#stop pretending like you do
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The current situation is Israel is very confusing to a lot of people, and the word "colonizers" is thrown a lot in conversations, social media and protests. If you are not sure whether you can or should call Israel a colonial state, here is a handy guide divided by origin-country of the speaker:
The UK: OUR INDEPENDENCE IS LITERALLY FROM YOU!
Italy: THIS IS LITERALLY ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!
Egypt, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Greece, North Macedonia, Turkey, Mongolia: Every single one of you has conquered us at least once, so keep your mouth shut or start talking about reparations. (Yes, even the Mongols. Did you know that? I only found out a couple of years ago. Isn't that cool? I mean bad. Very bad...)
Every single country in the American continent + the surrounding islands, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, China, India, Russia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia: LOL. Don't even fucking look at us.
Portugal, Spain, France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Austria, Sweden, Norway, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, Morocco, Algeria, Libya, Japan: Let me check a history book for a sec. Yeah, no.
Every other nation in the world: I don't know enough about your history to put you in another category, but no.
Liberia: Literally the only nation in the entire world that knows even half of what we’re going through. They’re not colonizers, and neither are we. Stop trying to force your Western terminology on our history.
North Korea: I think you need to deal with some other issues right now darling...
Hope this helps.
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amalgamezz · 11 months ago
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ALT
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sergle · 1 year ago
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when ppl’s “body positive/plus size” art just starts and ends with a big ass
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secretswansong · 2 years ago
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it has been 0 days without people being racist and entitled to writers of color
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egophiliac · 11 months ago
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happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!
thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!
I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)
I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!
also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...
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...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.
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#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#this is my blog and i'm going to write a million words about lilia and you can't stop me#but anyway i do genuinely get the impression that he's using Pretending to Be a Teenager as a chance to be even sillier than usual#he's a very silly man he's just being EXTRA silly#supported by his recent birthday card where he says he was specifically trying to cast himself as an adorable little brother-type#because he wanted the other students to give him free shit and save him seats and things like that#it worked for about a week before he turned out to be way too good at stuff and everyone just kind of ended up in awe of him instead#and he was like DANGIT. I'VE RUINED IT FOR MYSELF.#(then he and epel went on to talk about their hypothetical vtubersonas because the birthday cards are INSANE but anyway)#i'm bad at headcanons :( sorry!#unless it's dumb things like...what pokemon they would have or whatever#(malleus would have some kind of special fancy-colored dragapult) (but i digress)#i have a hard time putting things into words. just know that i love the grampa bat and his weird kids very much.#my brain is also still kind of fried from the last couple of weeks#i am however starting 2024 off the way i intend to continue it: in deep contemplation of anime hair#(sorry if these look weirdly aliased) (i realized about 3/4 of the way through i was using the wrong brush and i didn't want to restart :U)
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flowercrowngods · 10 months ago
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who did this to you. part 3
🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!
The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 
Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.
Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 
The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 
“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 
“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 
Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 
“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 
He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)
“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”
“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 
No. “Thanks.” 
The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 
He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 
“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 
He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 
“Hi.” 
“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 
“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 
That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 
The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 
“What about Steve.” 
Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 
“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 
“He… He’s hurt.” 
There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 
“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 
“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 
Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 
“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 
One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 
Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 
It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 
He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 
People don’t just die. 
They don’t. 
He’s fine. 
Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.
Eddie can relate.
Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 
Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 
It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 
And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 
But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 
He needs a smoke. 
He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 
But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 
It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 
“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 
Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 
She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 
I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.
But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 
But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 
“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 
“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 
“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 
And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 
She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.
He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?
But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 
That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 
“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 
There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 
“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 
But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 
“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 
So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 
“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 
Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 
It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 
“Eddie?” 
With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”
Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 
He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 
“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 
“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 
Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 
She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 
It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 
Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 
Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 
It’s so fucking surreal. 
He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 
And silence reigns. 
“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 
There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 
Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 
“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”
“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 
Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 
“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 
Tell me about your favourite person. 
Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 
And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”
She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 
“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 
There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 
“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 
Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 
“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 
He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 
“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 
“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 
“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 
There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 
He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 
There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 
And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 
So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 
It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 
“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 
What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 
“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 
What?
Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.
“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 
That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 
“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 
And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 
Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 
Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 
And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 
It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 
“Why’d you call me?” 
It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 
He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 
“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”
Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 
She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 
“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 
Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 
“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 
And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 
Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 
“What, the ice cream parlour?” 
Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 
She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 
Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 
“He saved your life?” 
Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 
“In the fire? Were you there?” 
“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 
Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 
“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 
“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 
“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 
“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 
It is, isn’t it? 
You’re so blue, Stevie. 
She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.
Blue. ‘S nice. 
Yeah. Yeah, he is. 
Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 
Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 
He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 
Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 
And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 
The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 
“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 
“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 
🤍🌷 tagging:
@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)
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rosebud-8 · 4 days ago
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pls pls pls stop pretending like anything caitlyn did was out of character. i swear some people want their characters to be moral paragons or they can’t handle enjoying them. no one in arcane is a “good person” in the classical view of what makes someone “good” (except maybe ekko). but they’re all well written. does jinx being a murderer terrorist stop me from deeply enjoying her character? no, because she’s an exceptionally flawed character making really really bad decisions. a characters flaws are what makes them enjoyable, without them we’d be looking at the flattest characters known to man. and in full truth, what caitlyn did DID off-put me from her character. i still feel a bit uneasy about her right now, which is truly a feat given that i fucking named myself after her. but my unease is not a sign that she was written poorly or out of character. it’s just a sign that it’s hard to watch characters you love dealing with their emotions in the quite literal most destructive way and deeply hurting everyone around them. but if this action turns you away from her *forever* and you won’t even entertain her character arc (which she’s so redemption coded but that’s another topic), then literally what are you watching this show for. because by that logic you should like literally no one (except again, maybe ekko). Jayce killed a kid. Vi hit her sister in anger and caused her descent into Jinx. Jinx is a murderer terrorist. Viktor’s blindness to caution got an innocent person killed. like this show is all ABOUT these people doing bad things because they can’t handle their emotions for shit. god forbid a woman be a morally complicated character
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izzystizzys · 3 months ago
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The war doesn’t end with a bang, strictly speaking. It doesn’t even end with a political forum, or peace talks, or a slow, wheezing death of the Banking Clan’s pockets running dry, even though all of those are valid possibilities. Some more than others, Cody has to admit.
No, the war ends with an article in the Galaxy’s least reputable news source, Coruscant Rotational. Splashed on the front page for all to see is Cody’s little brother, next to the Chancellor.
CLONE MEWS CHANCELLOR TO DEATH IN MOGGING MOVE FOR THE AGES - LOOKSMAXXING TAKEN TOO FAR?
“What”, says Obi-Wan, eye twitching, fingers massaging over the bridge of his nose at double their usual speed, a real sign of an impending nervous breakdown if Cody’s ever seen one, “the kriff does that even mean?!”
Rex shrugs helplessly with one shoulder, other arm raised aimlessly. “No idea, General. I only understand about half those words. Maybe we’re all having a collective stroke? Maybe Fox is having a stroke? Whatever he’s doing with his jaw in that picture can’t be healthy.”
“Well, not for the late Chancellor, anyways”, says Cody flatly, in the long-suffering tone of one who’s seen too much Jedi banthashit in too little time. He screws his eyes tightly shut, scrubbing the backs of his knuckles in hard enough to see galaxies explode. Nope, still the same words on that datapad.
“It can’t be true”, says Skywalker, who’d gone white as a shitty military-issue sheet and has been steadily pacing the room ever since the equivalent of a sonic bomb hit the room. “I mean - think about it, this could just as well be a Separatist ploy, it would play right into their hands, and Coruscant Rotational isn’t exactly the most reputable source -“
“True enough”, says Obi-Wan, thoughtfully. “They do like getting their facts mixed up. In fact, I’ve seen about six articles just this month proclaiming our dear friend Senator Amidala’s super secret pregnancy. They even falsified hospital records, can you imagine?!”
Somehow, Skywalker loses another shade of colour, gulping soundlessly, and resumes his pacing more frenetically than before. Weird guy, that.
It’s Rex who breaks the awkward stillness of the room, perking up suddenly. “Oh, I know! Why don’t we call in Commander Tano?! She’s about the right age to understand some of this dribble, right?”
“I was going to suggest calling Corrie HQ, but sure, let’s ask the teenage soldier from the space monk order who spends all her spare time hunting your legion for sport”, says Cody, dryly. Rex deflates, and Thorn’s tinny voice sounds through Cody’s comm before he can make his reply. “Marshall Commander, I assume this is about the News.” Ominous capitalisation, ooooh, mouths Rex, and receives the nearest datapad Cody can reach to the face for his troubles with a squawk. The fact that he can read that sentence off his lips means their legions have spent far too much time together, and also that Cody’s grown soft in his old age.
“Good to hear you too, Thorn, and yes, we do have some questions concerning why the kriff my vod’ika is accused of murdering the chancellor through what I can only assume is some secret Sith magic?!”
“Oh, you mean when he defeated the actual Sith on the Senate through the power of his superior mog and made the kriffer explode in a thousand wrinkly pieces? You’re welcome, by the way”, says Thorn, instead of literally anything sane.
“Commander”, begs Cody’s General, with something glistening that might actually be tears in his eyes. “Commander, please. I do not understand any of those words. I am begging you to put me out of my misery.”
PALPATINE??? SITH?????!!!, screams Skywalker in battlesign, somehow spelling out each individual question and exclamation mark.
“It’s a game we’ve started playing in the Guard, sir, to pass time on patrol”, says Thorn, sheepishly, cowed by nearly driving the High General Kenobi to tears. “We’d do stupid faces we found the holonet, and, uh - well Fox is so high on black-market morphine most of the time cause we don’t get bacta that he sleepwalks on assignment sometimes, and, uh, he started making them at the Chancellor during a holocall meeting with Count Dooku and then the Chancellor tried to electrocute him again but accidentally blew himself up-“
“Breathe, Commander”, says Obi-Wan, and then - “That is SO much information I don’t know what to do with, Force preserve me. Why is Commander Fox on black-market morphine, or sleepwalking, or making faces at-“
“He signs reports in his sleep too, sometimes”, Thorn interrupts the General. “It’s actually kind of impressive if, y’know, it didn’t make Stabby bust another capillary in pure rage.”
“Who’s Stabby?”, asks Obi-Wan, confused.
“Meeting with Count Dooku?!”, bursts out Skywalker.
“Congratulations on Amidala’s pregnancy, General Skywalker”, says Thorn, like a man who wants to see the world burn.
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strwbrryfire · 17 days ago
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(1, 2, 3 LET'S GO BITCH!) stay here, honey, i don't want to share
delicate — taylor swift
( hey queen here yet againnn y'all know the drill , chat : @drivestraight , eat them alive . this is propaganda !! go read it!! )
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chiropteracupola · 6 months ago
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"Are you finished with my portrait yet? Show me!" "Cipacton, I can't draw you if you keep moving!"
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exar547 · 3 days ago
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i can't express enough how much i LOVE this gif this is literally everything they are to me
the father/son duo ever (+ bonus evilness)
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ef-1 · 8 months ago
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tapping the "do you even like Lewis or do you just like shipping him with a white man" sign
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ocpder · 3 months ago
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Non-traumagenics stop acting oppressed for being a system/disabled when you are not disabled because you're not a system challenge
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egophiliac · 3 months ago
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WHO IS THIS PINK HAIR GENTLEMAN YOU JUST POSTED? HES SO PRETTY???
he's Hayate from Ride Kamens! 🦩 he is my bird son a very silly guy who's part of a superhero (well...hero-ish) group trying to take down a cult, although his real passion is lattes. also, he is very pink!
(the fancy outfit was just for a game event, alas, although I spent way too much time grinding to get the pink variant so now it is mine forever, mwahaha. >:)
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imthursdaysyme · 10 months ago
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I think Itd be funny if Steve accidentally became obsessed with puzzles but won't admit it the same way dads watch shows by standing off to the side. robin has them out and he complains but she finds him 2hrs later still standing doing puzzles and he's like a caught raccoon
#stranger things#steve harrington#robin buckley#listen I just think it would be so funny#man is like uh no I don't do puzzles but also completely unrelated there's the piece you're looking for#constantly hovering and pretending he's not#robin loosing her shit like istg come sit and join me or leave#and he's like god FINE IF YOU INSIST#and she's like bro I said or leave too#and he's like WOE IS ME- ROBERTO FORCING ME TO SIT AND FO THE PUZZLE WOTH HER#and she's like Steve pls stop#I AM BEING DETAINED AGAINST MY W—#Steve would you stop yell—#—FORCED INTO MATRIARCHAL TYRANNY FORCUNG ME—#—esteban stop taking all the pieces-#I AM SHACKLED AND CH—#Steve how are you taking so many pieces wait stop how are you so fast—#BOUND TO THE WOODEN CHAIR AND COLORFUL GRANDMA ACTIVITIES WITH—#Steve please let me do half stop—#NO ONE TO SAVE ME#Steve how did you do it that fast wait stop you finished it what are you—#I MUST NOW TAKE RANSOM—#steve put it down—#TO HOLD MY CAPTIVE ACCOUNTA—#—steve please where are you taking the puzzle and how are you holding it without break—whERE ARE YOU GOING???#I WILL BE FREE OF MY CHAI— oh haha hey jon no i’m not doing anything strange no nance i’m just chilling—#YOU HAVE BEEN YELLING AND MONOLOGUEING FOR THE PAST THIRTY MI UTES LIKE A THEATER KID WHAT DO U MEAN CHILLING#i was doing nOTHING of the sort—#oh god he was doing the acting thing again with the medival imagery thing wasn’t he#nancy pls tell me he hasnt done this to you— oh god steve what is wrong with you
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blue-rose-soul · 9 months ago
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"Great Alastor Altruist* died for his friends!"
This scene has been spinning in my brain since Thursday. Like a lot of other people, my first thought was that this was an indication that Alastor had grown to care for Charlie and her friends at the hotel. And it's not because of the words he says. Even if you're watching without subtitles and don't see the quotations around that phrase, it's pretty obvious that he's laughing at the very thought.
"Me? Alastor? Dying for them?"
"Ridiculous."
"Absurd!"
"Utterly laughable!"
No, what makes me think that there might be a kernel of truth there isn't the words by themselves. It's the look on his face as he says them.
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This is the part where Alastor's angry snarl breaks and he begins to look genuinely afraid. He clutches his chest. He digs his fingers into his scalp, drags his hand down the side of his face. And that's a perfectly reasonable reaction to nearly dying! It's very human! But I think it's very telling that this expression doesn't settle on his face until he's talking about dying for someone else. Before this he looked more angry than anything, and he lapses back into anger up until he begins talking about trying to find a way out of his deal.
Now, don't get me wrong, I understand why anyone would think otherwise. The thing about Alastor is that, despite how blatant it is, his mask works. Like I stated earlier, I find myself searching every word, expression, and gesture from Alastor for double meaning. Ostensibly, there's no one here for Alastor to lie to**. No one he has to put up an act for. But his smile, which he's already fully admitted is faker than fake, remains firmly in place. I wonder if putting up an act is so second nature to him at this point he can't help but do it even when he's alone. Maybe he tries to fool himself as much as other people.
I believe that he has come to care, but I can't fully believe it. I won't be surprised to be wrong. But there are some scenes that just don't make sense to me if he really doesn't care at all.
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His chat with Niffty the night before the extermination, for example. Niffty isn't really someone he needs to trick. He has power over her, whether it's because he owns her soul or because of her blind devotion to him. It's telling that while everyone else is hanging out together, sharing drinks at the bar, Alastor keeps his distance and positions himself above them. At this point, Alastor seems to care about them the way we, the audience, care about them; as entertainment. He's enjoying watching their story unfold up close, but that's all there is to it. He admits to Niffty that one could get accustomed to being with them. Not him though! He's above all that.
Then the battle happens. At first, Alastor's role in the battle didn't require him to assume too much risk. He was on crowd control, limiting the number of exorcists the rest of the hazbins have to deal with at once. And he slayed a not insubstantial number of angels in the process***. But then Adam broke through Alastor's shield and singled him out. It would have been reasonable for Alastor to put some distance between himself and the Lead Exorcist. Charlie did say it was his job to deal with Adam, but as I've already discussed, Alastor really had no hope of winning that fight alone. Maybe if he'd escaped right then and there, or fought Adam alongside Charlie things would have turned out differently. Granted, I don't think his pride would have allowed him to take either of those options.
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Regardless, the end result is that Alastor did come very close to dying for a cause that wasn't his. Considering what Adam did to the hotel, Alastor's pretty damn lucky he's not in two pieces here.
Now, I don't think this means Alastor is immediately going to turn around and integrate int o the hazbin family. Immediately after this line where he mocks the idea of dying for Charlie's cause, he gets angry again, leans further into the Radio Demon persona and starts contemplating ways to escape his contract. I think, that like someone recoiling after accidentally touching a hot stove, Alastor's going to pull further away from them. One thing I am certain about is how Alastor feels about his leash; he hates it. He wants to be rid of it. He doesn't know how to do that yet, but he's working out a plan and having Charlie in his corner is part of that plan. Giving a genuine shit about her or the other hazbins is not part of that plan. It's another leash, not as literal as the one connecting him to his patron but just as binding.
Alastor realizing he might actually care about these people may just make him more dangerous to them than if he just didn't care at all.
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(*The word 'altruist' here being used as a title, not a name. Like something you'd see in a newspaper headline, or on a headstone.)
(**There do seem to be some odd eye motifs in the environment, but at no point does Alastor give any indication he is aware of them or acknowledge their presence in anyway. And I highly doubt he would have said certain things if he believed his patron was actively watching him.)
(***Taking this opportunity to go off topic a bit to call the Vees out on their hypocrisy. For all their bluster about 'taking the fight to Heaven' and how 'pussy' the older Overlords supposedly are, I didn't see any of them on the battlefield. Alastor was. He fought as long and hard as he could. There was nothing cowardly about him living to fight another day.)
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