lots of bees, mention of parental illness, brief mention of sex work, finally some actual physical contact between them, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter five: float like a butterfly

For the first time since you’d started working nights, you didn’t dread the sound of your alarm ringing. You’d always appreciated its stillness, with only city noises and the occasional guest puncturing the perfect silence. There were some nights where you didn’t speak a word for the full eight hours of your shift; you just read or wrote or daydreamed until the clock struck six.

Except for last night, of course, when you’d passed the time by talking with Eddie and minimally contributed to wallpaper removal. Your mind flickered back to the way he’d placed his hand on yours. The sensation of his palm, calloused but warm, lingering a beat longer than necessary.

The whole moment could have been deemed unnecessary, in theory. Surely he could have modeled the action on his own and then handed you the tool so you could imitate him. Was it truly to show you how to scrape off glue, or did he have a more gratuitous intention?

Shaking your head, you eschewed the idea almost as quickly as you’d considered it. He was just being polite, a rarity among most of your male guests. Maybe that's why you were so hyper-focused on it; years of clipped conversations and crude comments had you mistaking kindness for something more flirtatious.

Speak of the Devil…

Eddie stood in the lobby, his guitar case slung across his back. He kept one elbow perched on the desk as he spoke to your mom. Whatever he said was making her laugh, a genuine one that brought a light to her eyes. She noticed you first, and when she waved you over, Eddie turned around to see what caught her attention. His smile shifted from open-mouth to close-lipped, more thoughtful and discreet without losing any of its charm.

Slinging your bag off of your shoulder next to the desk, you feigned a casual demeanor and asked, “What did I miss? Serenading my mom?” You nodded towards the guitar case, biting back a smile.

Eddie shook his head, his curls falling in his face. “Tried to make a couple bucks down at the subway station.” He shrugged, shoving his hand in his pocket. “Not enough for a ticket home, but it’s a start.”

Home. Obviously he was going home. New York had nothing for him, had chewed him up and spit him out like he left a bitter taste in its mouth. He had no reason to stay.

Oblivious to your disappointment, Mom laughed again. “Mr. Munson–”

“Eddie. Mr. Munson is my uncle.”

“Eddie,” Mom quickly amended, “was just telling me about the time he ripped his pants while he was on stage.”

Rosy red seeped into Eddie’s cheeks, evidently not expecting your mom to share that information with you. “And that was the last time I wore leather pants,” he said. “Lesson learned.”

Deeming this conclusion insufficient, you inquired further. “How exactly does one rip leather pants?” You stifled a giggle, just imagining him feeling a sudden breeze mid-concert.

“Well, ya see,” he started, crossing his arms over his faded Metallica t-shirt and smirking, “I’m what’s known as an enthusiastic performer. And as such, one might find that leather can be quite restricting.”

“So…you got really sweaty and they ripped.”

Eddie hid his face behind a curtain of curls, all but confirming your suspicions. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Heiress,” he warned with a smile, cocking his pointer finger in your direction.

Mom took that as her cue to leave, quickly clasping your hand and excusing herself. Thick tension set in without her there as a buffer. Her presence prevented any conversation from dipping too deep into flirtation; now, there was nothing stopping it.

Except, of course, the looming fact that he was a guest. And like all guests, he was a temporary fixture in your life.

“The new wallpaper didn’t come in yet,” you blurted out. Dad had insisted on ordering it from a family friend, saving money but forgoing the promises of timely delivery afforded by bigger suppliers.

Eddie shrugged, unbothered by the information. “I know.” He placed a cigarette between his lips and held out the pack in offering, but you shook your head. Without missing a beat, he put his own cigarette back and returned the box to his pocket. “Your mom was saying how excited she is for you to finish your classes and take over the motel.”

Panic flooded your lungs and constricted your breathing at the potential crisis he might have inadvertently caused. Did Mom seem upset? Her usual signs were noticeably absent: narrowed eyes, set jaw, lips painfully taut in a silent roar: we’ll discuss this later.

There was none of that. She was laughing. Happy. Not a hint of disappointment. Yet anxiety still hooked its claws into your skin, a stinging reminder of the anvil dangling over your head.

“You didn’t say—”

“Not a word.” Eddie waved away the thought. “Just smiled and nodded.”

Your chest went concave with relief, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him into a hug. His arms held a surprising strength, as evidenced by his wallpaper removal abilities, and you wondered how they would feel wrapped around your waist. Did he hug tightly, not letting go until all of the air had been squeezed from your lungs? Or did he prefer a softer, lazier embrace, one with a hand free to stroke up and down your back?

Why did it matter?

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” he asked. The sound of his voice invaded your senses, pulling you back to reality in an instant. “I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Stooping down to grab your notebook, you nodded in agreement. “That’s part of the problem, I guess.” Your teeth scraped along your tongue as you considered your words. “If they were shitty, I wouldn’t feel so bad about letting them down.”

“Letting them down?”

You nodded, feeling that familiar pit that formed in your stomach whenever this subject arose. “Yeah. I can’t be a social worker and run the motel. And if I don’t stick around, they’ll have to close this place for good.”

Eddie breathes out with a low whistle. “Pretty high stakes.”

“You can say that again.” Resting your elbows on the desk, you buried your head in your hands. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a rockstar?” you asked, your voice slightly muffled.

He took so long to respond that you looked up, wondering if he’d up and left while you weren’t watching.

“My dad’s, um, not in the picture, and my mom died when I was a kid,” he finally said, using his left thumbnail to pick at the right.

“I’m sorry.” And you were: for his loss and for prying into his history. Mortification bloomed and prickled sweat under your arms, and you clenched them to your sides in a feeble attempt to hide any forming stains.

“S’okay. I mean, you didn’t know, so…” his shoulders moved up and down, his mouth drawn into a forgiving half-smile, “now you know.”

Now you know. A little slice of him, presented to you like one of the cakes the local bakery kept locked behind a pane of refrigerated glass. The ones you admired as a kid, reveling in their perfectly smooth icing and intricately piped pastel flowers. They’d always seemed too delicate to touch, so you’d skipped over them in favor of sprinkle-laden cookies.

Logically, you know that the cakes were made for consumption. All you needed to do was ask for a taste. But you could never bring yourself to ruin their beauty. Not then, and not now.

And so, as always, you stepped away and chose the easier path instead.

“Did you really rip your pants on stage?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkled at the sudden subject change, but he recovered quickly. “Sure did. Split right down the seam.” He puffed out a short laugh through his nose. “Poor Gareth got an eyeful that night.”

“Are you sure that isn’t the real reason you left the band?” Picking up the nearest pen, you poked the capped end into his forearm.

He play-winced, rubbing the spot the cap touched, and shook his head. “Nah, this was my high school band. Corroded Coffin.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Oh, yeah. We were terrifying.” Eddie widened his eyes in mock-horror. “The backbone of Indiana’s satanic panic, actually.”

You raised your brows. “Impressive.”

“Mhm. We only broke up because our bassist went to college out of state. Princeton.” He lowered his voice at the name as though relaying confidential information.

“Not the Ivy Leagues!” You pressed your hand to your heart, clutching metaphorical pearls.

Eddie grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve heard Princeton is known for their demonic studies program, so that tracks.”

This is nice. This is easy. No mention of schoolwork, or the motel, or parents—or lack thereof. You could do this all night.

A throat clearing followed by a hacking cough took you both by surprise. Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you found Phyllis standing in the lobby doorway.

“There’s a wasp nest outside my window,” she said, tugging up one drooping shirt sleeve. The odor of stale cigarettes grew stronger as she walked closer to you and Eddie; even if she quit smoking today, the pungency would always cling to her.

Uncapping your pen, you reached into the desk drawer and grabbed the stack of Post-Its. “I’ll make a note to get some insecticide spray tomorrow,” you promised, poorly curbing your exasperation.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

The older woman didn’t put up any argument, but Eddie was obviously displeased. “Like hell you will.” He glanced around, pent-up energy overflowing as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “You got a baseball bat around here?”

Your “Uh, no,” overlapped with Phyllis’s nonchalant, “Yeah, of course,” and she left to fetch it.

A sigh escaped you, hinting at your mounting irritation. “Eddie, absolutely not,” you insisted. “Just wait till I get the spray and you can do it then.”

He clicked his tongue with a note of condescension that you didn’t particularly appreciate. “Don’t worry about it, Heiress. I’m from the Midwest; our wasps are like your rats. This’ll be nothing.” When you remained unconvinced, he adopted a teasing grin. “I don’t tell you how to do your nerd stuff, do I? So leave me to my man stuff in peace.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva. “Your man stuff?”

“Yes. Very strong and burly.” He flexed a bicep for emphasis and you threw your hands up in defeat, trying to ignore the soft fluttering in your stomach at the vein bulging through his skin.

Phyllis returned with the bat, the wooden neck clenched between arthritic fingers. “It’s right around the side,” she told Eddie. “Just look for the giant nest. And don’t forget to give this back when you’re done; I’m working tonight.” She thrust the bat into Eddie’s hand and padded back to her room, slippers thwacking against the linoleum.

Eddie twirled the bat, threading it through his fingers and catching it smoothly. He smiled, unable to camouflage his pride. “See? I got this.” His grasp was determined without a hint of tenderness, a stark contrast to the way he’d held your hand the night prior. Tucking it underneath a denim-clad arm, he took a deep breath and pushed through the front door like he was preparing for battle.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Evidently, he had a point to prove, but you doubted the chances of his success. Part of you wished you could leave the desk to watch him in action. Another part was relieved that you had the excuse to avoid witnessing this disaster as it unfolded.

As you predicted, not even half a minute had passed before you heard Eddie yelping, his footsteps thudding towards the motel’s entrance. He flung the door open with enough force that it smacked against the wall, scrambling to slam it shut behind him. His chest heaved under his jacket as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He swatted around his head at some lingering wasps. “Son of a bitch!”

Sucking your tongue to your front teeth, you bit back an I-told-you-so. “How’s your ‘manhood’ or whatever?”

Maybe that wasn’t much better than outright gloating, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Eddie made a closed fist with only his middle finger sticking up, and he winced almost immediately. “I think one of those little fuckers got me.” He cradled one hand in the other as you walked towards him for a closer inspection.

Sure enough, a stinger was poking out from the side of his forefinger.

Phyllis came shuffling back from her room, pink lipsticked mouth pursed in concern. “Jesus, kid. Were you trying to piss them off?” The loose skin under her neck wobbled when she chortled. “You swung at that nest like you were Babe Ruth!”

Through a tense smile, you asked her to get a soapy washcloth so you could clean out the wound before it could spark an allergic reaction. “Unless, of course, that interferes with your man stuff,” you said to Eddie, all-too happy to throw his words back in his face.

“Fuck off.” A traitorous chuckle broke through his stoic exterior despite his very real pain. His eyes followed your movements as you grabbed the first aid kit.

You took his warm palm in yours, gently turning it to assess the afflicted finger. The stinger was lodged under his skin, already turning the surrounding area an angry red.

“Oof, he really stung you good, huh?” Your tone was all sympathy; you figured he’d gotten enough jabs from the wasps.

Eddie gritted his teeth as you gingerly scraped at the stinger with the edge of your notebook, taking care not to squeeze out any of the venom. You tightened your grip to keep his hand in place, feeling the soft but steady thrum of his heartbeat between his wrist and his thumb’s tendon. It had a melody of its own.

Slowly, meticulously, you eased the stinger out from where it was wedged.

“Sorry,” you said softly, noting the way his eyes clamped shut as you drew out the stinger and brushed it onto the desk.

“S’okay.” He managed a small smile, one you returned without hesitation.

The night was still for a moment before he spoke again, his voice soft but eager.

“Tell me more about Izzy.”

Apparently, you weren’t the only one with a penchant for rapid subject changes.

At once, your head was filled with memories of her: the pigtails held in place with thick rubber bands, the popsicle juice-stained pink t-shirt, the giggles that melted away your stress from a succession of ungrateful customers. He said something else, but you were too engrossed in your own thoughts for the words to register.

“Hmm?”

“The little girl you helped.” Eddie cocked a quizzical brow, suddenly worried that he’d remembered incorrectly. “That was her name, right?”

You nodded. “She was only there that one day. I didn’t see her again.”

Her mother was probably too embarrassed to stay any longer and found another motel. If you could go back in time, you would have reassured her, maybe even offered to watch after Izzy while she worked. You might have informed her of programs where she could find a job that didn’t put her or Izzy in harm’s way.

Eddie continued talking, for some reason persistent in his quest for answers. “But you said she talked to you while she was drawing. About her favorite stuff?”

Phyllis returned with cloth before you could answer him, and she rested it on the desk with a sigh. “I’m gonna head out,” she said, pointing at Eddie, “but my bat better be in my room before I get back, Yogi Berra.”

He nodded, absently massaging the nape of his neck. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” One burgundy-painted fingertip pointed at Eddie, then at you. “I like this kid.”

How do you even respond to that? An honest, ‘me, too’? An overly sarcastic, ‘he’s alright’?

You opted for a small, unassuming smile and the reminder to be safe, which was absurd when you really thought about it. Phyllis had been doing this, as she put it, “since my tits were above my belly button,” yet you were telling her about safety.

Bringing your attention back to the sting, you clutched the sopping wet washcloth. Phyllis apparently hadn’t wrung it out; water dripped down the side of your fingers and splashed onto the floor in an uneven plop-plop-plop.

With an abundance of care, you swiped the cloth over the sting site. It was already starting to swell, the skin raised and angry.

Eddie reflexively pulled away, the tension evident from the way his front teeth formed grooves in his lower lip.

“Fuck, that hurts.” His free fist pounded into the desktop with so much force that, for a split second, you worried that he might leave a dent.

“I know, but we have to clean it out,” you said.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; you weren't sure you even wanted to know what he said. “Yeah, yeah.” He winced as the frayed fibers grazed him again. “So…Izzy?”

“There isn’t much to say,” you answer honestly. “I mean, she just told me she loved McDonalds french fries and Muppet Babies. Especially baby Fozzie Bear.”

“Anything else?”

You thought back for a moment. “Her favorite animal was dogs, but only the little ones. She said the big ones scared her because they barked too loud. Oh, and her favorite color was light purple.”

The memory is bittersweet, bathing you in both comfort and a dull ache. It was almost six years ago but the little girl had made herself at home in your mind. You thought about her on a daily basis, wondering if she and her mom were still bouncing from motel to motel, or if they’d found a permanent place to settle. Every ounce of optimism you possessed worked to help you believe that they were safe and that she didn’t remember when safety wasn’t guaranteed.

“I knew it.”

You looked up from applying calamine lotion, dabbing the pink-stained cotton ball over any excess dripping off of his finger. “Knew what?”

“I knew you’d remember everything she told you.” His thumb relaxed and fluttered down until it rested on yours, the pad of his finger on your knuckle.

You reached for a Band-Aid before realizing that opening it required two hands. With more hesitation that you anticipated, you let go of him. “And what makes you say that?” You wrapped the bandage around his finger, careful not to press too tightly around the sting. “There. Good as new.”

Eddie smiled his appreciation. “I, um, had a similar experience when I was a kid.” He swallowed, picking at the Band-Aid until the adhesive side began to bunch up. When he allowed himself to glance at you, he saw you looking back at him, silently encouraging him to tell his story.

“My mom got sick when I was in kindergarten. The treatment made her tired and nauseous, like, all the time; when she wasn’t sleeping, she was throwing up.” His eyes clouded over and his voice cracked slightly; he cleared his throat and continued. “I was at school one day, and the social worker asked me if I had anyone at home who washed my clothes for me. And when I told her no, she asked me to bring any clothes I needed cleaned with me the next day. So I did, and after school let out, she took me to the Laundromat.”

If you told him that he didn’t have to keep talking, he'd stop. He’d wipe away any residual tears and excuse himself, and you’d once again spend your shift alone. And so you didn’t say anything, just stood there as his gears turned in recollection.

“She had this game: she’d hold up a piece of clothing and ask if it goes in the ‘lights’ or ‘darks’ pile, and she would get faster and faster until I was laughing too hard to answer.” Eddie exhaled a short laugh and swiped his tongue over his top teeth. “The whole time, I’m thinking that it’s all fun, that this is a normal thing that every kid did. I didn’t realize until years later that it was because my clothes smelled, y’know?”

Sheepishness colored Eddie’s face in pink splotches as he shifted from man to boy and then back again.

“Anyway, your story about Izzy kinda reminded me of that. And she might not remember your name or even what you talked about, but she’ll remember someone being there for her. Someone who didn’t act like she was a bother or a charity case. Just a kid who wanted to play.”

His words left you without any of your own. There was so much to digest; chiefly, your newfound glimpse into Eddie’s past. And though you’d only ever known him as an adult, you were still picturing him as a child. He sat atop a counter where others folded their clothes, his brown eyes–looking even bigger than they did presently, given his small stature–gazing up at the woman in wonderment as he giddily sorted his laundry.

And then, of course, there was the delicately embedded compliment. The reassurance that you had been a positive force in Izzy’s life, even through one brief encounter.

It was the only part that you could elaborate on without intruding on his privacy. He’d shared something so personal, and while you were desperate to learn more about him, you didn’t want to barge past the boundaries he had so carefully constructed.

“Yeah, I…just wanted her to feel safe, I guess.” You’d devised a plan while you drew flowers and Care Bears in case no one showed up to find her. Everything had to be done so that she remained in the dark about the situation’s severity; you’d have Mom or Dad check the room, only calling the authorities if Izzy’s mom was unresponsive—or worse.

In the end, there was no need for you to worry. Her mother was alert and Izzy herself was none the wiser that anything was wrong. You hadn’t even told your parents about the situation despite their potential involvement. Eddie, of all people, was the only other person who knew.

He nodded and reached over, giving your hand a subtle, tender squeeze.

“You did.”

Reassurance drifted through the air and clung to you like the sharp scent of tobacco on his jacket. Receiving compliments wasn’t your strongest suit, so you pivoted topics to avoid stretching the ensuing awkward silence any further.

“The calamine lotion should help with the itching, but you can take some Benadryl if it’s still bad.” Rummaging through the first aid kit, you searched for the medication but only managed to scrounge up a bottle of expired ibuprofen. “There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down. They’ll have some there.” A little mom and pop shop that sold candy and cheap wine in addition to different over-the-counter medicines, it had been a community staple since before you were born.

The corners of Eddie’s eyes crinkled, lips turning upwards in amusement. “An heiress, a social worker, and a nurse? What can’t you do?”

That was a loaded question, and you were relieved that it was rhetorical so you wouldn’t have to list all of your shortcomings. You settled for flipping him off with an accompanying smile of your own.

“I should probably get that bat before she gets back,” he said, glancing towards the older woman’s room. He lowered his voice and continued. “She kinda scares me.”

“Oh, I definitely would not get on her bad side,” you agreed. “Phyllis’s wrath will make that wasp sting feel like a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” His laugh was music that stirred up a desire to dance, to be carried by the melody like a strong gust of wind, and then he was out the door.

Immediately, you were inclined to find something new to talk about when he walked back in. You’d had two days of companionship and had been spoiled by it; the thought of another night in solitude suddenly seemed lonely.

You couldn’t ask about his parents or the social worker who’d taken him to the Laundromat; that was too personal, too soon. Same with his old band. But music–his favorite songs, musicians, albums–that might be safe enough to explore.

The door opened and brought with it a cool evening breeze. Eddie returned much more confidently than he had the last time, Phyllis’s bat slung over his shoulder.

“Apparently, I actually managed to knock the nest down,” he reported, sounding as surprised as you felt.

He stifled a yawn, denim creasing at the elbow when he lifted his hand to cover his mouth. It was then that you noticed the way sleep tugged at his eyelids, dashing any remaining hope of having a conversational partner this evening. Asking him to stay awake for you was just selfish.

“I’ll see you around, Heiress. Let me know if there’s any more man stuff you need from me.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice in quick succession and started towards his room.

“Night, Eddie.”

Opportunity slipped through your fingers as he walked away, the sound of his footsteps eventually too muted to hear. You shoved your disappointment beneath the surface. Eddie wasn’t your friend; he was a guest who happened to be friendly. Asking him to stick around and chat would be unprofessional.

If he happened to stop by the desk while you worked, you could make small talk. Otherwise, it would be business as usual.

Minutes were hours and hours were days. Another trucker needed a room for the night, and you checked him in around four o’clock.

You thought about the certainty in Eddie’s assurance that Izzy had felt safe with you. He didn’t know her; he barely knew you, and he wasn’t even there when it all happened. Yet his approval illuminated from the inside out and you replay it over and over.

You did. You did. You did.

Izzy was safe with you and she knew it. If you swallowed your fears and forged your own path, you could help other kids just like her. But it would come at a steep cost unless your parents could somehow miraculously afford to hire a new employee.

Your stomach turns just imagining the motel’s windows shuttered, a For Sale sign propped up in the door, ready to be snapped up by a major hotel chain for a mediocre sum that would barely pay off the overdue bills. It haunted you.

How long could you do this? How long could you push off your own dreams in favor of your parents’? At what point did you cross that fine line between selflessness and martyrdom?

Exhaustion crushed your body, strong enough to overpower the churning anxiety. Still, your sleep was fitful, and you woke up before your alarm feeling wholly unrested. Achiness radiated through your bones as you dragged yourself out of bed.

You knew what you had to do.

Dad noticed your earlier departure, so used to you leaving at 1:45 every day like clockwork. His brows pinched with perplexity as he determined whether he’d forgotten about a change in your schedule.

“Just running an errand before class.”

His confusion faded, replaced with a grin. “Thought I was losing my mind.” The way he stood under the lighting accentuated the gray flecks in his hair and mustache and solidified that he was, in fact, aging. His eventual retirement loomed closer, more of a when than an if with each passing day.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” you teased weakly. Dad met your joke with a wink; if he had picked up on the falter in your voice, he was gracious enough to ignore it.

You took a slight deviation from your usual route, walking past the bus stop and turning the corner until you reached the mailbox. It beckoned you, taunted you, sneered at your cowardice. The stamped envelope mocked you tenfold; innocuous on the surface but held the weight of betrayal.

It contained your admissions letter to NYU with the “accept” box marked and a deposit check that nearly drained your savings, ready to go.

The mailbox hinge creaked open so loudly that it seemed to echo. All you had to do was drop the envelope down the chute and pray that you made the right choice.

Regret surged through your veins the moment the envelope left your fingertips. You acted on instinct, shoving your hand back down the box to reclaim your letter, but you knew it was a fruitless effort before you’d even failed. It was already lost in a sea of bills and birthday cards.

“Shit!” Yanking your arm out before someone accused you of mail theft, you tilted your head back in an attempt to stop the impending tears.

With one stupid decision, you’d heaved a shovel into the dirt and begun digging a grave for the family business.

What the hell were you thinking?

As though it had a mind of its own, your foot swung out and smacked against the tin drum with all of your might. It took a beat for the pain to hit, the throbbing in your toes matching the reverberating metal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You didn’t care who saw, who heard. Anger and self-loathing bubbled over like boiling water and scalded you in shame. Everything was so far out of your control, and you couldn’t rein it in. The world kept spinning fast, faster, too fast—

“Kicking it won’t make the mailman show up, y’know. ‘S not like rubbing a genie’s lamp.”

Eddie stood on the other side of the mailbox. A plastic bag dangled from his hand, the box of drugstore brand antihistamine peeking through its translucence. His playfulness morphed into concern when he noted your dewy lashes. “Heiress? You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” You swiped at your cheeks and sniffed back the mucus that collected in your nostrils. You probably should have been embarrassed that he’d caught you in such a state of distress; maybe you would be once the dust settled.

He wrinkled his nose dubiously. You couldn’t blame him; why would he be convinced when you were assaulting mailboxes and swearing at the air?

“Seriously. Just having a bad day.” And it was going to get even worse if you missed your bus—again. “Thanks for asking, though.” You managed a grateful smile to prove your sincerity.

Grabbing your backpack from its spot on the ground, you zipped it back up and hoisted it over your shoulder before starting back towards the stop.

“Hey, wait a sec.” Eddie called out to you, shuffling over until he was by your side. “You, uh, your makeup…” He trailed off bashfully, raising his thumb but stopping before it touched your skin. “May I?”

You nodded, breath hitching as the pad of his finger grazed just below your eye. He gently rubbed, tongue poking between his lips while he focused on removing the smudge without hurting you.

He was close, almost too close for comfort. There was a small cut on his chin where he must have nicked himself shaving, and you forced yourself to stare at that instead of his wide eyes.

“There…we…go.” He held up a mascara-stained thumb as evidence. Without thinking, you pressed your own thumb to it. The knuckles of your remaining four fingers slotted between his until you pulled away.

Eddie laughed, apparently amused by the odd gesture. “I’ll take that as a thank you.” He wiped the residue on his shirt, not caring if it left a mark. “Don’t miss the bus; wouldn’t want you to be late for your nerd stuff again.”

“Mhm.”

You harnessed all of your strength to unglue your feet from the sidewalk. Your body operated on autopilot to its destination while your mind only thought of the heat that leapt from his thumb to yours, or maybe yours to his.

It was cyclical, you surmised as the bus approached, with no clear beginning or end.

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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rnadett · 2 months ago

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I have an extremely wild theory about the ending...

So...

PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO >>>POTENTIALLY<<< SPOIL SOMETHING FROM THE FINALE!!!!

I WARNED YOU!!!

I'm not going into too much details, since I don't have too much time because of my work. 😭

So let's start with Ekko:

We already know that the key character of Act 3 is him, whose unique ability is to turn back time. From the previous part, we also know that Jayce has tried to kill Viktor before, but every time so far, he has failed.

I think what Jayce and Ekko are trying to do in ACT 3: comes from the same root, but in very different ways – much like how their characters have always been, with parallels to each other throughout the series from the beginning. (the poster above is also telling)

We’ve also seen countless scenes from Act 3 that were quite significant hints... I haven’t pieced all the anchor points together yet, but my theory is that many characters will die in the final ARC — including Ekko, who will most likely make one last attempt to rewind time so the sisters can succeed.

We already have this screenshot from Reed. And It's from s2ep9. Behind Ekko it's some kind of machine, I believe it's a time machine, but not for rewind seconds, but for more... So much more. And they built it with Heimerdinger together.

This environment and this machine also appears in these scenes from the trailers:

Also in the recent teaser Vi says this.

I mean c'mon, It can't be more obvious than this at this point.

Also I noticed something while I rewatched this trailer:

https://youtu.be/Sl-xmZTH6GE?si=rW5vFHJUWm0ECD6p

Parallels and flashbacks were deliberately included. I think those will be the key points for the time travel.

The fate of the characters from a dramaturgical perspective... Well, I think many main character will die, What will make the stakes of the siblings' success even more important.

Yeah... Almost ALL characters except the sisters.

For example:

Caitlyn... I think Caitlyn may not die by Ambessa's hands but there is a possibility. But either way she will die. But one thing for sure: her final act will paves the way for the siblings to succeed. This makes her redemption arc finalized. Ambessa also planted this idea in Caitlyn's mind. Sacrifice . (Maybe the only thing truly worth learning from Ambessa about leadership, though not in the way Ambessa intended it to be understood.)

And for Vi... Yeah, she will watch yet another person she loves and cares about die. The Arcane writers seem to enjoy making her suffer....

Since the story revolves around the two sisters, they will finish the story, as they started.

THE LAST DROP

So the final scene probably will be about the sisters and the final sacrificing. Many say, Jinx don't need a redemption, but I think everyone deserves one in one way or another.

It has been hinted - or a fact from episode one that Jinx/powder ruins everything. She got her second name because of this. It's her character.

“Vi always used to say, I can fix anything... Before I broke everything.”

But why is it like this? What is it based on?

I think the 'last drop' will be foreshadowing of the first season, where she tried to save everyone, but nearly everyone ended up dying.

Why this would be any different?

I think what moslty form Jinx is how many people 'believe' in her.

Jinx and Powder, as appeared in a methaphore in Season 2, Episode 6, symbolize a coin with two sides. Both sides exist within her, but which side prevails depends on the events that unfold.

In Season 1, Episode 3, Vi allowed her heart to be influenced by the protective love she felt, which prevented her from trusting her sister.

That's why I believe that this will not just be Jinx's redemption, and not only will it rewrite her story, but also Vi’s. Vi, whose personality is so protective that she often doubts everyone else - (including Caitlyn), will have to learn to let go of this feeling and trust others, even if it means there's a chance her sister might die.

So what's my prediction?

So, if I wasn’t clear enough, (since English isn’t my native language and there are so many things in my head at all once that I want to express but I don't have time for more 😭)

My theory is that the siblings will eventually bring everyone back to life, but it will come at a cost, and I think Jinx will be the one to make that sacrifice.

But her death will not be a sad thing from her perspective, she will be finally free from the burden and suffering she felt, also she will be free from her demons as well.

As for the fate of the other characters I mentioned here, I can’t say for certain. Unfortunately, due to the 10-image limit, I couldn’t attach more visuals, but I believe Ambessa will die at the hands of the Black Rose. This is foreshadowed quite well in the intro: first, we see Ambessa crushing the rose, then a petal falls, but we don’t actually see her destroy it completely. Later, we see her daughter stepping in to take her place, reaching for the same rose while petals are scattered on the right-hand side, symbolizing Ambessa.

I think this story arc will continue in future *Arcane* series.

As for Sevika, it’s pretty clear that Viktor will transform her after her death and bring her back to life. That’s how she’ll end up with another cool new arm. (The new Sevika poster is literally titled “Armed and Ready,” by the way.) She’ll probably try to incite the Undercity against Piltover again, which is why we see in the trailer that Piltover is fighting Zaunite civilians.

My other theory for Sevika (Or a continuation of the above, perhaps a combination of the two. ) is that Singed will make her a new prosthetic to her... And it’s also possible that through Singed Savika will side with Ambessa.. Since Ambessa is very good at seeing what people need and how to manipulate them, she might offer Zaun's independence in exchange for her help.

From Corin Reveck’s side – He will succeed in bringing his daughter back to life (Orianna), and I think this is no longer in question... After nearly everyone in the series has suffered the consequences of his actions, directly or indirectly... One might hate this character, but he is the perfect example of someone who would do anything, sacrifice everything, and set the whole world on fire (and does) for the love of his daughter. He is fully aware that he has become a monster, but he doesn’t care.

From Viktor's perspective... I'm not sure what his story will be. Perhaps the fact that they’ve saved each other’s lives multiple times with Jayce will become a symbol that ultimately, they will end up taking each other’s lives together. At some point, there was a possible foreshadowing of this when the creators depicted a "Memento Mori" between the two characters in season 1, when they were at the place where they tried to jump separately. A "Memento Mori" is an optical illusion where the combination of various elements forms the image of a skull, symbolizing death and the transience of life.

Overall, please take all of the above writing as just a theory; many parts may not turn out this way, and in fact, nothing might happen as I’ve suggested. Have fun!

And yes, I know my post turned out quite long despite saying I don’t have time, but believe me, if I did have time, it would be about six times longer, with all the references and every thread detailed in full.

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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like we’re made of starlight (timeskip!iwa x you)

summary: on the night of your birthday, you accompany hajime to the olympic team's new year's celebration, meeting the players and receiving a small surprise.

wc: 1.78k

cw/tags: swearing, alcohol and drinking, established relationship, crack and fluff and atsumu being dumb, one (1) down bad iwaizumi hajime, implied fem!reader but they/them pronouns used

note: this is dedicated to the #1 iwa lover @shotorus <3 i hope you have a spectacular birthday and enjoy this little thing for you and your man :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated !

“You know, if I’d known they planned this whole shabang on your birthday, I would have asked them to reschedule.” He squints skeptically at the colorful strobe lights shining outside of the club, one of the most prestigious in the city and the venue for the Olympic team’s belated New Year celebration. You could only imagine how loud the inside of the club would be, especially since it already seemed overwhelming outside and you weren’t even in the building yet. “I promise I’ll make it up to you this weekend, something a little…quieter.”

“It’s okay, really,” you reassure him, setting a comforting hand on his thigh as he continues to bounce his leg in the driver’s seat. You run your thumb over the expensive fabric of his dress pants and he visibly relaxes, releasing a deep exhale and giving you an apologetic smile. The line for the valet was long and your boyfriend had politely declined your suggestion for him to hop out while you get the car situated. “I’m here for you and to meet the guys.”

“That’s also something I’m a little anxious about,” he admits.

“How so?”

“They can get a little wild at these kinds of celebrations.”

“Well, we can bail whenever we want, right?” He nods, still a little unsure. “So, if the vibe is off or people start getting a little too wild, we leave and eat soup on the couch with a movie on.” The last comment about lounging around finally makes him smile and you lean over to press a light kiss on the side of his face, taking note of the way his ears become a little pinker even in the darkness of his car. A few minutes later, Hajime helps you step out of the car, tug on your coat and leads you to the entrance of the club, bypassing the extensive line with a tilt of his head to the bouncer.

“This place was 100% Bokuto’s idea,” he mutters when you both step inside. “It’s like we’re at a frat party again.” A club employee escorts you up the stairs to a private, second floor balcony that overlooks the dance floor. “All the lights and music and drunk people is very reminiscent of that one during–”

“During junior year, second semester. The one I dragged you out of your dorm for because my roommates flaked out and I didn’t know anyone else to go with,” you grin, looking down at him over your shoulder as you climb the stairs. He’s quick to close any remaining space between you two once you reach the landing, snaking a protective arm around your shoulders while the employee gestures for you to join the rest of Hajime’s coworkers. “Except this time, everyone’s of age to drink.”

“In theory,” he murmurs. “I still think Hinata’s younger than he says he is.” You stifle a snort into your fist and catch him smirking before you’re bombarded by several suit-clad athletes with varying levels of alcohol intoxication. “Watch out for Atsumu. He spit-talks when he’s drunk.”

“Our beloved trainer has arrived!” On cue, the more chaotic Miya twin appears in front of you with one arm slung around his Jackal teammate, a buzzed-looking Bokuto, and followed closely by Hinata and Sakusa. “What took you so long?”

“I couldn’t find my good cufflinks,” he shrugs, revealing the silver volleyballs hiding on the inside of his wrists, the ones you got him on his first anniversary of working as a trainer. “Thought they were appropriate for the occasion.” You smile, watching your boyfriend act as cool and casual as ever, even in the face of his very enthusiastic colleagues. “I, uh, have someone for you all to meet,” he says, glancing at you with a questioning glint in his eye. Are you ready? You nod, taking a deep breath as he introduces you as his partner.

“Like, in business?” Atsumu asks with such a genuine expression that makes you giggle. Behind him, you can see Sakusa slap an exasperated palm against his forehead. “You have a secret side hustle?” You bite your lip to keep from laughing too hard and look up to find your boyfriend with a similar expression.

“No, dude,” Bokuto says slowly. “He means like, romantically. Like, a life partner.” Atsumu’s eyes widened to the size of car tires. “A partner for life, you know?”

“Holy shit, you’re married?” You catch Sakusa mouth oh my god under his breath before he walks away from his dumbfounded teammate. Hinata is quick to steer both of his friends to a table before they fall over and rejoins the conversation as Hajime introduces you to the more collected players of the group.

You shake hands with the stoic skyscraper that is Ushijima as well as receive a warm hug from Komori. Both note how great it was to finally meet you in person after your boyfriend seemed to never stop talking about you, before the man in question hurriedly introduces you to another player. Suna and Sakusa are quietly polite but open up more once you ask them about how training is going for the next Olympic games. While you chat with them, Hajime pulls over Aran and Yaku, introducing you as his partner with poorly hidden pride. Once they’ve assimilated into your conversation, he disappears into the herds of players and staff again to no doubt drag out another coworker.

“Forgive him for coming and going so much,” Yaku says apologetically. “I think he’s been waiting to show you off for a long time, even if he won’t admit it.”

“He’s really excited for people to meet me, huh?”

“I’ve never seen him this hyper and I’ve been drunk at a karaoke bar with him,” a new voice says who introduces himself as Kuroo, a tall guy with spiky hair that you remember Hajime arguing with over the phone several times. “Our offices are right next to each other and I like to play pranks every so often,” he explains when you ask him about why your boyfriend yells at him so much.

“Technically, it’s his fault for being out of the office so often,” Suna reasons. “And I only say that because I’m one of the accomplices to the office pranks. We all are.”

“I bought the wrapping paper for the one on his car,” Aran adds. “Yaku pitched in for the Post It notes on April Fools day, but we don’t let Atsumu in on the pranks anymore ‘cause he talks too much.” Your mouth gapes in disbelief, unable to imagine the organized, well put-together machine that is your boyfriend getting pranked so easily.

“It’s only because we love him as a trainer, though.” Yaku is backed up by nods of agreement from the rest of his team. “He really loves his job; I think the only thing he loves more than volleyball is–”

“You, obviously.” Hajime returns from fishing out people to introduce to you, easily finding his place by your side. “They tell you about how much they fuck up my office?” The perpetrators’ voices overlap each other in protest, arguing that he’s the one who keeps leaving his door unlocked. “Yeah, yeah. Just you wait until I get this one in on pranks against you guys.” He tilts his head towards you and is met with friendly taunts of competition, saying that you’re too nice to prank them or that they’d never fall for any of his pranks. His head dips to whisper in your ear while the team is preoccupied with debating what song to request from the DJ to create one big Olympic flashmob. “Mind if I steal you away, real quick?”

“Of course. But be fast; you need to be back in time for the big dance number,” you tease and he rolls his eyes with an amused smile, lacing his fingers in yours and pulling you down a back hallway of the club. The black walls reflect the moody shades of pink, orange, and blue shining from the lights above and you find that the music isn’t as loud in the little corner he finds for you two. When you’re ready, he pulls out a small box tied with a ribbon from his pocket.

“Wanted to give you this on your actual birthday but didn’t want Atsumu’s big mouth to ruin it out there,” he says and you chuckle, carefully taking the box from his fingers and unwrapping the bow. You pull off the lid and find a delicately silver chain threaded through a pendant indented to resemble a volleyball; flipping it over and admiring it in the light, you discover a stamped “H” on the back that only appears when the light hits it just right.

“Hajime, this is beautiful,” you breathe.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” You remove the necklace from the box, but before you can fasten it around your neck, he stops you.

“May I?”

“You are a hopeless romantic,” you grin.

“Only for you.” His fingers brushing your neck send goosebumps over your skin and he carefully secures the chain at the back.

“How do I look?” You turn to face him and see his pupils blown wide open, licking his lips and blinking to maintain his restraint.

“Like you’re mine,” he rasps and he closes the remaining distance between your bodies, letting your back hit the wall and tilting your chin up with two fingers to kiss you. Your fingers comb through his hair and he groans into your mouth when you tug on it experimentally. His hands firmly grip your waist while he kisses you infuriatingly slowly, like he was savoring this private moment without the prying eyes of his teammates. He pulls away to breathe but doesn’t go far, nudging his nose against yours. “The guys didn’t say anything dumb to you, did they?”

“No, but they did let me know how much you talk about me,” you whisper and he rolls his eyes again, your eyelashes brushing his face when he leans in close again. “And how much your dumbass gets pranked.”

“In my defense–” You cut him off with an uncontrollable fit of laughter, one that he joins into with a tired shake of his head. “You know what? I don’t have a defense. Happy birthday, my love.” He presses a sweet kiss to the top of your forehead. “Every day I think about what I did to deserve someone like you.”

“You existed and I found you,” you say simply. “That’s just how it works and now you’re stuck with me and all my future birthdays.”

“You say that like I’m not ready to grow old with you in any lifetime.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x y/n #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff

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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 2 months ago

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Sauron’s future seductions

Ever since I’ve made the post about Sauron’s demonic facets in “Rings of Power” some ideas have been cooking in my mind.

It seems they are drawing inspiration from Asmodeus (demon of lust) for his character, and this is why we see him sexually seducing female characters (like it’s customary for this demon in particular); we saw this with Mirdania in Season 2; with him employing sexual tactics (flirting, touching, etc.) to manipulating her throughout the season; granting him entrance into Eregion, brewing discontent between the smiths and Celebrimbor (isolating him from the group).

Tolkien wrote that Sauron's lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor (“The Silmarillion”). This will be Season 3. We are also told that Sauron would still wear “a mask [he still could wear] so that if he wished he might deceive the eyes of Men, seeming to them wise and fair”. Halbrand won’t return, nor it would make sense because he was “repentant Mairon”, and that boat has sailed.

If “Rings of Power” keeps the Asmodeus inspiration (and I think it will, because it makes sense with Eru taking away his ability to create fair forms later on; he has thot around enough), this can mean we’ll see more seduction of female characters happening in the show. This has me wondering who the targets of his next seductions will be, and I have some predictions.

Among the Elves I think Galadriel will be the (obvious) target (especially if blood binding theory is correct) in Season 3. Introducing another character (like Mirdania) seems kind of pointless. They already share a connection, she’s the ring-bearer of one of the Three Elven rings he’ll try to get during the War of the Elves and Sauron, and there are details about their “situationship” that need to be revealed to the audience: namely the truth of his feelings for her.

But Sauron will also find the Nine Ring-bearers among Men. And in this plot, they might introduce new female characters, indeed. Because we saw him tempting male characters (Celebrimbor, King Durin, Prince Durin) with promises of power in Season 2, while the only female characters he interacted with (Mirdania and Galadriel) were “gifted” with some seduction tactics Asmodeus-style, for distinct reasons. Unless they kept the sexual seduction entirely focused on Galadriel (to disclose the truth of Sauron’s feelings for her), while the Nine Ring-bearers will be promises of power, in Season 3.

Unlike what the Peter Jackson makes you believe, the Nine ring-bearers weren’t all kings in the legendarium; some were, indeed kings, but others were warriors and sorcerers. Season 3 will also mark the end of Sauron’s “fair motives” in healing and rebuilding Middle-earth, for sure.

In Númenor, I predict Sauron will seduce Eärien, in Season 4. We know he’ll allow himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn, and be brought to Númenor as a prisoner (probably at Season 3 finale). “Rings of Power” is already building up this plot. He might seduce her to get out of prison and gain access to Ar-Pharazôn, and tempt him with power, and kick out the whole Fall of Númenor plot.

“Rings of Power” have already foreshadowed Eärien will most likely die during the Fall of Númenor (adding to the fact she’s a original character of the show, and not a part of Tolkien legendarium):

Season 5 will be the War of the Last Alliance, and Sauron will be his shadow self, probably appearing like something similar to the Necromancer (Sauron) in “The Hobbit” trilogy, and/or in full armor. I don’t think we’ll see Charlie’s face during the last season of “Rings of Power”, except if they do flashbacks), they’ll probably CGI him. No more seduction in this season, he’ll enter his “angel of death era”.

#rings of power #the rings of power #Sauron #sauron rings of power #Sauron trop #Sauron rop #rings of power galadriel #Galadriel trop #rop galadriel #Mirdania #Eärien #Earien #Saurondriel #Sauron x Galadriel #Haladriel

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justrainandcoffee · 3 months ago

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“Good Morning” (Tom Hardy x fem!oc)

Part 1 of the series: “Only for tonight”

Summary: It's 2012 when Hannah received a call from an important executive to work with them. She's a great musician only until that moment she didn't have the chance to really show her natural talent. The BBC offered her the opportunity to finally do it and at the same time the opportunity to meet him. || Three years later, everything is very different. Two different realities linked by the same phrase: “good morning.”

Warnings: None. Although there's some angst towards the end. || This is pure fiction. All names are made up except his. Even in future chapters all filmography named here was invented. || The story is divided in past (2012) and present (2015)

Words: 2.7 k. || Remember that English isn't my first language. Please, consider leave a comment or reblog considering this is the first time i post this and still don't know what I'm doing 👉👈🥺.

Three years ago.

Hannah Murphy was born in London a morning in middle of May. His father was architect, her mother owner of a several beauty centres and her eldest brother was a neurosurgeon now working in Boston, United States.

Big things were expected from Hannah. Maybe being a doctor like Eric, her brother, or having a PhD in Economics like one if her cousins because first and foremost, the Murphys were successful people. Her grandfather, Mr. Andrew Murphy, was the one who designed the building for one of the most important corporations that existed nowadays in England. So, considering that everyone had their eyes on her, even as kid. But Hannah W. Murphy wasn't born with numbers and theories in her veins, she was born with music.

"You're wasting your life," her mother said when she was 10 and her father accepted to take her to a conservatory of music to learn to play piano. "Look at Eric, he's reading books that are for advanced students! And you're nothing compared to him, Hannah. Music! What kind of shit is that?"

But Hannah knew, even when she was 10, that music it was going to be her life. And she was right.

"Your daughter has a gift," one of her teachers said not longer after she started to study there.

But Greta Murphy, her mother, insisted on study something that could give her a name in the future and her brother thought the same as her. The only one who supported her was her father, Andrew Murphy jr, who was also the only one who went to her first solo in a theatre when she was 15.

Hannah was 16 when one of her plays, composed by herself, was part of a local play. Small, but it gave her some money and the hopes that her dreams could be possible.

Yet, when she finishes school, to stop hearing her mother for once, she decided to study engineering. During those years, she didn't stop writing music but she just kept it to herself.

At the age of 23, she finished her career and threw the diploma in front of her Great. Hannah never worked as engineer.

Teaching kids and offering her music to different people who was interested in her talent, she was able to earn enough money to rent her own apartment and lm have her the freedom she was craving for.

Seven years later Hannah Murphy, 30 years old, was about to face the biggest change of her whole life.

She was walking Solomon, her black staffy and the most brainless dog in the whole world, when her phone on her pocket started to vibrate. It was an unknown number but she answered anyway.

"Hannah speaking."

"Ms. Murphy?" A female voice on the other side of the line made her stop walking.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, Miss Murphy I'm calling you in name of Mr. Henry Atwood, he wants to have an appointment with you, miss Murphy."

The first Henry Atwood that crossed her mind was the director and executive producer the BBC had and the brain of one of her favourite tv shows the last years. But the idea of someone calling her and saying that that Henry Atwood wanted to see her was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Who's Henry Atwood? and how did you get my number?"

"Mr. Atwood, the tv producer," by her voice tone, Hannah believed that the girl considered her stupid. "I'm his secretary and I got your number because he asked for it to one of the directors you worked with."

"Scott?"

"Mr. Scott, yes"

If it wasn't because she was in middle of a park, Hannah could've screamed.

Travis Scott was a director working on a play and he asked her to help his team with the music. Finally after several failed meetings she ended up working alone and the final result in Travis's words was "the best fucking thing he ever heard."

That was four months ago but she didn't know that he knew Atwood and even less than he was going to receive a call from him. Or his secretary to be more specific.

"Ms. Murphy?"

"I'm sorry I'm trying to understand what's happening… I- the answer is yes! If he wants, yes of course I can. I just need to know when."

"Great. I'll make an appointment, then."

Two days later a very nervous Hannah was waiting for Atwood in the waiting room. It was perfectly tidy, with magazines on the glass table, some flyers prompting the movies and TV shows to come and some from previous months. The tiles shone reflecting the lamps on the ceiling.

Hannah felt stupidly nervous. Most people there arranged things thanks to secretaries or managers but she didn't have any of those. She had a dog without brain cells and she was sure Solomon didn't know how to talk. Although she did know that the staffy was the best to calm her and right now she needed his comfort.

Hannah would remember that day for the rest of her life. It was 20th of June, 11:30 am and it was a guy talking about the European football league on the radio sounding in the background when he saw him for the first time. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans. He'd have been any other man but he wasn't.

"Good morning," Tom said to her who was sitting in the chair next to the office's door, so still that she wasn't sure that was even blinking.

"Good morning," she managed to say.

Don't be awkward.

Tom smiled before walking towards the elevator "call me, okay?" he said to the other man.

"I will."

Both him and Hannah look at Tom go. "Quite a character," he said. "You are Hannah, right? I'm Henry Atwood."

Hannah was still seeing the corridor where he disappeared from their sight and Atwood couldn't help but chuckle.

"Tom Hardy," she said "It was him?"

"Yeah, it was him. We hired him for future our project. And I have an offer for you, too, But please first, come in."

Hannah called Betty, her best friend, as soon as she left the building like if everything was a dream. All was so surreal that she needed something to drink and to eat to process what just happened. Both women went to a pub, ordered beer and fish and chips.

"The main theme?" Betty asked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, my god! Your mother is going to freak out and probably pass out. Imagine her telling her friends about this."

"She's going to say that the BBC isn't Hollywood and no one outside England is going to see it. And probably she's going to say that the music is horrible."

"She doesn't know a shit about music."

"But she does know how to destroy people. Believe me, I know."

"Then fuck her. Don't tell her a word, better that way."

"I won't."

"But you already signed the papers?"

"No. I mean I said yes, but I need to make it official. I'm going to read it tonight and then sign them. Fuck me, I can't believe it."

Betty smiled at her Hannah couldn't help but imitate her. That was a good day.

Good morning.

Hannah was very tempted to say to her about her seeing Tom inside the building, but suddenly she felt really silly. What she was going to say? Do you know I saw Tom Hardy today and he said good morning to me? Besides, it was something so random and something that Hannah believed that wasn't going to happen again that she felt unnecessary to say it.

Next week, Hannah returned to the BBC building with the papers signed and her hopes higher than ever before. Hannah was happy and it was good. Not long ago she ended a relationship that left her with debts, without her motorbike but with Solomon. The only good thing the bastard did was abandoning the dog in her house. Solomon was just an eight-month puppy, playful and sweet, but according to his ex, he was just a waste of money. As if he himself wasn't a waste of money and oxygen.

So these unexpected good news was exactly what she needed. And her first salary was more than welcome.

"There's a meeting this Friday. The whole team," Henry Atwood said. "Including you."

"Including me? But I have nothing to do with the cast."

"That's the point. It's not just the cast. There are always new ideas to add or to erase from the plot, suggestions, new plans. Etc… maybe you can create something even more great if you know what it's this about. Can you come?"

"Yes, I'm free, so… yes!"

"Good then!" Henry offered her a big smile and his hand to shake it "Welcome aboard, Hannah."

Hannah preferred to be one of the firsts to arrive there instead of being there late. It was her first meeting and officially it was also her first day at work. It'd be considered rude to be there late. Not to mention that the idea of people looking at her was something she wasn't used to. Not without her piano as shell, at least.

The meeting office was big and chairs and tables were in a circle so everyone could look at the rest.

Hannah couldn't help but felt nervous. The idea of working for them suddenly hit her in her face with fury. On her first day at work, she had to leave the office and find an empty place to calm herself. She felt sick and she was hyperventilating. Her mother's voice in her head didn't help at all "You're going to fail, because you're a failure."

"Look at your brother, head of the surgeon committee of Boston."

"Your music is quite mediocre."

"Shut up! Shut up!" she said to herself resting her forehead on the cold window that was in that corridor. The last thing she needed that special day was her mother and her awful vibes with her. "Please, go away."

Hannah closed her eyes and tried to think about good things. Her dog, her best friend, her piano… she imagined herself sitting in front of it and tried to breathe normally again.

"Are you okay?" A male voice brought her again to reality.

Hannah gasped and back off surprised by the unexpected company.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," he said.

It took Hannah few seconds to recognise that Tom was in front of her, but when she did it, she rushed to reply. "Yes, yes. I- uhm, I was nervous and I felt anxious. I needed to clean my mind. It happens, from time to time."

"Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded as Tom walked to the water dispenser and offered seconds later a glass of water.

"Thanks," she said smiling briefly.

People tend to see celebrities as deities, not humans. Because of course they're people but also, they're beyond of what could be considered approachable. Not everyone could be near one. And suddenly Hannah was few inches away from a famous actor that seemed to be concerned about her. Like, indeed, any good person in the world could be worried about another. Famous or not.

"I started today," Hannah said "I think my brain felt I couldn't do it."

"It's normal, a new job make everyone feel nervous. You'll be fine. You'll see. What's your name?"

"Hannah Murphy."

"The composer," Tom said. His voice denoted surprised and he smiled at her "Henry talked a lot about you. You're a little celebrity here."

"Oh, please, no! I'm just- I'm not. I Just play the piano."

"It seems to me that more than that. Were you in the meeting?"

"I tried to be there before feeling sick."

"Come on, Hannah. They'll love you, don't worry about it."

Tom smiled at her again and something in his reassuring made her feel better. Together they entered in the meeting room.

___

Now. Three years later.

The apartment was still dark, the windows were closed despite the morning was a reality. She could hear the cars, people… even birds. Everything was the proof that outside those walls nothing changed.

Hannah didn't sleep in the whole night in that bed that now semeed to be awfully big for her. The empty spot.

She didn't want to cry again, but new tears appeared in her eyes.

Where was her morning kiss on her shoulder? The beard tickling her skin? The "let's stay five more minutes"? His morning coffee, too strong for her taste, but whose smell was synonymous with the beginning of a new day?

It's not like Hannah didn't break up with another person before… but never before everything hurt that way.

Tap tap tap.

Solomon was wagging his tail against the wooden floor because he saw her moving in bed. Against all odds, she smiled briefly. She pat the mattress and the dog didn't waste time to jump and snuggle with her in a single motion. His big head was now on her chest and she caressed it with her hand.

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

The animal looked at her. He didn't know anything about broken hearts, empty beds and tears. But he could feel her sadness. He'd wait for his breakfast until she felt better. Solomon settled closer to her.

It was 10am when she finally decided to go out of bed. The sun was shining, the city was indeed awake long time ago. Looking through the window she'd say that everything was the same. Only it wasn't.

Her phone was full of messages from her family and friends. Especially Betty. But Hananh didn't have the energy to deal with them, especially not her mother that for sure was ready to say that she was nothing but a disgrace, not even smart enough to keep a relationship with the best man she ever found. And for the first time in her life, Hannah hated the feeling that her mother was right.

She sat on her couch with a cappuccino mug in her hands and some toasts on a plate. On a chair on the opposite side of the living room still was one of his T-shirts, one that she stole from his wardrobe and ended its days as her pyjamas. She didn't use it for a while and she didn't want to touch it now, afraid that it'd smell like him.

The memories of the previous night overwhelmed her. It was her fault, she knew. For being too weak. Her mother was right, she wasn't like the rest of them, never was.

The sound of a new message caught her attention. She didn't need to see who it was. That was his ringtone, she personalized it long time ago.

Hannah took her phone and read the message.

[Can we talk? Ily]

Hannah pictured Tom in his house with his own dog next to him. His phone next to his nose because probably his glasses were somewhere where he couldn't find them.

She ruined it.

She received a new message from him.

[Pooh, let's talk]

Hannah broke into new tears when she read her nickname. No one before him ever called her Pooh. And everything started the moment he knew her second name was Winifred. Winnie. Hannah hated the name and she always used just the W, as reference for it. But with Tom, Hannah learnt to love her second name, even before dating. Or maybe it was because it was him.

Hannah called Tom.

He answered before the second ring, for a moment no one talked until he did "Good morning, Pooh."

#tom hardy #tom hardy rpf #tom hardy x oc #tom hardy x ofc #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy fanfic #real person fiction #tom x hannah

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hmslusitania · 6 months ago

Note

Either 16 or 21 or both or neither

There was no specified ship, so it ended up being kind of pre-relationship TimKon

The party had been a questionable choice, Tim can admit that now. Nothing says “I’m so totally over a relationship, see how fine I’m doing!” like throwing a Halloween party, drinking a little too much at the sight of his ex-girlfriend making out with her new girlfriend who is, for most purposes, Tim’s sister, and then retreating to the bathroom because his more recent ex-boyfriend had actually taken him up on the invitation and brought a plus one.

Which is why he’s hiding in the bathtub in his own bathroom, not totally shielded from view by the novelty map of Faerûn shower curtain Steph had helped him pick out. At least it matches the elf ears that had seemed like a good idea six hours ago, and at least the porcelain he’s resting his face against is cooling and pleasant.

His relative peace — generally not helped by the thumping of the bass from the stereo in the party beyond his room — is interrupted an unknowable amount of time later by the bathroom door opening without a knock, and then he’s in the company of…

“What are you supposed to be?” Tim asks without lifting his head from the side of the tub.

Kon looks down at his “costume” which includes fingerless gloves, a denim jacket, and a black and red buffalo check shirt.

“Breakfast Club?” Kon prompts.

Tim blinks at him.

“Come on, we watched it for YJ movie night like last month,” Kon reminds him.

“I wasn’t there,” Tim says, miserable, and sags a little farther into the comforting embrace of the side of the tub.

“We were gonna do a whole group thing, right, except we decided you’d for sure have to be Ally Sheedy, not Emilio Estevez or Anthony Michael Hall,” Kon continues, unphased by Tim’s demeanour. “But then Cissie wanted to dress up like Wendy instead, and I’m pretty sure Cassie’s dressed up like me, which is kinda a head trip. And Bart had some whole situation where he can’t make our party because he got roped into babysitting Jai and Irey while they go trick-or-treating, because as screwy as my family might be, only when you’re a member of the West-Allen family do you really get to go babysit your, uh…”

“Second cousins,” Tim supplies.

“Huh, I definitely thought that was gonna be a weirder chain of relationship,” Kon says.

He sits on the bathmat next to Tim’s head and pokes him in the side of the face.

“Stop,” Tim says.

“So is there a particular reason you’re hiding from your own party in your bathroom?” Kon asks.

“I’m bitterly single?” Tim replies.

Kon considers him. “So, I get why you invited Steph, because she’s still for sure one of your best friends, and I’m pretty sure you’re, like, contractually obliged to invite Cass to events, and they’re a matched set. But like… your civilian ex-boyfriend who likes to conspiracy theory about the majority of the rest of your guests?”

Tim groans and shuts his eyes, only to have Kon pry one of them open and stare at him up close.

“I wanted to prove I was, like, mature and evolved and so totally over it,” Tim says, and feels stupid even saying it.

“Which is why you’re drunk in your bathtub, sure, yeah, I get that,” Kon says, and smiles when Tim rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to be in here being nice to me, you can just like… enjoy the party,” Tim says.

“The party where my ex-girlfriend is dressed up in my clothes and making out with our other very good friend who’s dressed up like my all time fictional crush? That party?” Kon asks, and Tim snorts.

“Do you ever think about the fact you dated two girls named Cassandra and both of them turned out to be gay?” Tim asks.

“With really similar taste in women, also,” Kon adds. “And, like, yeah, every once in a while.”

Tim hums and closes his eyes again, but this time, Kon doesn’t pry his eyes open.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Tim mumbles finally. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kon says, and this time the physical botherment he inflicts is tweaking the elf ear Tim had spent a stupid amount of time gluing on. “I was questioning your judgement, which is so not the same thing.”

“Judgement I definitely didn’t improve by throwing this party, right?” Tim guesses. Kon makes a noncommittal noise.

“Like I get that you have a thing for blonds with a penchant for getting into trouble, but…” Kon says.

“Not just blonds,” Tim mumbles before he can think better of it. He blinks when he realises what he’s said and finds Kon staring at him curiously. “I’m really fine, Kon, you can go enjoy the party.”

“Nah,” Kon says, and before Tim can move to stop him, he clambers over the side of the tub to squish into the narrow space between Tim and the shower wall, his combat boots which have a certain authenticity that say they might have been Pa Kent’s from the ’60s clunking against the basin. Kon wriggles his shoulders trying to get comfortable for a second, and then gives up and wraps his arm around Tim. It’s just for the better use of space, Tim’s sure, but it’s… it’s really nice. And when Kon tugs him sideways until Tim rolls over so he’s resting the side of his face on Kon’s chest rather than on the side of the tub, it’s so damn pleasant he can barely stand it. “I’d much, much rather be in here with you.”

It makes Tim’s heart flutter in his chest and he knows Kon can hear that, which is just embarrassing, and which he can only sort of blame on the alcohol.

“Yeah, okay, Bender,” he says, trying desperately to hit annoyed.

Kon gives him a full belly laugh that echoes off the bathroom tile, and squeezes him just a little closer. “I knew you’d seen the Breakfast Club before.”

Tim rolls his eyes and smacks Kon in the stomach with a light, open palm. It gets him another laugh, and maybe, just maybe, this party hadn’t been the worst idea after all.

#tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #timkon #young justice #dc #gratuitous breakfast club references because I just made hella brunch #i know they don't eat brunch in the breakfast club #but like. twas on the mind #the ghost ship scribbles

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zedecksiew · 1 year ago

Text

THE BLOGGIES 2023: FINALISTS

(If you just want to skip to the list of BLOGGIE finalists, scroll to the "Who Are The BLOGGIES?" section below.)

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WHAT ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Awards for some of the best tabletop roleplaying game (TTRPG) blog posts to come out in 2022. There will be five awards: Best Theory Blogpost, Best Gameable Blogpost, Best Advice Blogpost, Best Review Blogpost, and, the biggest one, Best Blogpost.

I won Best Blogpost, last year. So I am hosting the BLOGGIES, this year.

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WHY ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Blogs are worth celebrating. Barring the actual playing of actual games, they are our most fertile field, our most volatile laboratory. Longform, text-based, and informal---they are a place to jot down our most outre design ideas. Free and publicly available---they are a vector for open debate and serendipitous discourse. Perhaps most importantly: relatively free of algorithmic social-media pressures---they are the best chance we have at a cultural memory.

I got into TTRPGs because of blogs.

The BLOGGIES are, at best, an affirmation of the above. At least, they are a way to celebrate 64 excellent blog posts from the last year, and maybe get them in front of people who did not read them the first time.

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HOW ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Nominations: I put an open call for blog-post nominations on Christmas 2023; I also canvassed the TTRPG communities I am part of. Nominated posts had to be from between 1 December 2022 to 31 December 2023.

I closed the nomination period on 1 Jan 2024 with 149 blog posts for consideration. I read / re-read them all.

I chose a slate of 64 finalists, according to the following metrics, in order:

Enthusiasm---a post got multiple nominations;

Diversity---no one blog was allowed to be a finalist more than once in a category (except the Reviews category, where this rule was tied to individual writers, due to shared review blogs);

Notability---a post was extraordinary in presenting a novel idea, addressing an important subject, or reflecting a community current.

Obviously, that last metric is highly subjective, and limited to my knowledge and perspective in the scene. I did my best.

I will not have final final say. Finalists will go head to head, vying for to be anointed best of the best by ballot. The bracket was seeded in order of number of nominations received. The BLOGGIES await your vote, o TTRPG folx.

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WHEN ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Throughout January 2024! Voting is >>>NOW OPEN<<< on Google Forms according to the following schedule (I will link to the forms and result threads as I post them):

First Week January - THEORY

3 January: Round of 16

4 January: Round of 8

5 January: Round of 4

6 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Second Week January - GAMEABLE

10 January: Round of 16

11 January: Round of 8

12 January: Round of 4

13 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Third Week January - ADVICE

17 January: Round of 16

18 January: Round of 8

19 January: Round of 4

20 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

Fourth Week January - REVIEW

24 January: Round of 16

25 January: Round of 8

26 January: Round of 4

27 January: Quarterfinals (winners in category) - Results

31 January - FINALS

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WHO ARE THE BLOGGIES?

Your BLOGGIES 2023 FINALISTS are (presented in bracket order):

(High-res version here)

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THEORY

🥉 (1) being a problem - playable orcs at the limits of humanity, from Majestic Fly Whisk Some deep thinking about the racialisation of the orc in elfgames, why mainstream fixes fall short, and ways to move beyond.

(16) #132: Axes of Game Design, from The Indie RPG Newsletter An exploration of the design axes / spectrums on which every TTRPG may fall.

(8) The Genres the OSR Can't Do, from A Knight At The Opera Sketching the limits of the OSR playstyle by looking at genres which are too differently-bound for it to emulate.

(9) RPG Transcript Analysis: Critical Role, from Trilemma Adventures Examining a style of play through transcript analysis (looking at what is actually being said during a session), with Critical Role as case study.

🥈 (5) Critical GLOG: Base Resolution Mechanics, from Goblin Punch A deep dive into dice and resolution mechanics, and what they do in practice.

(12) My favorite problems, from Failure Tolerated A list of design problems in TTRPGs, and a case for game design and theory to be driven by problem-solving.

(4) Roleplay Is Folk Art, from Wizard Thief Fighter An impassioned call to consider TTRPGs as folk art as opposed to corpocratic walled-garden IPs.

(13) ART, PRODUCT, BOARD GAMES AND MAUSRITTER, from Fail Forward Critique of reviews that accuse TTRPGs for being too slick; interrogating the assumptions behind the label “commercial”.

(6) Toolbox Design, from The Dododecahedron Considering the principles of designing TTRPGs like toolboxes, through the lens of Cairn RPG and similar.

(11) Mario vs ActRaiser vs Final Fantasy vs Zelda - Types of Advancement in RPGs, from Rise Up Comus Identifying some general types of advancement in TTRPGs, using videogames as a comparative lens.

(3) Posters, Posers and POSR(s), from Prismatic Wasteland Relitigating whether the OSR is dead, and defining its successor, the Post-OSR.

(14) psychosis is badly written in tabletop games, from paper cult “Attempting to mechanize something so intensely personal, different, and mutable as mental illness is complicated. I think that makes these depictions bad!”

(7) “Rules Elide” and Its Consequences, from Jared Considering the implications of the maxim that "a game is about X when you have rules for everything but X".

(10) Models of High-Level Play, from Benign Brown Beast Loose but useful classifications for types of high-level play: domains; god-like play; etc.

🥇 (2) OSR Rules Families, from Traverse Fantasy Sketching the landscape of the OSR, how various systems function, and how their attributes cluster and trend together.

(15) Moralising and manipulation in tabletop roleplaying games, from Playful Void The importance of having design preferences without tying these preferences to moral judgments.

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GAMEABLE

🥉 (1) Flux Space, from Papers & Pencils A point-crawl procedure specifically designed for labyrinths / dungeons that are architecturally confusing / samey.

(16) Generating Elevation in a Hexcrawl, from Traveler's Rest Procedures and advice on how to generate a mountain-crawl: hiking-focused adventure geography.

(8) The Autumn of Summers, from False Machine God-monsters born of summer, the hunting culture around such beasts, and random tables to generate their attributes.

(9) MIMICS, from Vaults Of Vaarn A spread of novel pretender-creatures, with ecological and social implications.

(5) Another take on demihumans as social constructs, from Cavegirl's Game Stuff What if we consider fantasy races not as separate species, but as differing social roles?

(12) The Apocalypse Archive, from Bearded Devil An unfinished by exemplary #dungeon23 attempt that includes wonderful maps and soundtrack notes.

🥈 (4) Pointcrawling Character Creation, from Rise Up Comus A framework for tying character generation to a geography, generating history and familiarity with campaign locales.

(13) how to be erased, from Straits Of Anian Procedures for getting lost and getting led astray, and the kith and spirits one meets in those places.

(6) Dungeon Skirmishing, from All Dead Generations Feature-complete skirmish combat mechanics for OD&D, and the design rationales thereof.

(11) Zelda-Style NPC Personalities, from To Distant Lands A system of generating quick and punchy NPCs, inspired by the way Zelda videogames present NPCs.

(3) GULCH, from Mindstorm A starter town specifically designed for contemporary (horror, urban fantasy, non-fantasy) campaigns.

(14) Down the Road: Local Situation Design, from Deeper In The Game A procedure for quickly generating a powderkeg situation in a local geography of play.

🥇 (7) Laws of the Land: meaningful terrain via in-fiction limits and conditions, from Was It Likely? A method to generate meaningful diegetic terrain and tone in an adventuring region.

(10) False Equivalent Exchange, from The Graverobber's Guide A novel magic system, done in natural language, with discussion on how it could be used in play.

(2) Deeper Catacombs, from Benign Brown Beast Iteration notes and a presentation of a comprehensive dungeon tracking procedure.

(15) Inadvisable Decisions (GLΔG), from The Nothic's Eye An evocative alienist character class, based on drawing the attention of alter-describable things from beyond.

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ADVICE

🥈 (1) How to Handle Parley as an OSR DM, from Goblin Punch Comprehensive notes on how to run non-combat encounters without resorting to boring rolls.

(16) GM Pointers: Live-Text Games, from Shadow & Fae Good reminders on how to run live-text games better, so they are better coordinated and don't take forever.

(8) ONLY Roll Initiative, from Bastionland Considerations on how to adjudicate combats, if initiative were the only dice roll in a combat system.

(9) Action Mysteries, from A Knight At The Opera Asserting that good TTRPGs mysteries involve action---not just figuring out the truth but opposing the antagonist's goals.

(5) Modular Ecology, from The Graverobber's Guide A practical approach to including gameable ecology in TTRPGs, by tying materials to specific locations and conditions of the world.

(12) ULTIMATE ANIMIST MECHANIC: EVERYTHING IS A REACTION, from Alone In The Labyrinth How to run a game where all actions are resolved by reaction roll: everything in the world responds by how much they like you.

(4) Game Mastering Like A Park Ranger, from SILVERARM Advice about GM-ing, based on the real-world work experience of being a park ranger.

(13) An OSR approach to Spotlight, from Permanent Cranial Damage The suggestion that intentionally spotlighting characters solves the real-life problem of spotlighting players nicely.

(6) #Dungeon23, from Win Conditions The idea that spawned a thousand notebook dungeons, plus salient advice on how to start / keep going.

(11) The Storyteller Technique, from Possum Creek Games When writing TTRPGs, imagine your game text as a diegetic artefact in the world of the game.

🥉 (3) RANSACKING THE ROOM, from Mindstorm A simple and powerful three-step method to handle room-searching in games: inspect, search, and ransack.

(14) Cairn Crash Course, from Widdershins Wanderings A masterclass example on how to write player guides to a game, for Cairn RPG.

(7) AN EXAMPLE OF FKR (NEAR-)DICELESS COMBAT (WITH COSMIC ORRERY!), from Underground Adventures Describing combat in a Free Kriegsspiel Roleplaying (FKR) game, useful in understanding that playstyle.

🥇 (10) Re-inventing the Wilderness: Part 1 - Introduction, from sachagoat Figuring out problems with wilderness exploration, and applying a mental-map framework from urban-theory academia.

(2) Dungeon Design, Process and Keys, from All Dead Generations A detailed process to designing and keying a traditional dungeon adventure.

(15) THE D&D IN MY HEAD: In Only 6 Load-Bearing Numbers, from I Cast Light! Identifying the essential and minimum rules you need to remember, to run D&D.

+++

REVIEW

🥇 (1) An Empty Africa - PF2E's The Mwangi Expanse and the strange career of Black Atlanticism, from Majestic Fly Whisk A review of Pathfinder’s "The Mwangi Expanse", and a discussion of Black Atlanticism's fraught relationship with its sourcelands.

(16) What Hull Breach Teaches Us, from Mazirian's Garden An assessment of the Mothership RPG third-party "Hull Breach" anthology as a "new standard for anthology companions".

(8) Grave Trespass - Jim Henson's Labyrinth: The Adventure Game, from Bones Of Contention A review of the Labyrinth RPG. It’s got all these things which are "bad" in RPGs, so why does it work?

(9) The First Rumor Tables, Part 2: Caverns of Thracia or Caverns of Quasqueton?, from Tom Van Winkle's Return To Gaming An investigation into the origins of rumour tables in TTRPGs. Did TSR plagiarise Jaquays?

(5) Standing up for D&D's Gen X: 2e (Part 1), from Mythlands Of Erce A full-throated defense of D&D2E, viewing it in the context of its time and as a refinement over 1E.

(12) Systemcrawl: Break!! RPG, from Widdershins Wanderings A review and system analysis of Break!! RPG, which marries JRPG and OSR inspirations.

(4) Dungeon Crawls in Cinema, from Directsun Games Evaluating several films on the basis of how well they function as dungeon crawls.

(13) Reasonable Reviews, from Rise Up Comus A general overview of TTRPG reviews, and what may or may not make them useful.

(6) Deep Dive: A|STATE, from The Indie Game Reading Club A review of a|state, and how it builds on and departs from the Blades In The Dark formula.

(11) I Read Cloud Empress, from Playful Void A review of Cloud Empress, the first descendant of the Mothership RPG ruleset.

🥈 (3) Plagiarism in Unconquered (2022), from Traverse Fantasy A forensic analysis of how Unconquered plagiarised Ultraviolet Grasslands and Vaults Of Vaarn.

(14) Rod, Reel, & Fist (Review), from Benign Brown Beast A substantial review of Rod, Reel, & Fist, a "system-forward fishing simulation RPG".

(7) Pedantic Wasteland - Vampire Cruise, from Bones Of Contention A review of Vampire Cruise, a largely system-neutral horror-comedy adventure set at sea.

(10) Dragon Magazine: Player Advice Collection Overview, from Attronarch Athenaeum A comprehensive read-through and rating of 143 Dragon Magazine advice articles.

(2) Spire: The Monstrosity of Empire, the Necessity of Violence, from A A Voigt A comparative-literature analysis of Spire RPG through R F Kuang’s spec-fic novel "Babel, or the Necessity of Violence".

🥉 (15) MICROBLOG: CHILDREN'S BOOKS AND TABLETOP GAMES, from Fail Forward Considering the influence of children’s books on TTRPG designers and works like "Barkeep on the Borderlands".

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It is difficult to describe how hard it was for me to whittle down the list of nominees to these finalists. I consider each of these 64 a landmark in 2023's TTRPG thinkings, and the folks from which they issue essential reading, going forward. They already deserve a prize.

So here it is, dear bloggers: a hand-carved linocut "finalist's pin" graphic you are free to use on your sites / posts, should you wish:

(High-res downloadable version HERE)

Thank you for writing! And good luck in the coming rounds of voting!

+++

CORRECTION: A blog post from 2021 (Not All Crunch Is the Same, from A Knight At The Opera), was included in the soft-launch posting of this list. An error on the part of its nominator, compounded by a data-entry error on my part. It has since been replaced by a post from the same blog with the actual most nominations (The Genres the OSR Can't Do). I have also double-checked my lists and all finalists. Apologies for my error!

#bloggies2023 #ttrpgs

182 notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months ago

Text

── PURSUIT // ONE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: You decide to embark on a journey. However, when you release the Pokémon that Shoei gave you before he left, you realize that you’ve met her once already.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.3k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that, this is being written as if gen vi is the last generation to come out because i cba to catch up on new pokémon lore

A/N: okay so here’s the ACTUAL first chapter of pursuit (there is a prologue though so please read that if you haven’t yet) LSKDFJSD tbh i was expecting to get further in the story with this one than i actually did but oh well!! anyways the first of reader’s traveling companions will be introduced next chapter so feel free to guess who it is hehe (hint: it is a blue locker)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm @koffeekat @noble-17

“You’re a trainer, aren’t you?” the police officer said. She was squinting at your license, which displayed your name and status. You furrowed your brow at her, wondering how that was even relevant, and then slowly, you nodded.

“Yes, I am. One Pokémon,” you said.

“What kind?” she said. The Gogoat by her desk sighed, getting up and spinning in a circle, adjusting its position so that it could lay its head on her lap instead of atop its hooves. You took your Pokéball off of your belt, setting it on the desk in front of you and shrugging.

“No idea. Shoei gave it to me before he left,” you said. “He told me it’s the destructive type, so I shouldn’t release it until I’m ready to go on a journey of my own.”

She wrinkled her nose, muttering something under her breath that you couldn’t quite make out but which probably referred to how you were taking advantage of the league’s goodwill, and then she handed your license back to you.

“You’ve been coming and asking us to look for your cousin, Shoei Barou, for the past couple of years,” she said. “And you get the same answer every time, correct?”

“Yes, but—” you began. She cut you off before you could continue, her expression severe, her fingers resting atop your Pokéball in impatience. They were painted, and the sparkling navy winked in the harshness of the overhead lights.

“Like we previously discussed, you’re a trainer,” she said. “Why don’t you begin your own journey and look for him yourself?”

You had considered the idea before. You had a Pokémon, though you knew not which sort it was, and thanks to Shoei, your registration was already completed, so when it came to legality, there was nothing stopping you.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t know anything about training or battling or — or any of that. And we’re so far from Lumiose that it’s not like I can go to the professor for help.”

“You’re in secondary school, and all they do over there is study. You probably know much more than an average trainer, especially starting out,” she said.

“It’s all theory, though,” you said. “Nothing to do with actual fieldwork.”

She rolled the ball towards you. You caught it before it could fall off the edge of the desk, clipping it back to your belt with a murmured apology.

“Most trainers don’t even have that, but they manage, don’t they? This really is your best option, Miss L/N. Regardless, this station will no longer hear your complaints,” she said. “The so-called case of Shoei Barou isn’t one that we are interested in investigating. There are actualdisappearances and crimes that warrant our attention.”

“I see,” you said. “Well. Thank you for your time.”

The Gogoat huffed as it watched you leave, and you gave it one final backwards glance before the door to the small office shut and you were left standing by yourself in the lobby.

Coumarine City felt smaller nowadays. When you were younger, it had seemed so vast as to be unknowable, but now, you could count the steps between the Pokémon Center, the Gym, the school, and your house without batting an eye. You had changed, Shoei had left, and yet the old footpaths were still exactly the same. It felt incongruous, disingenuous even. You thought that there should’ve been some great marker of the shift, some expansion of the bustling place, but there never was.

“Mother, father,” you said that night when you were all eating dinner together. Your mother’s Espurr was watching you with her wide lavender eyes, though the glare of your father’s Heliolisk was enough to dissuade her from any thievery, and you sat across from your parents, your knife clinking against the edge of your plate when you set it down. “I’m thinking of becoming a trainer.”

“You already are a trainer,” your father said, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

“I mean, going on a journey and all. Like a proper trainer,” you said. The napkin fluttered out of your father’s grasp, and your mother’s eyes widened against her will. They, like Shoei’s parents, did not yet believe that his disappearance was out of the ordinary, but there it was a sort of wishful thinking. None of them considered it to be strange because they did not want it to be. Because that meant that he might be in the kind of trouble that they were powerless to rescue him from, and that powerlessness was something that they were not ready to accept.

“A journey?” your mother said, her voice breaking for a moment. You knew what she was saying, though she did not speak it aloud: that going on a journey was what took Shoei from you all, and that she could not survive it if you vanished, too. You understood. It was why you had delayed for so long — your parents, your dear parents, how could you leave them when you were so ill-prepared, when you did not even have a great desire to do so in the first place?

“Yes,” you said. Your Pokéball, which was still on your belt, warmed again, and you wondered if your Pokémon could understand what you were saying. Was she curious at the prospect of going on such an adventure? Did she long to battle? Or were you simply reading into things too much? The warmth could mean a million things, or it could mean nothing at all, and you’d be none the wiser. “The police department recommended it.”

“Why would they do that?” your father said.

“They told me it’s the only route I have left for finding Shoei,” you said.

“Y/N, you know—”

“No, I don’t!” you burst out before your mother could finish. She frowned at you, clearly taken aback, and you ducked your head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t agree. This isn’t just some run-of-the-mill training jaunt he’s on, and we all know that. If nobody else will do anything, then what choice do I have? He gave me a Pokémon. It’s about time I use her, anyways.”

This time, the ball grew hot enough to almost scald your skin through the fabric of your pants, and that was how you knew for a fact that it wasn’t a figment of your imagination. She was trying to say something, and you had an inkling that it was related to this half-baked plan of yours.

Your parents exchanged looks. Sometimes you thought that they must be able to communicate with their eyes alone, because neither of them said a word, yet within seconds, they were turning towards you in unison, both a peculiar mix of exasperated and concerned and, if you really read into it, proud.

“If you think it’s best, then we can’t exactly stop you,” your mother said.

“We haven’t been able to stop you since Shoei made you a trainer,” your father added, smiling ruefully. “That reckless cousin of yours. I’m sure he had good intentions with it, but he could’ve at least asked first!”

At this you could only chuckle, because all of you knew as well as each other that Shoei wasn’t really the type to ever ask for permission. Not once in his life had he ever done such a thing, and even imagining him doing so felt like you were going against his character.

“I’ll leave soon,” you said. “Once I settle my affairs with the school. They’ll probably be happy to see me go. I’ve never really fit in with the rest of my classmates.”

It didn’t matter that you were one of the best students there. All that your teachers and peers and principal saw was the Pokéball on your belt, which glowed like a beacon, alerting them all to how you were different. You weren’t like the others. You relied on your trainer’s stipend to pay for your tuition, and your Pokémon was the battling sort instead of a docile companion occasionally employed to defend you from a wilder Pokémon’s aggression.

People placed bets about what kind of Pokémon you must have. They never told you, but you were aware of it anyways. Some of them were kinder, presuming that it was an Espurr like your mother’s, or perhaps a Helioptile, the pre-evolution of your father’s Heliolisk. Those who liked you very much — or very little, if they meant it in a mocking way — claimed it must be one of those more elegant types. Perhaps the rainbow serpent Milotic, or a pale, iridescent-winged Butterfree. Others, who found great pleasure in looking down on you, assured their friends that it was a small, mousy Rattata, purple and fat and nervous, with quivering ears and overgrown teeth.

Even you did not know. Shoei had not bothered to tell you before he had left, and you had not yet released her, so whenever people slyly asked you which battle-partner rested on your hip, you could only shrug and tell them that you weren’t certain. This was almost always met with disdain, for if they had braved asking you, then they had the kind of curiosity which couldn’t be sated with such a noncommittal and vague answer.

When you got to school the next day, you rubbed your Gogoat companion on its soft cheek. It cocked its head at you, obviously confused — it didn’t know that this was the last time it would see you, though when you smiled at it sadly and murmured goodbye, its ears drooped, and you thought that it must understand in its own way.

Instead of going to class, you went directly to the principal’s office. She was a tall woman with a face like a Geodude’s, permanently set in a severe frown that was only exacerbated by the slicked-back knot she kept her thinning hair in, and she had never once said a kind word to you. You didn’t know if she was incapable or if it was just that you did not pay enough money to draw it out of her.

“Miss L/N,” she said when you walked in without knocking. She was hunched over a stack of papers, and she did not look up when you entered. In the corner, her black-and-violet Grumpig looked at you, its beady eyes the same shade as the dark pearls on its head and chest, its pink snout twitching in the same distaste it always showed you. “You should be in class.”

“I’m leaving,” you said. You knew it was abrupt even as you said it, but there was no point in delicacy at this late stage. Your mind was made up, and there was little chance that the woman before you would try to stop you, so what cause did you have for tiptoeing around the matter?

“Leaving?” she said. That piqued her interest enough that she looked up at you, her glasses sliding down her nose. Pushing them back up, she narrowed her eyes. “On a journey, I presume?”

“That’s correct,” you said. She didn’t ask you why, only pressing her lips into a thin line, white around the wrinkled edges from the force of it.

“It’s about time,” she said.

“Yes,” you said.

“We at the school wish you luck. Communications will be sent out regarding the reimbursement of your tuition for the rest of the semester,” she said, rattling it off in a robotic, trained voice that almost put you to sleep.

“Thank you,” you replied, just as mechanically. “If that is all?”

“I would suggest you visit the Pokémart before leaving,” she said.

“I was already planning on it,” you said. “But I appreciate your counsel.”

You turned to the door, your fingers resting on the polished handle as you prepared to open it. Before you could push it down, however, the principal cleared her throat, motioning with her hand for you to stop. Her Grumpig’s ears swiveled in distress, which was odd coming from such a self-assured species, and her own expression was a similar blend of anxious and intrigued.

“Hold on,” she said. “Release your Pokémon first. I wish to see it.”

“New policy?” you said, raising an eyebrow at her. As far as you knew, school officials had no right to demand you release your Pokémon for them, especially given that you were leaving the institution, but it wasn’t like you read the code of conduct regularly or anything like that.

To your surprise, she shook her head. “Personal curiosity.”

The principal’s office wasn’t exactly the place you had dreamed of releasing your partner for the first time, but then again it was just as good as any other location, so why delay? Plus, at least this way the Grumpig was there to corral any unruliness should it manifest — some kinds of Pokémon enjoyed testing their trainers, and though you didn’t think Shoei would have given you one of those sorts on purpose, it remained that the dispositions which agreed with him weren’t always the sort that the general populace found tolerable.

“Alright,” you said. Unclipping the ball from your belt, you pressed the seal once to enlarge it, rolling it in your palm while you waited for the principal to give you some kind of signal. She nodded, and you tossed the Pokéball in the air, triggering the mechanism which would release its contents from stasis and allow her to reform in the real world.

Even before your Pokémon had fully coalesced, the Grumpig was squealing in fright, crashing backwards into the wall, the whites of its eyes showing, its breaths shallow as its chest heaved. You frowned, because there was no reason that it should be so frightened of a relatively low-level Pokémon such as yours, but then an eerie howl stabbed into your eardrums and you understood at once.

Your Pokémon came up to just below your waist, and she had short black fur, pointed ears, and a red muzzle. Bony ridges criss-crossed her back, her ankles, and her forehead, giving her a menacing appearance that was only furthered by the knife-sharp fangs peeking out of her mouth and the growl rumbling in the back of her throat.

“Houndour?” you said. At the sound of her name, she shifted towards you, and immediately her tail began wagging, her mouth opening as she panted happily. A lump formed in your throat the longer you stared at her, and then you crouched, wrapping your arms around her muscular shoulders. She smelled spicy and hot but also sweet, the way pepper jelly or cinnamon tasted, and her nose was cold when she pressed it to your cheek in a fond greeting.

“Your Pokémon is a Houndour?” the principal said. Houndour cocked her head at the principal, one ear still turned towards the Grumpig in the corner, the other pricked forwards at the woman.

“Not just any Houndour,” you said, straightening but still keeping a hand atop Houndour’s head. “Shoei’s Houndour’s sister.”

The principal was wary now, she had been ever since you had released Houndour, and for good reason — the species had an ominous reputation, and most people thought that they and their evolutionary counterpart, Houndoom, were beasts sent to drag humans to hell for any perceived wrongdoings. To make things worse, any sense of comfort that her Grumpig might’ve afforded her was vanished, because it could do nothing against Houndour, who as a dark type was immune to psychic attacks.

“How do you know?” she said.

“I know,” you said. Houndour sighed, the exasperated exhale releasing a wisp of smoke that curled and dissipated into the air above her. “Well, that’ll quell the bets. I guess nobody managed to guess correctly.”

“Nobody would’ve!” the principal burst out, taking out a Pokéball of her own and returning the Grumpig before putting the ball in her desk drawer. “Who in their right mind would give a dark type to a beginning trainer?”

“Not all of them are like that,” you said. “You’d know that if you ever read the material that all of your students are forced to sit through. Of course, no one in their right mind would give someone without any other Pokémon a Sneasel or a Purrloin, but as a general rule, you won’t find a Pokémon more loyal to their trainer than a Houndour. Anyways, this one is special.”

It wasn’t her place to question you further, so whistling for Houndour to follow you, you slipped out of the office and left the school behind for good.

As you walked to the Pokémart, you noticed that people gave you a wide berth, eyeing the Pokémon trotting along at your side with no small amount of suspicion. Houndour paid them no mind, though, and so neither did you, humming to yourself, entirely relieved that Shoei knew you well enough to give you her.

“You’re a first-time trainer?” the cashier at the Pokémart said, peering over the counter at Houndour, who blinked back at him innocently. “Okay…I suppose you’ll need potions and some basic Pokéballs, then. Twenty of each should last you until you can make it to the next town, I’d say, if not further.”

“That sounds good,” you said.

“Do you want to pay for those on account or in cash?” he said.

“What does on account mean?” you said.

“It’s a way for trainers to get necessary supplies even if they’re lacking the immediate funds. Basically, everybody who buys from a Pokémart gets an account created for them, and they can choose to put their purchases on that account and pay them off at a later date,” he said.

“That sounds easily exploitable by someone who doesn’t mean to ever pay back,” you said.

“Balances are due every month, the day after stipends are released. You’ll accrue interest on them after that, and if it’s been too long, your account will be frozen and authorities will be contacted,” he said with a shrug. “It really is meant to help people out, but the choice is yours.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come back here in a month’s time regardless, so it doesn’t matter,” you said.

“No, no, they can be paid off at any official Pokémart,” he said. “Of course they took that into consideration.”

“I see,” you said. “Then put it all on my account, if that’s alright.”

“Perfectly fine by me,” he said, typing something into his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Your stipend for the month had gone into your tuition, and until you got your reimbursements figured out, you’d rather not waste any more money unless it was an emergency. Besides, if the option was there, you supposed you might as well familiarize yourself with it.

“Is that everything, do you think?” you said.

“Unless you want an item for your Pokémon to hold in battle,” he said.

“An item?” you said. Although you knew so much about Pokémon biology and various scientific theories regarding them, you hardly had a clue about even these most basic concepts of battle. They weren’t considered important for those of you at the school to learn; after all, besides you, no one was even registered to be a trainer, so why would they waste the time?

The cashier snorted. “I guess you really are a first-time trainer.”

“Obviously,” you said. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Pokémon can hold items — according to league rules, it’s a maximum of one, though it’s also fine if you don’t give them any — that’ll aid them in battle. Some trainers will give them berries that’ll negate side effects from various moves, and others will give them stones to hold that’ll boost their stats. It’s up to you, though. Plenty of people don’t give them any items at all. You’ll have to get rid of the one your Houndour already has if you want to use one while battling, though,” he said.

“What do you mean? She doesn’t have any items,” you said. He clicked his tongue, pointing at Houndour’s neck.

“That counts, even if it doesn’t do anything,” he said. You followed the line of his index finger, furrowing your brow when you realized he was referencing the silky red collar tied in a bow at her scruff. There was a stone embedded in it that sparkled at her throat, and even before the cashier could say something, you were shaking your head.

“No, that stays,” you said. “It’s important. Maybe not for battle, but for me.”

“Alright,” the cashier said, clearly unaffected. “It’s your decision. Here are the potions and Pokéballs you asked for.”

He slid the assortment of things across the counter, and you swept them into your bag, which had already been emptied of your books and the rest of your school supplies. Waving at him, you exited the Pokémart, making your way to your house for what would probably be the last time in a while.

“You’re quite a bit bigger than the last time I saw you,” you said to Houndour as you walked, scratching her under the chin idly when you reached the road and had to wait for a car to pass by. “When’d Shoei get around to capturing you, too, huh?”

Your father had taken off of work to wish you farewell, and your mother was at home as she always was, so you did not even have to call out their names when you entered the house. They were waiting in the foyer, Heliolisk and Espurr by their sides, though when Houndour padded in behind you, Espurr hissed, darting to hide behind your mother’s leg.

“A Houndour?” your father said, raising his eyebrows. Houndour barked at him; you couldn’t quite tell what the bark meant, but it was a harsh enough sound that your father winced at it. “What was Shoei thinking?”

“I know her,” you said. “That’s probably it.”

“What do you mean?” your mother said. “Since when?”

“Uh, it’ll probably make you angry,” you said.

“Huh?” your father said. “It’s not like we can do anything about it now.”

“You’ve got us curious,” your mother added.

“It’s kind of a long story,” you admitted. “But as with most things, it begins and ends with Shoei.”

Your cousin lived on the very edge of Coumarine City, on the outskirts right by the winding road to the cliffs and the coast, and so whenever your family visited his, the two of you would sneak off to the beach to play. It was dangerous, because neither of you had Pokémon, but with your youth came this notion of impunity, and since nothing had happened thus far, both of you believed that it would continue in that way until the end of time.

“I’m going to be a trainer one day,” Shoei told you, helping you down from the narrow ledge that you had to leap from to make it to the sand of the shore. You were still too frightened to jump by yourself, and he was patient enough that he did not tease you for it, only taking your hand and letting you clutch his arm for balance.

“Of course,” you said. “I will, too. It’s not uncommon.”

“Not for the stipend,” he said. “I’m going to be a proper trainer, with a full team and everything. You’ll see. I’ll do the league challenge and join the conference once I have all of my badges, and then after that I’ll beat the Elite Four and Mr. Mikage. Then I’ll be Champion. The best trainer in all of Kalos. That’s what I mean.”

“How, though? Neither of your parents have battling Pokémon, so you can’t use their partners to catch your own, and we’re way too far for you to go to the professor’s lab in Lumiose and get one of the official starters from there,” you said.

“I don’t know,” Shoei said. “But I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” you said.

“Do you think I can do it?” he said.

“You can do anything,” you said. His chest puffed out a bit at that, and he grinned at you. He hardly ever smiled, so you took it as a treat, beaming back at him.

“That’s right,” he said. “I can do anything.”

“Ooh, look at these!” you said, stopping in your tracks and bending over to dig around in the sand, pulling out two twin stones with a flourish.

It was your favorite hobby, finding shells and pretty things to admire before you tossed them back into the sea, but there was something different about these two. There were clouds in the air, and yet they shone as brightly as if the sun’s rays were concentrated on them, a soft pink shade like dawn, cut through with a streak of black as dark as a shadow. Weathered by the tides, they were slick in your hand, and you dropped them into Shoei’s pocket for safekeeping.

“You want to take those home? Normally you throw shards of sea glass back into the ocean,” Shoei said.

“They’re nicer than normal,” you said. “You can keep them, if you want. Like a present.”

He scoffed. “I’ll probably just throw them away.”

You pouted. “If that’s what you prefer.”

He could only maintain his gruff expression for a moment before softening and ruffling your hair. “I was only joking. I’ll put them on my bookshelf and think of you every time I see them.”

Immediately, you brightened, because back then your mood’s rise and fell was almost entirely dependent on him. He noticed, but he only wrinkled his nose at you, grabbing you by the back of the shirt before you could fall into a tide pool.

“Watch where you’re going,” he said, holding you in place as you craned your neck in wonder. The water was so clear you could see every little plant and shell growing in its depths; at the bottom, there were even a Krabby scuttling about, though when it noticed you, it dashed back to hide amongst the stones, too shy to provoke you even though you had no Pokémon of your own.

“It’s so pretty, Shoei,” you said. “Can we look for more?”

“Sure,” he said. “Our parents won’t be expecting us for a bit, so as long as we don’t go too far and remember the way back home, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Yay!” you said, tugging on his sleeve. “Let’s go that way! Or, wait, no. That way!”

He poked you in the side as you tried to make up your mind. “How about both? Just choose one to start with, and then we can head in the other direction afterwards.”

“Good idea,” you said, picking at random and setting off with Shoei in tow.

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon wandering up and down along the line of pebbly sand where the waves broke, pointing out bits of shells and smaller Pokémon to one another when you saw them. It was dangerous, no doubt about it, but the danger added a certain thrill to the otherwise innocuous activity, and so neither of you minded too much.

Some hours passed — was it two or three? You didn’t know — before you heard a bone-chilling sound, one which wasn’t supposed to be heard around Coumarine City but which was engraved into both of your brains from various horror films regardless.

“Was that a Houndour?” you said, pressing closer to Shoei. “I thought that they were only found around Geosenge Town, though?”

You were suddenly hyper-aware of the sun setting in the distance, as well as the fact that we had somehow managed to travel far enough from your typical spot that it would take you ages to find your way home. The Houndour howled again, and Shoei scowled deeply, the lines of it etched into his forehead.

“Let’s investigate,” he said.

“What? Shouldn’t we be running away from it?” you said, yelping and following as he charged towards the source of the sound.

“Either it’s a trainer’s Pokémon, in which case I want their advice about going on a journey, or it’s somewhere it’s not supposed to be, in which case…” he trailed off, a determined set to his mouth as the two of you ran. “We just need to be quick so we can get home in time.”

It was a few minutes later that you skidded to a stop in front of a small cave with a Houndour sitting in front of it, howling and howling. Now that you were faced with the Pokémon, you realized it was not as large and intimidating as the movies and its reputation made it sound; for some reason, its cry, too, felt more mournful than anything.

When it noticed you and Shoei, it flattened its ears and tucked its tail, rocking back on its haunches and baring its teeth with a warning growl. Shoei held out a hand, averting his eyes and speaking in a soft whisper so unlike his typical rough tone.

“We only want to help you,” he said. “How’d you end up here, anyways?”

The Houndour stared at him for a heart-stopping instant. You were as still as you could be — even if the Pokémon didn’t seem as demonic as it did in the movies, it remained that it was considerably more powerful than a Krabby could ever hope to be, and furthermore had a famously more aggressive temperament than the skittish denizens of the tide pools.

Flames coated the Houndour’s mouth, and you cringed away from it, but Shoei was still, not gazing at it directly but refusing to back down, either. The Houndour took him in before abruptly extinguishing the fire, tilting its head towards the mouth of the cave and then whining at you entreatingly.

“Sounds like he wants us to follow him,” Shoei said, ducking so he could enter the cave. You crept in behind him, narrowing your eyes against the darkness; although you did not complain, the Houndour must’ve sensed your discomfort, because with a rumbling from deep within its stomach, it formed an ember, holding it in its mouth instead of spitting it out so that it could light the path forward.

When you reached the hollowed out main room of the cave, the Houndour stopped, barking and pawing at the stone. Shoei brushed the sand off of the Houndour’s back and then knelt so that he could inspect what the Pokémon had brought you to see: another Houndour, this one lying limply on the cold, stony floor.

“There’s two of them?” you said.

“If I had to guess, they got separated from their pack during that storm we had a few days ago. The rain would’ve washed away all of the scents they found familiar, so their best option was trying to find some kind of shelter,” Shoei said. “That must be how she got hurt.”

The smaller Houndour’s paw was matted and sticky with blood, hence why she could not get up, though she did lift her head a little, wagging her tail at you when she noticed you were there.

“They’ve come so far,” you said. “Why didn’t they stop at Shalour? That’s in between here and Geosenge.”

“With all of those birds hanging around there? They would’ve been Mandibuzz food in a heartbeat, especially the injured one,” he said.

“I see,” you said. Mandibuzz weren’t native to the Kalos region, but the gym leader of Shalour City specialized in flying types, so he was always introducing new species to the area. “What should we do?”

“The wound’s old. If we can clean it off, it’ll heal on its own. She probably has Flash Fire for an ability, so a burn won’t do her any harm, which means the brother can cauterize it without an issue,” he said, scooping the Houndour up without much ceremony. Normally, it’d be impossible, but she was small for her kind, and Shoei had always been stronger than most his age.

The older Houndour lit the way as you emerged onto the beach, where Shoei found a nearby tide pool, using the briny water to rinse the blood from the wound. The female Houndour was trembling, no doubt because the water was an unpleasant feeling for a fire type such as herself, but there was nothing to be done about it besides working quickly, and admirably, she did not make a sound the entire time Shoei was working.

“This is the kind of thing you have to deal with as a trainer,” he said once the paw was cleaned and the pink gash was exposed to the sun. “Of course, a potion would cure this in a minute, but we don’t have any on hand, so it’ll have to wait. Hey, you. Can you use Ember on her injury?”

The older Houndour seemed uncertain, but to your surprise, he did not protest, only creeping forward and nudging his sister in apology before breathing a fire the size of your palm directly onto the wound. Curiously, she did not react beyond glancing at the light it gave off, and Shoei scratched behind her ears.

“Is that the effect of Flash Fire?” you said.

“Yup,” he said, waiting for the flame to die out and then lifting the Houndour in his arms again. “It’s common amongst Houndour.”

“What does it do, exactly?” you said.

“Gives them immunity to fire-based attacks,” he said. “All in all, it makes sense, given that they hunt in tandem. It wouldn’t do for the pack to injure its own members while chasing after prey, yeah? In fact, fire only boosts their special attacks.”

“Special attacks?” you said.

“Ah, it’s a league term for non-physical attacks,” he said. “They needed a way to differentiate it for bettors, since most Pokémon are only good in one area or the other.”

“I get it now,” you said. “So, like, being hit with an Ember would make her own Ember stronger?”

“Exactly,” he said, setting the Houndour down where you had found her and patting you on the head. “Good job. You’ll make a great trainer yourself someday. Maybe almost as good as me.”

“I don’t want to be a trainer,” you said. “I just want to live at home with everyone and go to school and be happy.”

“Is that so?” he said. “Then that’s what you should do.”

Arranging the Houndour into a more comfortable position, he turned to the older one, a serious expression on his face. The Houndour was still, his tail held straight in the air — alert, wary, but not distressed. You knew that much about Pokémon behavior from your early-level classes.

“Is there an easier way to our house from here?” he said to the Houndour. “Take us to it if there is.”

“How would it even know where we live?” you said.

“There’s very few Pokémon with a better sense of smell than the Houndoom line,” he said. “Go on, then, Houndour. Take us home. She’ll be alright for the few minutes you’re gone.”

The older Houndour gave his sister a worried look, but he must’ve felt as though he owed Shoei a debt, for he slunk out of the cave with his nose against the ground, nostrils flared as he tried to pick out a trail. You and Shoei watched for a few minutes before the Houndour suddenly froze, raising one of his front paws and extending his muzzle forward.

“What’s he doing?” you said.

“Pointing,” Shoei said, a tinge of disbelief in his voice. “I knew the Growlithe in the police force are trained to do it, but I didn’t realize that Houndour do it naturally.”

“I bet Houndour would be a great police Pokémon if people weren’t so scared of it,” you said, your sentiments towards the species far more charitable now, as the two of you followed the Houndour up a winding path that you had never even known existed.

Before the sun had even finished setting — which was miraculous, given how close to the horizon it had been when you had set out — the Houndour had led you to Shoei’s backyard. You could hear your parents talking and laughing with one another, contemplating calling you both back for dinner, and you were about to run inside when you realized Shoei was still lingering back.

Pausing in your tracks, though you doubted he noticed that you were listening to his conversation, you tried to quiet your breathing so that you could hear what he was saying to the Houndour, which was as motionless then as it had been when the two of you had first found it.

“Meet me here in a couple of days,” he said. “I’ll get a potion by then and use it on your sister’s paw so she doesn’t have any lasting side effects from the injury.”

The Houndour sneezed at Shoei, which you supposed was his way of assenting. Shoei laughed, which was a rare sound and also a wonderful one; then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him move to offer the back of his hand to the small Pokémon, who sniffed it cautiously.

“Hey, Houndour. I’m going to be a trainer one day — a Champion, in fact,” he said. “So don’t go home, okay? Even once your sister is better, don’t go home. Find me again, and come with me.”

The Houndour did not make any moves of agreement nor dissent; instead, he just disappeared into the lengthening shadows of the night, leaving you and Shoei behind in the trimmed grass of the lawn, where no wild Pokémon would ever dare to tread.

A few moments later, though, the night was split with a howl, high and sinister and uncanny, and once more Shoei laughed, because that was all the answer that he needed.

#nagi x reader #nagi x y/n #nagi x you #nagi seishiro #barou shoei #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #pokémon au #pursuit #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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tom-hossain-minis · 7 months ago

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Holy shit politics tumblr what the fuck. Are there no communists on this site? Or people with memory greater than that of dory from finding nemo ? Does nobody recall every promise Biden not only broke but actively did the opposite of what he said he was gonna do? And I also have to ask, and I’m sorry to do so, but I think it’s important, are you all white? Cause I seen yall saying “your pic friends will suffer” and the way it’s phrased makes me think perhaps yall are not yourselves poc, for the most part. Furthermore, all *my* poc friends are well fucking aware that Joe “I’m against desegregation” Biden is a fucking racist POS, as is his entire administration. Let’s not even get into increased climate destruction, his support for trans people being barred from sports, his general apathy towards lgbt people, his really fucking vile southern border behaviour and policy, his explicit fucking islamaphobia, anti black racism, and anti-Asian racism, his supreme belief in police barbarism, his total economic shitshow these last four years, and finally, something I suspect non Americans literally are unable to fathom, his vitriolic hatred of the rest of the world, and the danger he poses to humanity’s continued survival as a result. It’s true, your political system sucks fucking balls, I pity you for having only one party and not being able to remove your head of state, but don’t you dare tell me that you think Joe Biden is a “good president in most regards except Palestine”. And guess what, “trump is worse” is something I wholeheartedly agree with. But for some reason you Americans have no concept of “saying no”. You don’t have a permanent minimum standard. I can’t understand it, is there some weird part of American culture that says you can’t have a sense of personal dignity, or, dare I say it, a spine? It’s inconciliables to me that every person in the most well off, powerful, heavily defended nation on earth would not only allow themselves to be, in the most shakespearien sense, raped by their political system every four years, but that *some* would revel in it. I genuinely mean it when I say I cannot understand this behaviour. Aren’t you outraged at this treatment? Where is your fury against such degradation? Wouldn’t you fight and work and claw at everything against you until your bones were raw and white and broken rather than settle for this most violating and humiliating of lifestyles, in the hope of something better? Don’t get me wrong, I come from the cesspool that is Britain, and that’s its own thing, but I know why and how the British spirit was so thoroughly crushed so I know why people have given up there, and even then, we not only still have some resemblance of fight, but also a system that at least in theory can allow for some better representation than the American one. Britain has a proud history of rioting when things get too bad, we stole the idea from the French, just like everything in our history and culture, but America never seemed to have the same; is it just too vast a country? I just, really need someone to explain it. When and how were the American people politically lobotomised? And I’m sorry if this is rude or confusing but I really am at a loss. As a scientist I really am dedicated to and obsessed with making the world a better place for everyone, but America, the biggest problem by a landslide so massive it could be its own planet, completely and totally baffles me.

Tl;dr: fuck Joe Biden, I have a sneaking suspicion tumblr is mostly racist white people, America’s very existence can drive a man insane like the visage of Cthulhu

#anarcho communism #politics #political #rant post #personal rant

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violetvenom · 4 months ago

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Okay, here comes a post I wanted to do for a long long while and I summon all the fellow Walter enjoyers for this.

In the last 2 years I've rewatched and reread Hellsing several times and I have to admit I love to analyse stuff. So naturally a lot of questions popped into my mind regarding my fav character.

But one question stood out in particular: What the fuck is Walter? Yes, you've read this right..what..not who!

Yes, there is a theory in the fandom I think not many people know of or even care for, which actually makes a lot of sense. It's clear he his human (except at the end of the main story) but I think I speak for us all that his abilities are way over the top for a mere human. Some peple will probably know where this is going..but before I start explaining, I just want to clarify I will cite and take references and informations from several fan translations, fansubs and the official German translation of the manga. I just started to collect the new edition of the English one, so I can't properly refer to them but please feel free to fill me in with the old English version if there are drastic differences in context.

With this said..let's go trough what we know about Walter step by step:

We will start chronological with his youngest persona we saw: Young Walter or how the Japanese like to call him; Sholter.

So in The Dawn we get a throwback to a 14-year old Walter, who get's send on the mission to fight the Nazis in Warsaw in 1944. At the round table he gets praised by Arthur as the "strongest human of their existing militants".

So this clears Walter is in fact human and not something else, and also Hellsing's top figther. Alucard doesn't count here since he is a vampire and the secret special weapon.

We learn from Alucard that he officially must have met Walter when he was just mere 9 years old. Citing Girlycard here:

Hellsing's main story plays in 1999 and Walter is 69 at this point...that's simple math.

And this actually makes sense. When Girlycard and Walter get sent to Warsaw you can tell they already know each other. I won't dive deep into their dynamic here because I plan to do a seperate post for this, but I think the most notable moment to make that point clear is when Walter insults and questions "Bastard. Where's your shape?".

Or how it got translated in one fansub:

While Walter asks this, Alucard is already manifesting as Girlycard, stating "the form I take means nothing to me". So it's pretty safe to say Walter knows about the usual red coat man form and the vampire's ability to transform. Overall The Dawn gives vibes that they both already have fought alongside for a while.

I think this is enough to estabilish they met when Walter was 9 years old. Meaning they probably worked together for 5 years to this point...or at least Walter dealing with Alucard's shenanigans.🤭

This rises the question...how the hell does a 9-year-old end up in such an organization?

We don't know where Walter comes from..where he is born..who his parents are..Nothing!

It's a big mysterium, which I find rather odd since he is one of the most important characters in the main story and even the main character next to Girlycard in The Dawn.

But this actually fuels the fire of curiosity in me.

So let's take a turn here and talk about his abilities: We don't know how his wires work or what they actually are, but I will mention my idea with the final conclusion later on. So for now we ignore this part and just look at some examples of his bodily capabilities.

He is stronger than the average human:

Walter drags Alucard's coffin with one hand like it's an empty cardboard box.

Since Alucard canonically can weight basically nothing and rests in no particular shape in there (that's why he later emerged as black wobbling mass which first has to manifest into Girlycard), I just can point to the weight of a coffin for an adult.

This is the first data which shows up if you google it:

Also Alucard is canonically 6'6" (198cm) tall. Abraham staked him while he was more or less laying in the coffin...

...so it's not impossible the coffin even is oversized and weights more. I mean:

It's quite big, but not the most relatable source since Hirano fucks up with details a lot of times. lol

Walter then even kicks the coffin out of the plane with a simple kick.

Speaking of kicking; we also saw Walter kicking a knife.

You not only need a good control over your body to kick a knife from the table up and forwards, but look at the force he does this with. Animated it looked even more easy peasy for him to do so and the full force gets more clear if you see how fast the knife maneuvered to the Major. There is also quite the distance between them and the Captain catches the knife when it got pretty close to it's intended target.

Then he breaks the table in two parts with just one mere kick.

And even with 69 he still got a force in his legs which is astounding.

We saw how he kicked Jan against the wall for a brief second. And again animated it's even more impressive, when you can see and hear how Jan smashes against the wall.

And not to forget he could lift out the Harkonnen I for Seras like no biggie.

Just to paint the picture more clearly: The Jackal for Alucard alone weigthed 16kg and he handled it with it's case like it was nothing.

He is very swift, flexible and quick in reacting:

When Jan jumped over him and tried to run, he didn't take long to react to that despite being baffled by the enemies actions.

Or before that scene when he and Seras crawled trough the vents to get to the round table, where it seems that there is difference between OVA and manga.

In the manga it seems Walter crawls out with the legs first and landing gracefully on his feet (and luckily not on Seras):

Seras on the other hand....we still love you, silly police girl. In the OVA Walter emerges face first from the vent and catches his weight with his hands...

...just to push himself in the air again to regain his stance.

I can't stress enough that he is 69 here! So when he is capable to quickly move and react in such an age, it's no wonder young Walter did stunts like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and crashing through a window.

He is incredibly sturdy:

The most unflattering panel of Walter ever shows us with what force the Captain was punching the teen.

Like holy shit...that must have hurt. I can imagine this blow is the reason for his monocle later on.

Then he took a blow to the guts....

...and one in the back.

Ignoring that every anime/manga character has at least 100 litres of blood...those hits from a werewolf are sure something. No way a normal person would have survived this.

And yet Walter manages to quickly react and headbutt the doggo.

Also with an incredible force.

It's surprising as the Captain starts to strangle him, his neck isn't snapping like a twig.

We just saw how the werewolf just crushed a knife with a bare hand.

Looking at all those facts, you can't tell me he isn't the true one hell of a butler he is a mere human.

I'm convinced Walter is like Anderson an enhanced human. Which is also the theory circling around in the fandom and answers the question what he is.

But I never saw an explanation why this theory exists in the first place. So the gears in my head started spinning and tried to solve the puzzle.

We know the Vatican experimented on Anderson and thus creating his regeneration powers.

I can't remember if it ever got explained how, but it doesn't even truly matter in the end. Which matters is the fact that Walter was able to create a weapon for figthing Anderson. So my best guess is they experimented with biotechnology, which also plays a huge part in creating freak vampires.

BUT

Hellsing got their own ways and the prime example is Alucard.

It often seems to get forgotten who Abraham Van Helsing was, and what he was knowledgeable about.

And since Bram Stoker's Dracula is kinda canon to Hellsing, it's a fair use to cite Wikipedia here. ✌️

Integra even said that Alucard is the culmination of "generations of Hellsing's occult knowledge". This means nothing other than Alucard got experimented on, which makes sense since all the usual vampire weaknesses don't apply to him anymore.

But how do you experiment on a vampire? Well, if the word occult has not made it clear enough; let's have a look at a part in the manga where Richard chases smol Integra and provides some insights what Hellsing manor contains on rooms:

I think one is clearly sticking out a bit: Wizardry Analysis Room.

Combined with the fact Alucard's seals on the back of his gloves are pentragams with runes speaks a lot about what kind of experiments Abraham did.

This makes alchemy and sorcery to something which is canon and existing in Hellsing!

Since we know literally nothing about Walter, I think it's no wild guess to assume he is like Alucard an experiment of the Hellsing organisation.

I wouldn't go so far and say he is an homunculus since Arthur clearly said he is human as he fills in the round table about freak vampires, ghouls and Walter's existence. I see no reason why he should hide the fact they themselves created a homunculus at this point.

But what stood out to me was this sentence tho:

The majority of translations seem to go with born, but there are also some who are more like this:

Since I'm not able to find raw scans of The Dawn to maybe translate that part myself and to confirm, and I don't understand Japanese well enough to maybe listen and understand what Arthur exactly uses for words in the animation; take the following with a grain of salt.

If we go ahead with the born sentence...what actually would that mean?

Walter would have been indeed be born into the role of a vampire hunter. Which could also overlap with his role as being Hellsing's butler.

I'm no historian and very far off so but as far as I could research, this was something which was a thing:

Which makes the whole thing even more interesting. We don't know if Walter even has parents in the traditional sense. Is he some sort of lab-grown baby? If he got parents, were they also employed at Hellsing? What happened to them?

Questions which can't get answered here but can inspire to create nice headcanons.

To bring this long post finally to an end; My conclusion is that Walter is indeed an enhanced human, created by Hellsing themselves probably through alchemy. Which could wonderfully connect to his wires, because they could also be a product of alchemy or wizardry of some sort, since there is no logically explanation for this. 👀

Let me know if I've had missed something.

#walter dornez #hellsing #hellsing the dawn #walter c dornez #walter c. dornez

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