#moral judgement is not permission to abuse

[glitter-stained]

Look I don't like RHATO #25 for many reasons but if you're gonna talk about the beatdown and you don't like it you can just say "that issue had terrible writing" or "that's not my batman he would never do that"

You don't have to defend him, this isn't his first instance of abuse with any of his children or jason in particular but he's such a big and old character I understand not wanting to see him being an abusive parent ever (though in that case I advise you to just not engage in his and Jason's mainline relationship at all, at the very least not red hood!jason)

What does really really grate me though, is people trying to defend it because those reasonings are so hypocritical it's clear they just don't like the way Jason's character challenges the bat-status quo and that ends up literally just being abuse justification rhetoric again and again and I'm tired. If you're gonna be a hater can you not do it in a way that makes you sound like the parent who stands to the side watching their partner "discipline" the kid with a belt because "the kid is a bad kid that deserves to be punished."

-well batman is a hero and Jason is a criminal what was he supposed to do he can't play favourites! So, I call Batman a hero when he acts like it but sure, Batman is a vigilante. He fights criminals. Have y'all ever heard of this little term called "conflict of interest"? Yk when your personal connection to the case you're working means you are more likely to lose your cool and let your emotions affect your judgement beyond measure so it's important to delegate? That thing? Batman is always showing up in everyone's comic, the outlaws can have some reinforcement being called to handle Jason's case for once this is absurd, Bruce is more compromised than the cia agent i've been pegging for months in exchange for data. Fathers shouldn't have to arrest their sons.

-well Jason deserved it! Punitive justice, especially fucking punitive violence, is the enemy. It doesn't work for children and it doesn't work on adults and it's a ridiculous approach to harm reduction and recidivism prevention. Well, killing might work, but i don't reckon rhato#25 batman defenders would defend this*. I understand the cathartic appeal of wanting to see fictional characters you dislike punished, really, and the desire for vengeance in the form of punitive justice is normal and perfectly understandable; but however valid this emotion is, that doesn't mean actually enacting this brutality becomes the correct course of actions. Idk how else to say it but however evil you think the victim is it's still not okay to victim-blame. And sure, I can tell fiction from reality and know this isn't a real person, but when people say stuff like that it still tells me that the person who is saying this stuff believes that it's not abuse if the victim is evil. And when you're there, it only takes a bit of cognitive bias and dissonance and carefully worded narrative bending for the victim to be categorised evil and denied the respect of their pain.

(*this isn't about the death penalty. I do not support state violence)

People are so concerned with hating Jason's character and wanting to see him punished for his crimes they will bend things backwards to justify that a father brutally beating down his son in an extremely vulnerable moment while the son doesn't fight back isn't abuse because the character is inherently bad and thus deserves to be violently punished. And then we wonder why victims blame themselves or explain "it's different because it's me so the situation is unique, i'm a special case because i'm wrong", when this is the classic mentality in our societies.

Truly a mystery indeed

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jessica Valenti at Abortion, Every Day:

History is about to repeat itself. In the 1970s, women entered the workforce in record numbers—by the end of the 90s, their labor participation rate had gone from 40% to over 60%. But women’s progress never goes unpunished in America, so we were treated to a massive cultural backlash in return: Articles declaring that working women of a certain age were more likely to be killed by a terrorist than find a husband, myths that feminism made women miserable, and a full-blown moral panic over daycare. (They weren’t just called dangerous, but perhaps even fronts for Satanic child abuse dens. I wish I was kidding.) At the heart of it all, though, was the ‘mommy wars’—a cultural wedge driven in between women who worked in the public sphere and those who stayed home. The idea was to diminish the very real policy issues women faced—like the lack of parental leave and affordable child care—and frame them instead as personal issues. Catfighting, even.

Now, on the precipice of another Donald Trump presidency and halfway through the country’s third year without Roe, new ‘mommy wars’ are about to drop. But they won’t be about whether mothers work outside the home, breastfeed or formula feed, or whether or not moms vaccinate their kids. Instead, we’re about to see women pitted against each other over abortion—specifically, those who end nonviable or medically fraught pregnancies, and those who choose to carry to term.

I’m dreading the passive aggressive Instagram comments and TikTok battles, but can see them clearly already: Conservative women sharing stories of refusing abortions in spite of fatal or devastating fetal diagnoses, all of them steeped in the language of mommy martyrdom. We’ll see social media captions insisting motherhood is about sacrifice, and columns explaining that risking their mental and physical health—or even their lives—is simply what good mothers do. The not-so-veiled implication, of course, is that those who decide to end their doomed pregnancies are selfish—unwilling to put in the requisite suffering that ‘good’ mothers take on happily.

Like the ‘mommy wars’ before it, this deliberately-stoked discord serves a purpose: distracting from conservatives’ dangerous and unpopular abortion bans. What better way to deflect than by once again turning a serious public policy and health issue into a competition over who’s a good mother? Valorizing women who carry doomed pregnancies also lets Republicans reframe their cruel laws as a good thing. They’re not forcing women into suffering—they’re giving them the chance to be the ultimate mothers! Women who keep doomed pregnancies get something in return, too: permission to judge those who don’t make the same choice.

Republicans know their laws mean more women—whether by choice, force, or circumstance—will carry nonviable pregnancies and give birth to seriously- or fatally-ill newborns. These women will need somewhere to put their understandable anger and disappointment; better for Republicans that it’s at the feet of other women. That illusion of moral superiority gives their pain much-needed meaning: They’re the good mothers who did the right thing—not like those ‘bad’ women who refuse to righteously suffer. We caught a glimpse of what this ‘mommy war’ judgement looks like when Kate Cox’s story went viral. Twenty weeks into her pregnancy, the Texas mother found out that her fetus had a fatal abnormality and that her pregnancy was endangering her fertility, health and life. Still, the state denied her care. While the primary response from Americans was outrage on Cox’s behalf, many conservatives had a different reaction: They accused Cox—a woman desperate to protect her life and spare her fetus unnecessary pain—of trying to “kill” her “disabled child.”

[...]

After all, anti-abortion lawmakers and activists have been at their weakest when women like Cox—or Kaitlyn Joshua and Amanda Zurawski—have shared their stories and driven public outrage. These are women who draw attention to the horrific real-life consequences of abortion bans, while also upending conservatives’ long-standing lie that women seek abortions out of ‘convenience.’ (Remembering, of course, that what they mean by ‘convenience’ are women who have the nerve to want to go to college, pay their bills, take care of existing children or leave a bad relationship.)

Republicans can’t publicly call out women like Cox, Joshua or Zurwaski without seeming cruel. But with a new mommy war in their back pocket, anti-abortion women can do their dirty work for them—dismissing powerful post-Roe horror stories as nothing more than the gripes of bad mothers. Unfortunately, there’s never been a better time for conservatives to make all of this happen. In fact, they’ve already laid the cultural groundwork. If you have any sort of social media account, chances are you’ve seen a video explaining the supposed dangers of hormonal birth control, or come across the account of some wildly popular ‘tradwife’ who makes cereal and bubblegum from scratch. None of that is by accident. I warned in a 2022 column about the rise of social media romanticizing 1950s housewives—or, more accurately, the sanitized depictions of them.

[...] In fact, just in November, Hannah Neeleman—one of the country’s most popular ‘tradwives,’ with tens of millions of followers—graced the cover of Evie, an anti-contraception propaganda machine masquerading as a magazine. This comes at the same time that anti-abortion organizations are adopting feminist-sounding rhetoric to soften their misogyny, and as what it means to be a ‘natural’ mother gets more and more alarming. The rise of vaccine skeptics, raw milk enthusiasts, ‘natural’ birth control proponents, and other right-wing pipeline issues have fully prepped the country to accept the idea that a good mother is one who accepts a pregnancy regardless of how dangerous, painful or viable it is. American culture has always needed women to believe that motherhood is about sacrifice and overwhelm. Now, with abortion bans, that bit of propaganda has gotten even more dangerous—deadly, even. After all, conservatives know that their laws won’t just force women to suffer, but to die. That’s why it’s so vital that we’re pushing back—refusing to valorize one woman’s choices over another’s, supporting laws that allow families to make decisions that are best for them, and pointing out this kind of conservative trickery whenever we see it. After all, you can’t have a ‘mommy war’ if there are no mommies left to fight it.

Jessica Valenti wrote a solid piece in Abortion, Every Day about the mommy wars over abortion ginned up by anti-abortion activists between those who end nonviable or medically fraught pregnancies and those who choose to carry to term.

[madaboutmunson]

Look through these blackened eyes You'll see ten thousand lies

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 9

Ao3 Link

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Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Pumping with the adrenaline from their fight and with his permission, Eddie attempts to exact his revenge on Steve between the sheets. But is retribution all that is at play here?

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only.

This is my first ever published smut chapter. I am sweating with nerves as I type this lol.

I have a few bang event projects to finish up, so this story will have to take a short break. Though the next few 5 chapters are already written then need to be edited, which takes me a lot of time. Sorry :(

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P; canon typical violence; angst; masochism; fist fight; smut

Word Count: 10.5K

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I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Part 9 - Eddie POV

Even in his wildest dreams, Eddie couldn’t have possibly imagined this because nothing about this moment in time makes any sense to him at all.

Hasn’t he loathed this man for years now? Didn’t this guy ruin his life? Hadn’t this guy just seconds ago tried to beat him down verbally and physically? Eddie realises it’s a resounding yes to everything, yet he feels a pulsing energy around them—something teetering on a cliff edge.

He didn’t know why he’d answered that way. It just fell out of his mouth, Only everything.

And he did want that. He wanted to steal everything from Harrington, just like he’d stolen everything from him, but he knew that wasn’t just revenge talking. Although that feeling is still very present, another looming entity is in the room. Lust. He could feel its selfish, irresponsible form like some gelatinous ooze was creeping all over him. Seeping into every recess of his brain, turning off logic centres as it passes, only leaving primal things in its wake. The only reason he lets it continue its pilgrimage into his very being is because it’s evident he isn’t alone in this.

Harrington’s lips are still at the shell of his ear. The last thing he’d heard from them was a whimper at his reply as his entire body weight rested on top of him. Eddie is in semi-thoughtful, mostly impulsive deliberations with the ornate ceiling above them. Then there is the delicate brush of stubble as Harrington pushes his head further over his shoulder until his lips press against his ear, “Then take it.” He whispers like silk, and Eddie is not god’s strongest soldier, or anyone's for that matter. His eyes roll back as the words and all their potential implications ignite every neuron in his body. Surging to the tip of his tongue for the next thing to say. Rocketing to his fingertips for the next thing to touch. His heart thumps powerfully in its skeletal hideaway, but not for love, for an imminent frenzy. For the thrill of finally getting something over the man who’s haunted his every waking day, every nightmare-filled night, and the poor wretch is offering it up to him on a silver platter. Take it.

Eddie never considered himself an angel, but he had principles and morals that kept him on the right side of judgement from himself and maybe others, but this might be a temptation too far. Harrington was correct. He had been a fan in the early days, at least. Perhaps even up until everything fell apart. Recalling his world imploding, he feels his grip on Harrington tighten again like he wants to squeeze the breath right out of him, but he resists when he hears that gentle groan in his ear.

He feels like he could both give in to something basal and still satisfy the need to get one over on Harrington if he follows the path his hormones are gouging out for him. He feels his accomplice's hands shakily run up his sides. The breath at his ear is now against his cheek as Harrington turns to face him, head still heavy on his shoulder. Maybe he was exhausted? Perhaps he’d already given up?

Eddie has to decide. Morally, this was bad. Professionally potentially the worst decision ever, but personally, maybe the sweetest fucking revenge. The holy grail of blackmail, or perhaps no one would even believe him if he told them. No one would think that Harrington, who walks the red carpet with his doting wife, or Harrington, who gets papped with his tongue hanging out for some harem of female groupies to hang off by sucking on it, would forgo them all to fool around with an average joe, like him. A nobody. A nobody who was, at one time, on the cusp of being a somebody. 

And maybe that’s what seals the deal for him. He violently pushes Harrington off him, hoping to press against one of the many bruises currently developing, and he must because he hisses as he meets the carpet with a thud. 

Eddie gets to his knees, and before Harrington can let any more spiteful words leave his wretched mouth, he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks him up until they are face to face. But Harrington isn’t struggling; he lets himself hang limp in Eddie’s grip. The previous violence has begun plumping parts of his face, the red marks deepening as burst blood vessels spill under his skin. His mouth hangs open slightly, “Take it,” he mumbles a reminder through swollen split lips.

Eddie’s other hand rapidly finds its way into Harrington’s obnoxious, luxurious hair and closes the gap between them with a clash of teeth. Their lips meet brutally. He can feel the hair strands fall between his fingers as his grip tightens, pulling it out from the roots. There is no polite request for entry when Eddie’s tongue forces its way into his mouth, but he’s not met with any resistance, only moans of pleasure. 

Initially, Harrington is a malleable thing in his hands, bending to his will, letting Eddie cruelly bite and drag his teeth over the wounds on his lips before kissing his hisses and whimpering back into his mouth, like he doesn’t want to hear them. And he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hear or see anything that might induce him to be merciful. Soon enough, Harrington springs to life, grabbing fistfuls of a T-shirt at Eddie's waist, twisting it around his fingers until Eddie feels it pull tight across his back. With a grunt pushed into his mouth, he finds himself yanked flush with Harrington. The heat and pressure from another makes the skin in all the places their bodies meet feel like embers of something long forgotten, but as they move together, the sparks find their fuel and ignite a searing wildfire across the surface of his skin. He can feel his heart pounding. He can hear it in his ears like a bass line to the wanton melody of noises between them.

He feels a shift again. Harrington’s knees bracket one of his own, forcing them closer together. Another sigh spills from out Harrington, and Eddie consumes it hungrily. Like he’s trying to capture everything. He would let the night have nothing. This was all his. Every sigh, moan, whimper and groan. He would gorge himself on everything he was pulling out of Harrington until he was sick from overindulgence or until Harrington had no more to give.

Then, just like he’s acclimatising, nothing further happens between them below the belt line, but Harrington’s hands find their way up and under Eddie's shirt. Calloused fingertips but soft palms glide over his back, urging him closer, even though it is physically impossible, but the gentleness is distracting and has no place here. Eddie drags his teeth over Steve’s tongue as he pulls away, only to have his mouth adorably chased by the man opposite him, who looked starved for it, even though they’ve been clamped together for who knows how long. Eddie ignores it, licks along Harrington’s jawline, and bites down on the hinge of it with his teeth, a helpful reminder of what is happening here.

He gets the message.

Harrington’s hands raise to his shoulder blades, rough fingertips press into his skin there, and then excruciatingly slowly, he drags his blunt fingernails down Eddie’s back. A gasp fights out and into his ear, causing a reactionary hip buck into his thigh from Harrington, whose fingers soothe their way back up the fresh scratches.

Harrington, for the first time, leans back, his spit-wet mouth slightly parted as he observes Eddie through barely open hooded eyes before raking his nails down him again, faster this time, making Eddie’s back arch towards him with a yelp from the stinging pain melting into a sigh caused by a wave of endorphins rearing up and crashing down on him. Involuntarily, he closes his eyes, maybe to savour the sensation of the burning strands of heat trailing over his back, perhaps to not look at Harrington. He isn’t sure, but he soon finds himself pulled into a more comfortable measured distance of zero. But no lips meet his. A hand grasps his jaw tightly and tips his head backwards. He feels a breath at the base of his throat, the moisture evaporating so quickly from him there is a coolness for a second before Harrington’s tongue drags up the column of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Wait here,” he’s instructed as Harrington leaves, and he finally dares open his eyes, tries to catch his breath, palms at the bulge in his jeans for a second of relief, and relaxes back on his heels.

He watches Harrington busy himself with a door handle sign, and he opens the door a crack. Immediately, Buckley’s face appears in it.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” She exclaims quietly, but he’s already trying to close the door again after hanging a do not disturb sign.

“Relax. We’re not fighting anymore.” He says and slams the door.

“Then what are you doing in there?” She yells angrily through the door.

Steve yanks the door open again, “I dunno, fucking hopefully,” she’s about to say something else when he slams the door shut and locks it again.

That makes Eddie spring to his feet, and his brain feeds him a million reasons why he really should leave, but the problem being he still has a reason to stay, and he’s still horny as hell.

Harrington slinks his way back and leisurely looks Eddie over, “What happened?” He smirks, “Didn’t wanna be on your knees when I got back?” Harrington reaches over and takes his arm, runs his hands over it, inspects it, leads him to the couch, and sits them both down. He waits for a second before crawling towards Eddie. He looked more creature than man. Almost under a spell, Eddie feels himself doing one thing but saying another. He reclines back on the seat, coaxing Harrington into his lap, saying, “This is a terrible idea, Harrington.”

“Oh, the absolute worst, for sure,” Harrington smiles slyly as he straddles Eddie’s thighs, “And I think it would be even worse for me to hear you call me by my name and not my brand.”

Eddie’s chest heaves as he is manhandled to make him a more comfortable seat, “Yeah, that would be a really dumb thing to do, wouldn’t it, Steve?” And he watches as Steve’s eyes shoot to his and shift from something amused to something all the more sultry. He tilts his head a little like he didn’t hear correctly, eyes firmly fixed on Eddie, who thinks he knows what he’s being asked to do, “Did you hear what I said,” Eddie lets his eyes fall to his lap and drags them unhurriedly back to meet the blooming dilated pupils of the man seated on him, “Steve?”

Like his own name is the shot of a starting pistol, Steve launches himself at Eddie again, with force enough to rock the furniture.

Within seconds, things start to feel almost competitive. Every kiss was returned with a more forceful one, every grip on the other's body was returned with a harder, more cruel squeeze, and every needy grind down was met with a hard thrust upwards.

The one-upmanship leaves Eddie intoxicated. He’s trying to think but can’t. He’s overwhelmed by sensation. His primitive brain just hungers for more. To take everything until all that is left is a carcass of the man huffing and panting in his lap. For a second, he doesn’t think he has ever seen anything more gloriously desperate as Steve. He wants Eddie with abandon of everything else. His persona seemed shed. He seemed real. Human. Not a nemesis. Not a celebrity. Not an object to covet. Just a guy. A hot as sin, ravenous, wild, hazardously beautiful man. 

Something threatens to bloom inside Eddie’s chest, and a fresh urgency springs to life, like a survival instinct almost. He reaches for Steve’s shirt and begins unfastening it. His fingers feel their way clumsily over the buttons as the rest of his body is otherwise occupied. He finds his hands grasped and pushed down to rest on Steve’s thighs as he leans back for a moment to pull the shirt over his head, and he finds his hands placed back on his torso, and that feeling of much softer than expected skin under his fingertips is tantalising but as he caresses over his body, it’s when his fingers meet the stubble at his chest or the trail down his abdomen that really sends Eddie into a spin. It overheats him. He feels like his own clothes are suffocating him. That they are needlessly in the way. He craves to feel this against his own skin and reaches behind his head, leaning forward to shed himself of some of it, but a hand on his chest pauses him.

Eddie looks up to find Steve toying with one of the many long chains draped around his neck, but instead of asking any questions, his eyes force him on a mini visual expedition of what his hands had been trailing over. A short, stunted breath leaves his mouth. This was crazy. He’s seen this body a million times in magazines, adverts, album covers, billboards, through his own camera lens and eyes, yet it feels like he’s never seen anything like it before. Littered with tattoos, a visibly heaving chest, ribs that appear and disappear as he breathes, muscles that flex and pulse as he writhes his body, but eventually, he hears him.

“Does it hold any sentimental value?” Steve rasps, his eyes trailing over and grasping onto his T-shirt. 

“No,” he replies with a pointless, unseen shake of his head. Steve immediately yanks a necklace from his neck with a grunt of effort, and he slides that under Eddie’s shirt. The chain still attached slides along his skin. Some links are still heated from Steve in parts. Others were cool enough to almost make him want to jerk away from them.

The safety-conscious part of Eddie is urging him to look at what might be happening under his shirt, but the hedonist who has clawed his way from the depths to the surface only wants to feast on what it wants to store for future reference. 

It’s innocent enough to start with, taking in how engaged he is with his task at hand, how his eyes that, naturally slope into a sadness, are wide and alive with anticipation. The way his bruised lips are pressed together in concentration and occasionally bite back into his mouth. Then his eyes trail further down to the sizeable bulge in his jeans, how it’s pressed against his own. He can’t stop his hands from sliding up to his hips, running his fingertips over the bone he hopes to be more intimately acquainted with as soon as possible. He settles on gripping them tightly, rocking his hips upward impatiently. A series of tuts raises his eyes to Steve’s face again, noticing a small smile growing, “Patience, baby. Patience.” He barely mutters out, his eyes still focused on the job at hand until his hand stills high up on his chest, the pendant still gripped in his fingers, “Hold still.” He says with an audible metallic click. Eddie dares to look down but can’t quite see what’s happening until Steve raises his other hand, splays his fingers in a V-shape, pushes down on the material, and the small blade pushes through.

Panic sets in, and a new adrenaline wave surges through him. He should leave immediately. This was fucked up. The fact he had a knife on him this whole time was terrifying, regardless of how little damage it looked like it could do. As he takes a panicked gasp of breath, he looks up at Steve, who is almost chewing on his bottom lip, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on the metal, and he makes a sound of appreciation before rearranging his hands so that he can hold the material taught and pull the blade down. It slices through easily, the fabric falling open, exposing him as it glides down. Eddie’s still breathing hard, but his heart isn’t thumping so much with fear anymore as the knife cuts through the hem, and Steve retracts the blade and tosses it somewhere into the room. His fingers grip the top of the slit, roughly yanking it apart to rip open the collar with a grunt.

Eddie stays entirely still and simply observes Steve. He wishes he had his camera to hand, as it’s quite a sight to behold. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this, not just lustfully, but like he was the most spectacular thing they’d ever seen. Steve’s large hands smooth over his skin and delicately push back the material. A yearnful noise emits from Steve like he can’t have what’s laid out in front of him as he presses into his skin, exploring it with his fingertips, his eyes trailing after them.

So Eddie reminds him that he can. He surges forward, capturing Steve in his arms, pulling him in tightly, pressing them together, and capturing his mouth with his own. It’s a mess of lips, groans and saliva topped with wandering mouths, causing careless, hurried nips of cuts and bruises. But the apologies are wordless. A hiss of too much from one is answered with a pleasurable pinch or caress elsewhere by the other.

Suddenly, Steve’s thighs clench hard around Eddie, and it doesn’t need explaining, but an excited smile sweeps across his face mid-kiss. He grips the back of his thighs and moves them up to wrap around his waist. Denim drags against denim, and he finds his arousal pressed up against something a lot plusher, and at the same time, Steve’s is now pressed into his abdomen, and he resolves these clothes have got to go now. He shuffles to the edge of the sofa, one arm holding their bodies together, the other draped under Steve’s legs, holding him up, simultaneously copping a feel of his ass.

And this must be where their experiences differ because Steve pulls back and looks unsure. Eddie smiles, “Better hold on to something, sweetheart.” He realises his mistake as soon as the pet name leaves his mouth, but he’s not gonna apologise awkwardly over words right now. He pushes himself up to standing, and Steve’s arms urgently wrap around his neck. Eddie checks in on him. Just a glance, he tells himself. Expects to see an almost comical face of panic, and he does for a second until he hears the thick swallow from Steve’s throat and watches his eyelashes bat slowly in a dazed blink at him.

Typically, Eddie knows he would have settled for the couch, but like he said, he wanted everything, and one of the things he wanted most right now was to see Steve an absolute mess under him.

He pushes adjoining doors open until he finds a bed. He stops at the edge of it, peels Steve’s arms from around his neck and unceremoniously lets him go so he lands on it with an oof and a bounce. Then Eddie’s hands quickly find his own belt buckle to finally get out of the remainder of his clothes. Steve doesn’t interrupt him. He just looks him up and down as he rests back on his elbows, his legs dangling off the edge of the bed, wetting his lips in anticipation.

He lets his jeans drop to the floor and kicks off his sneakers. As he bends down to remove his socks, he looks up and finds himself level with Steve’s knee, and his eyes trail up to his crotch, but from this angle, it’s easy enough for Steve’s eyes to capture him again and as he does Steve spreads his knees apart a little more and bites his lip temptingly.

That’s when Eddie acts out of sorts. Usually, he’d just let the other guy give him a show, but he reaches for Steve’s boot, unzips it and removes it for him, and the sock and the other set in turn. Like he’s saving him then trouble. Then clasps onto Steve’s calves, kneading into them through the denim as he works his way up over his knees until his hands glide over his upper leg. Steve’s mouth drops open a little with hope as he glances between Eddie and himself, but Eddie's nimble hands skirt around the place Steve wants him most to undo the fly of his jeans, but once he removes the belt and buckle from the equation he doesn’t find one. He sees where a zipper should be, something akin to the back of a laced corset. Metal eyelets with a black cord running crisscross through them. He tugs at one end, and the ties fall apart easily. His fingertips wander into the waistband of them. He anticipates feeling the fabric of some designer brand briefs, but he finds none. Only the softness of skin. Of course, he’s not wearing any underwear. Eddie almost laughs as he stands to get a better grip on removing his pants, but he’s interrupted.

Steve, obviously not happy about anything slowing down, has sat up, pushed Eddie’s hands out of the way and is currently mouthing at him through his underwear, and Eddie wants it not to feel this good, but it absolutely fucking does. He looks down to meet the hungry, longing eyes already looking up at him, planting eager kisses and licks over the material that is gradually getting soaked through. Steve’s chipped, black, polished fingertips crawl into the band of the Kirkland signature briefs. Eddie wonders for a second how much more expensive the nail polish is compared to them before nodding and Steve pulling down his underwear so he can finally spring free of its oppression. 

Steve stops. He stares and goes a little cross-eyed before looking back up at Eddie and running his tongue over his bottom lip. This is different from how he wanted this to go exactly, but who is he to say no. Nobody says no to Steve Harrington, right?

He watches himself taken in ringed hand, fingertips running down his length are soon accompanied by the flat wet expanse of Steve’s tongue dragging up it until it’s rolling around the throbbing head of his cock, and as his lips finally wrap around him, he looks right back up at him again, Eddie has to look away. He puts his hands in his hair, lolling his head back and groans with delight. Not solely because of the fact he’s getting his dick sucked, not just because it’s someone famous, but because it felt like, finally, the tables had turned. Finally, he’s in charge.

Steve’s hands urge him closer, but Eddie plants his feet and steps back even. He looks back down to watch himself pump in and out of that pretty pink pout. and it’s so good, but he needs more. He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, which gets his attention. Their eyes meet again, and this time, Eddie makes himself gaze back. His hand falls to the side of his face as his head bobs rhythmically. His thumb brushes over his cheek, his fingers cradle his wide-open jaw, and it feels like Steve leans into his palm. Eddie shakes his head quickly, moves his hand back into Steve’s hair, and holds onto it. And it brings the current events to a slower pace. 

Steve opens his mouth wide, extends his tongue out, and laps at the underside of the head of his shaft in a sort of come hither motion with the tip of his tongue, but Eddie does something else. He grips more tightly onto his hair and drags Steve towards him and off the bed until he’s on his knees. Steve doesn’t complain. Smiles even, with his tongue still hanging out, desperate for its next taste.

With a firm grip, he tilts Steve’s head back a little so he can see his face as he tugs hard on his hair, pulling him towards him forcefully until he gags and pulls him back off again. Looks down at him and raises an eyebrow in question as Steve catches his breath. He smiles up at him and drops his mouth open again, letting his tongue hang to his chin. Eddie slowly drags him by his hair up and down, repeatedly, occasionally forcing Steve’s nose to be pressed hard into his thatch of curls and held there, choking, his throat squeezing around Eddie as he does before he’s forced off of it again. He lets Eddie wield him like a plaything. And soon, that’s not enough either. Eddie finds himself gripping the sides of Steve’s hair, observes the grey tear stains rolling down his face, the drool pooling at the corners of his mouth, and by the gods, Eddie wishes he had his camera right now. And he thinks about it, about pounding himself into Steve’s face until oblivion, until he’s spent, leaving Steve hard and unsatisfied, but he finds his hand trailing over his face again. Whatever he was trying to prove, he felt like he’d just done that. Now, he wants something else. He wants to hear Steve fall apart.

He cups Steve’s jaw gently, encourages him to stand, and once up, he wipes at his face a little. He wants to ask him if he’s ok, but he knows he shouldn’t. He smooths his hands down his back until Steve takes matters into his own hands. He swiftly turns them around, deeply kissing Eddie as he does so, walking him back towards the bed. He feels the back of it hit his knees and sits down as Steve finally frees himself of his pants but doesn’t give Eddie much of a show about it all. Before Eddie has even had a chance to perceive how perfect his dick might be, Steve has clambered onto the bed too. He crawls up Eddie until their mouths slot together again, as one of Steve’s hands presses against his chest, encouraging him further back until he hits the headboard.

He finds himself caged between Steve’s arms, pressed against one another without a safety barrier of fabric. Desperate kisses move south to become more languid and wet at his throat, which chills him when Steve intermittently huffs out a breath over the sites of desire as his hips roll down into his own, causing delicious friction between them.

Steve moves lower but scoops his arm behind Eddie’s back, arching his chest upwards to dip his head and trail his tongue, which he wields like a demon, over it. He mouths over his stiffened nipples as he finds them, kitten licks them, chances a drag of teeth over them, as his lower position has him slowly thrusting against Eddie’s thigh. With each roll of hips, Eddie watches him slowly coming undone. Controlled deliberate kisses turn into him sucking down on Eddie’s skin, placing fresh areas of burst blood vessels next to the less recent ones. Ones from pleasure next to ones from pain. Calculated nips at his torso become full bites that linger to quieten his moans as they seep under Eddie’s skin.

Whilst it’s thrilling to watch Steve fall from grace as he uses Eddie as a means to get there, and it feels fucking fantastic, he wants it to be him that does it. He wants it to be him that pushes Steve over the edge. Up until the fight earlier, he’d been entirely sure that this guy was as straight as they come, but from what Eddie had witnessed so far, that was absolutely not a possibility. He’s done this before. Maybe countless times. Maybe with other guys like Eddie? Maybe with guys more like himself who both have to keep it quiet? Something hideous squirms inside him unpleasantly at the thought.

He captures Steve’s chin on the knuckle of his index finger, lifts his head, and receives a dopey smile. Eddie hasn’t seen him take anything, yet he looks pretty out of it, “You ok?” He asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to be doing any of this with someone out of their gourd.

“Mmmhmmm,” he nods on the crook of Eddie’s finger and smiles lazily. 

“Did you take something?” he asks plainly, scanning him for clues.

Steve shakes his head and crawls forward so their noses brush against one another, “The only thing I want right now is you,” his voice trembles as he leans in for another kiss. Eddie's stomach flips, which he can’t help feeling is very inappropriate. 

That isn’t what this is, he reminds himself. 

He pushes him back to break the kiss and runs his fingers over Steve’s lips, cuts and bruising included, before hooking two of his fingertips inside his bottom lip and gently pushing them further into Steve’s mouth. Eddie almost shudders at how obediently he opens his mouth wider with a nudge of his hand. He doesn’t even have to ask. He adds fingers, letting Steve suck down on them until he feels it’s enough.

He lowers his saliva-soaked hand between them and reaches for Steve first. Rolls his palm over the head before sliding his fingers easily down the shaft until he has him in his grip. At first, his strokes are slow and soft, not for Steve but for himself. He watches Steve’s eyes close, his breathing deepens and shudders, still on all fours hovering over Eddie, his fists clenched against the bedding, as his head drops forward against Eddie’s shoulder. He quickens his pace and tightens his grip until Steve is just a series of cut-off guttural noises in his ear. Then he lets go, takes himself in hand, and lazily moves his hand up and down. Their proximity means that the back of his fingers occasionally bump against Steve’s shaft. Maybe sometimes he stretches his fingers out so the contact is for longer, just so he can hear those whimpers in his ear again that are swirling around his head, disorienting him from his goal. He hadn’t realised how much faster he’d gotten, like Steve’s delicate whispered exhales reverberating through him were speeding him up. Soon enough, he finds his own moans intertwining with Steve’s.

“Fuck, you sound good.” Steve manages, and his first instinct is to quicken his pace further, let Steve’s voice ring in his ears as he succumbs to pleasure himself, but somehow he resists. Turning his attention and hand back to Steve, and the gasp in his ear, he’s sure he’ll be able to recall until the day he dies because his name is whispered out immediately after. 

He must have heard Steve’s voice in his ear hundreds of times before, listening to his music and interviews before everything went wrong. He remembers how thrilling it had been to hear his whispers on record or the bits a live recording would catch before and after a song, and now Eddie was collecting his own, all just for himself, never to be released or shared with anyone else. 

From the corner of his eye, he notices Steve’s arm shaking, the one Eddie had to beat his way free from. He sits up a little, taking the weight from his arm upon himself, and maybe it’s an act of compassion too far. Perhaps he should have waited until he’d collapsed because he feels his eyes on him again. He can’t help but glance, and he’s greeted with a snapshot of brutalised perfection. His lips, cheek, and one eye are swollen and reddening, but his jawline is still perfectly angular, the beauty marks still decorate his skin, his long lashes flatten out against his cheek when he blinks dumbfounded, maybe even a little surprised, mouth dropped open letting stuttering breaths pass freely. Eddie takes a mental snapshot. A pang of fleeting guilt runs through him, but entirely by chance, it’s interrupted.

Steve’s hands quickly reach out to clumsily hold Eddie’s face. His palms on his cheeks almost squeeze a little too hard, pulling him towards him, but the fingertips in his hair, caressing his scalp and the lips that ravenously meet his, make him forget to breathe. 

The sea of sin Eddie had been cannonballing into and happily disrupting the surface of suddenly didn’t feel like his safe space anymore. Occasionally a shadowy something below the surface reaches out. Threatens to drag Eddie down with it. He wonders how long he’ll have the strength to escape its grasp.

Eddie adjusts his position a little, doesn’t pull away from Steve, gets closer so he can take them both in hand, slides his hand over them both, takes his time, and thumbs over the top of them for any droplets of added lubrication he can find. The moans passing into his mouth grow louder. He opens his eyes to see Steve’s brow knitted together, his eyes no longer softly closed but screwed shut. Eddie moves faster, and Steve pulls back. A string of curses leave his mouth, “Shitshitshitshit.” He quickly moves out of Eddie’s grip with a hiss, “Fuck!”

“Something…wrong?” Eddie teases a little. Steve shakes his head, looks down at himself, wipes his hand over his face, and laughs a little. “If you wanna stop, put your big boy pants on and say so, Harrington.”

Steve’s smile fades, and his mood switches. “I never fucking said that. If you…” he starts, and whatever was about to leave his mouth makes him cower back down, “I-I didn’t say that, that’s all.”

Eddie can’t guess what he wants to say but wants to know, “My mistake.” He offers, and Steve looks up at him again, hopefully. Eddie hops off the bed and retrieves the wallet from his jeans. On return, he props himself up with pillows, tips out a bunch of lube sachets and condoms from his wallet and then tosses it onto the floor somewhere.

Eddie tears open a lube sachet with his teeth and squeezes it over his cock and hand. The cold sting of it makes him bite down on his lip to hold in a reactionary noise. He hitches up his knees and makes eye contact with Steve as he pleasures himself. The slick glide soon has him breathing more heavily, and like a moth to a flame, Steve is soon stalking his way back up the bed, looking between Eddie’s face and his display. Eddie stills his hand, sighs, and looks expectantly at Steve, “If I what?”

“If you…” Steve starts, and Eddie starts pumping his fist again. “If you hadn’t got laid in this long” He catches on pretty quickly as Eddie quickens his pace, lets his growling moans out freely, and watches how it makes Steve’s dick twitch when he does. Maybe he over-performs a few to wind Steve up further. He then exhales slowly as he squeezes the base of his shaft and stops again.

“What are you just playing Yahtzee with your friends in your playroom, Harrington? Is that it?” Eddie chuckles, and Steve looks a little conflicted.

Steve takes a hard swallow of what must be his pride and talks directly to Eddie’s glistening dick, “I might as well have been,” he starts, and so does Eddie, “I haven’t been able to, um, you know” Eddie pumps himself faster, trying to make the most lurid noises with the lube and an occasional exhale of a moan from his mouth. Steve is silent, quietly inching his hand towards himself. Eddie slows again, raises an eyebrow at Steve when he looks at his face, “Fuck, I mean, I thought it was gone for a year or something. Until…well, tonight.” 

And now many pieces are slotting into place for Eddie, why he’s so desperate and needy. Letting Eddie use him, why he pulled away, he doesn’t know if this is a one-off or not, and not just with him but his own body too. He wants the works, and though Eddie really shouldn’t have any pity for him, he feels a spark of it.

“Lie back,” Eddie says, and Steve double-takes.

“What?” He frowns.

“Don’t what me, asshole. Come up here, and lie fucking back, Steve!” Eddie performatively snarls, and he sees the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch up as he ungracefully hurries to obey.

He straddles Steve’s thighs, pinching them closed between his own and transfers most of the lube still on his hand onto Steve’s thigh ungraciously. Nothing too exciting for him right now, not yet.

He leans over him, careful not to create too much friction between them. Brackets Steve's broader shoulders with his arms and returns to how they started. Urgent kisses, wandering hands, teasing tongues. Walks a series of gentle bites along his jaw, licks at his throat, and sucks down onto his skin, leaving his mark as he travels down, making a kiss or lurid lick pitstop at every beauty mark and tattoo he finds. Pulls gently at the nipple piercings with his teeth and soothes over them after with the wetness of his tongue. Traces over every muscle dip until he gets to those hip bones he’d promised himself earlier. Steve writhes like the reptile he is under him as he mouths over them. Eddie might be getting a little too into it and reaches down to give himself some much-needed touch before moving down further, resting his chin on Steve’s thigh and looking up at the dewy-eyed, breathless creature above him. 

Eddie observes him and waits for his attention before blowing gently on the moistened tip of Steve’s dick. He watches Steve’s craned neck release and throws his head back into the pillows, “Jesus!” he breathes into the air above him. 

Eddie waits a little while until his breathing slows before hitching up Steve’s knees and separating them so he can lie between them. He trails a mixture of wet kisses and teeth drags along the inside of his thighs, watching his body constantly, ensuring it’s enough to keep him in that sweet spot but never too much.

He tests a slow trail of kisses along his solid shaft, which, on closer inspection, as Eddie had predicted, was indeed as perfect as the rest of him. It would almost be annoying if Eddie wasn’t having such a good time.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve moans as his hands grip onto the bedding. Eddie smiles. This is what he’s after, keeping him right here until Eddie decides to push him across the line. He wets his lips and pushes himself onto his elbows, admiring the gift before him as Steve settles down again. Then, he licks a fat stripe with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, and Steve jolts. He flicks the tip of his tongue along the slit to collect what is pooling in it and watches Steve’s back arch off the bed. Gods, Eddie wishes he hadn’t done that. He tastes delicious. So fucking good, Eddie is trying to spread the tiny droplet around his tongue so he can savour every aspect of it, and that makes Eddie lose sight of what he’s supposed to be doing. His hand rushes down to fuck into his own fist as he takes Steve wholly into his mouth until the tip of it threatens his throat. He just about hears Steve’s broken-off ahs and chanting of his name over his own guttural moans caused by hollowing out his cheeks and letting his tongue massage the underside of the throbbing cock in his mouth. Strong hands grip his shoulders, pull him out of his trance, and he releases him with an audible pop.

Steve’s chest and face are sweetly flushed as he’s gasping for air, and then the knitted brow falls into a content expression once he’s calmed again.

Eddie reaches over him to grab a few more lube sachets and a condom, but as he does, Steve desperately grabs at him again, pulling him in for another kiss, and Eddie isn’t sure it’s because he’s so damn close himself, but it makes his head spin, almost drops what’s in his hands. It’s not a hard, rough kiss like before, but it has passion and want all the same.

“Turn over,” Eddie says gently as he encourages him back down to the bed. Steve stalls for a second. Eddie figures he’s misheard, “Turn. Over.” he repeats softly, and this time he meets the request, “Just so I’m clear, this past year, you haven’t fucked anyone but has anyone fucked you?”

“No,” he answers quickly, though the pillows slightly muffle it, and Eddie has to bite his lips together to not whimper with anticipation as he sits behind Steve, rips open another packet of lube, and observes this new angle. The huge wolf tattoo he’s seen plenty of times, and the text stamped at the base of his spine he’d seen twice before partially, but now Wild Thing had an entirely different meaning. 

Sachet, still hanging out his mouth, Eddie has an idea. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and pulls him onto his knees so his peach of an ass is raised in the air. He runs his hands up Steve’s back and out to the sides so he can hold his arms. Trails his fingers down them until he has hold of Steve’s hands and brings them around so he can spread himself for him, and he wordlessly obeys as Eddie takes off his rings. 

He generously applies the lubricant to Steve and himself, secretly relishing in every exclamation or body spasm from the man before him.

He touches the pink puckered flesh, circles it gently, listens for the melody of moans he’s conducting and feels infinitely harder with each one. Waits for that magic moment when Steve backs up towards him, eager for it. Eddie pushes his finger inside and holds it still for a while as Steve’s body tenses, accompanied by a hiss until he finally relaxes. Relaxes might be a strong word because the way he’s clamped around Eddie’s finger makes him wonder if this would be possible at all.

Steve pushes back again, taking him deeper, and honestly, Eddie is impressed with how keen he is but does a quick glance of a check anyway. Steve’s face is side on, pushed into the pillows, panting heavily. He thinks maybe it’s enough. He’s had his fun, he’s already a mess, but Steve catches him looking, “What’s the holdup, stud?” he mumbles out, pushes back again, and that pisses Eddie off. Fine. He was just trying to be courteous, being fond of switching it up himself. He knows how it feels on the other side of things, but fuck it, right? Steve doesn’t give a shit.

Eddie does, however, and he’s not letting this debauched freak drag him down to something he’d regret. So he continues loosening Steve up, sometimes, to be spiteful, excruciatingly slowly, delighting between the switching Steve’s whines of frustration and groans of ecstasy as his fingertips meet the spot he knows is making him see stars.

When he’s primed to Eddie’s satisfaction and squirming in the hotel’s bright white sheets, a pathetic begging mess of a man, Eddie reaches around and quickly gives him a few firm strokes, making him huff out into the pillows. Eddie returns his fingers to his mouth for another taste, like an amuse-bouche before the main event.

He taps the sheathed head of himself at the tight entrance, pushing Steve’s hands away, and amuses himself by sliding over it a few times because it feels exquisite and drives Steve insane. He waits like a predator stalking his prey, waiting for Steve’s frustration to reach its peak. He waits for Steve to turn around with a frown, pushes the tip of himself inside as they lock eyes, wipes the scowl right off of it, and takes his breath away. 

Eddie would love to smugly smile back, but he’s gripping Steve’s sides for dear life. Jesus Christ, he was tight. He stays perfectly still. Which alone is making him start to sweat. He pushes himself deeper. Another x-rated groan from Steve and clenching around him almost has him retreating entirely. A strange jealousy sweeps over Eddie. All those noises from Steve were supposed to be his. He wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, coaxing his back to press to Eddie’s chest. Steve almost panics when he realises his weight might slide him down quicker than he wants, but Eddie holds him tightly until he’s found a comfortable squat, “There you go, sweetheart, take your time,” he croons slyly in his ear. 

And Eddie expects this evident pain slut to impale himself on his dick, but that isn’t what happens. His arms that are wrapped around his torso are mapped over by Steve’s, their fingers become intertwined, and as he turns so, they are face to face again. The grey streaks of eyeliner-saturated tears and tenderness take Eddie entirely off guard and snap him out of his attempted cruelty. He couldn’t figure this guy out at all. 

This close, he can see that no photograph would do his eye colour justice, not without editing, and where is the reality in that. Eddie gets lost in the pigments, getting bullied to the edges of his iris by his dilated pupil or looking at the beauty marks on his face that aren’t hidden by the blemishes he caused. 

Before he can say something clever or push him away, he finds his bottom lip trapped between Steve’s teeth. He pulls and drags his teeth over it as he sinks down a little more. It’s released when a groan threatens to escape Steve, which Eddie swallows down in a kiss and feels the fingers intertwined with his squeeze tightly. 

Eddie senses the danger now, but it happens in fits and starts because, in between the warning signs, his pleasure centres are blocking out any logical functions. Eddie knows he’s treading water, the shadowy thing licking at his heels, making its presence known but never quite revealing until it disappears again. He wonders if Steve feels it, too. If he feels like there isn’t just hate and lust here. He hopes to any deity listening that it is simply his hormones talking nonsense. That he’s merely just in the heat of the moment.

Steve pushes down again, and Eddie is in to the hilt. He’s clenched around him tightly and overwhelmed by sensation, and Eddie gives in. He softly sighs into another kiss and almost forgets why he’s doing any of this in the first place. Almost. It’s the roll of Steve’s hips and the whimper of “Fuck Eddie. You feel so fuckin’ good.” That pulls Eddie entirely out of his trance, reminding him of the aim here, 

“Good.” he purrs in his ear before untangling their hands and pushing him back down to the bed. 

Initially, the pace is slow, deep and deliberate as his fingers grip tightly onto Steve’s hips, and Eddie is just enjoying watching himself disappear inside him when Steve decides to say something stupid.

“Is this how you fucked that guy at the hotel?”

And in that one question, everything comes flooding back to Eddie again. The reason he’d stayed at the hotel, the reason he had to come crawling back to work with Harrington, everything he’d lost. 

With an absence of a reply, he tried to jog Eddie’s memory, “The one that looked like I used to?” As if implying that Eddie fucks so many people in hotels he’d not know which one he was talking about. It makes Eddie's lip twitch into a discrete sneer.

“No, but I probably should, shouldn’t I? Treat all you sluts the same, right?” Harrington’s body tenses under his touch as he pushes him around, making him arch more and his legs spread wider. He grabs his wrists and pulls them behind his back, landing him face-first into the bed again. Eddie tugs on his wrists, pulling him into a stretch almost. He starts thrusting again much faster this time, enough to make Harrington’s groans waver with each one, “He was beautiful, wasn’t he? Actually had some meat on his bones, something to really dig my teeth into. Something that I thought about for days later, and thank the gods for you bringing him up now, Harrington, because I get to think about him all over again whilst I fuck you wide open.” Eddie goes for broke and wants to make Harrington feel like dirt, like nothing, that he's lost it all in this moment.

Eddie sets a relentless pace. There is no talking now, just the sound of skin on skin, an occasional curse word from Eddie and Harrington’s muffled groans as he bites down on a pillow. With every noise, he fucks into him harder to shut him up until he’s just a set of stunted breaths, and Eddie becomes a sweaty grunting mess.

Harrington’s noises go up an octave as Eddie lets go of his arms and adjusts his position. And soon Eddie, hearing his name chanted again in a mixture of curse words and blasphemy, knows he’s got him where he wants him.

“My god, Eddie, fuck,” Harrington babbles. “I’m so close, Eddie, please” And fuck does he think about stopping right there, but he’s achingly close himself. Only a staring competition between this fucking giant wolf on Harrington’s back was helping.

Eddie spits in his hand, reaches around to spread it over Harrington’s length, and takes one of Steve’s hands and places it there, “Go ahead, Harrington, make a mess of yourself,” Eddie says with a slight mockery in his voice.

Harrington doesn’t need telling twice. Eddie watches his arm move in time with his thrusts and with a screwed-up face and a strained “Jesus. Fuck” Harrington spills with a loud exhale, and Eddie slows to a stop and pulls out as Harrington’s body stutters before it goes limp. He’s desperately near cumming himself, but he wants the full view. He rolls Harrington over so he’s lying in his own cum, picks up some on his fingertips and decorates Harrington’s lips with it whilst he’s trying to catch his breath. He then repositions himself between his legs and hooks them over his shoulders.

Harrington looks down but can’t form a response. He just slams his head back into the pillows behind him in blissed-out exhaustion. Eddie reinserts himself easily and leans right forward, bringing Harrington’s knees nearly up to his shoulders and leans down to messily lick over his lips as he rears his hips back only to slam them back down, a guttural winded noise leaves Harrington, and Eddie grins, looking down at this picture perfect fucked out freak underneath him.

Eddie wedges a hand between them and runs his fingers over his length to see if he’s got anything left or just to overstimulate him. He gets the latter, some amiable noises, turning into things on the edge of expressing pain, but he’s not doing a single thing about it. He slams into him again, and this time, the gasp comes with a sigh of enjoyment. Eddie continues to pick up the pace as he watches Harrington’s face contort underneath him.

And Eddie starts to lose himself. He closes his eyes as they roll backwards at the pleasure he’s feeling course through his body. He whimpers and moans, curses the gods, curses Harrington. The sweat is dripping from him as he closes in on the finish line. Steve’s hands on his face make him finally open his eyes. He’s brushing the curls and sweat from his face between huffed-out noises from Eddie’s jackhammering.

“You’re so fucking, hot, Eddie,” Steve sighs out as one of his hands reaches in between them. Finds Eddie’s hand to jerk off Steve together. “Are you gonna cum for me?” He manages before his brows push together, and he moans loud and long. In his pre-climax state, Eddie leans forward to capture his sounds for his own.

“Mine.” He growls through gritted teeth as his hips rut faster into Steve.

Steve’s unoccupied hand cradles his jaw, “Yours,” he whimpers out, and Eddie’s insides, already buzzing with adrenaline and imminent climax, completely somersault. “That’s it baby, cum for me.” he urges Eddie on, and stupefied by hormones and sensations, Eddie wholeheartedly agrees.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard for you, sweetheart,” Eddie pushes through his teeth.

And that has Steve in a real mess, his arm moving much faster. Eddie watches him babble incoherent things, his eyelids flutter, and tears spill out as he cums again between them. 

This was everything Eddie wanted. He had finally broken Steve Harrington, maybe not in all the ways he wanted, but certainly in an unforgettable way.

As Eddie's most satisfying climax is seconds away, a broken Steve paints Eddie’s lips with his cum covered fingers, “Mine,” he hiccups as the tears spill out of his eyes, and he reaches up for a kiss as Eddie's hips stutter against him and he careers off the edge into complete euphoria.

As Eddie slowly comes down, he finds himself repositioned, held in Steve’s arms, fully collapsed against him, slow kisses being gently applied all over his lips and a hand in his hair. 

Still catching his breath, Eddie raises his eyes to his. With their chests heaving, for some reason, they both laugh, and Eddie sees a side of Steve he’s not encountered before that maybe he’s seen glimmers of. When he laughs, he holds on to himself, and his eyes almost completely disappear from view because the apples of his cheeks are pushed up so high, even though there isn’t much to them these days. There is only silence or the sounds of their breathing for a while.

Eddie finds himself back where this started, staring at another ornate ceiling. His heart still thudding in his chest, he chances another glance over at Steve, only to look away quickly because he was already being observed. Steve’s hand gently plays with his hair, “We should probably clean up before they get here. Make it just look like a fight.” Steve’s voice is quiet and rough, but Eddie thinks he can hear a little sadness, too.

“Before who get here?” Eddie asks in confusion.

“Whoever the label sends when they get wind of this.” He sighs, “Damage control. To make sure you aren’t gonna leak anything. To remind me to behave myself, maybe teach me a lesson,” Steve pats him, sits up, takes the condom off Eddie, ties it up, and then starts gathering the wrappers before heading to the bathroom. Eddie hears a flush before he returns, “Come on, get up,” he says kindly with a smile, “gotta get this in the laundry shoot asap.”

Eddie can see him favouring one arm over the other as he tries to gather up the bedding. He winces occasionally but makes no sound of pain. He just tries to bundle everything up as Eddie watches the melancholy work its way over him. The Harrington of it all makes Steve disappear again. “Here, let me do that,” Eddie pretends to be annoyed as he bumps Steve out of the way to take over, “Goddamn rockstars got no clue about chores, obviously” he bundles everything up in his arms, “Where is it going?” Eddie looks at him like it’s the biggest inconvenience in the world, but Steve just stares for a second before silently pointing him to the private shute. Eddie heads towards it, calling back, “Let me know when you're done in the shower.” as he shoves the material down.

But the reply is closer than he expects, “You can wait if you want, but there’s room for two,” Steve says, looking between Eddie and random objects around the room. Steve swallows, “Or you know more? I’m pretty sure I’ve had four or five in there at a squeeze before,” with that, he walks away, saying, “You know, saving the planet, Eddie, not wasting water or whatever.”

He’s frozen in deliberations with himself, can feel that shadowy thing lurking closer now, and senses the danger of where his endorphins are taking him, but he’s also curious about Steve’s behaviour now. Was he afraid of the label?

Eddie resolves to take a chance. If what he said was true, this could be their last few minutes or hours together, the final opportunity for information for his book. He quickly shoves the material down and ensures it has not got stuck on the way. And follows the sound of running water.

He eventually finds the lavish bathroom. For a moment, he is confused that he can’t see a shower but can hear one until he realises another part of the room is around the corner. He pokes his head around, and the sight that meets his eyes is not what he expects. Steve's forearms and fists against the wall, his forehead pressed against the tiles, and his body slightly hunched over as it shakes like he’s sobbing. Eddie retreats quickly and thinks about leaving entirely. Was it because of what he’d done? Fuck he’d wanted to get revenge so badly he’d forgotten there was a human inside. What had his anger led him to become? Another bully, another vile person in a despicable place.

Eddie swallows down his emotions and resolves this was enough, he’d gotten something, which wasn’t everything but better than nothing, and maybe if he could fix this with the label, he’d get his career on the up again. He nods at no one and steels himself, “Steve, are you in here?”

“Y-yeah,” Steve replies, and Eddie gives him a few seconds to compose himself before strolling in like he’d seen nothing, putting on a show, looking around the area and whistling.

“Wow, this is truly fancy, huh?” He smiles, and Steve mirrors it as best he can and pushes open the door for him.

“This is the presidential suite.” Steve jokes and that’s the last thing said between them. They shower in silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Steve occasionally hands him a bottle of product. He doesn’t look at him when he does; he just holds it in his eyeline to take. Eddie notices the hair products are specifically for curls.

Steve gets out, towels himself, and sits in the chaise lounge. Eddie goes to grab a towel from the pile, but before he can, Steve hands him one from a rack, and it’s warm to the touch. 

As Eddie dries off, he can see Steve examining the aftermath in the mirror. Poking at his face and body, wincing occasionally. Eddie joins him in the reflection.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. I lost it,” Eddie tries.

“I deserved it,” he says back simply before checking over his teeth, which makes Eddie feel terrible. He looks at the floor and goes to leave, “I started it on purpose, Eddie. You tried to walk away.” Steve says as he continues to look in the mirror.

“Yeah, well, I should have just kept walking, shouldn’t I?” Eddie says solemnly.

“I wasn’t gonna let you walk out of there without hitting me.” He says, running a comb through his hair, which he hands to Eddie as he catches up to him.

Eddie plays with the comb between his fingers and leans against the hallway wall, “Do they do this often?” Eddie asks.

“Who? Do what?” Steve asks, a little confused.

“The label about people you spend time with,” Eddie says vaguely, not looking up from the comb teeth he’s running his thumb over.

He hears Steve sigh, “Look, as you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m not as straight as I’m portrayed, ok? They want me to stay that way. That’s what keeps me making money. If I were to come out, it would ruin the whole thing. So no, they don’t normally do this because I don’t normally do this. Buckley usually keeps me in line, not because she wants to, but because I ask her to,” he pauses, “and sometimes I ask her to turn a blind eye, when we’re away, when there are fewer company spies, but usually, that’s for five minutes or so, at some no coverage allowed party, you know?”

“Why don’t you just tell them to fuck off? You’ve got more money than you could possibly know what to do with.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just me, Eddie. It’s Buckley, Denise in PR, Fred in merch, and Gina in finance. Harrington isn’t just me. It’s a machine, and I’m just one cog everyone can see,” Steve says, “also, money can’t buy everything, or so I’ve found. Sometimes you gotta be in with the right people too.”

“Steve, you paid nearly a million to work with me. You’re telling me there is something millions of dollars can’t buy?” Eddie folds his arms and almost laughs.

“Do you, maybe, wanna stay over?” Steve asks, ignoring the question.

Eddie is surprised. Isn’t that what people typically say before sex rather than after? Was this guy insatiable? Did he want another round? No, he’s just made sure the evidence was gone.

“You haven’t gotta, I just thought maybe….I dunno. I guess I just don’t know what’s gonna happen, is all, and punches and fucking aside. I kinda like your company and, uh, though this isn’t your responsibility, I don’t really like waking up on my own. I mean, I could get Buckley to call someone in, but, um, they might ask questions,” Steve gestures to himself.

Eddie looks up at him, but he’s looking down and toeing at the carpet. Eddie huffs out a laugh, “Guess it beats walking past Buckley on my own right now.”

Steve raises his head, and there is a twitch of a smile, “Thanks,” he says as he disappears for a minute or two, leaving Eddie with his thoughts, before returning fully dressed, holding Eddie’s clothes and wallet. He takes the cut-up T-shirt, returns to the lounge area, and starts planning his crime scene as Eddie puts his underwear back on. He starts placing glasses and leaving drops of alcohol in them, spilling a little on the carpet and doesn’t tidy up any items cast on the floor. Partially fills two glasses and carries them through to bedroom further down the hall. He places a drink on each bedside table and hands Eddie a fresh T-shirt from his own clothes.

“You're gonna have to put it all back on, so it doesn’t look…well…gay?” And Steve bursts out laughing at that, and Eddie joins him. The bed is enormous, so there is no need to be close. They take a side each.

The lights go out, and it’s still and quiet again.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Steve says.

“Goodnight, Steve,” Eddie says as he closes his eyes for sleep to take him.

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

Songs that inspired this chapter: Touch Me I’m Sick - Mudhoney, Low - Foo Fighters, Closer - NIN, Last - NIN

[raayllum]

No offense but how could you support a show when a creator has been abusive to their employees? Isn't that bad?

under a read more bc jc anon

fascinated that you think this an appropriate question for you, a stranger, to ask me, also a stranger, regardless of anything, but especially when you have no understanding of my own (or any other stranger's) history with emotional abuse

which hello, hi! i am have been emotionally abused twice. it was fucked up. both times majorly sucked ass. thank you for randomly dropping an ask about an upsetting topic in my inbox with no warning. you're clearly very good with boundaries & considering people's feelings & all potential angles :))

no, i'm not particularly concerned over the lives of people i don't know personally over a situation that was resolved more than 4 years ago. i haven't been very concerned about it since the head writer of the show, who is also a queer woman (and was publicly 'outed' as one of the women apparently abused by someone who had left the company months prior - which, don't think i have to say you don't out anyone's experiences with emotional abuse without their permission, even if they talk about it later, good god) confirmed that things have improved. more details here if you're interested

bc the fallout, company got HR. literally cannot do that without the creator's go ahead. that's all the accountability i need. it's not my responsiblity to make someone i do not know better, not even the two people who spoke out ever asked for a boycott, and unlike some other fans i've also never lived in cognitive dissonance land of thinking someone is never improving/stuck as an awful person forever while also wanting the show to continue cause that's fucking Weird bro

i don't care about your moral judgements, ngl. idk what your history is and i'm not going to assume because we're Strangers, and if you're too uncomfortable with it that's your prerogative, but i'd take a queer friendly fantasy show that i enjoy with my friends any day over denying myself happiness just because someone was a dick for a time (and abusers are still People anyway, but that's a discussion for another day).

i'm not interested in the moral purity of interrogating everything i love. i'm not interested in purity culture or punishment > rehabilitation at all, actually. which is why if you wanna come off DMs and have a conversation, or send a follow up ask that's more on kilter, i'd be perfectly happy to engage. but to be frank:

no offense, but i don't really know why or how you thought this was your place. please think a little bit more thoughtfully before you choose to come into my inbox again

[hasufin]

"Arguing that you don't care about privacy because you have nothing to hide is no different than saying you don't care about free speech because you have nothing to say."

That's perfect. That's exactly true.

And, you know - the thing about privacy is, I don't have anything to hide until I do. I don't spend every moment of every day doing things I'd rather not be judged for. But you can't have a cutout switch to shut off surveillance only when you'd rather not be watched. That's not privacy, that's a big beacon which screams "Here's the good stuff! He's the salacious, blackmailable material!" Privacy only counts when it's all the time. When "public" is a thing you choose to offer, selected of the bits that you want out there. Anything else isn't privacy at all.

Another matter is, we often conflate two very deeply different meanings of "private", which makes sense because they're both opposites of "public", but in different ways, and they reinforce each other.

See, there's the "private" of "this is not to be seen by the public". It's the privacy of taking a shower. You know I take a shower every day. You know I get naked for it. This is not a secret. But that doesn't mean you get to set up a camera in my bathroom. And you don't get to critique how I shower. You don't get to know what else I do in my bedroom or bathroom. Those are private, not for public consumption. Some you may know, some you may guess at, some you may not ever imagine at all. It's all private.

There's also the private of "This is my choice. It is not for public review and determination." Most of a decade ago I got married. This is a matter of public record. Not only can anyone who looks me and my spouse up know we got married, if the fact of our marriage were not available for public knowledge it would effectively not exist. But our decision to get married was not public. It was a personal - private - decision upon which we did not require the input of anyone else. We did not have to put in a request to our Homeowner's Association, ask permission from the county (beyond the "we are legal adults who are able to enter into this contract" part), our parents couldn't prevent us from getting married, we didn't have to submit to a Board of Moral Behavior for review - it was our decision.

Thing is, the privacy of "Nobody gets to know about this unless we allow it" supports the "Nobody else gets to decide this unless we allow them to". Many abuses of government can be avoided by simply keeping government - and the public at large - from having the information to be judgemental. If you get to control your personal information, you get to control your personal choices. And, conversely, if some other agency controls your personal information, they may be able to exercise control over your personal choices.

[no-thought-crimes]

21 yo, she/they. My opinions:

Anti thought crime - I belief that thoughts in and of themselves are morally neutral

Pro consanguinamory - I believe that consensual incest can be morally permissible

Pro paraphilia - I believe that attraction in and of itself is morally neutral, and that paraphiles can use self control, therapy, and non-harmful outlets to avoid offending (when applicable)

Anti child abuse - I am against csa and the creation of csam. I am against adult/child romantic and sexual relationships. Yes, even with AAMs and MAPs

Pro zeta - I believe that adult non-human animals can consent to sex with humans, and other species. This opinion is primarily based on the ideas that nonhuman intelligence should not be measured in human terms, consent can be conveyed through more than just verbal language, and effort should be put into learning a species' and individual being's mating behavior and body language to understand them. I haven't had sex with animals, and don't plan to, simply because the species I am attracted to are not physically compatible with me.

Pro otherkin/therian - psychological, past life, whatever. I think it's reasonable to identify as an animal on some level. I am a past-life therian + otherkin myself.

TransID critical - this opinion is way too complex to fit here. Do your thing, I'll leave you alone, but I really cannot stand the "transh*rmed" and "transh*rmful" labels among others. If it's something you post about frequently or passionately, don't expect a follow back

Uninvolved in system discourse - I truly believe that this is a topic I should stay out of, because I am neither a system nor a professional who has studied the topic. I very much think that this is a concept most tumblrites have no expertise on or even experience with, so we should not be asked to pass judgement regarding it

[cobra-creampuff]

About Me!

Hi, I'm Jack! I'm 29 and I use he/him pronouns. You might know me as @/calicojackofficial - which still exists as a writing and art sideblog, now @calicoy. On this blog you'll find fandom and personal posts. Everything is tagged for easy filtering.

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you are not comfortable viewing content about sex, romance, kink, polyamory, etc. This content will not be tagged unless it's explicit. It will not be hidden behind a cut unless it's very long.

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DO send me asks about:

My WIPs, fic, and art | fandom figures I've blogged about or that you think I would like | yourself!

DO NOT send me asks about:

"Passing" | Race & Antisemitism | Wank/"Discourse" | the shitty stuff in the news | "Cis-Swapping" | Incest & Pseudo-Incest

DO NOT hit on me, send me sexual fantasies that involve me, or try to cyber with me. I'm comfortable with sexually explicit asks about fandom figures, original characters, sex/kink/relationships as a general topic, and even discussing real world experiences! But I am not "available" or a sexual object.

DO NOT call me by any pet name or title without permission.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 11 first part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Goodness)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Okay! This episode is a real slice of healthy family dynamics, not triggering in any way. [Uh if this is your first Restless Rewatch: that is sarcasm, dear readers]

Goodbye to You, Goodbye to Everything We Knew

Nie Huaisang asks why Meng Yao has to leave and Meng Yao says "I killed a guy without permission, so your brother fired me." 

Ha ha ha ha no he doesn't. But he does give Nie Huaisang a sweet, sad smile; he seems touched by NHS's distress. 

Meng Yao carefully removes Nie Huaisang's hands from his shoulders and bows to him, wordlessly signaling the change in their relationship from intimate friends to formal strangers, while Nie Huaisang looks crushed. 

They will return to intimate friendship in the future, but falsely. Meng Yao believes that truly loving a person can include destroying their family and using them as an instrument in your murder plots as long as you don't directly harm them.  Nie Huaisang eventually learns to use people just as brutally, but he doesn't lie to himself about what he's doing. This farewell may be the last harmless moment between these friends. 

Jiang Cheng is distressed by what's going on, while Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and watches, fully in Sherlock Holmes mode, instead of his more usual concerned-for-my-friend mode. This may signal mistrust of Meng Yao, who refused his initial attempt at friendship, and not in a sexy, slice-your-face-off way.  Or it may mean that he's reserving judgement on a complicated family situation. He maintains his uncharacteristic reserve through the entire encounter. 

(more behind the cut!)

Nie Huaisang runs in and asks his brother WTF happened. Nie Mingjue says "he killed my subordinate without permission, when he knows perfectly well power must flow from the ruler; it's like he didn't even read that Foucault book I gave him."

Ha ha ha actually he just yells at his brother, as if NHS doesn’t have his own relationship with Meng Yao after being wonder twink powers with him for probably a couple of years now. NHS has to sit and process his loss and confusion in silence.

As a younger sibling who would make friends with my older siblings' girlfriends and then lose those friends if they broke up, for reasons having nothing to do with why I liked their girlfriends, I super feel Nie Huaisang's pain here.

OTOH, older siblings are entitled to have break ups and not explain themselves to anyone besides their lover because that's the nature of intimacy. The moral is, uhh...don't have a family curse that makes you unreasonably angry. 

Jiang Cheng steps up to advocate for Meng Yao, because Meng Yao is injured, and because Jiang Cheng is actually a born leader who knows better than to throw away a useful subordinate. For example, even when Wei Wuxian is at his drunkest and most defiant, Jiang Cheng tries to reform him, not kick him out, only drawing the line at having unpopular zombie friends.

Wei Wuxian continues to keep his mouth shut, waiting for Nie Mingjue to calm down, and speaking only about the tactical situation. He clearly knows there's more to this story but he's pretty good at keeping his head down in a family ruckus, and we're about to learn why.

Yunmeng Town

The Yunmeng bros go home to Lotus Pier, where they are greeted in town with bows, smiles, and free stuff.

We've mostly been seeing them in their roles within the cultivation community, where Jiang Cheng is grumpy and anxious, and Wei Wuxian is sassy and iconoclastic. Here among common people, they are both charming, friendly, and polite, like the imaginary good kind of gentry.

They hear the news from a local lotus seller that the small clans are coming to the Jiang Clan for shelter, but that otherwise everything's ok, which doesn't sound like everything is ok at all. He gives Wei Wuxian a giant bag of lotuses for his sister to make soup from.

Home to Lotus Pier

All the disciples practicing in the courtyard at Lotus Pier are excited to see them, and one girl goes running to tell Jiang Yanli. Thanks to the admittedly beautiful design of Lotus Pier, she is running for a long time.

A long, long time. Getting around on all these insane walkways must be a real drag if you're not the flying sort of cultivator.

Discipline and Punish

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian immediately go and kneel while they wait for their official punishment. Jiang Cheng is kinda worried about the punishment and Wei Wuxian is like, I'm good at being punished, just let me do it. 

Much later, and for a really long fucking time

He also tries to get Jiang Cheng to stop being mad, even giving him skritches while he says they should be brothers after they die.

Which they will, as it happens, although Jiang Cheng after the Wen torture is only mostly golden-core dead, while WWX dies for real.

When Jiang Fengmian shows up Jiang Cheng starts to explain that they were with Lan Wangji, but Wei Wuxian hushes him; he is still keeping the secret of the Yin Iron. Although he's keeping it in exactly the manner that a teenager keeps their weed stash secret: immediately tell literally every teen friend about it, but keep it extra secret from everybody's parents. 

Happy Families Are All Alike

Now we get to meet Yu Ziyuan, who is generally styled Madame Yu but who I'm going to call by her name just as if she was a male character. More on that concept in a minute. She rolls up looking, smelling, feeling like a million yuan, with her two murder bitches in tow.

Her marriage is an unhappy one, and her husband does his best to avoid her and avoid conflict, lying to the kids that she's tired and then sending her away later with the same line about being tired, which is a particularly gendered kind of gaslighting. She is obviously not tired, other than being tired of Jiang Fengmian's shit.

I'm not going to say she's the worst mother ever, because parenthood in a feudal society entails a wide range of skills, many of which she has in abundance. She starts off with a relatively tender greeting to Jiang Cheng, tuning up his always-amazing sartorial style, which is exactly like her own. They are all ready for the mommy & me fashion show.

That said, she dishes out hellacious verbal abuse to everyone in her family. She targets each one in turn, making Wei Wuxian the focus of most of her ire, but without ever directly speaking to him. He is not, in her view, part of her family. 

The Stages of Family Dinner

1. Try to fix it and defuse the situation

2. Yeah no

3. Just keep your head down and be glad it’s not your turn in the hot seat

This family meal hammers home how much Wei Wuxian is not, actually, part of the family. Jiang Fengmian adopted him into the clan, and told A-Cheng and A-Yi to treat him as a sibling, but he didn't give him the Jiang name, and he didn't get his wife's approval. He also doesn’t expect him to dress like any other clan member, apparently. 

Compare this to how Lan Wangji, actual good parent, fully integrates his own adopted son into his clan and family, starting with giving him the Lan surname.  

The hits just keep coming as she goes after Jiang Cheng for being less gifted than Wei Wuxian, Yanli for performing labor for Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Fengmian for possibly begetting Wei Wuxian.

On first watching this scene I took her question "Is this how you raise someone else's son?" to mean that she thought Jiang Fengmian was being too nice to a kid who was actually an outsider, taking resources away from the real kids. But on rewatching, it's pretty clear that she's saying his favoring Wei Wuxian is evidence that Wei Wuxian is NOT someone else's son; that he's Jiang Fengmian's bastard. 

Jiang Fengmian doesn't say a thing to this, or to her mentioning WWX’s mother. This shit is why WWX is running around in the world desperate for any crumb of info he can get about his Mom; he hears about her all the goddamn time at home, but only as insults to her character.  

A Bitch is Not Wrong

Here's the thing, though; a lot of what Yu Ziyuan says is correct. 

Jiang Fengmian should be a lot more concerned about the danger to the children, and should not leave it up to the kids to decide who's going to bear that danger.

Yanli does a lot of food=love, which is ok in the right doses, but causes her to pretty extremely lose face during the whole "soup for Jin Zixuan" debacle. And her doting on Wei Wuxian is...kinda excessive. I mean, yeah, she’s more like a mom than a sister to him, but still. Running out onto an active battlefield to look for him, frex, will be a skosh too much. 

I have a dictionary too, mom

Jiang Cheng, as the future clan leader, shouldn't let his attachments affect his decision making, and should let Wei Wuxian, who's the superior cultivator, fend for himself more often. We love Jiang Cheng for those moments where he puts himself in harm's way to protect his loved ones, but it's not a good strategy. He constantly yells at Wei Wuxian for the exact same thing he does all the time himself; he just limits who he does it for.

After she roasts the shit out of everyone for these failings, she leaves, and everyone sits around being miserable and not talking about what just happened. 

Not to be gender studies-y on main but: the awful things she says to her children are really not very different from the things that Jiang Cheng says to Jin Ling, although her targeting is more adept. JC also says a lot of mean things to WWX when he’s angry. When a man says cruel or insulting things, it's often presented as real love hidden under a rough exterior. When a woman does it, she's a monster.

If you enjoy this sort of interaction you should definitely have a look at Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and the plays of Eugene O'Neill.

Road Runner

Oh thank god, moving on

Lan Wangji is headed back to Cloud Recesses, and gets ambushed by the roadside with the most ridiculous trap this side of Wile E. Coyote.

Wen Chao thinks the "rug over a hole" trap is a good idea for someone who can literally fly.

Lan Wangji doesn't faff about with sword riding, he just fucking goes up in the air and stays there until he is good goddamn ready to come down. A hole in the sidewalk is really not going to be a problem for him. 

Wen Zhuliu does get in one kick before Lan Wanji yeets backwards away from him, in a moment that's scarier on rewatching, now that I know what Wen Zhuliu is capable of.

Wen Chao talks some smack to Lan Wangji, hilariously complaining about "your patronizing tone" to a man who has literally never spoken a word to him, IIRC, and certainly isn't speaking now. Maybe it's a mistranslation and should be "attitude," or maybe Wen Chao is just that dumb.

Apparently Wei Wuxian made a stack of talismans for Lan Wangji to take on the road with him. This talisman is a twin to the one Lan Wangji brings out way, way later in Yunping, when Wei Wuxian says "you even have kept it until now." Missing scene alert! What else did he make for him?

In Yunping this talisman is used to distract some random harmless street bullies. Here it is used against a seven-man murder squad.

This works.

Assault on Cloud Recesses

Forgettable disciple #1, Su She, comes rushing in to tell Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen that Cloud Recesses is under attack.

I'm pretty sure these dudes already know it, because they are meditating extra hard with a buttload of incense, and Lan Qiren is about to cough up some blood. So I think they're trying to hold the ward, rather than just, like, chilling while their disciples get stabbed.

Cloud Recesses is super on fire, you guys; it's going to totally burn to the ground; look at that conflagration, oh the humanity, etc.

Lan Qiren Rises to the Occasion

Ok, I like to rag on Failmaster Qiren and he is definitely an authoritarian dick a whole lot of the time, but in this scene he is fucking amazing.

He starts off worrying about Lan Wangji, not just out of affection but out of strategic planning, probably in equal parts. All three of these Lans take their clan responsibilities extremely seriously.

Then he calmly assesses the situation while imperturbable Lan Xichen freaks the fuck out. 

Lan Xichen is right to be alarmed, because he knows his uncle, he knows one of them is likely to die, and he knows that Lan Qiren will choose to take the hit.

I love, love, love Lan Qiren's physicality here; how centered and assured he is, as he holds his nephew steady and explains what is required of both of them.

Lan Xichen knows Lan Qiren is right. He is utterly fucking devastated, and all he can do to show his love...

...is to obey. 

This whole scene just. kills me.

Su She and forgettable disciple #2 are in the room for this whole conversation, and they join Lan Xichen in this deep bow. Note: I will be reminding everyone of this fact in Part 2.

Whew. This episode is a LOT. Part 2 Coming Soon!

Writing Prompt: What other goodies did Wei Wuxian put in Lan Wangji's care package before Lan Wangji hit the road without saying goodbye?

Soundtrack: 1. Michelle Branch, Goodbye to You 2. Ludacris, Stand Up

[crazy-pages]

So here's the rules of economic participation on capitalism and political participation in imperialism: 1) The house always wins. 2) The system cannot be changed. 3) Power concentrations exist with or without your permission.

Now, two of those laws are lies. The house does not always win and the system can sometimes be changed, sometimes even broken. But the one law that is absolutely inviolable is that concentrations of power exist with or without your permission. Even in a perfect democracy with voluntarily chosen representatives, or an anarchy with only social recognition of informally elevated project leaders and people with trusted judgement, there will be people who can exert power regardless of your personal opinion on the matter.

There is no such thing as revoking consent to an economic or political system through inaction. It is going to act, unless you (or more practically a well organized group of you and like-minded others) do some specific action to stop it.

And if you don't have that ready to go, right now, no form of inaction revokes that permission. Billionaires and the state simply do not require your permission to act in the first place, it was never yours to give. You are not giving permission to the system by participating in what little choice it gives you, because you can't deny it that permission in the first place.

This is what we mean when we say "no ethical consumption under capitalism". There are individual purchasing choices which support less evil shit, sure, but ultimately it's all part of the same system. Even if your money goes to a perfectly morally pure co-op with equal distribution of profits, they're paying rent, they're buying from suppliers, your money is going to end up in the pockets of billionaires who are going to use it to continue enforcing the current system and horrifcally abuse people. You can choose your flavor of economic support for capitalism (and some people have greater privilege and flexibility in that than others), but the permission to reject it entirely through your purchases is denied to you.

The same applies to voting. You cannot deny permission for the system to exist because that's not yours to retract. Not voting is still permission, just a different flavor, because you cannot retract that permission by anything you do with your vote (including not using it). Even if you want to foment revolution and are actively working on that right now, not voting is still permission for the existing political structure to keep operating, as surely as voting is.

The third law is unalterable. You can act to change systems, but inaction is no less permission giving them action taken within thy context of the system. And, obviously, action taken outside a political system to dismantle it can coexist with one's minimal choices about how to steer the ship from within it. They aren't mutually exclusive.

There is no ethical consumption under capitalism. But that doesn't mean you should invest in British Petroleum, and it also doesn't mean you should skip the city council meeting about whether to allow a Walmart into your small city. Because you what? Having a Walmart in town is going to make it a lot harder to organize local unions and get diehard socalist free housing lovers elected to city council.

[i-am-the-pancake]

c!awesamdude corruption arc

i learned a thing in my psychology class and i shall now apply it to blockmen roleplay. analysis of c!sam’s torture arc:

(i posted this essay yesterday but i wasn’t sure if i did it right (i am still new to tumblr) so i deleted the original post and copied the essay into this post.)

tw torture mention

in 1971, a study was conducted in which participants (a bunch of college students) were placed in a fake jail and randomly assigned roles of either “guard” or “prisoner” (source) in order to investigate the effects of perceived authority and social expectations on behavior. almost immediately after the stanford prison experiment began, the “guards” began abusing the “prisoners” despite having received no explicit instructions to do so (source). although the study was intended to continue for two weeks, it had to be terminated after only 6 days for ethical reasons due to the behavior of the “guards” (source).

the findings of this study revealed that people are very susceptible to perceived social expectations. one of the researchers participated in the study as a "warden”, and although he did not tell the other “guards” what to do, he did not reprimand them for striking “prisoners” when fights broke out between them. this was interpreted by the “guards” as implicit permission, possibly encouragement to mistreat “prisoners” (source), which they later acted on by furthering mistreatment.

to clear up a common misconception about this study, the interpretation that people are apt to abuse power was incorrect, and later research showed that the “guards” did not mistreat the “prisoners” because they were innately tyrannical, but because they were trying to fit what they thought was the behavioral expectation. the participants thought that the researchers/ wardens wanted them to act in a certain way, so they tried to meet that expectation even to the point of abusing fellow participants.

(i have seen a few other articles pointing out flaws in zimbardo’s experimental design and data analysis, but this particular finding is corroborated by milgram’s obedience study, which found that people will go against their own morals and judgements to obey a perceived authority (source).)

so how does this apply to c!awesamdude’s recent behavior?

the abusive “guards” of the stanford study only had perceived power, a roleplay part assigned by coin flip. c!sam, on the other hand, has been given unchecked control over what c!dream eats, when he eats, and whether or not he gets visits, among many other things in an environment that is very clearly designed to contain and punish prisoners. this creates an implicit order for c!sam to contain and punish c!dream by any means. c!tommy, upon seeing c!sam after being revived by dream, reinforced this order to ensure that c!dream doesn’t escape, and c!quackity, by convincing (or manipulating) c!sam to allow torture, implicitly told him that torture is an acceptable (possibly necessary) tool to fulfill that order.

and in accordance with milgram’s findings, it makes complete sense for sam to go against his own morals to obey that order. in milgram’s study, a researcher told participants to press a button that would deliver an electric shock to another person (no one was actually shocked, but the participants didn’t know that). even though participants heard (fake) screams whenever they pressed the button, they continued to press it at the researcher’s request despite being allowed to opt out of the study at any time, because the researcher was insistent on the importance of their experiment (source, source). just like a milgram participant, c!sam continues to go against his own moral beliefs to do whatever he thinks is necessary to punish c!dream and ensure his containment, the importance of which was repeatedly stressed by several members of the server.

in this scenario, the server takes the role of the authority, issuing the order by sentencing c!dream to prison. i don’t watch many of sam’s streams, but from what i understand, he's a bit of a doormat, so it makes sense that he would accept that so easily. even if he weren’t, it would be difficult to refuse, given that a majority of the server showed support of keeping dream in prison with him as warden.

c!quackity then sets the standard (or lack thereof) for acceptable means of fulfilling that role and executing server’s collective order. c!sam was not in a good place (mental-health-wise) when c!quackity convinced him to allow this, which might explain why he allowed it so easily. from c!sam’s perspective, c!quackity thinks it’s okay, and c!dream’s prison conditions are already on the verge of torture but no one’s challenged them yet, so the server must be alright with it. like in the stanford study, this is taken as permission to continue and even intensify c!dream’s maltreatment.

in ponk’s recent stream, c!sam is still obeying that perceived authority and following that order, but the standards for acceptable means of doing so have changed to include torture. in c!sam’s eyes, c!ponk poses a threat to the prison’s security because he might be planning to free c!dream, so the threat has to be terminated. c!ponk has to be sufficiently taught not to mess with the prison, or rendered incapable of doing so, and c!sam is allowed to use any means necessary to do so.

i really don’t want to say that c!sam’s having a villain arc because he seems like a really nice character when he’s not being the warden (and because i don’t  believe in villains), but he’s definitely corrupted. it may not be his own fault, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is.

[negativeaperture]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kyuubi | Nine-tails | Kurama & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Kyuubi | Nine-tails | Kurama, Sarutobi Hiruzen, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Maito Gai | Might Guy, Nara Shikaku, Hatake Kakashi, Hyuuga Neji, Aburame Shibi, Shimura Danzou Additional Tags: Trans Female Character, Trans Female Naruto, Trans Characters, Political Intrigue, Human Rights, Politics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, OC insert, Self-Insert, but not really, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Orphans, political structures, so buckle up for a lot of politics, Political Bullshit, Konoha is not a nice place, The whole Shinobi world is not a nice place, semi-realistic, Military Dictatorships, Law, Fake Lawyer Jargon, Propaganda, I'm just really interested in the society there, Slow To Update, Will add as I go along, Morality, Logic, Unreliable Narrator, Reincarnation, Legal Systems, Child Neglect, Minor Original Character(s), People are Assholes, but they can be good too, Konoha Critical, Nana's gonna try her hardest to overhaul the system, please note the unreliable narrator tag though, WIP, blanket permission for art and podfic, im not kidding when i say SLOW TO UPDATE Summary:

The main question, she thinks, isn’t her chance at survival or whether she’ll stick to the plot. No, it’s whether she should change the flawed system that thrives off war and child soldiers. Arguably, she’s in the best position to fix it. People are certainly more willing to listen to you when you threaten them with the giant fox demon in your gut. But what would the cost be? Her morals? Her humanity?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions after all.

(In which a human rights lawyer is reincarnated into a world without morality, without logic, and most of all, without laws. Helping the world was easier when people weren’t ninjas.)

-

CHAPTER 12 IS UP BAPEYS

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kyuubi | Nine-tails | Kurama & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Uzumaki Naruto, Kyuubi | Nine-tails | Kurama, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Maito Gai | Might Guy, Nara Shikaku, Hatake Kakashi, Hyuuga Neji, Aburame Shibi, Shimura Danzou, Konan (Naruto) Additional Tags: Trans Female Character, Trans Female Naruto, Trans Characters, Political Intrigue, Human Rights, Politics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, OC insert, Self-Insert, but not really, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Orphans, political structures, so buckle up for a lot of politics, Political Bullshit, Konoha is not a nice place, The whole Shinobi world is not a nice place, semi-realistic, Military Dictatorships, Law, Fake Lawyer Jargon, Propaganda, I'm just really interested in the society there, Slow To Update, Will add as I go along, Morality, Logic, Unreliable Narrator, Reincarnation, Legal Systems, Child Neglect, Minor Original Character(s), People are Assholes, but they can be good too, Konoha Critical, Nana's gonna try her hardest to overhaul the system, please note the unreliable narrator tag though, WIP, blanket permission for art and podfic, im not kidding when i say SLOW TO UPDATE Summary:

The main question, she thinks, isn’t her chance at survival or whether she’ll stick to the plot. No, it’s whether she should change the flawed system that thrives off war and child soldiers. Arguably, she’s in the best position to fix it. People are certainly more willing to listen to you when you threaten them with the giant fox demon in your gut. But what would the cost be? Her morals? Her humanity?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions after all.

(In which a human rights lawyer is reincarnated into a world without morality, without logic, and most of all, without laws. Helping the world was easier when people weren’t ninjas.)

[bloggong]

Narratology (part 1)

Post-shag activity admin time really hits different. 

Timecheck, I have around 20 minutes to the next scheduled activity. Hopefully I can finish this in time.

Kind of a different post today, but was thinking much about narrators. For some context, in my application essay to Yale-NUS, in which one of the essay questions required us to ‘ask’ and ‘answer’ our own question, I talked to a small extent about Narratology. While in actuality, I wanted to discuss said topic at length, the constraining word limit and the difficulty I had in constructing a question that perked the curiosity of the reader meant that I was unable to fulfill my aim. 

So I’ve instead decided to pour out my collected thoughts here instead, where they may rest, devoid of an audience.

Effectively, what you’re about to read next is an abbriviated version of my actual essay, namely the deleted parts. I’ve got to go for some talk in 15 minutes, so in subsequent admin times, I might come back and edit this, or contnue with a follow-up post that properly consolidates my thoughts. Go easy on the roughness of this unedited, uncut version of the essay though lmao thanks. 

(To give a bit more context, I ramble on at length about a game called “The Beginner’s Guide”. I highly reccomend playing the game; if you have the time or the cash, since it’s easily found on Steam, and it helps support a fascinating creator as well. Otherwise, various analysis can be found on youtube. In fact, said excerpt of my essay from below was inspired by a breakdown of “The Beginner’s Guide” by the youtube channel Errant Signal, do consider supporting their channel!)

Though I have consistently found myself mesmerized by the chorus, a group of actors in greek theatre who take on the role of de facto narrator cum comedians and sorrow harbingers, popularized by one Shakespeare, there is much to be said of artists and authors who leave a degree of distance between creator and audience, allowing for reader interpretation. Here, the absence of a protagonist in books with ambiguous endings allows for a degree of wish-fulfillment for a work’s audience, with the end of the narrative being realized by the reader instead of formalised by the creator of a given work.

In other cases, the absence of a narrator, or even a protagonist, saw viewers infusing their own narrative into the work. This proclivity for readers to generate their own interpretation, which then colours their perception of a given work, was clearly evidenced in psychologists Marianne Simmel and Fritz Hedier’s pioneering work in “An Experimental Study of Apparent behaviour”, a study in which they created a short animated film comprising two triangles, a circle and a rectangle formed by four sticks of varying proportions. In their paper, Hedier and Simmel’s found that the human impulse to form narratives, with participants ascribing the aforementioned shapes with genders, characteristics like “valiant and spirited” and “brutish and abusive”, and establishing moral judgements on said figures, showed that in the absence of a narrator, or a clearly defined narrative, humans are quick to construct their own storylines to make sense of otherwise disjointed, random observations. In this light, in the absence of a narrator, audiences are as likely to fashion their own rendering of what occurred within a narrative. This is likewise observed in non-fiction media as well, as oftentimes, documentaries depicting Sporting Championships, alongside news pieces, tend to ratchet up the tension through techniques that would normally be observed in their fiction-based counterparts. This is keenly seen when Sports Matches are romanticized, with the final deciding points being played out in the last moments of a match, alongside documentaries intentionally portraying a team as a larger underdog initially, so as to make their final comeback all the more unexpected and cathartic for viewers. Here, when non-fiction media begins to imitate fiction, even in the absence of a direct narrator, it reveals the human tendency to identify and infuse our own narratives into any observed event, even when said event is devoid of such sentimentality.

However, such interpretation could border onto the questionable side if a reader begins to psychoanalyze a piece of work, possible seeking to interpret or fabricate inaccurate information about the creator of said work, which could result in reductionism of the complexity of the creator’s message, possibly leading to misrepresentation of the author’s ideals. In certain cases, where the author intention is completely perverted and obfuscated as a result of a reader’s infusion of their own interpretation into a given work, with said view encroaching on the liberty of the author to spread their message, the lack of a narrator who directly imbues context and meaning into a work could result in such an occurrence. 

This is observed in “The Beginners Guide”, a fascinating videogame which delves into such a scenario, with the fan, Davey, infusing their own motif into an artist, Coda’s work, with the conjured motif of a ‘lamppost’ being altered into a creator’s works against their permission, causing the artist to feel made used of and manipulated, with the artist ultimately stopping production of his games. In the fan’s inability to understand that the artist was at certain moments, creating games for himself, instead of seeking to critique a societal issue, or comment upon a universal emotion, Davey unawarely alienated Coda, ultimately causing the disillusioned Coda to stop producing games altogether, as Coda fled the medium entirely to avoid such manipulation. Here, the lack of a clear narrator who emphasizes the point of thetext reveals the risk of an artist’s work being perverted entirely by fans who fail to understand the proper context and motivation for said work.

Yet, at the same time, the aforementioned game, “The Beginners Guide” acts as a piece of Metanarrative, in that it constantly acknowledges that it is a videogame. Within the fiction of the story, this “guide” is a compilation of the artist, Coda’s work, by a fan, Davy, who is seeking to at first question why Coda left, with the game subsequently unveiling that Davy, to many ends, was the cause of Coda’s departure in the first place. Since many of Coda’s games that are unveiled in “The Beginners Guide” lack a narrator of any sort, let alone an autodiegetic one who would fulfill the role of protagonist, Davy feels empowered to infuse his own narrative into Coda’s work. In doing so however, Davy’s meddling inadvertently corrupts the message and intention of Coda’s games entirely. Importantly, in choosing to dispose of the conventional narrative distance afforded by other more conventional games, with “The Beginners Guide” instead choosing to tell a story that is firmly grounded in reality, the unreliable narration of Davy, who details his interactions with Coda throughout the game, see that player’s expectations are completely subverted. In highlighting how Davy’s attempt to engage in psychoanalysis of Coda as a person through his games intruded on Coda’s privacy, threatening his work and corrupting his intentions,

“The Beginners Guide” both acts as a stellar piece of fiction that details what happens in the absence of a clear narrator who contextualizes the story for audiences, whilst forcing players of the game to refrain from psychoanalyzing any other artists work. Even as this effect is achieved through an unreliable narrator, the commitment to realism that initially causes players to question if the events detailed within the game are real or metaphorical allows for the subsequent reminder to be hammered home, that all creators of any work are complex individuals, and that audiences should refrain from psychoanalyzing an artist through his work, or infusing their own narrative into a work to the degree that it takes away from the artist’s intentions, lest it result in perversion of the artist’s intentions.

Congrats if you somehow managed to trudge through that bog of convalution. I think I’ll write more about this when my head is much clearer.

Aight lmao bye for now.

-gong

10:08pm

21/1/2020

[salamoonder]

quick guide to not being a dick and keeping your sanity in fandom

the block button is your best friend. the block button does not have to be a moral judgement unless you make it one. you can block someone literally for reblogging too many pictures of bats. it’s fine.

softblocking is perfectly acceptable if you don’t want to entirely block. (block and unblock so they automatically unfollow you but don’t see that they have).

turn off anon if you need to. turn off asks entirely if you need to. it’s okay.

tag your shit. tag common triggers (violence, abuse, insect phobias, flashing lights). tag content that people may not want to see (sex, personal stuff, food, discourse). tag fandoms. tag characters. tag ships.

DON’T put negativity in the main tags. tag for discourse. leave it at that.

block tags that you don’t want to see. blacklist words you don’t want to see. don’t go looking into tags you know will make you upset.

do not tag creators in something that’s not your own without asking permission from the op.

do not expect creators to get involved in fandom drama. assume they know nothing about it unless otherwise stated. even then it is not their responsibility to curate their fanbase.

seek out communities that make you happy. seek out fellow shippers, or like minded artists, or writing servers, or cosplayers to collaborate with. fandom is meant to be fun. enjoy it.

if someone’s doing or saying or shipping something you don’t like but they’re not hurting anyone? stay out of it. block if necessary. do not try to shame them away from their interests.

[toloveawarlord]

Analysis of Edgar’s Trial

Before we go in depth into the trial, I would like to point out that this is also an otome game, so it’s not as strict in its portrayal of a trial because of the fact that this isn’t real life.

Strap in, my friends, I’m going to break down the entire trial in chapter 26 of Edgar’s route, so SPOILER ALERT if you haven’t read it.

Under this cut is all spoilers!

First things: there wasn't originally meant to be a trial. Edgar asks for it to happen. If he hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been a trial at all.

Scene:

Courtroom of Cradle. Alice, Zero, and Luka are all witnesses awaiting to be called on to testify on Edgar’s behalf. Lancelot and Ray are presiding over the hearing and will be giving final judgement on the case. Blanc is the record keeper and will be reading the charges.

His first charges filed:

“Accused of colluding with Amon Jabberwock, along with his Uncle Claudius Bright, in a plot to rebel and take control of Cradle”

My thoughts: We know this to be quite untrue. Edgar is only following orders, and only discovers that his Uncle is working with Amon a few days prior to when they are in the Magic Tower with Amon where Alice learns the truth. It’s only in that moment that Amon invites Edgar to join them. He never truly colluded with them, knowingly. After that moment, he rebels and involves Zero in rescuing Alice, which is a huge betrayal.

What happened next:

Ray asks if it’s true, and before Edgar can even get a word out, Jonah and Kyle both interject with an objection and both want to speak. Ray gives them permission.

Jonah continues with “It’s true that the defendant appeared to betray King Lancelot. However, that was all a ruse meant to trick the enemy. There is no proof that he actually conspired to rebel.”

Kyle also adds, “And you’ve gotta consider who the enemy was -- the former Jack of Hearts. The guy who raised Edgar and was like a father to him. If he hadn’t wholeheartedly agreed to betray the Red Army, he never would’ve fooled his uncle, see?

My thoughts: Here we gain the advantage of having no proof of collusion. You can’t charge someone with a crime that you can’t prove. If you look at this from a Cradle standpoint, having the Queen of Hearts saying such things will hold a lot of weight. Kyle’s point is also taken under consideration heavily, because if you go back in Edgar’s timeline, he was 7 years old when taken under Claudius and 13 when he was forced to begin working and killing. The psychological side of the argument is that he had little choice and has been groomed for nearly 2 decades to follow Claudius’s command.

What happened next:

Ray says he will take it into consideration and asks to hear what Edgar says.

Edgar agrees with Jonah and Kyle, not admitting to colluding but says “that doesn’t change the fact that I failed to prevent my own uncle from running rampant and doing great harm.”

to which Jonah argues “Why do you insist on taking on all the blame yourself?”

{skipping the dialogue Kyle gives, because he is basically asking the same thing.}

Edgar apologizes.

Then the gallery of Red Army soldiers’ pipe in “We understand everything now. The Jack did what he did for the army. The Jack isn’t at fault.”

My thoughts: Edgar’s words stand for themselves, in my opinion. He admits to failing to prevent his uncle from causing harm, but this poor boy has been brainwashed by Claudius. Fighting back against one’s abuser is very very hard, especially when one’s morality has been twisted.

If he faces the fact that Claudius’s teachings are wrong and bad, then he has to admit to himself that the way he personally does things is also wrong. And we see this change in him throughout the route as he begins to fall for Alice. He’s never known the righteous path because no one taught it to him, until he entered the Red Army (one could say that being around the other boys also influenced him to become good). 

Also! The entirety of the Red Army is basically testifying that Edgar is not at fault. In a real court of law, this probably wouldn’t have made a difference, but in Cradle, the army’s voice probably carries a lot of weight as well. If they were to call to witness all the ones who knew Edgar (like the ones in his personal unit) they would testify that he is innocent.

What happened Next:

Lancelot quiets them down and Blanc continues reading the charges. “He is also accused of imprisoning Alice the Second in the Red Army Headquarters. He made a false promise to send her back to the Land of Reason, while plotting to use her abilities for the army.”

Ray pipes in here and says “Now, THAT’s the truth, isn’t it, Edgar?”

Edgar, of course, says yes, but doesn’t explain further.

Alice is getting frustrated and this is when Blanc calls the first witness (her). Alice goes to the witness stand to tell the rest of the story. Here is what she said, “Everything Blanc stated was fact. but it’s not the whole truth. In the beginning, Edgar was trying to trick me, but in the end, he told me everything, and apologized wholeheartedly.”

Ray is a little surprised and asks, “He did?”

Of course, Alice says, “Yes. After Claudius abducted me and Amon locked me up, he came to my rescue. And he did everything in his power to get me back to my world.”

{skipping Luka and Zero’s testimonies. They both agree with Alice and give more statements about his character and actions.}

Ray continues, “Reforming your own kidnapper. You are an impressive woman, Alice.”

My thoughts: This whole charge is proved completely mute by the end of the conversation. First off, charging him with the kidnapping of Alice. In his route, Edgar doesn’t quite... kidnap her. He does coerce her into staying at Red Headquarters, lying to her, but last I checked, lying isn’t a punishable crime.

Secondly, Alice basically says to drop the charges. You can’t charge someone with kidnapping if the one who got kidnapped says “I don’t want to press charges.”

Thirdly, “made a false promise to send her back to the Land of Reason.” We know this isn’t true, because even though he didn’t mean it when he first said, he actually carries this through in the end of the route. Again, lying to someone isn’t a punishable crime.

And lastly, “plotting to use her abilities for the army.” Pretty sure that was Lance’s thing. He was the one who called for Alice to be brought to the army, just saying. Basically, the point I’m making here is that there isn’t enough evidence to charge him with anything.

What happened next:

Lance announces that they are ready to make their ruling.

It goes as follows, “In regards to the Amon and Claudius rebellion, we find the Jack of Hearts not at fault.”

Ray continues, “And the charges of imprisoning Alice are dismissed. The truth does not seem to match the accusations and, more importantly, Alice has forgiven him.”

My thoughts:  First of all, there is no indication of deliberating by either King, so likely, they already had their judgements set. (unless it’s just not shown that they took time to discuss.). Both rulings are quite fair and make sense. Basically, what Ray says about Alice forgiving him is the equivalent of saying “Alice is dropping the charges.”

What happened next:

Blanc interrupts the cheering to announce that there is one more crime. “The trial is not over. Judgement has yet to be passed on the greatest crime the defendant is accused of.”

Edgar agrees.

Blanc gives the charges. “We now know that, in the past, the defendant and his uncle were involved in many assassinations and conspiracies. These were not ordered by the King of Hearts but were carried out for monetary gain.”

To which Edgar admits “That is all true.”

Alice attempts to push blame on Claudius.

Edgar interrupts “I’m still the one who followed his orders. Convincing myself that it was my “duty” and never trying to resist my fate. My hands have snuffed out countless futures. I spent the first half of my life as a spineless fool. That is my greatest crime of all.”

My thoughts: I wasn’t going to pause here, but I’m going to point out a few things. This is the first crime that actually has grounds and proof. Yet, here again, we witness the actions of a brainwashed child, who felt that he was cornered and had little other choices but to do as he was told. He calls himself a spineless fool, and all I see is a child who was put under intense abuse and couldn’t find his way out of the dark. Remember, Claudius raised him. He probably doesn’t remember his own father that well, so betraying Claudius (his abuser) would have felt incredibly wrong.

What happened next:

Ray speaks up. “Lancelot and I have been investigating these charges. We have found no solid evidence, besides the defendant’s confession. However, there is one person who offered testimony. They are not here today but have provided us with an important document.”

Complete shock around the room.

Blanc is given the evidence. He is also quite shocked at the turn of events.

Lance and Ray verify that it is real.

Blanc explains, “This is a memorandum written by Claudius Bright. It contains a list of all the conspiracies and assassinations he has orchestrated in the past.”

Edgar is shocked and argues, “Impossible. My uncle would never leave behind evidence like that. He’s too clever.”

Ray gives the explanation. “You’re right. He didn’t leave this behind. After he was locked up, he wrote this from his prison cell. He gave it to us, saying that we should use it at your trial.”

Blanc reads it aloud for all to hear. “I, Claudius Bright, do herein confess all of the ‘family business’ I have conducted in the past. I do not regret my actions, nor do I consider them a crime. However, for the record, everything written here was orchestrated by me and I take sole responsibility. My nephew, Edgar Bright, was an unwilling party forced, by me, into becoming my accomplice. To put it in terms you normal people might understand-- He was simply an innocent lamb, corrupted by a demon named Claudius.”

My thoughts: Claudius’s confession is very, VERY important. He admits to the crimes and admits to coercing Edgar into his bidding. Despite Edgar confessing to the crimes, he did not truly do them willingly. He was forced into this life by the only person he trusted. They now have written evidence that shows that Edgar is not fully at fault for the crimes.

What happened next:

It’s stated in a short section that even the crowd of people within the building begin to shift the blame onto Claudius and the ones who hired the assassins.

Then the final ruling is given!

Ray says, “Even considering Claudius’s confession, the severity of the crimes committed by the Jack of Hearts remains. But Edgar is also a victim. Ever since he was a child, his uncle controlled his entire life. We have considered these two points in reaching our verdict.”

Lancelot gives the verdict. “The defendant is sentenced as follows. He will carry the weight of his crimes for the rest of his life and will serve the Red Army and Cradle unfailingly as the Jack of Hearts. And from now on, you must endeavor to love those you care about with all of your heart and soul. The secret position of the state assassin, forced on the Jack of Hearts 100 years ago, is hereby dissolved. That is all.”

My thoughts: The ruling can seem a little tame, if you only read it once. But they sentence him to a lifetime of serving. Yes, it’s the same position that he had before, but he is still atoning for his crimes by serving the people of Cradle. It’s also stated that he will carry the weight of his crimes, which is a heavy burden. They didn’t give him forgiveness of them, they gave him a way to atone.

The second part about loving those you care about with all your heart and soul... yes, it was a little cheesy, but that was mostly for the reader, as this is an otome game and it’s meant to make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

The Takeaway:

Would this case have held up in a court of law in our time? It’s hard to say. A lot more would have probably gone into consideration, but then again, the ones in the jury would have been officials from either army, and likely they would have ruled him innocent. But in Cradle, there is no jury.

One main thing to think about is:

Should a victim be prosecuted and punished for crimes that they were forced to commit?

You can argue that Edgar is 25 years old and should be able to make his own decisions and know that it’s wrong to kill people and commit those acts.

But you also have to admit, as I’ve said many times, that this has been Edgar’s life since he was 7 years old. He even tells Alice “If you teach a child about “scheming and assassination” from the time they are young, it just becomes normal job.” He had his morality greyed and as he grew older, he had become desensitized to it.

As such, the blame should fall on Claudius and not Edgar.

We also have the remember that this Cradle, not our world. We don’t know what any of their laws are, or how their justice system works beyond the fact that Lancelot and Ray are the ones who make the decision on the ruling. The time period also lends to lesser sentence in the sense that, he is a man of high status and family lineage, as well as a respected officer of the army.

If we think about from a perspective of Lancelot and Ray’s position, there is a lot to unpack there as well.

Lancelot was aware of the Jack of Hearts position, as was Jonah. They never acted on it. But let’s not forget that Lance isn’t crime free either. He colludes with Amon in secret. Yes, to help save Cradle from him, but he does some unsavory things to meet this goal, including starting the war. If you take that into consideration, what Edgar did with Amon isn’t that different. Let’s not forget that Edgar had no idea about the plot until a few days before Alice was taken by Claudius. It’s then that he works to stop them. He never truly does anything for Amon or to further his plot.  

Aside from his own problems, Lancelot was active in trying to reform Edgar. We find out near the end that Lancelot was hoping for Alice to open Edgar’s heart, because they were unable to do so. He understands, more than anyone, the duty that comes with one’s family. Edgar is his subordinate, so somewhere within, Lance probably blames himself a little for not helping him.

Ray, on the other, he takes more of an objective position on the matter, and still comes out believing that Edgar deserves leniency. Most of the charges are unable to be proved, and the final one comes out with Claudius providing evidence and testimony that Edgar was an unwillingly participant.

Honestly, Edgar was a victim and he needed a chance to redeem himself, which Lancelot and Ray gave him by sentencing him to a life doing the right thing and serving the people.

He deserves to be in the light.

[erchommai-a]

demon blood.

trigger warning: abuse mention, gross, scars, etc.

origin.

Lilith, Mother of Demons, was not an easy creature to summon, even with Valentine Morgenstern’s talents and determination. His earlier experimentation had attracted the demon’s attention. And had manipulated certain events to inspire the man to consider her blood for his experiments, hoping that through him, she may finally bear that son that she could never have.

With it came an agreement ─ an alliance that while Valentine had no plans or means to keep, he made regardless. Should his Uprising ( or any others in the future  prove victorious ) it would not only be his Nephilim that should benefit but her included. And the added clause that she would get to watch over Jonathan while Valentine ensured that it could and cannot happen without his direct permission.

Contracts after all are binding intricate dances. Especially when done with the mother of all demons.

childhood.

His birth, for the most part, was normal. He only cried once, on that very night, and then never again. He never smiled. And often, had this knowing expression in his eyes as if he could comprehend the whole world around him, as if he could see the disgust written all over his mother’s eyes everytime she held him. It was the pregnancy with him that was difficult. Jocelyn suffered nightmares ; she suffered deep and unsettling exhaustion mixed with depression. An anxiety that wouldn’t leave her until that night Jonathan was born. A feeling that would only be replaced by disgust and almost fear for the first half of her first born’s life.

Jonathan for the most part was privy to these little things. Memories deeply ingrained in him but never really had full comprehension for it. More like vague nonsensical sequences, no matter how vivid the scenario is inside his head. Jocelyn crying. Green eyes looking down into his. Fingers in his hair. His fingers in her clasped hand. Valentine proudly called him his son. Stories of a grandmother and grandfather. Grand tales of a future to come.

Except for his eyes, by all appearance he looked normal. A quiet boy with advanced motor skills and seemingly quick and adaptive cognitive abilities. But he didn’t speak until he was around two and it was only one word, “Mom.” And he wouldn’t speak again until that fateful night his Father scoops him out of his bed and takes him away.

relationships.

In his youth he wasn’t as volatile or violent towards new people. He found them fascinating and could just stare at them for hours. It was for that very reason that people tend to react to him differently. This child with deep empty soulless eyes just looking up at you, trying to understand what you’re thinking, could be unnerving with his almost complete silence and obvious lack of affect. But generally it was the adults that could pick up on his almost other-worldliness.

Children paid no mind to it. Alec, among the few children of the circle, was considerably his most constant friend due to how close Jocelyn and Maryse had been then. And they often had no issue playing around with each other. So long as Alec doesn't push Jonathan when he doesn’t want to do anything or doesn’t take anything Joanthan considers to be his. Oftentimes, Jon would just sit there and play with his own toys right next to the other kids.

Quiet and contnet with his own company.

Of course, this changed as he grew older. Restricted and practically trapped in solitude, save for the company of his dismissive father ─ his idea of people was easily twisted by Valentine’s Dogma. And his lack of opportunity for actual social practice or basic social understanding forged instead into weaponry and spycraft. Because for the most part, he can be very intuitive in the nature of people. But his childhood has made him very much a cynic towards people. Or humanity as a whole. He doesn’t think anyone or anything is worth saving. He finds chaos to be more fascinating. Morality is muddled whether you lean towards good or bad.

Chaos, to him, could almost be his religion.

physical traits.

The most obvious and significant effect of the demon blood in his system was the black eyes. And by that I literally just mean black pupils. He does not do the whole black eyes thing in my canon verses. It is just deep soulless black eyes that are quite freakishly inhuman but also human. He’s a cryptid.

There’s also a  general sharpness to his whole countenance that he wouldn’t have if the demon blood wasn’t there. Although it’s not really something completely noticeable, or something that ruins the aesthetic of his features, in fact it enhances his looks a lot more. Accentuating the beauty to his features that almost make it unnatural. Cause again, he’s kind of a cryptid.

The best way to picture it is how it's such a direct and obvious contrast to Jace’s beauty. Jace is golden, the sun, absolutely angelic. Jon is raw, sharp, ethereal like the night, absolutely hellish.

nature of the demon blood.

Please take note of this, cause this is such a crucial part to how I play him.

The general philosophy regarding demon blood is plain and simple, it’s a cancer to his soul. It’s not something that had any serious instantaneous effect on him so much that he is inhuman ─ or that he was born demonic or anything like that. He is different. But he isn’t entirely all demon or entirely all human because he has angel blood. He is still Nephilim.

So with it came this effect of diminishing humanity ─ the hell fire inside of him was burning it up in a waythat it wasn’t just purely dependent on how he was raised but the demon blood itself was isolating him from his human traits. The good emotions, empathy, compassion, etc. And influencing him in a way that his aggression and general affinity for violence is louder. So it just amplifies deep dark baser urges that are already within him ─ like his impulse control and fascination with violence and blood lust. They were all only heightened. And you match that with Valentine Morgenstern’s school of learning ─ it builds inside of him a clashing.

Demon versus Human.

A conflict of demon and angel fighting within himself in such a profound way that him, being the one with it, can not tell the difference of how abnormal his physical constitution is. He neither feels it, nor comprehends it. To him it’s a natural state of being. That feeling of conflict inside of him that never goes away. That unbearable loneliness. That insufferable hunger or feeling of emptiness. That absolute soul sucking encompassing black hole that is never sated, never satisfied, never content. It never goes away. It just is. It’s just him.

He has been burning ─ rotting ─ from the inside out since he was born.

With that said ─ at no point does it take away his agency ( because please stop doing that ) to the point that it’s easy to assume that he would be different without demon blood. No, it won’t. The anger in him is something he was born with. That loneliness, he was born with it. He was given as much choice as anyone ─ he could have killed his Father but he didn’t. He could have killed Jace first, without hesitation or second judgement in City of Glass, he didn’t. He didn’t have to kill Max, but he did.

One could argue that he didn’t make the choices with the best capacity or capability to make those decisions, yes, But it doesn’t take away the fact that he made those choices of his own volition. He chose to follow the path that leads to his death.

The demon blood or his demonic nature is not the sole instigator.

But he has done and will do evil things.

morality.

This is just a quick thing because I stand by the notion that he isn’t evil. Not inherently. He has done despicable, heinous, evil things. He has nearly accomplished more devious and horrible crimes. And had he won ─ he could have continued to try to raise the stakes until that deep hole inside of him was filled and satisfied.

Which cruelly would never be sated.

But his intent had never been directly for absolutely malicious intent.

He was built and cultivated towards this prospect because after his first death. It is the only clear and obvious direction for him. Because without his Father’s purpose, he has nothing. Without that legacy to latch onto ─ he has nothing. That and Family has only been the two things Valentine had allowed him to strive for. So in truth, he wouldn’t really know any better.

And if you let him loose, absolutely and purely, on his own whim and want. Things would have ended differently. He would have thrived more beautifully in chaos.

It could have still led to a war. But a fun war. For him anyway.

Quick summary, he isn’t evil for evil sake. Kind of in the same vein, Valentine isn’t inherently evil. He was a villain who thought he was doing what was right, if a little bit over-zealously and like a megalomaniac. But I guess, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. There’s a method to both their madness.

effects and abilities.

infertile. This isn’t really something he knows or directly thinks about. Children, to him, for the most part aren’t like a big deal. But no, he can’t have kids. None of his own anyway.  The demon blood has taken that away. demon connection. Although his connection to Lilith is both in part because it’s her blood specifically that flows through him, it does extend quite a bit to others within the demonic hierarchy. With Lilith, it’s a very specific sort of connection. She can contact him, although with limitations, but she can make her presence very well known to him. In his childhood, she could only maintain it in short instances. Soft reassuring voices in his ears. Little visions. Little dreams. Nothing that could alert Valentine to her presence because of their contract that she is not allowed to see Jon without his permission / supervision. But this connection extends to all other demonic creatures specifically. It doesn’t only offer itself up as a sort of dowsing rod that works both ways ( he can sense them and they can sense him like he’s a beacon ). With that, also comes this understanding. He can speak in demon tongue that is also not just exclusively phonetically but emphatically or telepathically as well in the most natural sense. It was never something he had to study. demon manipulation. This is just an extension of the effects of Lilith’s blood in him. He can influence, to some degree lower tier demons. Order them around based on his blood connection to Lilith. Something that works almost similarly like light hypnotism. But is not overly powerful or overt that he can use it for very long or very often. And only works on the unintelligent breed of demons. blood magic / blood sorcery. There is, inherently, a lot of use for his blood in terms of magic and rituals. His blood being a unique combination of demon and nephilim make it a very powerful conduit or power source for dark magic.  And not only that, his blood is a good supplement to other things like summoning rituals and binding rituals. Summoning circles lined with his blood has a stronger binding energy against demons and may not be exclusive to just demons. ( He has yet to find out, although theoretically can be applied to anyone that falls within the confines of summoning circles. ) It also has  corrosive properties when interacting with objects heavenly by nature. Or some enchanted objects. ( e.g. deactivating the wards. ) demonic blood empowerment. Physically, this technically makes him stronger than jace to a certain degree. Partnered with his training, this makes him absolutely lethal. And both fast and stronger than the majority of shadowhunters. Along with it, is a sense of physical self reliance. The more the influence of the demon blood becomes stronger, the less he has a need for human things. It destroys him spiritually and mentally but it builds him up physically to the point that a lot of what is essential to another person may not be as essential to him. Like physical sustenance is less of a necessity to him which in turn makes him eat less, sleep less, basically do so little of the human things that most people absolutely need. ( e.g. dreaming art, little enjoyments, those sort of things. ) This is also where the advanced nature of his progress in childhood also comes in effect. It helped him adapt to the physicallity of growing up or maturity much faster than a normal child would have. pain supression / resistance. Mostly before LIlith's resurrection, pain to him was a normal affliction. He felt as much as anyone physically could. But again through Valentine Morgenstern school of how to be a monster, he was taught to make himself numb to it through training and with physical abuse, he did. Post Lilith’s resurrection, he was gifted with almost unnatural invincibility. He is more likely to feel the pain now unless it was directly imbued with heavenly fire. This also meant there was no scarring and that he could get stabbed as many times as he liked. Cutting his head off could also work though. If you were fast enough. limitations. For the most part, there are only three things that can effectively hurt / bruise him in a sense. First and foremost is Demon metal, weapons made from these are rare but can leave significant scars on his skin after. And nothing that any known magic or angelic rune had been able to remove. Electrum, can also have similar effects but not as aggravating or as long lasting as demon metal. In pain level, electrum is a lot more tolerable for him than demon metal. And the scars, no matter how deep, are not as permanent as weapons infused with demon metal. Sanctified objects or holy ground can make him feel kind of an allergic reaction. There’s definitely a different energy around them that makes him uncomfortable. Not to the point that it weakens and not even to any significant degree that it hurts him. But they do make him feel weird and kind of aggravate the hell fire in his veins so it’s almost like a fever that’s just there. Or an itch that he cannot scratch. Anything imbued with heavenly fire directly however can be excruciating to him.  magic. To some degree, he has an affinity for it. He can be very talented with magic. It’s something innate and he can be very  intuitive with. More so than his own father, from whom he learned nearly all the spells that are within his arsenal. However, he isn’t as in tune with it so to speak, spiritually, as he is with his weapons. It’s why even when he has the ability for most things like basic healing spells, tracking spells, etc, he still prefers to use his shadowhunter training and weapons. But he does have a working understanding of how to use and conjure magic for himself. He just doesn’t. edom magic. I thought I should separate this just to emphasize that edom was gifted to him by lilith. Edom is his and hers domain. There is nothing he or she can not build or unravel or undo or make or destroy within the confines of that universe. He is, within its world, by all means a god. It does not however mean he is omniscient or omnipotent within it. It just means every grain of sand and every single atom within the confine of said universe is his to control. wings. This is absolutely just me indulging myself because I live for the aesthetic. This comes about after the bond between him and Jace is broken in COLS. A part of Lilith’s gift. To expound on the image or her goal for her son too to be hell’s knight so to speak. An absolute bastardization of angels with his demon blood and angel blood, so voila, wings. They are dark and sharp, the wings fade from white to gray to black, right at his shoulder blades, where they connect to his skin. Blood red vains stretch from his skin to the arch of his wings.  They are retractable and can be easily hidden within his skin or just through plain glamour magic. ( Cause you know, still kind of a cryptid. Just a pretty cryptid. ) Outside of some ability for flight, they don’t offer him much protection. They work more like an extra appendage. And something that stays with him in post-cohf verses although they appear more withered then and scarred. They also appear as fresh new scars, that cover over a small part of his shoulder blade as well as over the lines of scars from his whipping across his back.