#seriously not an expert

[mrhaitch]

hi mr. haitch!

i was wondering if you could do a character analysis on suguru geto? i have a hard time understanding how his ideology changed, specifically when he takes it to the extreme and wants to eliminate ALL non-sorcerers. i’d also like to hear your thoughts on the dynamic between gojo and geto… their conflicts and how they drifted apart but never permanently resented the other. lastly, if possible, could you touch on how loneliness affected the two and if it had any impact in their actions, both after riko’s death and after their argument when they split paths

thank you so much,

a curious anon

My knowledge of the series is pretty limited so I can only answer with what I've seen and understood, but Geto and Gojo can be looked at as two different reactions to the same trauma: one blames himself and the other blames everyone else.

That's the core to the changes both of them underwent after Riko's death. Gojo was recognised and elevated as the strongest from birth - the linchpin that holds his society together. Despite the swagger and the ego, beneath is a powerful loneliness and detachment. He has been reduced to a function, with no choice other than to fulfill it, and there's a lot of resentment towards Jujutsu society as a result - they took his childhood, his humanity. His whole identity is based on being the strongest, and yet when he found something he wanted to protect - he failed. Since Riko's death we see evidence of constant effort to master his abilities, to better fulfill his role but at the cost of sinking deeper into the expectations of others. Even so, Gojo comes away with a greater appreciation for the vulnerable, especially children.

Geto, however, did not suffer the same societal pressure - everything about him, his place in the story, is a result of choice and agency. He wants to be a sorcerer, wants to get stronger to protect the weak, he wants to work with Gojo to better the world. When we first meet him, he views his abilities as a means to realise his desires, his ambitions, and - fundamentally - his values.

Riko's death, and everything that followed, robbed him of that ability to choose. Her death meant nothing, a new vessel was found, the world didn't end, everyone moved on. Gojo internalised his feelings of failure and forged on - seemingly unmoved. Geto threw everything he had at saving and avenging her and it changed nothing.

I'll pause here and say that I think Geto and Gojo saw different things in Riko: Gojo saw someone weaker than himself forced into fulfilling a role, Geto saw someone exemplary and unique murdered by the powerless. Perhaps (and remember I'm not an expert here) she came to stand for all of Jujutsu society in his mind - someone with an inherent greatness or importance sacrificed for the sake of people who lack the strength to protect themselves. She was the ultimate realisation of his early beliefs (the strong serving the weak) and it proved to be horrible, far removed from what he envisaged.

But let's focus on their reactions: Gojo went further into himself, into his role, aspiring to realise his full strength to protect others. Geto stopped growing - became bitter, twisted, blaming everyone but himself. He thinks himself a liberator, but in truth he is motivated by an endless appetite for revenge - to take his pain and inflict it on everyone else. It's a response common among men who struggle to regulate and manage their anger and personal set-backs, looking to displace their own negative emotions and push them onto someone else: believing it'll lessen their own pain.

All of this is just supposition, though. Fundamentally Geto is a violent racist, with a fascistic worldview built around strength as some kind of valorous ideal - gleefully inflicting pain and suffering on others. We can empathise with his journey, but we don't have to forgive his actions.

[evenlyevi]

👁️ Fortune 👁️

[infiniteglitterfall]

I guess this might be why the UK seemed to go so antisemitic so quickly

I'm researching the 1947 pogroms in the UK. (Actually, I'm researching all the pogroms and massacres of Jews in the past 200 years. Which today led me to discover that there were pogroms in the UK in 1947.)

From an article on "The Postwar Revival of British Fascism," all emphasis mine:

Given the rising antisemitism and widespread ignorance about Zionism [in the UK in 1947], fascists were easily able to conflate Zionist paramilitary attacks with Judaism in their speeches, meaning British Jews came to be seen as complicit in violence in Palestine.

Bertrand Duke Pile, a key member of Hamm’s League, informed a cheering crowd that “the Jews have no right to Palestine and the Jews have no right to the power which they hold in this country of ours.” Denouncing Zionism as a way to introduce a wider domestic antisemitic stance was common to many speakers at fascist events and rallies. Fascists hid their ideology and ideological antisemitism behind the rhetorical facade of preaching against paramilitary violence in Palestine.

One of the league’s speakers called for retribution against “the Jews” for the death of British soldiers in Palestine. This was, he told his audience, hardly an antisemitic expression. “Is it antisemitism to denounce the murderers of your own flesh and blood in Palestine?” he asked his audience. Many audience members, fascist or not, may well have felt the speaker had a point. ...[The photo of two British sergeants hanged by the Irgun in retaliation for the Brits hanging three of their members] promptly made numerous appearances at fascist meetings, often attached to the speaker’s platform. In at least one meeting, several British soldiers on leave from serving in Palestine attended Hamm’s speech, giving further legitimacy to his remarks. And with soldiers and policemen in Palestine showing increasing signs of overt antisemitism as a result of their experiences, the director of public prosecutions warned that the fascists might receive a steady stream of new recruits.

MI5, the U.K. domestic security service, noted with some alarm that “as a general rule, the crowd is now sympathetic and even spontaneously enthusiastic.” Opposition, it was noted in the same Home Office Bulletin of 1947, “is only met when there is an organized group of Jews or Communists in the audience.”

The major opposition came from the 43 Group, formed by the British-Jewish ex-paratrooper Gerry Flamberg and his friends in September 1946 to fight the fascists using the only language they felt fascists understood — violence. The group disrupted fascist meetings for two purposes: to get them shut down by the police for disorder, and to discourage attendance in the future by doling out beatings with fists and blunt instruments. By the summer of 1947, the group had around 500 active members who took part in such activities. Among these was a young hairdresser by the name of Vidal Sassoon, who would often turn up armed with his hairdressing scissors.

The 43 Group had considerable success with these actions, but public anger was spreading faster than they could counter the hate that accompanied it. The deaths of Martin and Paice had touched a nerve with the populace. On Aug. 1, 1947, the beginning of the bank holiday weekend and two days after the deaths of the sergeants, anti-Jewish rioting began in Liverpool. The violence lasted for five days. Across the country, the scene was repeated: London, Manchester, Hull, Brighton and Glasgow all saw widespread violence. Isolated instances were also recorded in Plymouth, Birmingham, Cardiff, Swansea, Newcastle and Davenport. Elsewhere, antisemitic graffiti and threatening phone calls to Jewish places of worship stood in for physical violence. Jewish-owned shops had their windows smashed, Jewish homes were targeted, an attempt was made to burn down Liverpool Crown Street Synagogue while a wooden synagogue in Glasgow was set alight. In a handful of cases, individuals were personally intimidated or assaulted. A Jewish man was threatened with a pistol in Northampton and an empty mine was placed in a Jewish-owned tailor shop in Davenport.

And an important addendum:

I've read a whole bunch of articles about the pogroms in Liverpool, Manchester, Salford, Eccles, Glasgow, etc.

Not one of them has mentioned that the Irgun, though clearly a terrorist group, was formed in response to 18 years of openly antisemitic terrorism, including multiple incredibly violent massacres. Or that it consistently acted in response to the murders of Jewish civilians, not on the offensive. Or that at this point, militant Arab Nationalist groups with volunteers and arms from the Arab League countries had been attacking Jewish and mixed Arab-Jewish neighborhoods for months.

I just think the "Jewish militants had been attacking the British occupiers" angle is incredibly Anglocentric.

Yeah, they were attacking the British occupiers. But also, that's barely the tip of the iceberg.

Everyone involved hated the Brits at this point. If only al-Husseini and his ilk had hated the Brits more than they hated the Jews, Britain could at least have united them by giving them a common enemy.

[hyacinthusmemorial]

TW: Mentions of SA

In my works, and other places, people have been asking me my opinion on Achilles attacking Troilus. I would just preface I’m not an expert on the Trojan War. I was sick the week we did the Iliad in high school and they made me perform as Odysseus when we read the Odyssey and i had no clue what was happening, but I am in the process of reading it now.

I think if you are studying these events from the perspective of the god Apollo, then Achilles kind of loses his Brad Pitt appeal that the movie Troy (which I have never seen) gives him. So if Achilles is your guy, stop reading. I’m thought dumping.

There is something wicked and powerful about Achilles k*lling and r*ping Apollo’s own son on his own altar in his own temple. Because that is the implication of the iconography and artwork.

Achilles drags Troilus by his hair to the altar of his father and the story doesn’t say if Achilles r*pes him, but it is implied. For one it talks about Achilles being overcome with lust for Troilus, who is the image of Apollo in human form. A beautiful golden haired, youth.

Not only is Troilus the son of Hecuba, he’s Apollo’s image. Sources say he is the most beautiful of the Trojans and Greeks. But he has been designated a fate where he represents the city of Troy. Hence the name Troilus. If he reaches adulthood, the city survives. If he dies as a youth, the city will fall.

Athena leads Achilles to Troilus to ensure his death and thus Troy’s fall. She does not account for HOW Achilles kills Troilus.

He sees Troilus on his horse, and he is overcome with lust. I think he probably offers Troilus some sort of deal, come sleep with me and I will let you and your sister go, but Troilus refuses and runs away and hides in his father’s temple. He is a little kid running to his father for help. But, Achilles breaks in, finds Troilus, and enraged kills him either on or near the altar of Apollo.

Troilus is the image of Apollo. He is his son. He is a prince of Troy. I think this is a tipping point for everything—the point of no return.

This seals Troy’s fate, but I think the reason for that are because of Troilus’s death. I think before this point there is the possibility there will be peace. I think Big Bro Hector would have sent Helen back, I think peace would have been sued for and Troy would stand. But Fate has to be accomplished. This is the point where Troy no longer gives a damn—their prince has been m*rdered and r*ped on the altar of their chief god. Priam is upset because he loved Troilus as his own son, and he calls Achilles a child-slaughterer after that. Hecuba is besides herself, and Hector wants to kill Achilles. I think this is the point where they decide that, yes, they are going to die fighting this war, but they have a GOOD REASON to. It’s not about Paris and Helen and Aphrodite and a dumb apple. It’s about a boy being murdered.

But Apollo, Apollo is now vengeance. He is acting as an arm of fate. He’s already peeved at Achilles, who had killed another son Tenes. (A different story about Achilles r*ping someone)

I said this to one of my commenters—an altar is a god’s dinner table. Apollo’s hands are tied by something—either Fate or Thetis or his Father, and he cannot stop Achilles who is savagely attacking his own son on his own table. He has to watch, has to sit there and taste his own son’s blood in his mouth, watch him brutally die.

Achilles’s fate is sealed. Apollo is going to kill Achilles. It’s just nine years later.

In the art, Thetis, Athena, Apollo and Hermes are in the background of this event. Athena and Thetis as support of Achilles, but it makes me curious what Hermes is doing there. Is he holding Apollo back? Has Thetis begged Zeus for Achilles life? Athena regretfully watching as she accomplishes her plan only to realize WHY it worked?

I think in this way you can fashion the Trojan War as a direct conflict between Apollo and Achilles. Everything else is going on around it, but at the heart of it, is Apollo and Achilles. Apollo waiting for his father and the fates to give him the go ahead because Achilles will die, and Apollo is going to take away everything from him in the process. Briseis, Patroclus, and then he’s going to take his life.

Achilles is the villain in Apollo’s story. He’s invulnerable, he’s circumventing fate, he r*pes anything under his power, he disrespects the gods. He is a lesson in what men do when no one can stop them, and the most powerful thing is that the Father wins. He finds and kills his son’s murderer even after all the roadblocks in his way.

Troy is a revenge story, and if I ever get to writing it in my series, it’s going to be written like a revenge story.

[a-very-tired-jew]

Conversations with a younger colleague about I/P conflict

In my department there is a grad student who is friendly with myself and a few others of the openly nerdy ecologists. We actively talk about anime, video games, TTRPGs, etc... We've also all collaborated on research together because we generally study the same thing, and being a grad student we are also letting them helm their own research to carve their own path. The research topic that links all of us is decomposition ecology.

Meaning, we study death, how it effects the environment, and all the things having to do with it. Often we have our own terms that we define and use, but we also work within the framework of various medical and legal definitions nationally and internationally. Recently this student has been talking to me about the I/P conflict because it has dominated their social media feed. Like many young adults, this is their first I/P conflict and their first exposure to anything regarding that region. As such, they have come to me to talk about things knowing that I am Jewish. Not out of maliciousness, but because I am the only person they talk to that has any sort of connection to it. Over these past months they have repeated the "genocide/Holocaust" rhetoric that we have seen Western Activists use to make the conflict the Worst Thing Ever. Our conversation went as follows: GS: I can't believe they're committing a Holocaust on them after what they went through. Me: How is it a Holocaust? GS: They're committing a genocide against the Palestinians. Me: They're not doing either one, but let's touch upon the first thing you said. How? GS: They're killing them in large numbers! Me: Oh...oh...that's not what made the Holocaust the Holocaust, you know that right? It was years of systematic dehumanization that culminated in what we know. There were death camps, torture, experimentation, and so much more than simple "killing in large numbers". GS: Damn public school education... Me: You didn't really go over it too much did you? GS: WWII was, like, a week I want to say. Me: *sigh* yeah, not surprised at all. GS: Okay, so a genocide then? Me: GS, what do we study? GS: Decomp Me: and that involves? GS: Death Me: One avenue of which is mass casualty events which a number of our friends have published on. GS: Yeah! I read those papers, they were really good. Me: They were, but do you remember conversations we had about them and what differentiates mass casualty events from one another? GS: Cause? Me: And...? GS: Shit. Intent. Me: Exactly. Has their been an official stated intent to commit any genocide? I mean, you've got the bigots in the government like Ben Givir and the shit they say, I'll give you that. But has the official stance been genocidal? GS: No. I don't think so. Me: What has it been? GS: To get the hostages back and get rid of Hamas. Me: Uh huh, and what has been Hamas's stated intent? GS: To kill Zionists. Me: And before 2017 when they changed the wording in their charter? GS: ah fuck...it's Jews isn't it? Me: Ding ding ding. GS: So that's why no one in the group has said it's a genocide... Me: Correct. Humanitarian crisis brought about by war? Yes. Mass casualty event? Certainly. But genocide? Well, there's a reason no one in our circle has endorsed the term. And remember, we're considered experts on death. GS: I got puppeted didn't I? Me: Yep. GS: Shit. The only reason this went so well is due to our friendship and mentor/mentee dynamic. They already trust me to not lead them astray, be informed, and address the holes in their knowledge. Hell, they help me be a better scientist as well with how they bring in new and novel techniques that I didn't know. But they're still getting a lot of their info from TikTok and IG, and they've talked about a lot of BS from those two particular apps these past few years. This is just the latest (they had a TikTok induced anti-GMO trend for a while, it was bad).

[ziptie-bouquet]

Capillaries. Myelin sheathing. Microglia.

I love how the game seems to take inspiration from those simplified cell drawings with bright colors and exaggerated shapes.

I love how the devs seem to have used microscopic images as a reference to make their alien world feel more alien.

I love the way the myelin sheathing is on the cables because it makes electric signals travel at a faster speed in real life... Those designs work and don't feel limited by what they took inspiration from.

[akai-akai]

Imagine going to the carnival with Simon.

Gender-neutral reader.

Let's say he's on leave and there's a traveling carnival heading through town so of course you drag Simon along with you, naturally. Coerce him into buying you both corndogs and lemon shake-ups and funnel cake and play all the carnival games, and he definitely gets frustrated when he can't land those god damned rings on the bottles.

But then you spot it a few pop-up stands away. A massive stuffed animal that you absolutely need to take home. And just your luck, it's one of those arcade-like shooter games, so you're turning to him with the biggest puppy eyes you can manage and asking him so sweetly to win it for you.

And ohohoooo boy, as soon as you point it out to Simon, he's on a fucking mission. Slaps the money down in front of the vendor, gets in position, and he looks so bloody attractive when he's so focused and effortlessly hitting target after target with the cheaply-made, unreliable toy rifle. He even adjusts for the off-center scope while you watch excitedly behind him.

The vendor has to stop him short before he wins the entire fucking wall of stuffed animals and pool floaties in one round, and then they get the comically large stuffed animal off the rack for you and Simon takes it and turns to you with a smug look, his dark and brooding demeanor contrasting with the cartoonish and comically large prize in his arms.

You take it from him happily as you both make your way back to his car, the silly thing taking up the entirety of the back seat.

"Hope that thing doesn't replace me in bed tonight," he grumbles, amused.

"I'd never," you say to him. (It ends up in bed with you anyway, but he's possessive enough that he'll scrap with the bloody thing to spoon with you. You'll wake up in the morning with the stuffed animal mysteriously having ended up on the other side of the room.)

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

inspired by my ex-military uncle scaring that poor carnival game vendor in a shooting game at our local carnival last week winning a giant pink orca for a little girl (the same uncle who blew a giant hole in the ground with a firework on the 4th of July)

the last part's inspired by that "me and my girlfriend and her life-sized body pillow" meme that was circulating fandoms a while back

[bixels]

Very recent tag on my last post, but all credit goes to my partner again. They were sitting next to me while I cycled through Google image search "1920s flapper dress," going 'no. no. no. god no. no. absolutely not'.

[afewproblems]

50. "I need you to forgive me."

You know why...

But please!!!

I know this took forever so I hope you will forgive me! (Also when I originally received this ask I had just posted part one and mentioned in the tags that prompt 50 could be a good 'fix-it' prompt for a follow up, and well, here we are! Also when I received it, I laughed for a solid minute, like evil laughed so thank you @happymediummm )

Part Three of Prompt 53. 'I'm flirting with you!'

Part One, Part Two

It's on Friday that the cavalry arrives.

Dustin bangs on Eddie's bedroom door, with a mace by the sounds of it.

He's about to snark that Dustin doesn't play a class that uses martial weapons when he hears the kid yell--

"Eddie! You have five seconds before I come in there and get you myself, I got your uncle's permission and everything!"

Eddie groans and detaches himself from the bed  flipping the pillow he had been wallowing in away from himself.

He stomps towards the door and flings it open, leveling an unimpressed glare at Dustin who barrels past him into the bedroom.

Dustin crosses to the desk, his head on a swivel as he looks around the small space, Eddie scoffs as he steps towards Dustin, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing Henderson?" Eddie spits out as Dustin shrugs his hand off, he seems to spy what he's looking for as he crows a single, 'Aha,' and makes his way to the dresser.

"Seriously, Dustin, what are you doing here?"

"Saving you from yourself dude," Dustin scoffs as he takes a tape out of his pants pocket, the familiar writing on the label makes Eddie's stomach fall into his feet.

It's Steve's tape.

"No, nope, absolutely not," Eddie snaps. 

He reaches for the cassette in Dustin's hand, only for the little shit to spin away from him and toss the tape from his right to his left hand in a move that seems so much like the teen's babysitter that Eddie wants to scream.

Dustin manages to pop the tape into the player and hit play before Eddie can get close again.

A few notes of a bass guitar reach Eddie's ear and his hands drop from Dustin's shoulders as he perks up…he knows this song.

"What the fuck Henderson?" He breathes out with wide eyes that flick back and forth between him and the cassette player.

'Oh yeah!

Some people say my love cannot be true

Please believe me, my love, and i'll show you

I will give you those things you thought unreal

The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal--'

"You are being an idiot," Dustin says matter of factly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he frowns at Eddie, "I don't exactly know what you said, but I think I got the gist out of Steve earlier today when Robin wasn't acting like a guard dog". 

His dark blue eyes scan Eddie as he shakes his head, "you thought it was a joke, do you know Steve?"

Eddie rolls his eyes before crossing to the cassette player and slapping the stop button. All at once the sounds of Black Sabbath halt, leaving the room in tense silence. 

"Look," Eddie snarls, "I've known people like Steve over the years, it's all the same bullshit--"

"Stop it!" Dustin snaps, he steps closer to Eddie and jabs a finger into his chest, "you don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Dustin's cheeks are flushed with anger as he shakes his head again, "he's nothing like that Eddie, you're being an asshole!"

"What is all the yellin' about?" Wayne's voice trickles through the door, a hint of concern running through it as he leans against the frame, eyeing both Eddie and Dustin warily. 

"When I gave you permission to barge in here I don't remember agreeing to participate in a screamin' match son,” Wayne says, biting back a smile at the indignant expression on Dustin's face.

"Sorry Mr. Munson, but Eddie's being an idiot!" Dustin crosses his arms once more as he looks from Eddie to Wayne challengingly.

"That so?" Wayne laughs, "care to argue the charge," he directs at Eddie who rolls his eyes.

"It's nothing Wayne, Dustin is leaving now--" 

"Steve made that tape for you," Dustin yells, pointing at the cassette player, "and you threw it in his face!" 

"That true Ed?"

"It was a stupid joke," Eddie growls as Dustin throws his hands up in the air, "it doesn't mean anything". 

Wayne looks at Eddie for a long moment, his face unreadable.

"Steve Harrington?" He asks softly. 

Dustin nods nervously at Wayne before shooting another glare at Eddie.

"The one that came by your hospital room every day till you woke up Ed? The one they couldn't get to leave on the day you opened your eyes, that Steve Harrington?" 

"So?" Eddie huffs, wrapping his own arms around his chest tightly, incredibly aware of the two pairs of eyes trained on him.

 "Wayne, you told me I had to be careful of who I opened myself up to, I'm just following your advice!" 

Wayne sighs, lifting his hand to pinch into his eyes.

"You'd be lucky to have a friend like Steve," Dustin grumbles as he moves to the bed to sit down. He pulls up his legs up to his chest and glares at the back of Eddie's head.

"Kid, I think Ed and I need to have a conversation, alone," Wayne says quietly to Dustin.

Eddie watches in fascination as Dustin opens his mouth to argue, but after whatever silent conversation takes place between the teen and his uncle, Dustin merely huffs and slips off the bed. 

"Listen to the damn tape and get your head out of your ass," Dustin bites out as he passes Eddie, he levels one last impressive glare at the metal-head before leaving the room.

Wayne sighs as he makes his way over to the bed to sit, taking over Dustin's vacated spot.

"So, Harrington, huh?"

Eddie scowls and says nothing, leaning against the dresser. He winces as the sudden weight of his shoulder jostles everything, causing his loose D&D dice to fall off the edge and plink and plunk across the floor of his room.

The D4 will be a bitch to accidentally find with his feet later on, but Eddie ignores the mess and continues brooding against the dresser.

Wayne scratches his face, tapping an unsteady rhythm against his jean clad knee with his other hand, "okay," Wayne says gruffly from the bed as he shifts to stand. 

"I don't know what ya did or said, but it was enough to make that kid beg his way in here," Wayne huffs, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the open door. 

Eddie shrugs, refusing to lift his gaze from the floor. He hears Wayne sigh and the shift of fabric as he steps closer. 

"You were so small," Wayne mutters suddenly. 

Eddie looks up in confusion, but Wayne isn't looking at him, his eyes are trained just over Eddie's shoulder.

"When you came home that day, all black and blue," he shrugs and scratches his face again, "I didn't know how to help ya, and you wouldn't explain". 

Eddie swallows roughly, horrified at the sudden brightness of his uncle's eyes. A man he has only seen cry twice since he's known him, the first time was at Eddie's mothers funeral, the other was the day Eddie woke up at the hospital all those months ago. 

"I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to you Ed," Wayne breathes out wetly now as he roughly scrubs at his face, "and you being in the hospital, you were suddenly that small kid again, standing on my porch all black and blue". 

Eddie feels his own eyes sting as his uncle turns slightly to wipe his face again, "What are you saying?"

"You weren't alone this time, Ed," Wayne says softly as he steps towards his nephew and grasps him gently by the shoulders, "you have so many more people looking out for you, hell --one of em' carried you home". 

"I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see".

It's Eddie's turn to swipe at his misty eyes, "What's that?" He asks with an unconvincing cough to hide the wobble in his voice.

Wayne smiles, giving Eddie's shoulders a soft squeeze, "a damn good kid with a big heart, who I hope knows how to apologize when it's needed".

"But what if you're wrong?"

"Then I'm wrong, and we'll get through it," Wayne tugs Eddie towards him without warning into a tight hug and reaches behind Eddie to press play on the cassette player; the sound of guitar and drums begin again as Ozzy's voice fills the room. 

'Your love for me has just got to be real

Before you know the way I'm going to feel--'

"But for the record kid, I don't think I am".

***

Eddie listens to the tape. 

He listens to it again and again, both sides. Steve filled both sides with music for him…

He lays on his bed while it plays, staring a hole into the ceiling as the last few piano notes ring out before the tape stops, filling the room with silence.

The songs don't all go with one another and out of a dozen there's about eight he knows. The other four seem to be a mixture of songs he's heard Steve play in the beemer with the kids, or while dancing in his kitchen with Robin.

it's not an expert mix by any means, but Steve did manage to collect a decent amount of metal songs just for Eddie and even a one he's never heard before --since when did Scorpions write love songs? 

After hours alone in his room, sitting on his bed, listening to Steve's tape over and over again, there is one thing he can't deny.

Steve Harrington has feelings for him…had feelings for him, and Eddie ruined it. 

He wants to take the version of himself that pushed Steve away and shake him. 

Eddie winces as he pictures the devastated expression on Steve's face when he left. His normally bright hazel eyes and wide goofy grin were left pinched with hurt.

Eddie had done that, taken six months of tentative friendship, of lingering glances and soft teasing smiles -how had he missed those, and tossed this delicate thing away from himself like it was nothing. 

He looks over at the glowing green hands of the clock by his bed. It’s nearly midnight; Dustin left a few hours ago now and Wayne is now at work. 

Eddie breathes out a sigh through his nose as a sudden wave of determination flows through him.

He looks towards the far wall by the door, his Sweetheart hanging up on her hooks. 

Dustin had apparently insisted on grabbing it, doubling back on a severely sprained ankle while Nancy tore a verbal strip off his back for wasting time as an unconscious Eddie slowly continued to bleed out in Steve's arms.

Eddie shivers, it had been so strange to consider everything that happened, or what he was told happened during the gap in his memory. 

Steve had been the one to carry him out while Robin and Nancy helped compress the worst of his wounds with torn fabric and left over gauze from the patch job they had done for Steve.

He vaguely remembers a string of words, a whispered sentence that made no sense as Eddie drifted in and out of consciousness but now…

'You can't do this, come on Munson, open those stupid beautiful eyes of yours, who's going to yell at us about the corruption of youth in America huh? We need you man, I-I….'

Eddie had really been so fucking clueless. 

He gets up from the bed and crosses to the wall, taking the guitar off the hooks. 

At least now, he has a plan.

***

It was a shit plan.

Cutting down the road the kids had taken to calling Mirkwood and through the woods by Loch Nora seemed pretty sound in theory, giving Eddie the element of surprise and hiding him from any watchful neighborhood eyes. 

What he had not taken into account, however, was the pitch darkness, the unfamiliar maze of trees he now found himself in, and how fucking heavy his portable amp was going to be.

Perfect.

Eddie stumbles over a fallen log, nearly careening into the mulch and rotting leaves of the forest floor. The half moon above him, not nearly enough to light his path through the thicket.

At least this version of the woods feels alive, Eddie thinks to himself; the smell of damp dirt and the sound of frogs and crickets singing in the darkness is infinitely more appealing than the strange forest they had found themselves in a mere six months prior. And with the gates finally sealed, the most dangerous thing he could come across would probably be a rattler or a coyote. 

Eddie peers around at the thought, he's not quite sure he's entirely comfortable even running into those animals anytime soon…especially the snake.

Finally, after another ten minutes of walking, warm yellow light begins to sift through the trees ahead of him as he brushes away low branches from his field of vision. 

Eddie hikes up the guitar strap higher up his shoulder and steps fully into the light that illuminates the Harrington backyard lawn and pool.

Eddie scans the back of the house, flipping the mental map of the Harrington home around to visualize which window was most likely to be for Steve's bedroom.

He steps further into the yard, setting down the heavy amp onto the concrete patio before leaning down to grab a handful of wood chips from the shrubs next to the house.

Here goes nothing.

Eddie tosses one of the pieces of wood at the window above him. 

It barely connects with the windowsill before dropping back down onto the patio with a muted clack. 

Oh this is humiliating.

He tries again and again to hit Steve's window with the wood chips in his hand, each one completely misses the target. One bounces into the eavestrough, another careens off the siding and back into the pool behind Eddie. 

"Fuck this," Eddie growls, throwing the rest of the wood chips back into the shrubs as he snatches the cord for his amp and shoves the plug into the nearest outdoor outlet. 

He turns the volume down slightly, the plan won't work if the cops get called on him immediately. 

Eddie takes the guitar off his back and plucks a few notes, adjusting one of the tuning keys until the sound is just right.

"Here goes nothing, come on Stevie," Eddie whispers as he begins to play. 

"I hear the ticking' of the clock, I'm lying here the room's pitch dark," he sings softly, strumming out the cords, it's slightly harsher than the piano but sue him, Eddie only managed to play it once through by ear at home before he left the house.

This was Steve's last track on the tape, and Eddie's sure he put it there for a reason.

He listened to the song again and again, slowly picking up the cords as he did so. 

He could do this, he picked up Master of Puppets in just a few weeks, Eddie could handle Heart.

Eddie keeps going, his voice carries over the yard, growing in volume; so much so that he misses the patio door slowly slide open and the sound of a pair of feet padding onto the patio. 

"What are you doing here?" Steve's voice calls out to Eddie from the door, he jumps, nearly dropping the guitar. His hand jolts on the strings as Eddie attempts to keep his hold on the instrument, letting the guitar scream for him.

Steve stares at him as Eddie unplugs the amp cord and swings the guitar around his back once more with shaking hands, his thoughts spinning, trying to figure out how to start.

"I listened to the tape," Eddie says softly, Steve cocks his head slightly to better hear him, his face shuttering as the words register.  

Eddie's heart races as he watches Steve begin to turn towards the patio door once more, he needs to act fast.

"And I need you to forgive me," he blurts out, louder than he intends, but Steve does pause with his hands on the door handle.

"Why's that?" He says sharply, dropping his hand away from the door, turning to fully face Eddie once more.

Eddie chews his lip nervously as Steve's gaze hardens the longer they stand in silence, his arms come up to wrap around his chest tightly.

"I thought you were playing a prank," Eddie sighs, saying it aloud makes him want to deflate, to walk right into the pool and sink to the bottom. 

If the look Steve gives him is any indication, Steve would be more than happy to watch him go.

"That's a lot of effort to put into a fucking prank Munson," Steve bites out, there is no heat to the words though. He just sounds tired, resigned.

Shit.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Eddie mumbles, he reaches up to scrub his hand over his face, missing the way Steve's face softens ever so slightly and his arms drop from the way they seem to be holding him together. 

"But I'm not going to make excuses," Eddie takes a step closer to Steve, his heart threatening to break through his ribcage the closer he gets, "I'm sorry for how I reacted and for thinking you could do something like that".

"I know you aren't like that, you're honest, and kind," Eddie reaches out and takes the tape from his back pocket and gestures towards Steve with it, "and so fucking thoughtful it makes me ache to think I ruined everything". 

He puts the tape back in his pocket, Steve’s eyes watch him curiously now as he does, it fills him with wary hope, enough to keep talking. 

"So, I need you to forgive me Steve, because I hope you'll let me make it up to you sweetheart".

Steve's face tips down suddenly towards his socked feet and the cold concrete patio, making it impossible for Eddie to make out his expression. He holds his breath as the silence stretches between them.

"Robin was right, you can be such an asshole," Steve says quietly, Eddie's chest tightens painfully at the words.

Eddie nods once,doing everything in his power to keep his face neutral but the downward curl of his lip is unstoppable as he reaches down to pick up the amp.

"But," Steve says, taking a step away from the door behind him, "as someone who was an asshole for a long time," Steve says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand into his chest, "I think it would be pretty hypocritical to not let you make it up to me".

He's grinning now. It’s small, barely stretching across Steve's freckled face, but it's warm and just for Eddie. 

"What did you have in mind, Sweetheart?" 

Steve is quiet for a moment, his eyes dart over Eddie's face before he finally whispers, "can you finish the song Eds?" 

"I think that can be arranged, " Eddie hums with a bright grin of his own. 

He swings the guitar off his back again, quickly plugging it into the amp. 

Eddie looks up to find Steve smiling softly at him as he takes a seat on one of the pool loungers. He pulls his legs up to rest his arms on his knees, basking in his own private concert. 

As the first pink and orange rays of sunrise begin to bloom on the horizon behind him, slowly painting Steve's face gold, Eddie can't help the relief that flows through him. 

He looks down at the shy grin Steve gives him, his hazel eyes bright in the new day's light, and thinks, 'holy shit, I almost missed this'.

"You don't know how long I have wanted, to touch your lips and hold you tight," he picks up where he left off, his voice mixing with the slow rhythm of the guitar, “you don't know how long I have waited, and I was going to tell you tonight--”

Eddie watches, surprised as Steve swiftly gets up from the lounger and walks towards him, his expression determined.

"I think that's my line," Steve whispers as he leans in to cup Eddie's face in his hands and kisses him.

Eddie short-circuits.

The kiss is chaste, short, not much more than the brief press of warm chapped lips against Eddie's own, but the way Steve lets his hands move from Eddie's face to his hair and neck, holding him in place. The way Steve steps into Eddie's space so all he can taste, smell, and feel is Steve.

It’s exhilarating.  

Steve pulls back slightly before placing a second kiss on Eddie's lips, his eyes half lidded and a deep red flush staines his cheeks and ears a bright red. Steve looks much more debauched than necessary and Eddie suddenly wishes they weren't outside, that he could take Steve into the house and show him exactly how sorry he is. 

"I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait, did you learn all of them or just that one?" Steve asks, his voice slightly breathy, he still hasn't let go of Eddie or stepped away.

"Just that one," Eddie repeats dumbly, feeling the urge to walk into the pool again as Steve laughs.

Oh Eddie loves that laugh.

“You sure,” Steve asks again, his eyes crinkle at the sides as he smiles widely, “I thought maybe you could show me some of the other songs you know, inside?”

Either he’s dreaming or Steve is a mind reader because holy shit.

Eddie nods, unable to even form the words as Steve reaches for the amp and gently takes it out of his hands. Steve transfers the amp to his right hand and takes Eddie’s now empty hand with his left as he leads him towards the patio door.

Eddie watches, transfixed, as Steve looks back to shoot him another warm smile as they step over the threshold of the back door, and the words his uncle said earlier in the evening come back to him as Steve leads him towards the living room. 

‘I think a person like that deserves at least a chance to know you, and to see what I see’.

Eddie halts his movement, grabbing Steve’s hand firmly in his own, pulling him backwards until Steve turns, his eyebrows furrowed in wary confusion.

“Thank you, for giving me another chance,” Eddie says softly. He lets the hand holding Steve's own move to trail up and down his arm, eliciting a shiver from Steve. 

“I mean, you gave me one, you came back right?” Steve says softly. 

Eddie's heart twists at the words, he feels his face fall slightly at the thought that Steve could ever think he was somehow at fault for this, “I was an idiot, that wasn’t your fault at all sweetheart”.

Steve looks at him again, his eyes scanning Eddie’s own for what feels like ages, his expression unreadable. 

“Co’mere,” he murmurs eventually, letting go of Eddie to sit on the couch. He pats the cushion beside him, with the same soft smile from earlier, “play some music for me”.

There’s more to unpack here, more to talk about, other apologies to whisper in this beautiful man's ear. 

But for now, he swings his guitar in front of him and slowly walks over to Steve.

Steve asked for music, and who is Eddie not to oblige?

@ihavekidneys @superchellerific @zerokrox-blog @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @croatoan-like-its-hot @messrs-weasley @samcoxramblings @warlordess @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @lostonceandneverfound @shunna @fairytalesreality @estrellami-1 @rlpersephone3259 @zaphodkilledthespeedforce @newtstabber @grtwdsmwhr @uwujinniee @anica-d @imzadidragonfly @orangeandthefairroadkill @starman-jpg @nabatute @goodolefashionedloverboi @wheatnoodle @novacorpsrecruit @lolawonsstuff @redlegumes @paintsplatteredandimperfect @scheodingers-muppet @thephantomhood @0o-queendean-o0 @blackholegladiator @nerdfighteratheart @hallucinatedjosten

(I hope I haven't forgotten anyone, thank you very much for following along with this little story everyone!)

[watchingtheearthrise]

[skitskatdacat63]

Okay re: prev post abt ferrari suits vs old williams bmw suits bcs @sweatyflytrap asked

I hate how with modern suits, logos are usually just slapped on with no thought as to how it will coordinate with the rest of the suit. Ferrari is one of the worst examples of this, they're always just putting random logos on that are not at all cohesive with the rest of the suit. For this new one, their suit is all red/white/yellow, and yet they're like "yeah let's just slap this blue logo on."

However, on the old williams suits with HP logos, it looks sooooo cohesive. It's in a spot that's very noticeable and out front, but it's still very aesthetic! I think a big part of this is bcs the logo is the same blue as the rest of their sponsors, and it's embroidered on rather than just a sticker looking thing like the Ferrari ones.

You can have a lot of logos without it looking cluttered. But for some reason Ferrari is like, yeah let's put three small HP logos in completely different places, then people will certainly know our title sponsor is HP!

[paradoxon-3791]

I have not watched Rings of Power at all and am confused by the plethora of people mainly on TikTok shipping Galadriel and Sauron. What the hell happened to make that a thing?

[naivety]

okay i need feedback from the autism mentall illness website um. this is going to read like an AITA post. brother vs half-sister (who are currently my dependents do to their own individual disabilities + ptsd/depression) spat i will skim the details on but i'm worried my sister will discount my take since i'm not autistic myself so. am i crazy to call it ableist to look at an autistic person (23) who is clearly going through it dealing w long term depression, a world that doesn't give a shit abt him, unemployment, very self-isolated and burnt out barely leaving his room because the world is an ableist dumpster fire with zero opportunities for him, and then bring up childhood abuse he's suffered and his diagnosis as reasonable factors on top of this to worry he'll [checks notes] abuse my cat just to hurt me or even worse have a breakdown and kill me and his other sibling in a violent episode, a train of thought i probably wouldn't even be having were he not [checks notes] mad at me for the first time in my life?

like i don't have any other read on this kind of fear-based characterization other than ableism. like those are very real things in his life but she never points out any current violent behavior, of which there are none, only the one (1) instance of him lashing out when he was like 14 and Officially Diagnosed Low Empathy she thinks is a concern and Hateful Looks toward her since he stopped getting along with her, that's it. i tried explaining to her why i, someone who's lived w him his entire life, can vouch for how unlikely he is to do anything like that, especially when it's again not based on anything he's actually currently doing except for isolating in a way that is much more indicative of him potentially being a danger to himself than anyone else, and being cold towards her specifically, and i thought she had let it go, but when i brought it up off-hand in a conversation tangentially related, she continued to defend and justify her Concern about the potential directions his behavior could lead to because [checks notes] other people in similar situations have lashed out and killed their entire families according to. true crime books or videos she's watched on youtube as far as i'm aware. ignoring the fact that her and i have had the same or Worse childhood abuse and have acted similarly isolated in the past, or for her literally just as currently as him, and she's not expressed any worry past or present about either of us doing anything like that, in my opinion obviously because i haven't cut her off due to our differences like he decided to. like am i big sibling biased because this is pissing me off so bad.

[uncanny-tranny]

Being trans is knowing that Sigmund Freud would have been... interested in studying you

[redvelvetwishtree]

[galinneall-dearg]

Hmmm thinking about Rheneas' name, and the RWS "REN-e-as" vs the TVS "re-NAY-as" comparisons

Cuz the thing is, at the end of the day Sudric is a conlang that- while based in IRL Gaelic languages- is not those languages and is allowed to vary however it wants. So the pronunciation is mostly up in the air and we don't have a solid idea of how certain words should be said.

However! His name does contain the word 'eas' which is an actual word in all three Gaelic languages (Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Manx). It means 'waterfall' (...and also 'cataracts' but I'm trying not to sidetrack), and therefore has an actual, tangible way it should be spoken...

...And neither pronunciation gets it right

Irish: "ass"

Scottish Gaelic: "es" ( <- sourced from this dictionary)

Manx: "ass" (<- I could not find any audio that I could trust but this link has a written phonetic guide which includes 'eas' if you scroll to the bottom)

The word is not two syllables! Consistently across the languages it's only a single syllable word, meaning that 'Rheneas' technically should only be two syllables- and said as "ren-ass" or "ren-es"

In other words that second 'e'- which the pronunciation of is the main point of contention between the RWS and TVS versions... Should be silent.

Although- If you want me to be REALLY pedantic, in the syntax of all Gaelic languages, the adjective comes after the object that's being described. This how Dolgoch's name is also formatted, with 'Dol' meaning 'meadow' coming before 'goch' which means 'red.' Since 'Rheneas' is supposed to mean 'divided waterfall' this results in...

Easrhen ("ass-ren" or "es-ren")

Which I admit is.. A little cursed.

(Also I'm not fluent in Scottish Gaelic/Manx/Welsh and I only know limited Irish, so if anything here is incorrect *please* let me know!)