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lightnersdream · 1 month ago

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i've been thinking about exactly why people portraying one of the other crew members successfully killing Jimmy as a "for what you did to Anya" kind of thing rubs me the wrong way a bit and it's because like..... this is just another form of taking agency away from Anya, in a way. it's kind of framing her as some meek, shivery woman-thing who's entirely at the mercy of the men around her, either to hurt her or save her.

(i understand these are mostly for wish fulfillment on the audience's behalf because everyone would like to see Jimmy pay for his crimes. whether or not this is the intention of the person writing it isn't really relevant, characterization happens with or without intent. i feel like it misses the point by portraying it as an 'ideal ending'.)

because... Anya is a capable person. she takes things into her own hands when she can. it was partially(?) her idea to get into the cargo,

(before he interrupts her.. remember when she interrupted Curly in the dead pixel segment?)

it was her idea to get the code scanner from the cockpit,

it was her idea to get the medication from behind the foam.

(the chance to do these things herself is not given to her.)

she'd been keeping Curly alive for months in a critical state somehow, her psych evaluations at the start are only so useless because Jimmy refuses to take it/her seriously and Curly is obviously biased when he puts it into his own hands. he's known him a long time, like he said. "I'll just put good for that one."

there's not a lot of material to work with because of how the game is framed, but it's there. we are working with two very biased perspectives and neither one lends Anya what she deserves

there's significant changes in how she speaks post- and pre- crash, and depending on who she happens to be talking to. i recommend re-reading her dialogue, because the difference is drastic

she acts the way she does around Jimmy because he has tangibly done horrible things to her, is actively hostile, and physically could not escape him by any means. she can't take away Curly's agency herself, in my eyes. you have to remember that Especially in the post-crash segments of the game, it's entirely from Jimmy's POV, and he obviously does not (and has never) thought very highly of her or treated her with a shred of respect

i've seen a general idea that she can't bear to hurt other people for any reason, but that doesn't really track to me. this is the real point of the post by the way

it seems based on the parts where she says she struggles to give Curly medication. "It just hurts him so much, I can't stand the noise." "It makes me nauseous."

it's not really the same thing as, say, hurting someone in self defense

this sounds like she did want the gun itself. this never felt worded like someone who would refuse to, at very least, threaten Jimmy with a gun, with violence. if she had been given the agency to make that decision on her own. she wasn't though

she still tries to reclaim some of it even as she's denied it

by the end she's still trying to keep that gun out of his hands

i think some people overly soften her, for similar reasons the game itself is trying to comment on. she's not a tender victim who couldn't cause pain to another out of the softness of her soul, she's a person who's had every last bit of agency ripped from her repeatedly until she couldn't take it anymore. that's the point. that's why framing her that way, "needing" someone to save her, is odd to me

she didn't need Curly to save her, she needed him to take responsibility

she didn't want to escalate things, but she's not an idiot. self defense was absolutely on her mind

but who knows im just saying shit *smiles serenely*

#dib noise #mouthwashing #sorryyyyyyyyy lol #i will defend you anya o7 #its been fun to roll this game around in my brain. gives me something to do #long post #could be reaching though. it's unfortunate so much of her screentime is hammering home how poorly jimmy regards her #or her being scared/nervous in his presence #or trying to placate him #yes i know that's the point #are my feelings on how anya is treated by the the characters the fans and the game itself weirdly personal? yeah sorry #unfortunately i do think they didn't get the anya parts as solidly as the rest but oh well #everything has flaws #i've gone through a playthrough of this game like 10 times for this #you KNOW im sourcing my claims!!#not really an attack on the people who made the stuff i mentioned at the start #more of a commentary on how they relate with the source material itself #yes yes i know giving a crewmate a lethal weapon is probably not the best idea to curly #does that make this situation any less horrifying?#remember: these aren't real people. everything they do was written on purpose for a reason #i still need to write down my general thoughts on the game as a whole..#also not about one specific person post image writing ect it's a collection of things and ideas thrown onto one post #I'm not any good at ending posts like thase it kind of devolves by yhe end but thats ok

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steddie-there · 2 years ago

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It Sure Felt Nice When He Was Holding My Hand

Steve had finally managed to escape.

His mom was holding one of her parties again, a "summer soiree" as she called it, so she'd dressed him in pressed khakis and a butter yellow button-down shirt and "Oh the cutest little blue bow tie, Steven, don't you just look darling? Now come say hi to mommy's friends."

He hated bow ties. He always felt like he was suffocating with one around his neck.

He hated his mom's parties. They made him feel like he was suffocating, too.

So the second he saw a chance to leave, he took it. One of their neighbors had walked in with her new baby and his mother made a big production of cooing over the little girl; Steve rolled his eyes - she hated babies, Steve knew, because she always told him how messy babies were and how much she'd hated cleaning the messes he made as a baby. But, not one to waste an opportunity, the moment she looked the other way, he had raced out the back door into the woods, running as fast as his little eight year old legs could go. He ripped the bow tie off and dropped it in the yard behind him as he crossed into the line of trees.

Which brought him to now. Wandering in the woods, farther than he ever had before. He could hear the burble of a creek ahead, and it drew him on like a moth to a flame. He wanted to splash around in the water and mud, splatter it all over his pristine clothes, even though he would get in trouble for it later. He would already be in trouble for running off, what was a few more minutes added to the lecture?

But at the edge of the trees, he stopped short. Someone was already there, kneeling next to a little rowboat bobbing in the water.

Steve couldn't see their face, just that they were wearing faded jeans and big boots with the laces undone and an old two-sizes too big blue flannel shirt and they had dark brown curls just grazing the edges of their shoulders. He watched for a moment as they seemed to lay something into the boat. Tilted his head, trying to see what it was.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, breaking the quiet murmur of the woods.

The person whirled around, hands coming up defensively, flowers scattering over the ground, and now Steve could see it was a boy, probably about his age. He had the biggest brown eyes Steve had ever seen. Right now, they were opened wide, startled at Steve's sudden appearance.

"Sorry!" he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

The other boy's shoulders dropped as he relaxed. "It's okay, just didn't think anyone else was out here," he told Steve, sending him a quick smile. Something about it made Steve want to smile back.

For a moment they just looked at each other.

"So, what are you doing?" Steve asked again, trying to peer around the other boy to the boat.

The boy glanced behind him, then turned back to Steve and his grin turned mischievous. "I'm having my funeral," he announced.

Steve just blinked at him. "Your... your funeral?" he asked, baffled. "But you're -"

"Dead," the boy assured him with a solemn nod.

Steve giggled and the other boy looked pleased at his reaction.

"Wanna help me pick more flowers?" he asked and Steve nodded, dropping to his knees, not caring about the grass stains he would surely now have on his pants, and gathering the little yellow blooms into his hands.

They worked in silence for awhile, until Steve asked, "So why are you having your funeral in a boat instead of being buried?" He was pretty sure most funerals involved graves and dirt, not boats and flowers.

"For the symbolism!" the boy declared, throwing his arms wide. Steve scrunched his nose, not sure what he meant by that. The boy peered at him from the corner of his eye, then whispered, "I don't really know what that means, but it sounded important."

Steve giggled again. "You're weird," he said.

Despite the fondness in his tone, those big brown eyes seemed to shutter and grow dim, the other boy shrinking into himself at Steve's words. Hastily, he assured him, "Not, like, bad weird. Good weird. Like, cool weird. Fun weird."

That earned him a wide grin and a shoulder bump.

"So how did you die?" Steve asked, leaning back on his hands and watching as the boy artfully placed both their bunches of flowers around the pillow already inside the boat.

"Carrots," the boy said seriously.

"Carrots???"

"Carrots," he nodded. "They're evil. And my wicked uncle made me eat them for lunch. So I died." He shrugged, as if dying from carrot ingestion was just a casual, every day experience.

Steve bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing again, mimicking the other boy's solemnity. "Ah, I see."

They both glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, bursting into snickers when their eyes met.

"Okay," the boy said, standing and dusting off his knees, not that it did much for the grass and mud clinging to the denim. "Hold the boat while I get in."

Steve moved to kneel on the muddy creek bank, grabbing the side of the rowboat and keeping it steady while his new friend stepped in and settled down with his head on the pillow. The boat rocked a little as he did, water splashing up onto Steve's shirt, but he ignored it, not letting go until the other boy had stopped moving. He sat back and brushed his hands off.

"Now what?" he whispered after a moment of silence.

"Now... I guess we sit and be sad?" the boy answered, sounding unsure and giggling quietly. He flung a hand up to his forehead dramatically, declaring, "Alas, poor me, we knew me well!" Then he wrapped his hands around a flower and laid them on his chest with his eyes closed.

Steve laughed at the dramatics, then pulled his knees up to his chest and, also closing his eyes, sat quietly for a while. He listened to the wind in the trees, to the birds chirping around them, to the bubble and splash of the water flowing around the boat.

Steve opened his eyes and stared down at the boy in the boat. His curls were spread over the flowers, eyes closed, hands clasped on his chest, and Steve sighed faux-mournfully. "I wish you weren't dead. You're funny."

The boy pursed his lips, considering. "I could, maybe, be brought back to life. If I got a kiss from a handsome prince." He cracked an eyelid open, peering at Steve. "That's you, by the way," he whispered loudly.

Steve giggled yet again. "Me? A handsome prince?"

The boy nodded, some of the flowers tangling in his curls as he jostled them. "The handsomest," he said, before closing his eyes again.

Steve considered him for a moment. He looked at the creek at his feet, then down at his not-so-clean-anymore clothes, then shrugged and stepped into the water to stand next to the boat, feeling it rise to about his waist. Resting his hands on the side of the boat, he leaned over, bringing his face very close to the other boy's. For a second, he just stopped there, feeling the other boy's breath hit his cheek.

Then he kissed him on the nose.

The other boy laughed aloud, a ringing, joyful sound that Steve thought might just be the best thing he'd ever heard. His eyes popped open and he stared at Steve, eyes sparkling, dimples framing his grin.

Steve grinned back. "So. Did it work? Are you alive again?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," his friend answered, "Definitely." He bit his lip and seemed to be thinking about something.

Steve waited.

"You wanna get in the boat, too?" the boy finally asked and Steve was clambering inside before he even finished his question. His movements rocked the boat from side to side and they both laughed as they held on and settled next to each other, staring up at the clouds.

Steve tried to concentrate on the cloudy pictures the boy next to him was pointing out in the sky. But he could feel a hand brushing against his own and he wondered what it would feel like to hold it. He had only ever held his mom's hand to cross the street and Carol's while they ran away from Tommy when they played tag at school. Maybe it would be different, holding a boy's hand. There was only one way to find out.

He wrapped his fingers around the other boy's.

The boy paused his detailed description of a dragon he could see in the clouds, turning his head to look at Steve. Then he smiled, a small, secret smile that felt like it was just for Steve. Steve smiled back. Tangling their fingers more tightly together, they both looked back up at the sky.

Steve wasn't sure how long they lay there, talking about the clouds and the trees and their favorite places in Hawkins, but when the sun started to set, he sighed.

"I have to go home now."

The other boy nodded. "Yeah, I should go, too. My uncle is probably worried about me."

Steve grinned at him. "Not such a wicked uncle, after all?"

The boy rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Nah, he's pretty great, actually. Aside from making me eat carrots."

He said the last word so viciously that Steve couldn't help his laughter.

"He even said he'd start teaching me to play guitar tonight!"

"That's so cool!" Steve said. Decided not to say that all he'd get when he got home was a lecture.

The boy climbed out of the boat first, then turned to help Steve. For a moment, they just stood silently, smiling at each other. "Well, I'll see you around!" the boy says brightly, starting to walk down the creek, pulling the boat along with a rope.

"Yeah, see you," Steve answered, turning to his path home. He got a few steps away before he realized something and ran back to the clearing by the creek. "Hey, wait, what's your na - " he started to ask, but the boy had already disappeared into the trees. Steve sighed and walked away with his hands shoved into his pockets.

That night, Steve lay in bed, ears still ringing from the very loud thirty minute lecture his dad had given him when he showed up, muddy and grass stained and an hour late for dinner. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if that afternoon had maybe been a dream. But in his mind's eye, he could see the clouds drifting past and he swore he could still feel the other boy's fingers tangled with his own. He closed his eyes and smiled. He knew he'd spend the rest of the summer locked indoors, his dad had promised that; knew if he even so much as glanced at the woods, he'd get another lecture. But it was all worth it, he decided, as he carefully tucked the memory of that afternoon and the boy with the big brown eyes and curly hair away into a safe corner of his mind.

In the fall, he looked for his friend at school, but only succeeded in meeting a girl a year younger than him, Nancy, when he mistook her brown curls for the ones he was looking for.

By the time middle school rolled around, that afternoon at the creek had been shoved so far to the back of his memory that he didn't even look twice at the strange new kid with the buzz cut, no matter how familiar his brown eyes looked from across the cafeteria.

And then high school and the Upside Down and new friends and new terrors and a morning at work interrupted by two of his munchkins desperate to prove a friend's innocence.

Which is how he found himself staring into the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen for the first time in over a decade.

"Carrots!" Steve all but shouted as the shock of recognition began to wear off, heedless of the sharp glass at his throat. Eddie flinched back as the others stared in confused silence.

"What?" Eddie asked, baffled.

"You died because your uncle made you eat carrots. You had a funeral in a rowboat and - "

Eddie's wide brown eyes went impossibly wider at Steve's words. He cut Steve off, lowering the bottle as a shy grin crept over his face, warring with the terror still present in his stance. "And a handsome prince brought me back to life."

"It is you!" Steve beamed. Eddie beamed back, his shoulders relaxing, and Steve felt the insane urge to kiss the tip of his nose just as he had all those years ago.

The moment was interrupted by Dustin clearing his throat. "Um... what the fuck, Steve?"

Steve and Eddie laughed. "It's a long story," Steve said. Then he sobered. "And we have more pressing problems." He looked at Eddie, saw the way he curled back in on himself. Put a hand on his shoulder and guided him to sit down. "Eddie, what's going on?"

Eddie looked up at him with a gaze so haunted Steve just wanted to pull him into his arms. Settled for soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

"You won't believe me," Eddie said brokenly.

"Try us," Max told him. Steve squeezed his shoulder, and Eddie took a deep breath and started talking.

--..--..--..--..--

Later, after bats and battle, blood and bandages, after mouth-to-mouth and "I swear to God, Munson, if you die on me I will resurrect you and kill you again myself, don't think I won't," they're in a hospital room. It's just them, the others having gone home to sleep an hour ago. But Steve can't bring himself to leave. Can't quite bring himself to tangle his fingers with Eddie's where they rest on the hospital bed, either, although he desperately wants to.

"You know, that's the second time you've kissed me back to life, Stevie. Gonna make a habit of it?" Eddie jokes.

Steve looks up at him, breath catching when their eyes meet. Despite the lighthearted tone, Eddie's gaze is serious. Warm. Those wide, wide eyes locked on Steve intently.

It makes Steve feel brave. He laughs a little. "Actually," he says, "I was kinda hoping I could kiss you sometime when you're not dead."

Eddie's eyes widen even further before he ducks his head shyly, looks up at Steve from under his lashes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Steve says, finally tangling their fingers together.

And there's that secret smile Eddie has, the one that seems like it's only for Steve. "I think I'd like that," he says.

"Good," Steve whispers and leans in.

--..--..--..--..--

also on ao3!

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #inspired by the song If I Die Young #holy crap this got away from me 😅#I was just listening to the song the other day #and had this vision of little eddie surrounded by flowers in a boat and little steve leaning down to kiss his nose #2400 words later 😅#anyway hope y'all like #also yes the tense change at the end was purposeful #the majority is a story that already happened. a memory #the last part is a more immediate present thing still occurring #or at least thats how im justifying it 😅

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