#y'all are gonna hear me
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goldshirtleia · 8 months ago
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Hello yes it is that time of year again, I am listening to the 1970 OG recording of JCS on vinyl and have decided to finally make a list my rankings for every role and aspect of this show. For the record I am a pagan whose only real knowledge of the Jesus story is from this show so forgive my unhinged takes.
Characters:
Jesus:
Ian Gillan (OG album/broadway)
Ted Neeley (1973)
Ola Sålo (Swedish 2014)
Jack Hopewell (North American Tour 2022)
Morgan James (all female cast 2022)
Judas:
Carl Anderson (1973)
Brandon Victor Dixon (2018)
Murray Head (OG album)
Shoshana Bean (all female cast 2022)
Peter Johannson (Swedish 2014)
Honourable mention to Colm Wilkinson (it is a CRIME that there isn't a full recording of the Irish cast)
Mary Magdalene:
Yvonne Elliman (OG album/broadway/1973)
That's it, no one else even comes close
(Maybe an honourable mention for Gunilla Backman)
Pontius Pilate:
Barry Dennen (OG album/1973)
Filippo Strocchi (Vienna 2018)
Orfeh (all female cast 2022)
Caiaphas:
Bob Bingham (OG broadway/1973)
Norm Lewis (NBC 2018) I will ALWAYS stan Norm
Victor Brox (OG album)
Simon Zealotes:
TIE - Larry Marshall (1971)
TIE - Eric Grönwall (NBC 2018)
John Gustafson (OG album)
Tony Vincent (2000)
Herod:
Alice Cooper (NBC 2018)
Mike D'Abo (OG album)
Chris Moyles (Arena Tour 2012)
Overall - staging/set design/costumes:
1973 Movie
NBC 2018
North American Tour 2022
Arena Tour 2012
Honourable mention to the OG broadway production -- I haven't seen enough footage to accurately rank it but I LOVE Jesus's cape in Superstar.
Best overall rendition of Superstar (incl. staging, costumes, etc)
1973 Movie
NBC 2018
Arena Tour 2012
Swedish 2014
Best facial expressions:
Carl Anderson during Simon Zealotes
Carl Anderson right before he engages in respectability politics to slut shame Mary
Tim Minchin when the priests take his joint lmao
Best Superstar costume:
Carl Anderson's white maxi fringe jumpsuit (come ON)
Peter Johannson's shirtless #lewk (I have a whole thing about how Judas should not look like a demon but the sparkly red pants and the Legolas hair are too fantastic)
Brandon Victor Dixon in the full silver fit
Best WTF moments:
That bit in the 1973 film where they all form The Last Supper for a quick second and no one comments on it
When the 1973 crowd says "won't you die for me?" in Hosanna and it just FREEZES on Jesus's face
The Swedish cast pushing Jesus into Jerusalem in a shopping cart
The fighter pilots swooping at Judas after Blood Money in 1973. What WAS that. How did they get that.
That is all lol. Every time we watch even a clip of a new production my mother and I spend 2-3 hours discussing how it fits into our rankings, so this could change.
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yashley · 8 months ago
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anyway laerryn would've released predathos by now
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foreignswaggersession · 2 months ago
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alright i'm gonna say this as nicely as i can. if you actually think louis ate his nephew you're an idiot not paying attention. that baby wasn't just a baby, it was his NEPHEW, grace's child. once again, i'm asking you to think seriously - if grace left her baby alone with louis, and came back to a dead baby, do you think grace would not hold louis responsible for her baby's death? do you think grace would tell jonah where to find louis, and not "louis killed my child you should avoid him?"
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do you think they would even entertain letting louis come to the house anymore to visit grace's other children, day or night?
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do you think grace would invite him to their mother's funeral (or any other events that louis missed - like his not-dead nephew's christening, which takes place AFTER ep 2)?
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do you think grace would mark his grave like this???
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that whole "did you eat the baby" scene is why episode 2 is my least favorite episode of season 1. it goes on for so long, and then people with no brain cells think they're smart by saying "louis's such a crazy liar he would eat a baby" (ok i've stopped being nice - if you think louis ate that baby you have no right to say anything about this show)
also, we don't see the son at the twins' birthday party because he's still a baby/toddler and probably asleep. he didn't eat his fucking nephew omg be serious.
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fromtheseventhhell · 8 months ago
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"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? | Jon VI
--metaphorical knives at feigning neutrality regarding his sister
Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold... | Jon XIII
--literal knives from breaking that neutrality to save her
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flowercrowngods · 1 year ago
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⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)
After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.
⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)
Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt. 
Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not. 
But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.
It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts. 
Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. 
At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned. 
And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so. 
With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets. 
~*~*~
It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom. 
It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests. 
Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors. 
All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better. 
And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.
Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family. 
Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache. 
Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead. 
Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be. 
And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy. 
But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm. 
His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.
Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.
Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?
The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand. 
As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness. 
He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering. 
I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything. 
In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over. 
Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now. 
Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him. 
“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time. 
Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her. 
“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.” 
Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that. 
“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.” 
Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind. 
“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?” 
Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list. 
“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.” 
“But—“ 
“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.” 
The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand. 
“He sought you out, then.”   
Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony. 
“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.” 
She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.” 
Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand. 
“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.” 
Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him. 
“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“ 
A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling. 
“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.” 
He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.
“I am not playing tonight.” 
Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past. 
“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.” 
Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down. 
“Thank you, Your Highness.” 
She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands. 
“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.” 
God, I hope so. 
Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath. 
It will be fine. I know it will. 
Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.
It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is. 
Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already. 
But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence. 
Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it. 
He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave. 
He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must. 
On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose. 
It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave. 
As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving. 
He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity. 
But he can’t. 
So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them. 
Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike. 
“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.” 
The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue. 
As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips. 
“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.” 
Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces. 
And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words. 
Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack. 
Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver. 
“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.” 
Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in. 
He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough. 
Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence. 
Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes. 
“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.” 
The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.
Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and  even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.” 
The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said. 
It makes Eddie weak in the knees. 
And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation. 
Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike? 
Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him. 
“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.” 
Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words. 
Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him. 
And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness. 
“Are you all right?”
Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin. 
This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be. 
The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.
And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him. 
And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that… 
Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does. 
But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness. 
“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”
Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.
“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it. 
The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil. 
“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.” 
Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?” 
The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself. 
“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.” 
He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing. 
Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more. 
“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.” 
He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes. 
And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.” 
He stops. 
And so does time. 
But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again. 
There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off. 
“I…” 
Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. 
He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies. 
He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before. 
tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍
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epickiya722 · 3 months ago
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Seeing my boys get their cards brought me such joy. I'M SO PROUD OF YOU TWO!!! 😭💜
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goldentigerfestival · 8 months ago
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So. I love this. The way Yuri snickers at Flynn showing his real self. The way he, without hesitation, says "yeah" to the idea that he would die in Flynn's place.
But the most important part of this entire thing, which was changed in the dub, is how Yuri specifically jokes that Flynn is trying to abandon him, and Flynn returns and tells Don he had no intention of abandoning Yuri.
Yuri does not hear this. Flynn knows that. But Flynn uses the exact same term Yuri used earlier, as if it's his answer to Yuri and saying no, I would never abandon you.
For reference:
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Personally I just... love the weight of it. How Flynn will say something about Yuri that Yuri won't hear, but he still speaks it out into existence because it's how he really feels.
Just because Yuri won't hear it doesn't mean he won't say it, and in a way that's even more powerful. He's not looking for the credit of saying it. He's not looking to be recognized for saying it. He's not only expressing how he feels about Yuri somewhere that Yuri himself will hear him.
They're just his real, honest feelings, and he'll admit them even if Yuri's not within earshot.
#GTF Vesperia Clips#Fluri#classic Vesperia dub trying to hide all the more detailed intimacy between them tbh#y'all are gonna see it even more when I get around to post the huge posts I'm doing#going through the entire game with the changes they made#and how HEAVILY most of the drastic changes pertain to Flynn and their relationship#like. there's really no reason to change these matching scenes in the dub unless they're doing it on purpose#meanwhile they're the sweetest thing in the original and I'll never get over these scenes being matching scenes#also bc like. this is so important for their dynamic going forward into arc 2#also partly why I truly believe they'd choose each other over the world in specific contexts#but that's a story for another time LOL. for now just know Flynn has gone on record#to say he would never abandon Yuri right to Don Whitehorse's face#anyway you ever get that feeling of like. when you find out from a friend that#someone said smth nice abt you? but you didn't know they said it?#like you KNOW they're saying nice/good things abt you to other ppl now? that's the vibe I get from this#that he's not just saying it to Yuri's face. he says the important things /to others/ as well#he's not trying to score extra brownie points by using sweet words where he knows Yuri will hear him#to me that's the most honest form of affection. saying your feelings out loud where they won't hear you#Flynn also proved himself before saying it as if the idea was to show not just tell#I think Yuri understands when not joking that Flynn wouldn't abandon him#but Flynn is making sure that not just Yuri knows through his actions but that others know it too#and ultimately Yuri doesn't need to hear it. he can believe it because he can see it#Yuri doesn't need to hear it bc he understands Flynn's feelings without needing to hear it
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dawnofiight · 2 months ago
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Baabe is partially blind send tweet.
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one-vivid-judgment · 3 months ago
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Okay but in MattMick's case, who's the one who goes home after their first kiss and immediately starts being all "Okay, so we kissed, no big deal. But does he want something serious with me, or was it a spur of the moment thing?" and who's going "LET'S FUCKING GOOOO" internally the whole time, I need to know for science.
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moogghost · 2 months ago
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...so now that grandfest is over and the results were revealed am i allowed to say that some of y'all were such dicks to team present over their team choice for NO good reason ever since grandfest was revealed or am i going to get mauled for being right.
anyways congrats to the team past members who weren't assholes about their team choice and those team past members only every match against you guys made me feel like i was crawling in the trenches and it's very impressive 👍
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dindjarindiaries · 9 months ago
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The strangest thing to me is when people are listing Pedro's upcoming projects and... they don't mention The Mandalorian & Grogu anywhere. He's literally the Mandalorian 😭
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penncilkid · 4 months ago
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ALRIGHT FOLKS! Here's now this works: Welcome to a new installment on my blog, complete with a fresh new tag (#Pick N Mix Medley // (and it's spicy counterpart) #Pick N Mix W/ Nuts).
I've garnered quite the reputation as a prolific multishipper to the extreme degree. I'll have beloved rarepairs that would never cross your mind— ones I've come up with by simply spinning a wheel (/srs). And I'm gonna slowly but surely share them with you! Yes you, dear reader, not the guy next to you— Well him too if he's reading.
Now then! To kick things off, I already have a pairing in mind [Camelopardalis / Gavin / Darlin], but I'd like to let y'all pick who's next! So:
I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I do, it's a joy of mine and a point of pride to hear people say "I—... I would never have thought about this, but you make it make sense in context" or "I didn't expect to like this but you changed my mind". Anyways, peace out, I'll be in my kitchen cooking ✌️
(Also shoutout to @androgynouspenguinexpert for helping me name the new tag, always appreciate, chef 🫶)
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drugsforaddicts · 3 months ago
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I see this fucking school really is trying to get on my nerves and kill me
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bumblingbabooshka · 1 year ago
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The Queen and her Advisor / The Explorer and her Knight
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winterstaryu · 8 days ago
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ALRIGHT. I'M SAYING IT
Izzy needed to die but Ed should have been the one to kill him
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oreo-creampie · 8 months ago
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