#this is the tip of the iceberg for real i really do think it's their movie

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi nalyra, I saw the MW Felix comment and I have to say it's sadly very much in character for the Lestat they have built. We've seen lestat make comments about seeing people as "inferiors" and "cattle", we've seen him not only enjoying the hunt but also mocking his victims (Mardi Gras, the tenor). He believes the earth to be a savage garden. As per Sam's comments lestat has fully embraced being a monster and his future arc will supposedly be to "crawl his way back to his humanity" (in contrast to louis whose arc is the opposite). His motivation according to sam is shame. Shame for things we've seen (I dread what they will do with claudias death and lestats involvement)

With season 3 coming I think it's safe to say we can take rolin and Sam and everything we have seen so far as face value. This is not the humanity loving, his light ever persevering, forgiving to the point of naive book lestat.

It's rolins interpretation of lestat which is...lacking if I say so. If he sees him as a sad clown or someone who would hurt his most beloved companion (which is directly against what Anne wrote bc she has lestat saying he'd never hurt louis and he never has) well then this is what we're getting.

I have been personally gutted by coming to this conclusion, that this is what the show is actually serving us. Messy vampires who are monsters and do monstrous things and petty relationship drama with some brilliant moments on the side, where I was hoping it would be the other way around. I really don't think they have a bigger plan in mind where all will be explained and made right, season two revisions and the latest autumn brown interview and long face reveals killed that hope.

We can certainly engage for the show for what it is and keep the good parts to enjoy it but I would be lying if I said its easy to do that. The show really has the potential to be impeccable and for some reason the creators chose to limit it and mischaracterize the lead of the series.

I know this isn't a fun topic to discuss (it certainly has not been fun for me to think about) but since it's a conversation that's been happening I'd love to hear your and everyone's thoughts !

It's funny, isn't it, that the version of Lestat we're getting is this jaded, hardened person, thanks to the shift they did, and the Louis we're getting is the version ... who got some of Lestat's good characteristics / world views.

I mean, I remember Rolin saying that, that they gave the evildoer-thing to Louis on purpose. Which, granted, at the time I didn't mind it much - but now it becomes ever clearer that they've pumped Louis up to be a better character by using (some of) Lestat's characteristics, which is... a choice.

And I agree, this is the show Lestat, and, in the context of the shift in character and time, it does make sense(!)

I have talked about it in the turning post, and others - this Lestat is a lot more jaded, he's been alone, he's been hurt, he's experienced heavy loss. He has experience with vampires, pitch forks and torches, and... Armand.

He clings to what he has quite differently. And can lash out a lot harder, too.

I've said it before, this is what we'll get. I waited 30 years for this show. There won't be another anytime soon, not that I'd necessarily want one(!), and I'm also anxious about certain real life developments which could have impact sooner or later.

I WILL enjoy this.

Like hope, with bloody knuckles. :)

But it is clear and has been stated that this is not Anne's Lestat, and that is actually quite the statement.

They are adapting the Vampire Chronicles - and fundamentally changed the main character(s). That will have repercussions for the upcoming arcs. And I do think the hinted at Amel plot is only the tip of the iceberg there, and when it hits it won't be pretty.

I have seen a development like this before, this "adaption of the books but freeing themselves of the books"... we all have I guess. The Witcher, for example, which was an incredible let down with season 2 for me. I hope this show will not follow that example. But when Rolin said something to that effect in one interview (I think it was a video) the alarm bells did ring in my mind.

Anyways. No, it isn't fun to talk about this.

But I'd rather be surprised positively by s3 than otherwise :)

[waywardted]

Believing in rom-communism is all about believing that everything is going to work out in the end... Now, it may not work out how you think it will, or how you hope it does, but, believe me, it will all work out.

[mechadria]

she's not "giving up love" or anything of the sort btw she'd be giving up polite society and connections to anyone in the ton, possible even her family.

colin talks this big talk of her trying to 'entrap' him because she didn't think to blurt out she was lady whistledown in the minutes between him chasing down her carriage, confessing his feelings, fingerfucking her, deciding they were marrying and going to announce it, but that was literally entrapment, whether he realises it or not (and i rather think he does).

if anyone had seen them get into or out of that carriage alone, penelope would have been RUINED. compromised for society. she would have been forced to marry him (which would only somewhat repair her standing) or retire from polite society for the REST OF HER LIFE (or be constantly slighted, insulted and avoided). it does not matter whether they'd had awkward talk or full on unprotected sex for an hour straight, she would have suffered the same consequences.

and she would have suffered these very same consequences had they called off the marriage. this is not a world where you say who broke up with who. or even a world where you say why. the Entire Ton would have decided that Penelope had tried to entrap and seduce a Bridgerton and he just found a way out. again, she would have been ruined and shunned from London. she would have been stuck leaving the people she knew and loved or staying in her mother's house, being mocked and disregarded ten times worse than ever before, with no prospects except maybe a disgusting old drunk (because that's what women who had rumours about their virginity fucking got).

and then, that's without even considering the fact that they'd had sex, and Colin isn't a fucking moron. he Knows there is a possibility that penelope is pregnant - that's why they hurry the wedding up, both in the book and the series. so when he accuses her of entrapping him - thus threatening her with either a life of misery on his arm or a life shunned by anyone she's ever known - he knows exactly what it would do to her if they broke the engagement and she did get pregnant.

Colin Bridgerton knew exactly the extent and violence of the threat he was making to Penelope when he accused her of entrapping him - in Several fucking Ways - and he did it because his feelings were a bit hurt and he fucking knew that he did, in fact, entrap her. he was lucky that Penelope loved him back, because otherwise exiting that carriage alone with him might have ruined her life, and he did not give her or her safety or her happiness a SINGLE thought when he entered that carriage.

the books are Not well written, lmao, don't get me wrong, but the writing on this show is somehow even more abysmal. colin's behaviour in that second half of the season is violent in a way all threats, suggestions, actions and comments men make in a society so hellbent on harming women, and you're supposed to think he's romantic and in love and just having a hard time? babes, it's the 19th century equivalent of punching the wall next to your face.

#this part almost broke me #penelope was willing to let him go #she couldn’t stand the thought of forcing him to stay married to her only out of honor #the way she says “your” instead of “our” family even though he had already referred to her as now a part of their family #she didn’t want him to feel trapped #she was willing to lose the love of her life so he could be happy #but HIS FACE says everything #he is surprised and a little pained #he almost looks amazed that she would even say it #because he never truly wanted to be without her #but i think her being willing to protect him made him love her even more #don’t look at me

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

can people please stop filming the entire fucking world around them for public consumption? and especially random fucking strangers who you did not ask???

I work at a park and man the front desk. and I'm photographed and filmed a lot. I'm talking easily 20+ times per day. most of the times, it's parents filming me swearing in their kids as junior rangers. which. they're intending to film their kids. what they get is me and the back of their kids' heads.

there's this recurring problem that like. people forget we're real people? like yeah you're filming your kid, but you're filming me interacting with your kid. I could count the amount of times someone has asked me permission to do this in the past year on one hand. and sometimes that's after they already start filming.

Like, I'm not an actor. I did not agree to this. You could be a dick and make the argument that I'm a public figure, but I'm not. This is not a persona and my uniform is not a costume. I'm a person trying to do my job and help people and teach them about science and history. And you know what makes it harder to do that? The knowledge that anything I say or do could end up shared with thousands of people. The fact that if I fuck up the wording of this kid's junior ranger pledge, or I sneeze, or make some basic mistake, it's not just a funny or embarrassing moment for me and this one family. It could end up on tiktok.

And okay, those are the people intending to film their own kids and not thinking or caring about the collateral. What's worse is the people who film everything. A few times a week some guy walks into the visitor center, phone already horizontal in front of their face, narrating what they're doing and seeing. They come up to the desk and ask me questions, phone in my face. They take wide establishing shots of the visitor center and every visitor in it. None of us agreed to this! None of these people consented to be in your youtube video! We are not the fucking set dressing of whatever travel instagram story you're making!

I don't know where I'm going with this. This is really only the tip of the iceberg. Sometimes people ask us to repeat what we just did - swear in their kid, or explain a detail, or hand them a fucking map - so they can get a second take, and they're already filming so if we say no we look like the asshole. Sometimes we're asked innocuous things like to point out a landmark, and next week there's a photo of us in the 15,000 member Rangers Pointing at Things facebook group (yep, real thing). One time my entire 45 minute evening program was filmed without my permission and I was informed after the fact. This happens all the time, and I'm giving park ranger examples, but this happens to so many people in service work or public positions every single fucking day.

I guess just, next time you go to film in a public space, take a second. Think about who you're about to film, if they agreed to that, what might happen if a video of them went viral. there's a reason I'm not out as trans at work. And then, maybe. don't. or at least fucking ask.

[mychapel-004]

I think the most interesting and under-explored part of gf canon is the formation of the blind eye and I'm tired of pretending it isn't: a long post

Because hear me out here, if we really take a look at the timing of the only concrete source we have (mcgucket's video diaries), it doesn't... line up at all?

The clear implication here is that he started making the diaries after the first portal incident on January 18th 1983, so this would be our "day one"

"For the past year I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher... But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lie awake each night, haunted by the thoughts of what I've done... Test subject one: Fiddleford."

But this makes no sense. We know from J3 that the memory gun was actually invented after a series of traumatic events with Ford, months before he left the project. Further, the timeline the video diaries set up of the blind eye show that he began to deteriorate and founded the blind eye on day 22, which would be February 9th, but in J3 the blind eye is already a full blown cult by then.

In addition, where is he in this video? we know from TBOB that he isn't on good terms with his wife after Christmas of 1982 and he likely didn't leave GF after the portal incident, but he was living with Ford up until this so where is this room? If he had somewhere else to stay, why only stay there now?

Now, realistically the answer here is that the lore was changed and slightly retconned between the writing of this episode and the publishing of the book (which alex discusses in some of the commentary for this episode when discussing fidd's character), but I think a more interesting theory to solve this contradiction can be found in the source material.

If we play this all completely straight, there are two options here, both involving Fiddleford lying in his diaries. this isn't entirely new to the series, unreliable narration is a big theme, especially in Journal 3 and TBOB. the only real explanations are that:

A) Fiddleford was lying about this being the first time he used the gun, meaning this video diary takes place after the portal incident.

B) Fiddleford was lying about leaving the project, and was filming these diaries while still working with Ford.

Now, either of them is plausible, but ultimately Fiddleford is a scientist. He has dedicated his life to engineering, and it seems to be his lifelong passion considering it's one of the only character traits that he continues to practice after losing his mind. Would a man who is this talented, this dedicated, really lie about testing results in a video diary he chose to make?

If he had used the gun before, any kind of result he is trying to observe would be ruined. It would be a pointless venture, since we know for a fact that by the time he leaves the project he has used the gun on himself, Ford and other civillians multiple times. It's a complete failure of the scientific method, and I don't think it makes sense for the character we know, the man who quadruple checks his own calculations just to be sure they're right.

However, the other explanation feels like something he might do. We know he invents the gun after the Gremloblin incident likely sometime in August, and seems to use it immediately as evidenced by J3, on both himself and Ford. We know from the audio commentary that for Fidd, the memory gun is very much an addiction, it's something that he uses to curb his anxiety and appear like a better partner, to try and keep himself together until the project is over. But ultimately, he's known something is wrong with the project for a long time, and Ford mentions his tendency towards self destructive anxiety when Fidd rips out his own hair after Ford reveals the tip of the weirdness iceberg to him.

All this to say, I think it's far more realistic for Fiddleford to lie about leaving the project rather than his results. He knows that something is wrong, that he should leave and be with his family, and on the other side of that we know that Bill is using this anxiety to whisper into Ford's ear that Fidd is unreliable and will leave. He's been through a severely traumatic event with the Gremloblin, trapped for days in his worst nightmares, to the point where he is prepared to cause himself potential brain damage to un-see it.

But despite all of it, he doesn't leave. He is determined to stay, maybe out of loyalty, maybe out of fear for Ford's safety, maybe he needs the money from the project for his family. He has a wife and son who need him and we know that he feels guilt for his treatment towards them, he even cites them as his sole reason for backing out of using the gun immediately before he does it anyway, and uses it on Ford to cover his mistakes up. Fiddleford is a man who is wracked by anxiety and shame and is such a bad way by this point that he is absolutely willing to self-destruct and lie to just get through this project.

I think he absolutely would start documenting his use of the memory gun, even if that meant lying that he had followed his instincts and left the project when he should have done. After all, he says himself that he wants to use this gun on a wider scale as a therapy tool, assuming the gun doesn't turn his brain to mush, surely the tapes of his initial testing will need to be peer-reviewed? He's presenting the reality he wishes was true, the one where he is brave and stands on his principles and doesn't fall into step beside Ford on his path to destruction.

So, where does this leave the timeline?

Finding exact dates is difficult, mostly because the only concrete numbers in J3 are few and far between, but we do have the dates of the tapes to go off as follows. This isn't concrete but it's a fun way to recontextualise the events of J3:

Day 1:

First usage of the gun, followed by it being used on Ford

Sometime after the Gremloblin incident, Fidd's arm is either healed or on the mend from the incident as his cast is gone, so likely towards the end of August.

Note on the cast: It could also be gone as a result of him removing it too early, he doesn't seem to take a lot of time to recover from the incident before he gets back to work in fear of disappointing Ford.

The room he is in is likely his bedroom in the Shack, or whatever location he initially uses to form the blind eye, maybe a room in the museum? The "probability of failure" graph in the back is the same one that he shows Ford the night before the Portal test, albeit a bigger version, meaning he has likely been tracking the output results for a while.

Day 5:

Still exhibiting postive results, no deterioration yet.

Day 22:

First signs of mental deterioration

First mention of the blind eye, Fidd draws the symbol onto a notebook but it is already scribbled in the background over a diagram of the portal. The blind eye symbol is first mentioned in J3, when Fidd hands it to the carny who becomes the eventual leader of the cult, so this diary likely takes place after he has begun using it on other people.

Official formation of the blind eye as a group to help people forget traumatic memories.

His room in the shack is in a state of disarray, his plants are dead and there are handprints in oil or ink on the walls. Notably, he seems to be connecting the idea of a single eye and the portal despite not being aware of Bill at this point, which I'll touch upon later.

The carnival is likely in September according to the timeline by @fordtato

Day 74:

Slight physical deterioration, more physical anxiety

It seems that Fidd has been regularly using the memory gun at this point, to erase even minorly distressing images from his head, and his anxiety has taken a nosedive. Likely explanation is that this diary is after the bunker, where he had another severely traumatic experience (kidnapped by a shapeshifter and reduced to mute from anxiety) and seemed to become obsessed with doomsday planning. During the bunker arc he also used the gun on multiple workmen and Ford once again.

Likely takes place in October/November

His room is a complete mess by now, with the walls covered in papers and "Help Me" scrawled on the walls.

At this point in J3, Ford has made his deal with Bill and is allowing him to possess his body whenever he pleases. Bill has also sucessfully driven a divide between the other two by making Ford doubt that Fidd will be able to make it to the end of the project, and Ford describes his frustration with him.

According to Ford, Fidd is just as agitated and nervous before the portal test as he was during the Gremloblin attack, and obsessively checks and rechecks his calculations, causing Ford to worry for his resolve.

In between this diary and the next are the stolen pages from J3 that are in TBOB, which give us slight insight into Fiddleford during this time but not much. We see that he tries multiple times to reach out to him the only way that Fidd knows how, through invention and creation, with the snowglobe and the six-fingered gloves. Ford, however, treats them carelessly as a result of his increased attention to his muse. At the same time, he tries to visit home but is kicked out by Emma-May after he forgets to get her a Christmas gift. This is played as an example of his connection with Ford, him remembering two gifts for the man and none for his wife, but if he really is suffering from his use of the gun at this time, the forgetfulness makes even more sense and his argument with his family means he doesn't have a support system outside of Ford who is paying all of his attention to the project. After this, Fiddleford is more reclusive than ever as he spends early January compiling a thesis for Ford to publish

Day 189

Physical deterioration is in full effect and he can't hide the result of his addiction any more, even just to keep up appearances.

His arm is broken, likely due to the car accident he mentions accidentally causing, but its the same arm he broke during the Gremloblin attack and could be a result of him taking his cast off too early for it to have healed right in the first place which could explain why he wears it for so long.

Significant mental decline as he has started exhibiting signs of brain damage or swelling (decreased vocabulary, forgetfulness, loss of motor functions) however, he is seemingly lucid enough to question if the memory gun is causing negative side effects.

There are actually bottles visible in the back of the room, possbly referencing the addiction metaphor being used here

This would take place after the portal test, likely late January. Ford is at the height of his paranoia, Fiddleford has left the shack and taken every trace of his research with him except his college picture with Ford, and the blind eye is a fully established and seemingly self-governing cult.

Day 273

At this point, Fidd has relocated to a motel and is seemingly completely mentally gone, ripping out his hair and developing his hunched posture. This likely takes place after the blind eye takes his memories, or he continues erasing them himself. It's possible that the blind eye continues visiting him and taking his memories even after he is ejected as a member, or at least until they forget who he is after using the gun on themselves too many times.

It appears to be snowing outside? Which doesn't line up with either the canon timeline or this timeline, so potentially the days on the video diaries could be incorrect assuming he isn't filming them every day, or has lost so much of his mind by this point that he isn't labelling them right and has lost track of time

The final two entries are a similar story, serving only to show us the end of his decline and him eventually becoming fully homeless, retreating to the junkyard he lives in for the next 28 years (jesus, he really deserved that mansion).

Ultimately though, this timeline asks a lot of interesting character questions.

Why did Ford not realise how bad Fiddleford's decline was becoming? Maybe a mix of circumstances, he was falling deeper into his worship of Bill at the time, to the extent that he was regularly being possessed and judging by the lack of journal entries at the time, very pre-occupied. We also know that Fidd used the gun on him at least twice in canon, and possibly used it more than we know in order to convince Ford he was okay.

If Fiddleford was erasing parts of Ford's memory, did Bill know? Personally, I feel that Bill was aware but knew that ultimately it would serve him. Fiddleford, without ever encountering Bill at this point, created the blind eye symbol which is eerily close to Bill's symbolism, how would he know that when we know Ford is possessive of his muse and doesn't share anything with Fidd about it? How does Ford have visions of Fidd in a red cloak without ever knowing that the cult and Fidd are directly connected? My thoughts are that Bill, who we know has erased Ford's memory himself before when he stole the journal pages we see in TBOB, was using most of this as fodder to drive a divide between the two, mentally creating associations in both of their minds so they stop trusting the other. Chess but with troubled gay men.

All in all I think Fiddleford's decline is such an interesting way to approach a theme of addiction, particularly a high-functioning addiction. If this really is how things played out, we know that throughout his use of the gun and even 30 years later when he is considered a write-off, the one thing he maintains is his engineering prowess and his smarts. It makes sense that even when actively using the gun and hiding it from Ford he would be able to keep up in terms of building the portal, especially when we know he secretly hired workers. It's also a great example of someone drawing others into their addiction, even if it was unintentional and he didn't believe they would be hurt in the long run.

I feel like sometimes there's a lil bit of a push to see Fidd as a naive or morally good character even through his mistakes and to demonise Ford in response, but ultimately both of them are very morally grey and have their own vices that they develop and grow from.

[starleska]

73 Yards has devastated me and i have some theories

we all agree that 73 Yards was a genre-defying, harrowing episode...and i think there's some really interesting themes and ideas going on here. tw for discussion of trauma, abuse, neglect and abandonment:

i hope we're all on the same page that the Woman seems to represent Ruby's fear of abandonment, brought to life. always present, always out of the corner of her eye, and whose primary mechanic is to drive people to scorn and leave Ruby without explanation. even people who do not know her, or people she's just met, or who are incredibly warm towards her...they speak to the Woman, and they look back as if to confirm their suspicions, and then run away, maddened and horrified. it is an unbelievable stroke of genius to make the Toymaker's breaking down of the boundaries between science and fantasy bring Ruby's abandonment into being...and for Ruby to weaponise her. but that's it - as soon as Roger ap Gwilliam was taken care of, we expected the Woman to disappear, right? but that could never happen, because Ruby's fear of abandonment will never disappear...no matter how purposeful her life is, or how much she distances herself from others. the use of the cruel, distant individuals in the Welsh pub to set up Ruby sympathetically is excellent...and then, we see people approach Ruby at all levels of emotional connection, when time and again she is considered untouchable, as if her very being is contagious. and all this time, we have the fairy circle being broken and hope vanishing...with hope being the Doctor. the one man who potentially holds the key to uncovering Ruby's deepest desires - to find out why she was abandoned, and by who. and at the end of it all...even in death, Ruby doesn't find peace. she is transported into a neverending hell-loop where she is her own abandonment. the two are inseparable, inexplicably the same, because Ruby's very existence as herself is built on the bedrock of abandonment. and i think this resonates heavily with any trauma survivor...the way that our trauma and our very real anxieties brought on by that trauma are inextricable from ourselves. i think the plot with Roger ap Gwilliam shows off a very real symptom in trauma survivors: we often daydream that our hurt and pain will be useful one day - functional. and not only does Ruby get to do that...she gets to be the quiet, unsung saviour of the whole world, protecting us from a world-ending terror in spite of the abuse and neglect she's faced. she endures menial work and constant fear, while only confiding quietly in one other person...Marti, who i believe is coded as another trauma survivor due to her response to Roger (who she describes as a monster). if Ruby can't receive love and affection from anyone else, at least she can feel satisfied that she served her purpose. on a practical level, the presence of Mrs Flood and Susan Twist in this episode AGAIN gives me pause. my theory that someone here is another of the Toymaker's Legions, and is the embodiment of Story, has only deepened. the fact that we had a cold open without the title sequence, we met Susan Twist very quickly, we seem to have flipped genres for the show and Ruby was able to embark on a self-destructive wish-fulfilment saviour fantasy in real life...it all indicates to me that the boundaries between reality and fiction are fully collapsing. when Kate says things are trending towards the supernatural lately, i think we've only hit the tip of the iceberg. on a broader level: my God Russell T Davies, what a brilliant script!!! this is one of my favourite ever episodes of Doctor Who, and is absolutely my highlight for the season. huge kudos to Millie Gibson for giving such a killer performance...i am now terribly endeared to, and protective, of Ruby, and hope against hope she gets the happy ending she so deserves 💖

[transvampireboyfriend]

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq​ ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

 The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him.  They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry.  Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

[tarotwithdanise]

WHAT IS YOUR REPUTATION ONLINE?

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

1 - 2 - 3

PILE ONE

Pile one, it can be that you are someone who has a large base of followers and people enjoy watching over you. They may keep you on their tabs, there's something about your post? or you in general that may leave a very good impression to these people. They think you are goal-oriented and a dreamer. If you are someone who likes to post motivational quotes well expect them to get inspired, these people do like your mindset. They want to get you to know better but you only show the tip of an iceberg on your social media. It can be that you frequently receiving compliments, love and appreciation from these people. Some of these people may think you are dark and seductive individual which makes them feel intimidated somehow. These people believe that you guys have an ability to heal them, jeez.

PILE TWO

Hmmm, a very interesting energy. Because of your mysterious nature on social media, people may often wonder who you really are in real life. They may not often see your posts but they do frequently catch you online perhaps they may know a little about you but these people think you are trustworthy and cool based on what they viewed you online. As well as having a secret admirer that may enjoy stalking you online since they know a little bit of you, i also see this person may be a little bit of obsess with you and i think you already have an idea who this is. On the other hand, few people have a good opinion about you online like they like this low-key vibes you are giving in. The colors red, black and grey are important to you as well as the numbers 4, 7, 28 and 18.

PILE THREE

You guys, people online viewed you as someone weirdo and someone who is living a lavish life. They think that you come from a rich family and well, there's 2-3 people here showing that they want to offer a genuine friendship to you but remember there's a wolf in a sheep clothing, one of these people actually don't have a good intentions perhaps one of the reason why they wanted to be close to you is that they think they can benefit something from you. Some people viewed you as mentally unstable person and someone who does not take crap from anyone, has a calm assurance about themselves, and isn't obnoxious or harsh to anyone. For few of you, people think that you have poor eyesight because you tend to wear eyeglasses on most of your pictures online. They also think you really like yogurt a lot.

© tarotwithdanise ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work with or without my explicit permission.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

I’m just gonna post this now cause I saw something that irritated me and I’m about to spiral. Mel thee Medarda😍.

What this fandom has done to her… Is the exact reason why existing as a black fem in a predominantly white ( including white gay) fanbase should come with reparations. This woman is a child of war and pilgrimage. It doesn’t matter that she was a Medarda. she was still a child! That ish will change you and it’s clear in her interactions with her mother she at the very least saw the endings of wars and campaigns, I can’t imagine those being pretty. Mel being the black sheep and lowkey scapegoat child of her family is not talked about either. As a teen she is sent away from the only support system she knows doesn’t matter if it was toxic, it was still familiar, to a brand new land where she had to build herself up again as a TEEN (probably since they never stated when she was casted out)! She spent her formative years in Noxus, where the strong survive. It is not surprising that while she detest violence and aggression, she uses her guile/ persuasion aggressively. By the time Arcane season 1 starts Mel is a young woman in her 20s on the council (the youngest council member too) and like Tok’s said Mel is a young woman who is extremely sure of herself… as a front. Mel is a woman who actually hates herself or at the very least is an extremely aware of how little all this means to the people that matter to her. We see this in the first scene of Mel in the show, where Elora reminds her of the fact she is the richest person in Piltover and Mel quickly remarked saying “And yet I remained the poorest Medarda”. The fandom quickly took that as Mel being power/money hungry when in reality that self depreciation was coming from a real place of insecurity. She knows how the Medardas’ are and how little they care for the fox and it bothers her. She’s not doing this for power in the way that it is presented. She’s doing this to prove a point. That her mother is wrong and the fox can be powerful. She is also trying to convince herself of that too.

From what we can gather in the show through her flashback and interactions with Ambessa, it’s clear that Mel definitely was considered to weak willed and soft spined for Noxus. I mean Ambessa says that to her before she casted her out. The fact that Mel apparently can still say the quote verbatim shows how scarring it was.

Mel is a woman caught in the extremes. She wants to uplift Piltover to prove herself to her family but also knowing what that means she also wants to protect Piltover from Noxus.She is a woman who has a love overflowing but has nowhere to pour into until she meets Jayce ( I’ll save that for a MelJay post though). I think because of how reserved Mel is,due to her upbringing and Ambessa literally discouraging, it’s not really discussed how Mel is probably emotionally stunted.

I have a lot more I can say about Mel as a character, she is literally my number 1 since season 1 but this post is already long and all over the place but this is a tip of an iceberg of how I digested her as a character.

Ps someone on TikTok said Mel was the Arcane version of Apollo and it makes so much sense(she is the beautiful child of an affair but is also the light bringer and a patron of the arts). Her and Ambessa was definitely a Greek Tragedy, at least to me.

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

random dick grayson hcs bc i said so!!!

warning: usage of the metric system

got banned from club penguin for making his username dickg0320 and he had no idea why

bruce didn't have the heart to break it to him so he told him it's because you can't use your real name

so he changed it to therealrobin0320

and really they're just very lucky that nobody has ever thought that they could figure out robin and therefore batman's identity from club penguin

(and yes, he did cry when the game shut down)

has the lowest spice tolerance out of everybody in the batfam and he will be bullied for it

his biggest fear is one of those games where everybody eats a spoonful of sugar but one of them is salt or smth

but like the ones where it’s like pistachio cookies and one that’s full of wasabi or smth

jason, tim, and steph conspire to get dick to eat the cookie

terrible at mini golf

i will not be elaborating on that, but let’s just say he thought that would be a great first date idea…

has the most random t-shirts that he wears to sleep and around the house?

i don’t mean like weird weird but like random corporate freebies…

why does he have a boston marathon tshirt from 2008?

canada post merch (very niche but the shirt gets a little extra love during the strike)

he’s never even been there

he probably has a random bing mug somehow too because why not i guess

went to damian’s parent teacher interviews when bruce was too busy and let’s just say he was quite popular with the parents

he genuinely gets so invested, idk if it was just my school but sometimes the parents could volunteer to supervise during recess

dick likes to pop in and make sure damian has friends and check in on his beloved brother

but he’s also so good and sweet to the other kids there

he’s pretty used to cleaning up wounds after missions, and the kids always come to him

like a kid will scrape their knee playing soccer and he’s already there, helping them off the field while he disinfects the wound

he starts bringing those character bandaids (he somehow manages to find nightwing and batman bandaids) because he realizes it distracts the kids from their injury and makes the pain a bit more bearable

he’s already so good with his siblings, especially damian, i just know he’s so good with kids your honour

he is so incredibly confused by the slang though

kids will be like “are you skibidi toilet?” and his brain stops working because what the heck are they saying? what does that even mean? is that good or bad?

he will try to search up the terms and then he will use it in the most cursed way possible

“hey guys, stop being sigmas to each other, that’s not very rizzler of you.”

get this man off the internet and into a nursing home

i think his knowledge of pop culture ends with like 2016 millenial slang

of the recent stuff, i think he knows slay and that’s it

he gives me like tip of the iceberg disney adult…

in the most respectful way possible

like he doesn’t know every single disney world employee by name or like go disneybounding

but i feel like he watched all of the movies growing up and knows the songs by heart

like from when his parents were still alive

sometimes they get to town when a movie has just come out and they have some free time before their show

they go to a diner for breakfast, explore the new city, dick gets to choose what they do before they head back to the circus

one time he sees an ad for dumbo and they go in

and he was hooked (it hurts to even think about the movie now though, after everything that has happened. it’s the one movie he’ll never watch)

sorry that was kinda sad! anyways, i feel like he would like the coming of age leaving home stories, especially when he gets a bit older and can relate to them more

mulan, princess and the frog, tangled (one time he joked that bruce was acting like mother gothel and when bruce searched up who that was, he was…not happy to say the least)

he will ugly cry too but what’s annoying is his “ugly” is unfortunately still quite good looking

and he has indeed forced all of the batfam to watch the movies with him during family movie night

like if you think you’re going to get through a road trip without him blasting i’ll make a man out of you or i see the light, think again

a big fan of the disney renaissance classics

but like any pixar movie will also have him bawling

if he has a kid, he’s sitting them down and making them watch the whole catalogue

i feel like he wouldn’t love the new remakes and sequels as much, part of it is the lack of nostalgia for him, but he’ll still watch it opening night

drives like an old man

hunched over, both hands on the steering wheel, completely straight stare

and he refuses to go over the speed limit, even on the highway

but he’s a MENACE in the passenger seat

lovesss being on aux, i feel like he would love the pop girlies

like taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, he’s cried to casual (so real of him ngl)

but i feel like as an older sibling he can’t help but backseat or i guess passenger seat drive a little bit

“oh, watch out for that stop sign” “the one 5 km from here? how can you even see that?”

drives jason up the wall

A KPOP FAN

i feel like being a gymnast would make you at least a semi competent dancer

dude is vibing to kiss of life, twice, le sserafim and learning the choreo too

eldest son of billionaire bruce wayne spotted at local kpop random play dance

imagine him playing music while he’s getting ready for patrol

he’s singing to what is love while he’s making sure his escrima sticks are fully charged

like are we seeing the vision

[tombfreak]

ASPD and being a "bad person"

the backhanded support for aspd

There's a very backhanded type of support for people with ASPD. In attempts to get moral highground and fight against the demonization/stigmatization of the disorder, it's almost entirely watered down to "Oh you just lack empathy and have mean thoughts :)". It's entirely infantilized to the point where people who actually exhibit their real symptoms are just "bad people", or "using their disorder as an excuse for their bad behaviour" because "that's not what ASPD is actually like!!"

Moralizing disorders does nothing but cause harm to people suffering from mental health issues. You cannot cherry pick which presentations of ASPD are deemed acceptable when the whole disorder revolves around being and doing socially unacceptable things.

"It's ok if you lack empathy!" Is the only support I really see for ASPD, which is true, but only if we don't have empathy in ways that they think is acceptable.

I don't have empathy for people of colour, or people with disabilities, or trans folk. My empathy can't just turn on for people who I know deserve it. I can't relate to their struggles, I can't feel for them, I can't even really care. And lacking the empathy required for me to feel these things towards others is exactly what causes me issues in my life. It's socially unacceptable. It's dysfunctionally anti-social.

But thats very much the tip of the iceberg. Lacking empathy isn't even in the DSM-5 criteria for ASPD, and a lot of people with ASPD do experience empathy in their own way.

There's also the issue of "it's ok to be angry, it's ok to have mean thoughts, as long as you don't act on them" or "it's ok to not care, as long as you pretend you do" or "it's ok if you lack empathy as long as you're compassionate"

The issue is that people with ASPD are only supported and accepted if they're in a place where they can conform to prosocial behaviour, which is incredibly difficult to do and does require a degree of recovery. And not a lot of people are willing, or able to, get to that point in recovery.

If you say you support people with mental health issues, then you need to accept the part that actively causes problems as well, even if it makes you uncomfortable. You can't just love the "antisocial personality" and hate the "disorder".

People with ASPD will act in ways that makes them a morally "bad person". That's the entire premise of the disorder. If you water it down to the point where the person suffering has to be good and follow your social standards, then that's not an anti-social disorder anymore.

And I know it's hard to stomach people with ASPD sometimes, especially if they're not in recovery at all. We can be mean, insensitive, aggressive, insulting, morally skewed, or just a complete asshole in general. We can say unacceptable things, we can do wrong, and we're prone to it. You don't have to like someone to support them.

Supporting someone with mental health issues doesn't mean you have to like what they do, or who they are, or be friends with them. You're allowed to remove someone from your life if they're causing issues in yours. Supporting someone with mental health issues means you are able to leave them alone, and not go out of your way to shame them for things currently out of their control.

Yes, recovery is very important, but trust me as a recovering addict and someone with ASPD, you cannot force someone to be better. All they need is to know that they have room to breathe and grow. Support is giving people the space to do that. Backhanded 'support' is saying that you'll let them have that space but only if they currently fit in to your personal standards.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Part 3, chapter 3- running with a bullet in my leg

Series masterlist

“Little change of plans, they did it. They sent Kiara to the wilderness camp.”

“Oh, no.”

“So, uh, I’m gonna need about eight hours for liberation.”

“Eight hours? I don’t have eight hours! We’ve got a jet here, we’re all waiting!”

“I know, dog. I know the clock is ticking. Look, my sister was sent to the camp for like a while, she knows it better than anyone. I’m gonna need to talk to her. If you have to go, we’ll meet you there.”

You got put into the wilderness camp when you were 12. JJ was 10. You had gotten into yet another fight, and the cops had busted you with a pre-roll or two in your bag. You were 12, smoking. They forced you to go, basically kidnapping you as you screamed and shouted against the workers hold.

You were there for almost a year, until your dad finally decided he couldn’t live on his own and take care of JJ by himself. Like an actual father should. But you have learned over the years Luke maybank was no actual father.

“No, we can’t… we can’t. No, JJ, listen, we can’t wait for you.”

“I know! I’m working on it, dude. Luckily I’m a problem solver, just stay in the Matrix, okay? I repeat-“ JJ paused, hearing the tire explode out. He looked out the window.

“Jj?”

“Damn-“ he shouted, the line suddenly ending.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yo, what’s going on?” Pope asked John B.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧🩶.

“God!” JJ stepped out the car, going to the back and grabbing a spare tire and some tools. He grunted, and suddenly heard a car engine behind him.

He turned around, heart racing as he realized who it was. He swallowed the lump in his throat, seeing two men get out.

“Okay, fine.” He turned around, going over to them. The other man pulled out a gun, pointing it to JJ.

“Really?” He realized, looking at the gun and back to the tire. He had shot out the tire.

“After everything you just put me through, you shot my sister, and now you shoot out my… my friends tire! That’s not even my van!”

“You lost the load, JJ. Now instead of me getting paid, I owe them. Which I guess means you owe me, right?”

“I thought my sister getting shot in the leg was perfectly enough tor you.”

“Get in the car!”

JJ paused, thinking for a moment. “As much as I would like to, I kinda got a date, so…”

“You heard him, get in the car.” The other man spoke.

“Okay. If that’s how it’s gonna be. Look, I know you’ve heard the stories. About me, my friends. A little something called the royal merchant. A pile of gold. Is that ringing any bells?”

“I heard some bullshit.”

“Well, that bullshits real.”

“Yeah?”

“And yeah, we found it.”

“Yeah, I saw. That why you got a bunch of dudes throwing your furniture in a dumpster out back your house? Thats why your sisters homeless?You’re living high off the hog, bro-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re talking about the house that’s being foreclosed? The cover? The one to throw off the scent? Rule number one, don’t do flashy shit like pay off a mortgage when you’re cashing in.”

“Stop. Let me guess. You, uh… got the gold. It’s buried somewhere in a barn, right? And if I just let you go right now, you’ll run right there, you’ll get it, we’ll split it, right?”

“Not exactly. Actually, it’s a little sweeter than that.” JJ looked over to the other man. “May I?” He asked, going over to Mike now.

“Look, let’s just forget about the Merchant gold. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. We’re going after the main course right now. All right? We’re going after the mother lode.”

—————

“Oh, God.” Sarah mumbled when she heard a car pull up, noticing it as Toppers.

You sat down with Pope and Cleo, feeling like it was better to maybe get out the plane for a little. You’ve been sitting for hours, but it felt better when you sat outside.

“Oh God.”

Topper got out the car, walking towards Sarah.

“Hey, Sarah. What are you doing? You just seeing John B off or what?” He asked, glancing at John B who stood behind her.

Sarah paused, looking at him.

“I’m sorry I, uh… I didn’t call. I meant to call you last night.”

“Oh you meant to call me last night? Okay.” He scoffed. “No, it’s all good. I was actually asking around myself and heard your dad’s plane was here. And I was like, oh, that’s.. that’s interesting.”

Sarah looked down.

“So, are you leaving with him?”

Sarah looked back up at Topper now.

“Are you leaving with him? Yes or no, Sarah.” He spat.

She nodded slowly, he scoffed again and his face fell into a crooked smile.

“You’re just… you’re just a f… a damn liar, Sarah Cameron. You’ve always been a liar. After everything we’ve been through? This… this is what you’re gonna do to me?” He laughed. “I’m done. Okay? You literally just promise John B would go away, you’d stay here with me. I can’t keep doin this..” he rambled on.

“Hey, Top. You got a little something right here, man.” You guffawed at the man, motioning to his black eye.

“Why don’t you shut up? How about that?” He looked at you, going over to John B now. “And oh, buddy, john B. You better be glad I didn’t swing back at you at the wreck cause I think you know what would’ve happened.”

“And your lucky I didn’t shoot your ugly ass on sight!” You shouted from afar, Pope hiding his face while he laughed.

“No one was talking to you, Maybank.”

“I’m not taking the bait, Top.” John B shook his head, looking at Topper. “You’re right. You would’ve kicked my ass.”

“I, um, heard they’re remodeling the Chateau. That’s tough man, how’d that happen?”

John B stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“What did you just say?” John B asked him, Topper backing up. “No, topper what did you just say?” Sarah held John B back.

“Hey, you guys have a nice life, all right?”

“That’s what you call a kook?” Cleo asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“Big time.” You nodded.

Everyone watched as topper drove away.

————

“Okay, so the office should be straight ahead. There’s a little wooden dude with a welcome sign at the door. And then, I think the lady there loved cats. Make up some bullshit story, like her cat passed away. Then, I would just wait and see where they go if they fall for it. That’s where Kiara would be.” You explained, sighing.

“Okay, thank- thank you. I’ll call you back when I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone, you sighing and putting it down.

It was getting late, hours passed and JJ was nowhere to be found.

“Has he called?” Sarah asked, they were running out of time.

You shook your head.

“Nothing.”

“We have to to go. We don’t have eight hours. And topper might’ve already called the police.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try again.” John B said, you nodding.

“Wait. That might be JJ right there.” Cleo spoke, you guys suddenly hearing a motorcycle pull up.

“That is not JJ.” You recognized that helmet as soon as he pulled up.

“Rafe?” You asked him, furrowing your eyebrows as the tires screeched. Ward groaned behind him.

“Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay, dad. C’mon.” He mumbled to his dad, helping him off the bike, he had fallen off with a loud groan.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Rafe went to his side.

“Come on, help! Help!”

You were faster than the others to help him, it had been in your blood at this point. Muscle memory.

Ever since you were young, you couldn’t stand seeing people be hurt. It hurt you, you hated it. For as long as your dad could remember, you were always helping someone or something. Whether it was a hurt animal or a dying man like the one before you right now.

If it wasn’t someone you loathed or had beat in a fight before, you cared for them, tending to wounds. And as much as you didn’t like Ward, Rafe did.

He called it your mother’s trait, although you never really knew her, he saw her in you. Because luke knew that you were nothing like him.

And if you didn’t drop out, you would have loved to become a nurse or something. Something to help someone.

Despite the shooting pain in your leg from the bullet nudged in it, you pulled the helmet off of Ward and helping him up with Rafe.

“Fuck.” You muttered, helping him onto the plane.

“We gotta get him off the island right now.”

You let Rafe take over as he pulled him into the plane, through the doors and inside.

Sarah exhaled as she paced. “Shit, this cannot be happening.”

You sighed, hesitating before following Rafe and Ward inside the plane, helping sit him down onto the seats that already had your blood on it.

It was then that he took a glance at your bloody leg, wrapped in an also bloodied shirt. His focus was back on his dad when he let out a low groan.

“It’s alright dad.” He mumbled, more so to himself that anyone else. He took a glance down at his shaking hands, the blood of his father stained on them.

He looked back at you now, hands slowly finding their way to your face.

They trembled against your skin, you put your hand over his.

“Watch after him for me. Please.” He told you quietly. You nodded, and he pulled you into an embrace.

“He’s safe with me.” You nodded against his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked you, looking down at your leg again.

“Got shot by some dude I owed money to. No biggie.” You shrugged it off nonchalantly, he laughed quietly and you both got off each other, just staring at each other again.

He leaned in, and your heart picked up as his lips ghosted over yours. He spoke against your lips.

“When you’re back, promise me we’ll talk?” He mumbled quietly.

“Promise.” You held out your pinky, like you would when you were together. He smiled and interlocked your pinky with his, before putting his lips on yours. When he pulled apart, he turned to his dad again.

“I gotta go. But you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine with them.” He told him again.

“He’s gonna be alright.” You told him as he began to step down the steps of the plane again.

The corners of Rafe’s mouth twisted up, nodding he walked over down to the pogues.

“We’re not done.” Pope said, putting his hand on Rafe’s shoulder. Rafe ignored it, and walked over to Sarah.

“Please take care of him.” He said, Sarah walking up the stairs to the jet. You were already tending to his wounds, wincing while you did so. They were bad.

John B turned around, going up to Rafe and putting his phone down.

“You do anything to him, anything, I swear to God I’ll find you.” Rafe spoke menacingly, quietly. It was a warning. “If anything happens to her…” he let the words linger in the air, as he heard sirens get closer.

“Wait, where’s JJ?” You asked John B, looking up from Ward, who seemed to be doing better somewhat now.

“We have to leave without them…” John B said, you furrowing your eyebrows.

“Are you serious-“ you began.

“He’ll find a way. He always does.” Pope told you.

Ward suddenly stood up, you just watching as he went over to the steps again.

“Wait, Rafe! Rafe!” Ward said, stepping out.

“Dad, hey! Get back on the plane!” Ward shouted. “They’re coming right now!”

“I gotta talk to you. Come here real quick.” He began to step down.

“Dad, you gotta- you gotta go!”

“Rafe, now!”

Rafe walked over to his dad, who held his thigh.

“Thank you.” Ward spoke, putting his hands on Rafe’s shoulder, looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” He mumbled as Ward pulled him into a hug

“Yep, yep, you’re a good boy.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Look.” He grabbed his son’s face.

“Doesn’t matter what happens in the middle, it’s how you come out in the end. Look at me! Look at me!”

Rafe looked up at him finally.

“I know what you did, okay? I don’t care, cause you came back for me, right? You’re in control now. You’re the man. All of it is yours, everything here. It’s yours, son. You’re the man now. You proved yourself, okay? You’re the man. And I take back what I said about her.” He laughed quietly.

Rafe nodded slowly, tears in his eyes.

Ward pulled him into another hug.

“I love you, buddy.” Those words he waited all his life for.

“Oh god. All right. Come on. I got it.” He turned around, going back into the plane.

“You good?”

“Goodbye, son.” He said, giving him one last look as the door shut.

The plane began to move and the sirens got closer. Rafe stood, accepting defeat as the cops got out the car.

Rafe turned to Shoupe, hands running down his face.

“Well, shit Rafe. Looks like you got a story to tell.”

Ward sat back down across from you, you looking back at him.

“That looks bad.” You nodded to his thigh that he held, still bleeding.

“It is.”

“Uh… fuck.” You mumbled, rummaging through your bag. You pulled out a bandana, one that you had stolen a while ago as a kid.

“Can you… put your leg up?”

He did so, you kneeled down in front of him.

“This is gonna hurt like hell, so… you can do what I did and bite on a stick or something.”

You grabbed a bottle of alcohol, pouring it over the wound and putting the towel back over it.

He groaned, wincing and breathing heavily.

“Thank you.” He told you, you ignoring and it continuing to wrap it with the bandana. “Thank you.” He repeated, you nodding and standing up, going over to sit by yourself, propping your legs up and sighing.

You had fallen asleep against the window, and stirring when your new phone rung out with a notification.

“We made it out.” It read, it was JJ.

———

Tag list.

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Twelve)

Absolutely not based on anything real all, all totally fictional, fanciful and all total bollocks.

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Twelve: Cillian arrives back in Dublin for a mere two days for the Dublin premiere of Small Things. Y/N doesn't get the reception she'd hoped for, and the tip of the iceberg of their issues is aired. They're a united front for the event, and a force back home. [Adult themes. Sexual scenes.]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @aesthetic0cherryblossom @vivianleighwishesshewasme @meister95 @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions

Cillian had barely been home an hour when mortal war broke out.

The Dublin premiere is hours away, and he is in the foulest of moods. Nothing you say is right, nothing you do is right, and God forbid you look at him, because that's wrong too. Standing in the bedroom doorway, with your arms folded across your chest, you try to work out in your head how you've gone from throwing your arms around him at the airport, to watching him right now as he paces the bedroom, arms swinging and face contorting, as every curse word and hateful comment he can find spills from his lips. As far as you can work out, all you'd done is ask if he'd spoken to his sons to tell them he was here and arrange a takeout night here at home tomorrow. You don't see a problem with that question at all, but clearly something about it is rubbing him up the wrong way. His eyes are expressive and his accent is thicker, clipping his words and sharpening his tongue. “Ah, don't be standing there with the face on you, looking at me like I'm fucking being a prick.” He roars, but is finally standing still. Albeit he is standing before you with a venomous look.

“You are! I just asked you a question.” You snap back, unlacing your arms from your chest. “A fucking question, Cillian! I just asked if you'd talked to the boys, that's all. I'm sorry that I thought it might be nice to have them over for a fucking Chinese or something.”

“That's not all you fucking said though, Y/N, is it?” He shakes his head. “The little added fucking ‘so they get to see you for a bit’ was un-fucking-called for.”

“You're back in England in two days, Cillian, until nearly fucking Christmas. I thought it would be good for them to see you. And good for you to see them.” You shout loudly back at him. “What did I say that's so fucking wrong? I want you to invite your kids over. What is bad about that?” You're really struggling to see what you've said so out of line, but you can see there's clearly something happening here. He's livid, completely enraged, and there's a shake to his hand when he thrusts it towards you.

“You think I don't know about the amount of time I'm away? You think that I don't know about how fucking little I see them? Y/N, I don't need reminding of what a fucked up situation I have with my kids!” He yells.

And there it is. He hasn't taken your question, or suggestion, as that at all. All he's heard, in his terrible mood, is a criticism of his availability for his boys and of his parenting. You know those misconstrued words, mixed with your call a couple of days ago, his very poor sleep, a busy working schedule, his brain being at least half overtaken by his role, and whatever else is flooding through his head that he doesn't speak about, has exploded completely. Unfortunately, you're in the blast zone. You close your eyes and sigh, and when you open them he has sat down onto the edge of the bed.

“I didn't say anything to deliberately make you feel bad, Cill. It was just a suggestion of something to do, a question if you'd already done it. It wasn't a joke, or a dig at your parenting. You're not just away and not bothering with your kids, you're working. It isn't the same as just leaving them. You have them here every Sunday for dinner, you get Aran from school whenever he asks if you're home, you drive Malachy around all the time. You're not in a fucked up situation - you're a working parent. I wasn't criticising you.” You insist, staying put in the doorway even though he did seem a little bit calmer. You'd wanted him to come home and for it to be soft and calm, for you to have the time with him you'd needed days earlier. But this was your lot. “I didn't want this.” You say, and you realise that the emotion is creeping into your throat. “I wanted you being here to feel good. I've missed you, and I've fucking needed you, and I've wanted to know that…that were okay, and we can be okay.” Your words catch and you swallow around the painful lump in your throat. “I'm sorry you thought that I was getting at you - if I said it wrong, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it.”

He lifts his head from staring at the floor and he looks at you directly. His eyes are still sharp, and you can see the fast rising and falling of his chest. “I didn't want to come home like this either.” He says, more measured and quiet. “I really overreacted.” He admits and for a moment it shocks you. “I'm in the worst fucking mood, and I'm taking it out on you and it isn't your fault.” He sighs and casts his eyes back down, suddenly seeming to find his hands very interesting.

“Why?” You ask carefully, trying to control yourself from full upset. “Why is your mood so bad?”

“I'm fucking wrecked,” he says, raising his head again. “I'm so tired, I'm fucking juggling so many fucking balls.” He shrugs. “I hate boredom, but it's still hard. I miss you, I miss the kids,” he licks his bottom lip. “And I fucking…I fucking felt so relieved when you said the test was negative, but I know that it hurt you to get that result. I feel bad that I don't want what you want here, and that I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry for that night in London, I'm sorry for not understanding that I was fucking with your head.” You stand rooted to the spot in the doorway as he gives his confession. Cillian is stubborn, and often holds onto his core or close beliefs regardless of your suggestions. Hearing him letting down walls to tell you he's wrong feels like you've switched though to an alternate dimension. “I wanted to come home and put my fucking arms round you like you needed, I wanted to do that. I didn't. I should have. I know you said you can accept I changed my mind, but I'm not stupid enough to think that means you'll change yours back too, at least not right away. I know you've got to a place where you're ready for a child.” He sighs. “We need to talk about this properly. We need to make decisions together properly.”

And though you know it might start the row again, you can't help the words that fly from your mouth. “Yes. Decisions together. Being you and me, not Yvonne.” When he looks at you with a sharpening to his eyes, you wait for the bomb to go off. But you also proceed. “Your sons matter, too, but your ex wife isn't part of our choices. It's me you should be talking to about what goes through your mind, not her. Whether we do or don't decide that we're going to have a baby, in the small time period we have before were too fucking old, it cannot be determined by her. You say I'm anxious about you going back to her, but you don't assuage that at all when you're calling her for a fucking chat about whether or not I'll be getting pregnant!”

He stares at you and his tongue swipes quickly over his lips. “I know.” He says quietly. You suspect he wants a further chance to discuss this, but you both can feel the depth of the row is passing.

“I know you don't want a baby, I know your mind has changed. And as much as I'd got my head around the idea and was hoping for a baby soon, I can accept that and I can take the time and reconcile. I can.” You mean what you say, despite the multiple conflicting feelings. You want him more than a child. “We don't have to have a child. But I don't want us to not have a child because it's what she wants. It isn't about her. So if that's why your mind changed, then we really need to look at who's in this relationship.”

He sighs loudly but he doesn't argue further. “Y/N,” he says quietly.

You are soft and calm as you speak once again. “I love you, Cill. I want you here for the rest of my life, I want us here, together, happy and proud of our life together. After tonight, after Christmas…whenever, we need to talk about what it is that you really want.” You can see by his expression he is a little knocked back by your words. Does he think you're suggesting a break-up after all this time? Is that what you mean? You walk into the bedroom fully and stop in front of him. He looks up at you, and instantly he places his hands against your hips. He needs the touch as much as you do, you can see easily. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and your hand takes up its habitual spot near the base of his neck, still missing the flicky curls to toy with. “We don't go out there tonight mad with one another.”

“No, of course, I don't want that.” He says, very calm.

“It's a big night here for you all - this film, this story, your work finally showcased here, at home in Ireland. I'm so proud of you, I love you, and I want you to enjoy this as much as you can.” You say as you move your face closer to his, bending a little at the waist. His hands stay on your hips. You kiss his full, pouting lips softly. With your forehead against his, you dance your fingers at the nape of his neck. “I love you.” You say softly.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I love you, too.” he rests his head against your belly as you stand straight, your hands still around his shoulders and neck. “I'm really sorry,” he says quietly. “I overreacted, I'm so sorry.”

“We draw a line under it, okay.* You say calmly. You can appreciate the concoction of pressures he's feeling, even in your own unmet need for the intimacy of his arms when he got home, and you know his sorry and probable guilt are genuine. “Tomorrow, or when you're finished in England, though, we'll have a real talk. Yeah? Get everything laid out in the open and get everything clear in our heads. We don't need to agree on everything, but we need to know we want enough of the same things. Especially the important things.*

He lifts his head a little and peers up at you, long lashes tickling against his cheeks as he blinks slowly. The freckles on his face are standing out more and his eyes are glistening and accentuated in the light overhead. “Yeah, definitely.” He says with a little nod. The conviction in his voice makes you feel seen and heard. “I'll ring boys before we leave, and arrange something for tomorrow evening.” He says, and you smile softly; that's all he had to say earlier, you consider, and this could have been avoided. But you consider the air cleared, too, and that's not a bad thing.

-

“Y/N?” Cillian calls out loudly.

In the bedroom, fastening your necklace around your neck before the full length mirror, you drop your arms down and cast your eyes over your full reflection. “Yeah?” You call back. He's downstairs, dressed and ready to leave, and you know he's both excited for the night and the reception, and anxious about it. When he doesn't respond you call out again. “What?”

“Are you fit?” He shouts again, “We've to go.” You reach for your phone to check the time. Shit! It's later than you thought, and you've not even fixed your hair or found your shoes.

“Yeah. Two minutes!” You yell back to him, and your stomach twists with a little apprehensive anxiety when the stairs creak a little as he begins to walk up them. Running your hands through your hair as you look back into the mirror, you turn your head when the bedroom door moves from halfway open to all the way, and you give a coy smile when you see Cillian standing there with one eyebrow raised.

“Two minutes?” He questions. “You've bare feet, Y/N,” he smirks. “C’mon,” he encourages gently, “The car will be here in a minute. They'll be waiting on us.”

You let your hair fall as it will, and dig around in the wardrobe for your black knee-high boots with the kitten heels. Wearing opaque black tights, a detailed pinafore with a deep red polo neck top beneath it, you feel wintery but chic, and you know that Cillian likes the above-knee length of your pinafore. “Looks okay?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed to zip up your boots.

“Grand,” he nods, “But sure you'd look good in a bin bag.” He smiles, and you smile brightly. As you stand up, he looks at you with a soft smile, his head tilted slightly, and he swipes his tongue across his lips. “You look beautiful.” The deep burgundy-brown shade of his shirt and dark blazer over the top is a clean and classy look, and somehow it makes the silvery sheen to his hair and the crystal blue of his eyes stand out more. He's beautiful, too, you think. “Will we go?” He asks and hovers his hand over the light switch in preparation to turn off the light as you leave the room.

You grab your phone from the dresser, mentally remind yourself that your coat is downstairs, and give him a nod of agreement. “Let's go.”

He plunges the room into darkness and proceeds down the stairs with you following closely behind. You find your coat in the cupboard in the hallway and pull it on over your outfit. It's part of the look, and you feel confident enough in your choice. You take your handbag from the banister and throw your phone and a set of house keys into it. Peering inside, you ensure you have ‘the essentials’ - a strip of paracetamol, emergency period products for any unexpected arrivals (because being female is unpredictable), Tic-tacs, and a cereal bar with a battered up wrapper that's been in there for weeks, because Cillian was hungry and grumpy one day so you'd grabbed two in a local shop and now you just carried the spare one around - then throw the strap of the bag up onto your shoulder.

“Jays, girl, your two minutes takes a fuckin' half-hour.” Cillian teases, shaking his head, with his hand in the handle of the front door. He's deliberately thickened up his accent, and he knows it makes you smile.

You chuckle to yourself as you fix the collar on your coat, “I'm ready!” You say, eyebrows high on your forehead.

“Right so, c’mon,” he says, pulling open the door. As the door is dragged wide, the car pulls into your driveway. You let Cillian step out as you set the alarm and lock up. He waits patiently, though, and insists with a smile that you get into the car before him as he holds open the door.

It's busy when you arrive. Enda and Eileen greet you both in a familiar and friendly way, and you’re pleasantly overwhelmed - if that's possible - at the reception everyone is greeted with. While the basic experience and expectations are the same as in London, somehow here it feels different. You feel more excited for him this time, and he seems to be brighter in himself. It's home, in the place this all began, and it's like he feels even prouder to be standing here tonight than he has of the entire project so far. You admire his passion, and that of Eileen, too, as they deliver speech after speech to camera after camera and person after person. You hide as much as you can, but you stay within his sight lines, and you notice he looks for you frequently. It warms your heart, especially after the events back at home, and you can't help smiling every time your eyes meet.

As soon as he gets the chance, after ensuring he can see you among their people, Cillian approaches after bidding goodbye to the string of journalists. Eileen isn't far behind him, nor is Emily, and suddenly you're not standing unassumingly alone. The eyes following Cillian, Emily and Eileen are on you now, too, as you're ushered inside the building at last. Cillian takes your hand, lacing your fingers together immediately. “This is mad,” he whispers, smiling as you walk together. He's not quiet enough that Eileen doesn't hear, but you're sure nobody else has.

“Isn't it class?” Eileen turns her head over her shoulder briefly, then looks ahead again as you all continue inside the doors.

“Will Aran have photos for you from tonight, I wonder?” Cillian smirks, and you smile at the suggestion.

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you say, raising your voice from the private whisper when you clear away from all the people at last. “They cheered me up.”

“Sure it was his idea,” Cillian says as he glances around, then looks at you. “He sent me the yoke and asked if he should send it to you too.” He smiles, cheeks pushing high up under his eyes.

“What does a woman have to do to get a drink?” Emily laughs, rubbing her hands together. “I'll forgo the tea tonight, I think.” She smiles brightly.

You laugh, “I was just about to ask!” You shift your feet on the spot, waiting for the next instruction, and keep your eyes on Cillian even as he steps away to speak to Eileen. Knowing where he is, and how he is, seems to make you feel calmer. If he's good, in this situation, then you know it's all okay. “How was your flight?” You make polite conversation with Emily, and listen intently as she engages with you brightly. You'd grown fond of her in the small interactions and meetings you'd had, and you kind of hoped there'd be at least a distant friendship to remain in the future. You peer over Emily's shoulder briefly as Cillian laughs, his head back slightly, and you wonder what Eileen has said to elicit the big reaction. Looking back to Emily, you smile politely as you realise you have missed what she'd just said. To make your ignorance less awkward you look around you again then stop her, “Sorry, I'm not ignoring you,” you lie gently, “Can you see the loos?”

Emily smiles, “Behind the stairs,” she turns and points behind Cillian and Eileen.

You dip away, simply to avoid embarrassing yourself, and feel a little like you're drawing attention to yourself as the only one moving when your boots clip off the tiled floor beneath you. You seek out the door to the ladies in the direction you've been led and disappear inside. You walk to the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment. Your makeup has stayed well, despite the damp weather, and you feel pretty tonight. You fix your hair a little and take a deep breath, your eyes still on your reflection, and when the door opens to the left of you it makes you jump. You whip your head around, and fix a smile to your face as Eileen steps inside.

“Oh, you're here. And himself looking for you out there,” she laughs then disappears into one of the stalls, locking the door as she enters. “He was telling me there about filming all night recently,” she calls out.

Lingering at the sink, you feel a little awkward. “Oh, yeah, poor guy isn't getting much kip.” You reply, not sure you particularly feel comfortable talking to her while she's in there! “I'll go out and find him then if he's looking.” You say, and without waiting to hear her reply, you quickly exit through the heavy door. It bangs behind you, signalling your arrival back into the large lobby, and you're convinced your cheeks are pinker than your lips as people you don't know turn to see what the noise was. To your relief, Emily is laughing a little at your discomfort, and oddly it's comforting, and just to her left are Cillian and Enda, looking at you, and you know it's more due to your awkward walk of shame than the noise of the door. You walk slowly towards Cillian, and immediately hide yourself in his neck as you hug into him. “Fuck sake,” you whisper, half laughing.

He laughs into your ear, then wraps one arm around you as you stand up straight beside him. “What's up with ya?” He smirks.

“Eyes,” you shrug. “I can't get used to being seen!”

He clicks his tongue, “Ah, you're alright,” he drops his arm from around your back and instead he takes your hand. “There's Eileen, now. Here, we'll go on in there,” he nods his head in the direction directly in front of him. He looks at you for a moment, reading your anxiety clearly. “C’mon,” he raises his eyebrows. “You're grand, I'll mind ya, c’mon.” he smiles and it's cheeky, playful even, and you're soothed by it. You allow him to lead you fully, and leave yourself at his mercy as you grip his hand.

-

It's late when you arrive home, via taxi, and you're both a little bit drunk. Neither had gone overboard, not with the knowledge that Cillian's boys were coming over tomorrow, but you'd both enjoyed a few drinks after the premiere with Eileen, Enda, and Emily in the bar of the hotel Emily was staying in. You stand at the front door, fumbling with your bag for the keys, whilst Cillian is no help at all as he hugs you from behind, nuzzling kisses into your neck and cursing the collar of your coat every other second for getting in his way. With a moan, you blink in the hopes of clearing your wine-fuzzy vision and dig around in the bag again, giving a quiet cheer when you finally get them out and you wave them about, laughing a little as the jingle in your hands.

“You've a rake of keyrings on that and you still couldn't get it?* Cillian chuckles, and annoyingly doesn't remove his hands from your waist as you step closer to the door to push the key into the lock. He steps awkwardly with you, catching the rounded toe of his shoe against the back of your boot, and curses your shoes then, too. “Fuckin’...” He mumbles, as he pushes his face close to your neck again. “Are you opening that or caressing it?” He asks, his lips moving against the skin on your neck, and laughs at his own joke.

It's him finding himself funny and giggling that makes you laugh, and you shake your head as the key finally slips into place. “You're not helping, you drunken git.” You tease him, pushing down the door handle to finally get inside. You pull the keys out and begin to walk, and only then does Cillian release you. You step inside and turn on the light, and swiftly disable the alarm before resetting it again once you lock the front door. Leaving the keys in the lock, you drop your handbag down and stand awkwardly as you unzip and drag off your boots. When you look up, Cillian is seemingly struggling to get his fingers to coordinate and unlace his shoes. “Did you have a few extra glasses that I didn't see?” You ask, laughing to yourself, as you pull off your coat. You lay it over the banister, instead of hanging it in the cupboard, and mean against the balustrade as you watch Cillian with a smirk.

He's still cursing at every minor bother, and drops down onto one of the steps of the stairs with a bit of a thump. “Fuck it, anyway!” He scoffs, and abandons the laces of his shoes in favour of toeing them both off by the backs. He gives each shoe a bit of of force and all but kicks them across the hallway, where they land in a clatter beside and on top of your boots respectively. “Not a bad shot though.” He laughs, and looks up at you, standing to his right, with your eyebrows raised and your lips in a tight line, trying to decide if you're going to smile at his behaviour or consider the implications of the amount he's had to drink.

“Were you and Enda taking shots or something?” You ask, only half serious, watching him get up from the stairs with a groan. He takes off his blazer and places it over your coat, and you move aside a little to allow him access to the banister. “Or did you two sink a few extra when I waited with Eileen for that fucking taxi?* The taxi had been cancelled twice before finally being assigned and sent, and you'd stayed with Eileen out at the front of the hotel for a good thirty minutes. You feel lightheaded and can certainly tell you've had a few drinks but it's amusing to you just how wobbly and loose Cillian seems to be.

“One maybe,” he stands before you with a soppy smile. His habitually sleepy eyes are even heavier, and when his smile broadens, what is visible of the blue in his eyes sparkles a little bit. “Enda’s a bad influence.” He smirks.

He opens his arms and wraps them around your waist and pulls you to him, closing the tiny distance between your bodies. The kiss he plants is soft and languid, but at the first touch of pressure from you kissing him back, he turns more fervent. He keeps one hand at the base of your back while the other moves a little higher. His breath huffs from his nose and each time he goes to apply more pressure with the kiss, his jaw stays open hungrily, his face touching yours, eagerly awaiting the feel of your mouth again. You know what he's after and you're willing to give it - even a few short days without him makes you long for him as much as he seems to long for you. You're not necessarily shagging every night, but when there's been a lack of hugs, kisses and gentle touches due to distance, sex is always on the cards as soon as it's an option. You want to stop him for a moment, just to remind him that the condoms aren't going to magically appear down here in the hallway, but it's him who stops first. He's lustful in his expression and he takes your hand and brings you towards the sofa. His hand is hot in yours and you know the arousal has built rapidly for him. Reaching the sofa, he pulls you to him again using your hand, and immediately kisses you deeply. His tongue slides against yours and his hands now cup around the sides of your face, keeping you where he wants you to be. Turning your head a little, you break the kiss and, potentially, the passion.

“Cill, love,* you say, and you watch him frown. “Either we need to take this upstairs, or one of us needs to go and grab a condom.”

“Not needed,” he says, shaking his head slowly. He releases your face and takes both of your hands. For a brief moment before he speaks again, you want to punch him at the possibility he's about to tell you he's changed his fucking mind. But he doesn't. “Get the tights off, and the underwear.” He says and there's a sudden huskiness fuelled by whatever he's planning igniting further arousal. “And get on the couch.” Your stomach flutters. Your eyebrows twitch as he tugs your arms a little, guiding you closer to the sofa. When you make no movements to do as he's instructed, you all but gasp when he uses both hands to push up the skirt of your pinafore and begins pawing at your arse and lower back in search of the waistband of your tights. You don't help, and instead you reach out your hand awkwardly between your bodies and cup your fingers around the bulge at the crotch of his trousers. You can feel the heat, and a small spot of moisture, and the infrequent twitches that tell you he's painfully hard. He achieves what he wants to, though, and you can feel the skin of his hands against your arse cheeks as he slides your tights and knickers down together. Even though he's occupied with his task, you don't miss the small thrust into your hand he gives before he bends abruptly, bringing your tights and knickers down to your ankles. Couched down, he reaches up one hand and lightly pushes you against your abdomen. You take the hint and fall back with a flop into the sofa. Once you're off your feet, he pulls the clothing away and throws it aside. He stays down, but moves onto his knees instead. Before he moves closer to you, he unfastens the button and zip on his trousers and pushes them down. With his knees planted on the floor, they can go no further than gathering there in the bend of his legs. The red boxer shorts he's wearing are teasingly dampened in a single but sizable spot, and tented pleasingly while the fabric moves a little as his cock twitches at the sight of you before him, knees wide and cunt on show.

You watch him intently as he reaches into his underwear, still uncoordinated from the alcohol, and withdraws his penis. He pushes his boxers down enough to move the waistband away from being restrictive. His balls sit tight on top of the red material and black waistband while, once released, his cock stands proudly with its ever-so-slight upward curve. Your eyes wander over every inch of his manhood, and you find yourself biting your lower lip in desire. You watch as he wraps one hand around himself, stroking slowly, then wordlessly arches his back down and sinks his face into your most intimate area. Skillfully, and immediately drawing a gasp of shocked delight from you, he runs his tongue up from your vaginal opening to your clit in a slow and teasing stroke. His hand is planted in your thigh and you know by the movements of his shoulder that his other hand is working his cock. He swipes his tongue down and up again, keeping it slow, and cups his lips around your labia with a soft sucking action. His tongue continues to move, up and down, in torturously wonderful, slow, sweeping movements. He takes his hand from your thigh, leaving the skin where his warm hand had been to be assaulted by the comparatively cold air that hits it in its absence. He's not aggressive but he doesn't hold back as he instantly inserts his index and middle finger into your lovingly moistened opening. With your vagina breached by his digits, moving in and out at a slowly increasing rate, he keeps his tongue entirely for your clitoral pleasure. After a moment to lick his lips, he speeds up his fingers as he licks and sucks against your clit. His lips surround your labia as his tongue moves in a controlled flicking back and forth. Your hands are on the back of his heads both guiding him and pulling him back when you feel like he's too quick - you don't want this over too soon. You can barely keep your eyes open as his fingers glide in once against and then he hooks them upward. Your hips rise up and he speeds up his tongue. He strokes and sucks and licks in such a teasing unison that your mind is black and your eyes are seeing stars before you're even on the edge.

You can feel the huffed breaths of air through his nose against your skin and you know that he's working his hand on himself equally as fast as he is his entire availability of tools on you. You're enjoying this too much - your hands through his hair and your cunt thrust against his face - but you're desperate for then orgasm he's teasing you with and you know he isn't far from decorating the sofa’s edge with his own excitement. You remove one hand from the back of his head, not sure what you're even planning to do, then slam it back down as he turns his tongue over your clit in some magical manner that makes your hips buck into him, thrusting your pussy into his whole face. You give up caring about savouring now and grip what you can of his hair as you grind your cunt into his face. He speeds up his fingers whipping in and out of your dripping entrance and your mouth falls open as you groan at the growing intensity of everything.

“Shit, Cill…” You breathe out loudly. “Fuck, Cill…fuck…fuck…” you cry out, “Jesus! Cill…!!!” You gasp loudly as his tongue works impossibly quickly, rolling and flicking and licking amazingly. “I'm c…shit, Cill, I'm….” you stumble and stammer your breathy words before you moan loudly, your jaw slack, and your walls tighten around his fingers as you cum against his face. You squeeze your thighs together involuntarily and keep his head locked in for the pleasure for a minute.

It's a mere few seconds later when the fingers he had inside of you are now planted on your thigh for stability as he strokes himself to orgasm, up on his knees, huffing quick and soft gasps and moans from the open mouth of a face that is slick and coated in you. He cums with a shudder, his fingers digging into your leg as you lie sated before him, and you don't mind as the act itself is achieved against your pubis. You've left your mark upon his face - your pubic hair can take his in return. You lie in a pile of limbs that are too heavy to move as he drops back, first sitting on his feet as he releases his very slowly softening penis, before he draws his own heavy legs out from under him and sits in an awkward tangle of limbs and clothing on the floor.

He sits with his hands held out like they're toxic for a minute, and if you weren't so woozy from the orgasm and the alcohol combining to make your eyes flutter, you might laugh. He looks a sight with your fluids all over his face, his trousers at his knees and his boxers placed funny, and you're sure his flaccid penis hanging over the waistband isn't as appealing now. But then you're sure you look a damn sight worse with your pinafore hitched up under your bust, your knees still spread wide and your pubic hair coated in his rapidly cooled semen. And then the laugh you couldn't muster falls from your lips, a sudden giggle that shakes your upper body a little. Cillian frowns at you and it only makes you laugh more.

“What's the matter with ya?” He asks, blinking his heavy lidded, drunken eyes slowly.

“We look disgusting.” You say, and your laughter starts again when Cillian's response is raised eyebrows and his mouth downturned, whilst actually looking at you, then himself, then back at you. You take a deep breath. “Wash your face, you dirty knacker!” You chuckle, and when Cillian smiles it makes your stomach tighten. God, you love him. In all the shit, in the good and the bad, you love him. You're comfortable to sit with your vagina on show and your bodies coated in one another's ‘leftovers’ and still your tummy flips when he smiles. You love him, and you can't see that ever going away.

“I'm a dirty knacker?” He says. He groans as he is the first to move, and he suddenly seems a little more sober - until he nearly falls over himself. “You've spunk all over you, you whore!” His accent thickens up and you know he's doing it to ensure you're aware he's joking when he calls you a whore. He looks at you as he tucks himself back into his underwear and, wobbling a little again, pulls up his trousers. As he fastens the zip he smiles at you softly. “Actually, you taste too good to be a whore.” He says and you're floored by his sexual openness. He isn't shy in asking for sex, nor in getting what he wants, but he is a passionately sexual person, not a kinky kind of sexual person, and hearing him talk like he just did and being party to his actions tonight, shows you a whole different side of his character when he dared enough. You wonder if it's all due to being Tommy again, or if he's finally showing you different places within him after all this time.

"You're so drunk." You chuckle.

He smiles sleepily then draws his lips in to a tight purse, one eyebrow raised high. "Yes." He nods, and it's so comical you can't help laughing harder. You're in deep with this one, you realise, and you're going to keep it that way even if it's a fight.

[jumpscaregoose]

tss is kind of a weird manga if you think about it. I've been doing that a lot

its main goal is to be a sequel to flowers, and in that a sequel to the original shaman king, but then you read it and that's. really just the tip of the iceberg. tss is already a confusing, messy story if you know what it's doing, but if you go into it only having read og shaman king and flowers (like I did the first time around) you are going to be so lost

takei has this habit of reusing characters and concepts in his work, he's been doing it literally since the beginning. if we're counting each one separately (including alumi), he's written five anna the itakos. the anna that shows up in butsu zone is almost identical to anna from the original oneshot. he does this reduce reuse recycle thing in shaman king too, most obviously with anna and gandhara. and of course this continues into the mainline sequels.

flowers is interesting in comparison to tss, because it is a shaman king sequel in the way you'd expect. it repeats many of the same characters and plot beats as the original (apathetic main character, itako no anna fiance, edgy rival with a goth older sister). hana even mentions a few times that he doesn't want to relive the same beats as his father. compared to tss, the prior work flowers draws on the most is shaman king. for a few chapters. because then we get yahabe.

yahabe is probably the cleanest copy paste into the shaman king universe, excluding butsu zone. it was a oneshot that wrapped itself up after clearly defining its premise while leaving room for the story to continue. except, instead of this continuation being a full yahabe serialization, we just get yosuke in shaman king. yahabe!yosuke and mankin!yosuke could exist on the same timeline, and with how the flowers anime reuses shots from the yahabe manga and ova, that feels like what's supposed to be canon. any deviations from the shaman king canon in yahabe itself can easily be explained away by yahabe being from yosuke's perspective as a non-shaman who doesn't know what the hell is going on. he integrates so cleanly into flowers I didn't even know he was from something else until earlier this year. the same thing applies to death zero, because I fully forgot that was a different thing while writing this.

so flowers has shaman king, and yahabe, and death zero, and it sets up the main plot. and then there's tss.

tss is completely incomprehensible if you haven't done at least 30 chapters of external reading.

or, it's comprehensible, but it's also bad. the reading experience is made so much worse if, for example, you haven't read ultimo and don't know how terrifying not-stan lee actually is. or how important the themes of ultimo are to tss itself. ultimo is a conversation on the objectivity of good and evil, in the same way tss is a battle of ideologies between gods. if you haven't read ultimo, the dong family comes out of absolute nowhere and make even less sense then they do with context.

and then there's senju. the page where senju, when asked what he's learned on his 40 (20 in real actual life) year journey, smiles and says he "can't save people after all" is probably my favourite moment in anything takei's ever written. the weight of that statement means nothing to the reader who's only come from shaman king, because the senju we see in shaman king is sati saigan's spirit ally and nothing else. "I can't save people after all" is an answer to the main thesis of butsu zone, an answer given decades after that manga was cancelled to a collection of readers who might not even know what that is. it's an impactful moment if you've read butsu zone, if you know how it was cut short before takei could take the story where he wanted, if you know the creator has been writing about the same things, about the state of the world and doing what's right and how there are no bad people who can see ghosts, for decades. it makes you think about the thing you're currently reading, the sequel to the one story that author told that made it, that got to say its piece.

because takei's work is kind of cursed. his manga are frequently cancelled, his oneshots never picked up for serialization. the magazines his sequels run in getting cancelled themselves, leaving his stories in limbo. even shaman king, his most successful work, only got its true ending years after it concluded. there is so much in takei's work that has gone unsaid.

when senju stands in front of daremoine and says he can't save people, it's satisfying. it may have been what takei set out to write in 1997, or maybe it was something he thought of in the years between, but either way. this is the ending of butsu zone. this is how its theme's conclude. in the sequel to the sequel of a manga from which its original protagonist was a side character, and underdeveloped plotline. and when you've read butsu zone, it feels good, it feels complete. it hits you like a ton of bricks

this is why I think flowers and super star lose people. because they aren't sequels to shaman king. they're sequels to everything takei has ever written.

to get the most out of super star, you need to have read not only shaman king and its spinoffs, not only flowers, but butsu zone and ultimo and yahabe. hell, to understand shaman king you need to have read mappa douji, or the entire ending falls flat on its face

if you lean into it, this creates an interconnectedness to takei's work, a sense that what you're reading right now is a part of something bigger. whatever is being contemplated currently ties into a much larger conversation about society and morality spanning one man's entire career.

if you don't, you get... a bunch of messy stories. tss makes no bloody sense half the time. ultimo is insane enough on its own, and you're supposed to keep track of that and all the little changes that fit it into this timeline? not to mention the flaws in takei's writing itself, how he tends to pace things weird and leave gaps in his stories, all of it makes tss specifically pretty inaccessible to the average reader.

what is there to take away from this?

I'm not sure, really. I love tss, a lot actually. I enjoy the sense of discovery that comes with engaging in this twisted knot of a story. I think that if you tried to read tss with only shaman king and were frustrated, you should check out yahabe and ultimo and especially butsu zone and try again. you might still think it's a mess, but I think it's worth it to see if that's what lost you

but I know that's also a big ask, that's over 80 chapters of manga to read just to have the backstory for the insane stuff in tss. not everyone's up for that, and that's fair

do I think tss would be more accessible if it only drew from shaman king? yes. do I think it would have been better?

no

[eternity-death]

Okay… 2.1 thoughts (mostly revolving around Sunday bc I am obsessed with him)… SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THOSE WHO HAVENT COMPLETED THE QUEST!!!

PART 1

"You got to prove your worth to Sunday before you can speak with him." MEOOOOWWWWW

Aventurine pointing out Sunday's need for control and calling him insecure made me laugh out loud.

Also, the slipping into Sunday's collar... tee hee...

Do you guys think Yan Sunday puts you in the sand pit when he's upset with you...

It's either time-out in the sandpit or a "nice walk" through the real dreamscape. You obviously choose the pit. And now you're stuck with the creepy Oak family puppets for the foreseeable future. It's unnerving and lonely, and despite your shrunken size you start to feel a little claustrophobic.

When Sunday feels you've had enough time to... reflect on your actions... he approaches the sandpit and asks if you're ready to behave.

And yes, he does expect a sincere and lengthy apology.

"Breathtaking view" more like BREASTtaking. We know what you were really looking at, Aventurine.

These are important because in my endless list of drafts I have some hc’s of Sunday being a neat freak and I was correct!!!

Further reinforcing my hc that Sunday would like to help you get ready in the mornings.

Part of it is to satisfy himself and the other part is to make sure you look acceptable and appropriate.

SCREAMED… SUNDAY MIND CONTROL POWERS CONFIRMED…

We now know that he can take away one’s ability to lie… though this is probably just the tip of the iceberg.

THIS SCENE IN PARTICULAR AIWHEGRHWHHWHWHEHAGHW… SCREAMED AGAIN… WITHOUT THE S….

THAT SMILE… WHEN HE KNOWS HE HAS AVENTURINE RIGHT WHERE HE WANTS HIM… INSANITY… MEEOOEOOOOWWOWOW….

[intermundia]

If you start with "I dont wish to be a hater or judge someone else's tastes but" I am sorry to inform you that you already are 🤷🏻‍♂️ Answering more seriously, ignoring all the canon examples that can be given for the appeal of this ship, let's address what could possibly motivate someone to consider it to begin with, regardless of the canon reasons. I assume you're implying some immoral issues that you personally take issue and cannot understand how we all just overlooked them, so— Historically, power dynamics between a Master and their Apprentice, would often include sexual tones and tensions that were explored or not. There's intrigue and interest in seeing how being raised in such an environment, when your main and closest bond, physical and mental, is also the one who raises and trains you, the one with whom you mature and develop (sometimes mutually, as one grows out of apprenticeship, and the other becomes a master). Some cultures saw this as being part of educating a young man to become a decent adult, showing them how to love and make love correctly, and modeling the correct behaviour. We can also address the fact that Anakin is a slave, phycologically, children with trauma tend to imprint on their saviors (hello Padme, hello Obi-Wan) and more than a few times, that leads to inappropriate and sometimes sexual fantasies, too. Not to mention that teens, even such without a trauma, but especially with one (those who lack one of the parents, double the chance) would develop a deep attachment, sexual fantasies and resentment and complex about their idol. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, only addressing Anakin's side. If we speak of Obi-Wan, a man raised in a cult-like organisation with strict codes, no modelling of healthy father-son relationships or any sort of real family structures and give him a boy who does not know how to not love with his whole ass heart--- anyways. It's interesting. It's intriguing. It's fun to explore and untangle. If you think that shipping Anakin with Padme is better by a lot, given their type of relationship and attachement style, as well as their communication and how anxious Anakin is-- well, you're just judging the ship based on the fact that it feels yucky for you to imagine irl. But well, isn't it lucky this is fictional? Anyways, if you don't want to be a hater-- just don't be. Plenty ships out there that are no everyone's cup of tea, what you do is block them and don't read them and forget about them, rather than come to ask someone a question under the guise of actually wanting to know the answer. If you have, you would have worded the question with a curiosity that would have prompted OP to give you a real answer. But you intent was not pure, therefore :)

thank you so much, i really did NOT have the spoons to put any of it into words today. usually i just block similar message but i really hated how that one was phrased in particular, like i really have always been happy to explain the million reasons why i think they love each other in every possible way... i've written so much meta and 750k words of stories about it. but they're just "asking" as a shame tool bc they think it's icky, and they don't want to actually consider the myriad complex reasons why people sometimes love each other in inappropriate situations and where those situations might arise inside the world of the gffa lmao