#your intro post DEEPLY concerns me

[averillkillsyou]

can we be moots

ummmm no thank you

[avelera]

It makes me sad when I see posts by people who are enjoying the Interview with the Vampire show but say they've decided not to even try to read the books.

To be clear, it's fine to just not want to read the books, there's plenty of reasons the books might not be everyone's bag, and one reason is that people might just want to enjoy the show without spoilers or the source material muddling the experience.

But I just want to clarify a few points that people might be hung up on with regards to reading the books in case they've decided not to on false premises:

Anne Rice was not homophobic or otherwise anti-sex or against queer relationships for her characters - those are lies, lies, and damned lies. Anne Rice was a queer writer before being queer-- much less writing about it--was cool (to say the least). She more or less defined herself as nonbinary before there was terminology for it, her son is gay, and she left the Catholic Church the second time because they wouldn't accept him (even though the Catholic Church had basically become her life at that point after her husband died, which is a long complicated story). She also wrote tons of erotica, specifically bdsm erotica, which was also very queer. She would not be horrified by the queerness of the show.

Anne Rice was anti-fanfic - Yes, she was. Yes, she was one of the most aggressive authors against fanfic (though she softened later). But just to be clear, she had a legal reason for it. I was one of the people most heartbroken in the early '00s by her aggressive take down of fanfic over the years but even then, I always understood why she did it, she reasonably believed she had to be aggressive in order to defend her copyright. You can dislike her for it but she wasn't just hating on fanfic for the sake of it, the early internet was extremely muddy when it came to the legality around fanfic and copyright and as an early adopter of the internet, she was very concerned on that front specifically.

The books are not poorly written/not fun to read - Look, your mileage may obviously vary, and many have found flaws in her writing (IWTV in particular is probably the slowest read of the bunch) but Anne Rice wasn't a NYT Bestseller on basically every single one of her books for no reason. Her style is easy to read, fun, engaging, and often darkly beautiful and deeply empathetic. She basically defined the modern vampire genre and modern supernatural gothic romance for the last 50 years, I mean she dominated the genre. Don't take an out of context excerpt of the opening of The Vampire Lestat sounding like "My Immortal" as an indication of anything. (The whole point of that intro is that Lestat is supposed to sound like a self-obsessed drama queen in the opening pages, that's the conceit of the book and introduces him as a self-centered unreliable narrator, which she then plays with to great effect. It's actually rather deftly handled how she introduced Lestat as a POV character with that introduction. As a writer, I will defend that introduction as actually genius.)

Anne Rice wasn't perfect, to say the least. And the books might not be everyone's cup of tea, she was often dealing with transgressive topics and probably held many ideas or presented many concepts decades ago that would be side-eyed today.

But they're bestsellers for a reason and she's an era-defining author for a reason. The show is doing some interesting stuff with modernizing and deconstructing the books but the rich material they have to do it with comes from the books.

At the very least, I suggest trying out "The Vampire Lestat" and then "Queen of the Damned" which I think are two of her best and will go a long way to informing how audiences view the show and what's coming next.

[stupidthoughtsinwriting]

Don't leave me... I'll stay (Loki)

Summary: After an argument causes a rift between Loki and Y/N, the day is spent ignoring the other until Y/N decides to spend the night away from Loki.

Warning: Angst? i dunno what else to put in but angst eheheh. long maybe? this is a very long fic eheheh. ohh and another thing is that this may be prone to mistakes as i dont have anybody to proof this so... ehehhe

Note: eheheeh the liar has finally posted what was promised, precisely a month late or later. eheheh sorry to those who waited, school has taken a lot of my time, I barely open my laptop to work and im rarely here anymore but i've got until the monday off so lets see what i'll do with that eheheh

The context is vague, I apologize but i am complete rubbish at this. at everything really, including writing so eheheh. To those brave souls that braved this whole thing, Thank you! so very deeply, from the bottom of my heart for even showing the slightest bit of interest in my rubbish ideas. Hope you like it and im stopping myself from going any further and prolonging this intro ehehhe, Enjoy!😊

‘No Loki! Just because I have this disease, doesn’t mean you have the right to keep me locked up like some sort of china. I am able to do just about everything I could before I told you and you have no right telling me what I can or cannot do’ you countered his argument but being stubborn, neither of you relented nor ceased.

You were now second guessing whether it was right or not, telling him about the chronic illness you were diagnosed with, but you knew that you did the right thing if you wanted this relationship to have a good foundation. The reaction however… was not how you thought things would go.

It was simple at first. Barely noticeable and could have been mistaken as added doting to his already caring nature with you but overtime, it became more and more obvious how he was setting up these restrictions you never would have agreed on. It only grew ridiculous, and you would have allowed the passive ones, but this was the final straw.

Your patience had worn thin over the entirety of the argument however, as comments grew more rash and the final ‘disapproval’ of your oncoming task was remarked, you snapped. He had no right to restrict you of activities and tasks he thinks are too much for your condition and it only insulted and hurt you to think that he thought you so frail and weak that even simple chores were too much.

‘I am going on this mission, whether you “approve” or not, because just telling you was out of courtesy. I refuse to be told of my restrictions by anyone besides myself. I would have understood your concerns if the situation were more grave, but for the love of God, it’s a simple data extraction.’ You exasperated, growing tired of fighting about something you know he won’t fold on.

‘In an abandoned Hydra base!’ he pointed out, choosing not to acknowledge how you outright dismissed his concern, no matter how much it hurt. ‘You know of the dangers that lurk in those retched lairs and often times there are still those who patrol the premises. You do remember when Rogers and Romanoff were attacked during their little escapade in Camp Leigh, do you not?’

‘Of course, I remember, I’m not a moron’ you snide, glaring daggers at the raven-haired god and you were just about to justify how Barnes was going with you however the comment he let out was the final pull on the thinned thread.

‘Well, you certainly are acting like one’ he mumbled without thinking, turning away. He thought it was low enough so you wouldn’t hear but he thought wrong.

‘I beg your pardon?!’ you all but screeched out of fury. Loki flinched before he turned at the high pitch and fury, he heard from you. He saw the outraged his comment caused in your eyes. The fire that burned in those beautiful orbs of yours was terrifying however, what truly frightened him was how you took a breath, calming yourself and before he could so much as apologize, rolled your eyes and turned away.

‘I’m done’ you raised your hands in surrender, turning your back to him.

‘What do you mean you’re done?’ he asked as fear of losing you threatened his being. You mean everything to him and just the very thought of losing you and him being the very reason you were gone… it opened a holocaust in his mind.

‘This conversation, I am done. I’m ending it before either of us say something or does more damage that there already is’ you yield, busying yourself with tidying up the files you had splayed out all over the floor.

Relief flooded his senses before guilt quickly bore fruit.

He watched as you packed up your work and strode out of the room. It took him a minute, but he followed you out and once he finally reached the living room, he met the sight of you slipping on your trainers and throwing your gadgets, wallet and keys in your bag before moving to the door and slamming it shut.

He stood frozen in the threshold of the hall as he processed what happened. All he wanted was to keep you safe. Never did he think that things would go this bad.

You stormed out of the flat and went to the compound for the briefing you had with Bucky. It was scheduled for tomorrow, but you just could not stay in the flat, not with him, not at the moment. You needed a cool head and quite frankly, yours was blazing.

You called Barnes to reschedule, which he agreed to but before he could ask why, you had already hung up. You needed to calm down, seriously.

You took a scenic route around the city before heading to the facility. You parked at the car park and turned off the vehicle before you let your head fall on the steering wheel. Loki’s’ words really stung but in his own way, you knew he meant well. He loved you but it felt demeaning to be confined to one place or to be babied. You are a grown woman; this disease may affect you in some way but you wouldn’t let it define and control your life like its slowly doing to Loki.

You took your phone to look at the time and was greeted with lock screen background of you and Loki cuddling, fast asleep. Someone from the team took the picture to spite Loki but you found it adorable and set it on your phone. It brought a small grin to your lips until you got a message from Barnes saying which conference room was being used for the quick briefing. You sighed, taking your bag before exiting the car and heading in the building.

The briefing was quick. Only about the layout of the base, where to go and what to take. You were in and out in possibly ten minutes, but you longed for it to be longer. You didn’t want to go home yet so you stayed for a chat with the others, talking to Wanda about her relationship, discussing with Bruce the project he was working on before you went and left with a goodbye, heading for the shops for dinner prep and a bit of groceries, taking your time in each aisle to pass the minute until you really had to go home.

Loki had texted Thor after you left, asking if you were at the compound. It took a bit for his brother to respond but eventually he replied with ‘Barnes says she’s on her way for a meeting’. He felt relieved to at least know where you are, knowing you were safe and not alone somewhere. 

Hours passed until he heard your keys on the front door, the metal snake keychain giving a distinct clink with the rest of your keys. He looked to the door from where he sat on the living room, watching as you trudged in the brown bags of groceries. You kicked the door closed and placed the bags in the kitchen bench, never sparing him a look. He could sense that you didn’t want to be around him, he could always sense it. He’s had years of experience with being ignored nor wanted. He knew when to take his leave, so he left for the bedroom, never sparing you a sound of his departure.

You saw Loki on the chaise when you walked in. You blatantly ignored him, but he was on the couch. The only indication you got that he left was when you heard the bedroom door close. You were fixing everything you had bought to the cupboards and the pantry when you just heard the soft click of the door closing. You felt bad with how distant you two were being but what stung more is that he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as you that he had to leave. You wanted to make things right. You were thinking of things to say as you put away the vegetables, but he seemed to want the opposite.

You put everything away and started making supper, finishing an hour or two later. Loki still hasn’t left the bedroom, though you did hear the shower run a few minutes prior, so you ate by yourself, wallowing in your thoughts about the mission and Loki.

Your bowl was half gone when he emerged from the room and moved to where you were eating on the table. You had prepared him a bowl, which now sat at the other end of the table. You weren’t talking to each other, but you still care and love him. The soup had gone a bit cold, but it was there, and he sat and ate it anyways.

Both of you stayed silent, neither breaking the silence as the tension grew thick. You quickly finished the rest of your meal before standing abruptly to start cleaning up. You let the bowl rinse and soak in the sink while you stored the leftovers in a container and to the fridge. You had put more than enough on his bowl, so you were sure he wouldn’t be asking for seconds. You quickly washed the dishes whilst he ate while reading his book. He was nearly done when you left the kitchen and proceeded to the bathroom.

He let out a sigh and dropped his book when he heard the shower running. He has been staring at the very same paragraph over and over but not once has he actually paid attention to the text let alone understood it. He was hoping to break the ice between you two, but he froze, missing his chance.

He rinsed his own dish and made sure everything was good and locked up before he went back to the bedroom, preparing to go to bed.

You came out a few minutes later, steam billowing from the ensuite and following you. Your hair was wrapped up in a towel, your body clad in the oversized jumper you adored, with a nightie underneath. You still refused to acknowledge him as you made your way to the closet, grabbing a spare comforter.

This got Loki’s attention and was what broke the silence of the room, really the silence you have both established since the argument earlier.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he stopped fluffing the pillow in his hold. Your pillow.

‘I have a few case files to read and paperwork to do so… I’m staying in the living room’ you stated, hardly with any emotion, tugging at the comforter from the top shelf.

‘And the need for a blanket?’ he questioned again, looking over your well bundled figure. The sweater you had was thick and big enough to cover your legs if you were truly that cold, he knew that and the fact that you only use blankets whenever you were going to sleep.

‘It’s likely I’ll fall asleep on the couch so I’m preparing for the inevitable. To put it bluntly, I’m sleeping on the couch’ you say, finally turning around to see him holding your pillow before you moved to leave the room.

All Loki could do was nod, clenching his jaw as his hands dropped your pillow and watch as you left the room. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t will his lips to move in protest and just accepted what was going to happen. He didn’t want to force you seeing how that went earlier, so he let it… you, go do what you wish. He didn’t want to lose you and he’d do anything and everything to avoid that.

He got cleaned up in the bathroom before he went to bed. He couldn’t sleep and for hours he’s spent it staring up at the ceiling. Once he'd learned to sleep with you by his side, it was harder now to do so without you and the lingering thoughts of your fight earlier kept him company.

It took a while before the fatigue finally succumbed to him, his mind too tired to do anything that it finally forfeited and let him rest.

You on the other hand, haven’t slept at all. Not a wink of it. You spent a bit writing up some reports and looking over at some case files but after you found that you couldn’t focus, you packed everything up and tried to get some sleep. Tried. You really did but as tired as your body was, your mind worked wonders in keeping you up.

The fight you had was your fore thought, mainly the look in Loki’s eyes when you said you weren’t sleeping in the same room as him. He always tried to look impassive in front of others but with you, his eyes held so many expressions of love and adoration, you saw none of that as he held your pillow.

You felt bad leaving him alone. The gesture alone of fixing your side of the bed was heart-warming, that it made you feel like a monster when you saw the look he gave you. Of absolute disappointment? It wasn’t the right word, but you felt like you took the one good thing he had and crushed it in front of him.

You tried to stave off such thoughts, thinking of your task for tomorrow and such but it wasn’t any use. Your mind was going miles per minute, and you just couldn’t keep up. You stayed on the couch for hours, laying on the furniture as your eyes stayed transfixed on a spiderweb on the ceiling. You grew restless overtime so the idea of making tea came to mind.

You thought it a good idea for a cup to help you, so you finally got up. You took the towel you used from the coffee table and hung it on a chair as you turned the kettle on. You grabbed a cup from the drying rack and dropped the bag of chamomile you got from the jar, as you waited for the water to boil.

It was then you heard a whimper. It came fast and low, you were beginning to think that you imagined it when you heard it again. You left the cup sitting on the counter as you went to investigate, looking all around the open space of the flat until it finally registered to you that it was coming from the bedroom.

Loki…

Fast steps quickly took you to the door of the room, which was left open and from where you stood, you heard his cries clearly. The room, gloomy when you entered had scarcely any light. The only source came from the dim lighting from the hall and the sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains, but it was enough to help you at least see figures.

You moved to the general area of where the bed was and there you saw his figure, trembling slightly. From what you saw as your eyes further adjusted to the darkness, he laid on his side, his shirt damp with sweat, his face glistening and his hair sticking all over his neck and cheeks. He had a pillow in his hold, his head buried in the cushion, but the muffled whines and whimpers still persisted to reach your ears. It was your pillow.

It had been a long while since these terrible nightmares have plagued his nights. The last was far too long ago you hardly remembered it anymore. You remember how he once told you about it having something to do with you sleeping by his side. That something about you just calmed him and made his mind come to a peaceful state. The guilt you felt increased tenfold as the regret of leaving him alone ate you alive. You didn’t… you don’t… you couldn’t have imagined how much you had helped him without even realizing and now leaving him to his own devices… you felt like a pompous prick.

You sped to his side, whispering his name in hopes to arouse him but it proved to be futile.

You sat beside him, turning to the side to face figure. A finger reached to tuck the damp locks behinds his ears as you whispered his name again, hoping to get through his thoughts but it still wasn’t working. Your hands moved to cradle the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek in hopes to stir him as you continued to say his name.

‘Loki’ you said softly, knowing using any other tone or pitch would only frighten him further. You moved your head next to his, your body twisted in an awkward position, but you couldn’t care less. You continued to whisper his name close to his ear, your thumbs caressing those sharp angled cheeks until he finally stirred.

You felt it. That light shake of his head as he finally starts rouse, as if shaking off fatigue and merciless thoughts that haunted his mind. You pulled away a bit to see him properly, wiping the beads of sweat that coated most of his forehead with the sleeve of your jumper as your other hand continued their gentle caress on his cheeks. He had a furrow that pulled his brows together and normally you would have found it adorable but right now you only hoped to remove it.

He blinked slowly, gathering his bearings to check if he was truly out of the agonizing torment his mind had conjured. He was losing you. It was scene after scene of ways he loses you and all of it was his fault. From you leaving him after an argument, to the image of the mad titan snapping your neck in his grasp as he watched. Each scenario broke him in every way, and he just couldn’t bare it.

The sight was still fresh in his mind as he finally started to ebb away from the drowse of sleep. Then as panic set him as he realized and processed what had happened, he didn’t notice the soft whisper of his name or the caress of your delicate fingers. He was on the verge of complete panic, tears welling up his eyes when he felt it. You.

Your voice. You touch. Your scent. Everything. It all enveloped him to the point It became overwhelming, but he wanted it. To suffocate in everything you, to banish those horrid thoughts away.

‘y/n?’ he whispered meekly, still questioning whether he was still in the throughs of his nightmare.

‘I’m here, It’s okay. It’s just a nightmare’ you replied as tears started to pour from his eyes and cascade down his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry, p-please don’t leave me’ he heaved, his voice shaking with every word, it broke your heart to hear him so broken. His arms moved to wrap around you, having a tight hold on your waist, leaving the pillow, as he wept.

You could only do so much to keep your own tears at bay, but you managed to stay strong. Your fingers wiped much of the tears, but they only continued to flow so you pulled him in to hide in the crook of your neck.

‘Shhh darling. It’s alright, I’m here, I promise’ you said in his ear, knowing his cries would only muffle his hearing. He cried and cried, apologizing just as much in between but you still dismissed every single one.

‘Shhhh, you’re okay darling. It’s only a nightmare, it’s alright’ you moved your body to lay on the bed fully, settling beside him comfortably as you held him tight. Your fingers weaved through his obsidian locks, scratching his scalp in hopes to console and comfort him in anyway as he continued to heave on the crook of your neck.

It broke your heart to see him like this. Frightened to the bone like a little boy, shivering as if dunk in the oceans of the arctic. All those years of suffering topped his insecurities and the lack assurance and consoling care throughout most of his life… of course he was afraid. Of the possibilities this life held. He’d seen the worst parts of it, of course id be difficult to peer outside that little protective box he hid in. And your argument certainly didn’t help matters.

He cried for a while and you let him. Bare his vulnerability to you and it was your honour to be shown this fragile part of him. You’d treasure the trust he had in you, to keep him safe in times like these. You wouldn’t let anything happen to him, especially like this. You love him too much.

He calmed down after a little while, still letting out soft sniffs and whimpers every once and a while, but he had calmed down. You placed a soft kiss on his temple, an assurance of sorts before pulling back to face him but his grip only tightened, a whine escaping his lips as he hid himself further in the safety of your hair.

He didn’t want you to pull away for fear of you having enough of him, but he wouldn’t have it. He couldn’t.

You hushed him softly, running a hand through his inky locks and caressing his scalp, assuring him you weren’t going anywhere and only meant to talk to him. He was reluctant but he gave in, nodding the slightest bit before pulling away to face you.

His face was red, eyes bloodshot and puffy around the eyelids, looking down and anywhere but at you. Streaks of tears, dry and fresh cascaded down his sharp features, causing his unruly hair to stick. The look he gave you completely broke your heart, rendering it to mush whilst he had the decency to look so heartbroken.

You kept your composure as a finger swiped a way those stray locks, tucking it behind his ear before he nuzzled in the warms of your palm. Your thumb glided along the prominent angle of his zygoma, brushing away whatever moisture was left until you tilted his head up, by the chin, to look at you. His beautiful emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears however he still won’t look you in the eyes.

‘Loki’ his name came off your lips in a soft whisper, finally grabbing his attention. Now that you finally had it though, all words seem to have left you, your thoughts drawing blank. A sigh left your lips as you let your head drop to his, your foreheads pressed together as you closed your eyes.

‘I’m sorry’ you said blankly, your hand rising to come through his locks and to scratch his scalp. Whether it was for his comfort or your distraction, you wouldn’t know.

He shook his head, dismissing your apology. Half of him didn’t know what you were apologizing for yet the other had an idea as to what, and even if it truly was what you were thinking, he knew that it was his fault.

‘No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have treated you as such, but please darling, forgive me. I cannot lose you, please. Don’t… don’t leave me’ he practically begged. He really couldn’t lose you. He just wouldn’t know what to do if he did, but he just knows he won’t survive it.

‘No, I must apologize’ you argued, continuing on before he could cut you off ‘My actions weren’t acceptable, but Loki… We cannot keep going on like this. I am my own person, I refuse to told what to do, let alone what I can’t. I refuse to be caged in the four walls of this flat like some treasured bird, I’m not. I will not be restrained. By some illness nor God or man. This won’t work if that is what you want’.

‘I know, I know. I-It’s not, It’s not what I want. I’m sorry but darling, I just can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t survive it. Please, I won’t do it again, just please don’t leave me.’ He sobbed, dropping his head back down the crook of your neck and he held you in a tight embrace. You understood what he meant; you don’t think you could survive losing him too.

‘I won’t. I’m not leaving you. I would never. I'm staying’ You affirmed. You really wouldn’t, but you won’t stand being coddled to the brim.

You held on to each other tightly for a while. Just letting the others presence calm one another. Loki hidden in the arch of your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist, while you laid your head on top of his, a hand mindlessly raking trough his gorgeous locks. It proved to be comforting for the both of you, evidently.

‘I only meant to protect you’ he mumbled with a sniff out of nowhere.

‘I understand, my love. And the best I could do is promise to be safe and extra careful. I won’t take too risky missions if that gives you a peace of mind.’ You offered. You knew he only meant well and cared for your safety. You love your job but often times, it was too dangerous, even for your standards after everything. Taking fewer and safer missions wasn’t a problem. As long as you had worked to do that involved helping people, you were satisfied.

You felt him nod his head lightly at the suggestion, causing a soft smile to bloom from your lips before placing a soft kiss on the crown of his head. You didn’t see it but a small smile curved his lips as well at the feel of your lips on his skin. The touch starved part of him relishing in these small moments of affection like treasure.

Your free hand moved to caress his back when you felt how damp the fabric of his top was. The sweat he had worked up earlier still hasn’t dried and you knew how uncomfortable he would get bathing in the slightest bit of dirt, hence why you thought of getting him cleaned.

You place another kiss on his cheek before attempting to untangle yourself from him. The events of the nights had taxed the god, but you wanted to get him at least a bit clean before he fully dozed off however, as you tried to get off his loving embrace, his grip only tightened, his droopy eyes opening wide to see the commotion. 

‘Shhh, It’s alright. I just have to head out to the kitchen to check something and I promise, I will be right back my love’ you said softly to his ear, hoping his drowse would keep. He gave a tired huff before reluctantly setting you free. Your grin only grew wider, and you place a quick peck on his lips before you scrambled off the bed.

You quickly checked the kitchen to see if the kettle hadn’t burned and once assured, you left it as it was and headed to the loo to get what was needed. You took a small towel from the cupboard bellow the sink and ran it under the water to get it wet. Once it was fully soaked, you wrang the excess water from the towel and quickly grabbed a spare shirt from the wardrobe before going back to the bedroom.

The darling god had his eyes closed with your pillow once again tight in his grasp. This time, the sight made you smile. At how adorable he looked, face squashed on the cushion. You could tell how exhausted he was though, so you made haste in getting him set for night’s (hopefully) peaceful rest.

You sat beside him on the bed, the shifting of the mattress making him dare open an eye just as you were about to rouse him. He gave you that small charming smile of his when he saw you and your hand moved to cup his cheek, letting the pad of your thumb caress his now dried cheeks.

‘Can you sit up for me, luv’ you asked, leaning down to his ear. He gave you a faint nod before you sat back and helped him up. The fatigue was really getting on to him as he laid his head on your shoulder, so you made sure to finish as soon as possible to finally let him have a good night’s rest.

You gathered his hair into a pony with one hand and held it away, while the other wiped the damp cloth on the back of his neck. He flinched at the contact, having been spared a warning, you promptly apologized and moved as quickly as you could.

You wiped his face with great care, before you pulled his shirt off and threw it on the nightstand, to be put on the hamper after you were done. You wiped him all over until you deemed it enough and gave him the spare shirt. He put it on and just before you could leave the bed again, he took your hand. He gave you a pleading look that spoke volumes, and how could you resist when he gave you those doe eyes.

You gave him a soft smile, leaving the little towel beside the shirt and made your way to your spot on the bed. You got comfortable before you looked at him, staring at you with great fondness, it made you bashful yet you still opened your arms, welcoming him in to be held, which with great eager, he accepted. He laid beside you, wrapping his arms around your torso as he inhaled the scent of your hair, a welcome comfort after the course of the night.

You pulled the covers up to cover you both, but the feel of his soft lips just made you forget about everything but him, making you snuggle closer in his hold.

He had his head laid on the top of yours, his arms tied around you and your legs intertwined. An arm of yours cradled the back of his head, tangling to the roots of his inky locks while the other drew abstracts on his back. You held each other, never saying a word yet the silence was finally comfortable. A tranquil state you two could once again relish.

The silence however gave your mind room to intrude the peace, thinking of how things got to this point. From the argument, to the dismiss of each other’s presence and up until the confession after the dreadful nightmare, you admit that parts of how this ended up being the conclusion of the day, was your fault. Yes, Loki had his own mistakes in the matter, but you could have taken a point and fixed it. Why didn’t you get a grip and made the effort to make things better.  You shouldn’t ha…

A deep sigh broke you out of your trance. A squeeze, you felt you were given as arms around waist tightened and you were pulled impossibly closer to the mass holding you.

‘I can hear your gears turning, darling’ Loki mumbled, followed by a small chuckle, breaking the deafening comfort of silence. The sound was well welcomed after the tension of the day.

‘Sorry, luv. Go back to sleep’ you reply, scratching his scalp. He hummed in response, a smile pressing against your hair before a quick peck was planted on the top of your head. You grinned, closing your eyes, hoping to finally get consumed by the black oblivion that was rest.

The gentle caress on your arm helped, lulling you to a peaceful state of mind. Loki knew what helped you too.

Eventually the night drew on, painting the dark skies with stars as the two held each other, succumbing to blissful state of peace promised by slumber.

The night was a lesson for the two. To understand the other, to work out their problems and to never go to bed angry.

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry for the late update! Life has been crazy for me the past couple weeks but I hope that I can get back to writing more regularly. This chapter is the well-awaited Eddie pov, as well as a ton of backstory for him that I didn’t really plan on but it just kinda came out. This chapter is kinda rushed, I’m gonna be honest, but I wanted to get it out to you guys as soon as possible since its been awhile. There are gonna be some major warnings here so I’ll post them below. Take care of yourselves and stay safe, now enjoy!

Tw: homophobia, homophobic language, child abuse, domestic violence, referenced drug use, Eddie being incredibly gay

———

It’s a muggy Sunday morning, the summer sun burning through the last vestiges of chilled night air and frosted dewdrops as it rises from its slumber. Like the sun, Eddie rises as well. However, it’s with much less fanfare and grace due to the obnoxious pounding at his front door.

He groans dramatically, shoving his face in his pillow and willing whoever the fuck decided to bother him at—he glances at his alarm clock on the other side of the room, squinting to read the numbers—nine in the morning to go away. His wish must have pissed off some universal god because the knocking only gets louder, making the window above his desk rattle with every shake of the door.

With a sigh big enough to rival the windy intro of “Holy Diver”, he pulls himself to the door in a zombie-like state. Movements sluggish from his interrupted sleep, he misses the doorknob twice before finally turning it, throwing it open with newfound strength to find one Robin Buckley in all her glory. Her fist is raised and ready to knock again, her face the epitome of righteous fury as she glares at him.

“Uh, hey Buck. Whatcha doi—“ he begins, only to be interrupted by Robin shoving past him and barging into the trailer. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling on his hair slightly before shutting the door.

Kids and their manners nowadays.

“Yeah, sure, come on in. Totally fine. I wasn’t sleeping or anything, noooo,” he says to himself before turning to face his intruder. Whatever Buckley is upset about seems serious, and from the icy look she’s giving him it also seems like it’s his fault. Her hands are on her hips like she’s in a Steve Harrington impersonation contest and plans on taking home a first place prize. Something in him squirms at the thought.

But, he is nothing if not a performer. So, of course, he puts on a show.

“Lady Buckley,” he declares in a posh British accent, bowing deeply with a flourish on his arm. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine morning?”

He’s expecting a fond eye roll, or a laugh, or huff, or something. He gets silence.

“Cut the bullshit, Eddie. We need to talk about Steve,” she demands.

Steve… Now isn’t that an interesting subject?

Now, Eddie has always been different. He was loud, and jumpy, and fidgety, and the other kids never wanted to be friends with him because they were scared. He was always covered in dirt, always barefoot because he either forgot to put on shoes or the ones he had were too small for his ever-changing feet. He would talk to himself, mutter little reminders under his breath or work through the questions plaguing his mind aloud because he just functioned better that way.

Then, at eleven, he found out just how different he really was. He was outside during recess when he fell off the monkey bars and scraped his hands and knees. He huddled on the ground, tears falling down his small cheeks because it hurt and his wounds felt like they were throbbing. Then a boy, James, ran up to him and asked him if he was okay. James had stark blond hair, a face full of freckles, and bright green eyes. He looked so concerned for Eddie, and was gentle when he picked up one of his hands to inspect the cuts littered there. It was that gentle touch that elicited a flutter of butterflies in his stomach, and ever since then Eddie knew.

When he had gotten home to the trailer that day, he felt confused. Other people in his class were constantly talking about who they “liked”; boys liking girls and girls liking boys. About how they would get all nervous around their crushes, and Eddie realized he had never felt that before. All of the girls in his class were just… girls to him. They never gave him that fluttery feeling James had. But… no one ever talked about boys liking boys. No one ever said if it was okay, so Eddie thought it must not be. That boys liking boys wasn’t okay. That he wasn’t okay.

It took awhile, but he finally confessed to Wayne that he liked boys, that he got all the little butterflies that boys were supposed to get about girls. Wayne shook his head and told him that he could feel butterflies for anyone he pleased, as long as they made him happy. They both cried that night, and ended up in a hug so tight they nearly fused together.

Since then, Eddie’s come to accept the fact that he’s gay. Has added it to his whole anti-conformist persona, even. So when high school hit he let himself finally be free. He joined Hellfire club, made friends with the upperclassmen who ran it, and learned all the intricacies of D&D that he never imagined he would. After two years, he met Gareth and Jeff who joined Hellfire much in the way he did. Then, Grant joined halfway through Eddie’s junior year and he quickly recruited him as well. He found his friends, his people, and he finally let himself be himself around them.

He told them he was gay after a long session of lazily practicing in Gareth’s garage and smoking, the weed having loosened both his limbs and his lips. They were all extremely chill with it, even after the weed had worn off. That, however, didn’t exempt them from making fun of him though.

Eddie was loitering in the hallway after school, waiting on Gareth to finish up a quiz he missed the week prior, when none other than Steve Harrington walked out of the pool room in nothing but those little speedos that leave zero to the imagination. Seriously, all those girls were right, holy shit. After he picked his jaw up off the floor, he noticed Steve was looking at him with that adorable little confused puppy look before a god damned smirk fell across his face. Eddie’s face, he knew, had to rival that of a Victorian nobleman fawning over a sliver of pale skin shown by a lady across the room with her face hidden by an elaborate fan because he was literally drooling for the man in front of him.

It got considerably worse when Steve leaned down to drink from a nearby water fountain, making Eddie’s mouth go completely dry with this blatant offering of ass right in his face. In hindsight, it might not have been an offering, per say, but it was definitely there and Eddie was definitely staring. So it really wasn’t a surprise that he jumped when Gareth tapped his shoulder, Eddie having not heard him come up behind him, and he turned on his heel so fast he’s surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Dude, you good?” Gareth asked. Eddie opened his mouth, squeaked out, “I’m fine” and immediately felt his face go up in flames. Gareth glanced over Eddie’s shoulder and he could see in slow motion the series of thoughts that crossed his mind. Gareth went from concerned to confused to understanding to smug so fast it was almost comical. When their eyes met, Eddie’s went wide.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” he hissed, and the smug look only intensified.

Once they got to his van, Gareth immediately rounded on him.

“Seriously? Steve Harrington?” Gareth teased. “Of all people, it had to be that douche?”

Eddie groaned and clenched his eyes shut. “I know, Garebear, now shut up before I push you out of the van.”

Of course, news about his little crush spread around his friend group like wildfire, and soon enough he was being teased by them relentlessly. Eddie knew his crush wouldn’t get very far, Steve was very clearly straight and in a happy relationship with Nancy Wheeler of all people. Still, Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about that smirk.

Just as his crush began to fade away, Steve showed up to school with a busted face and eye bags deep enough to rival shitty vampire Halloween make-up from a toddlers costume contest. Feelings came rushing back, the intense need to protect, to find out what happened and get justice for that pretty face.

Then it kept happening, and Steve showed up to school with a beat up face yet again. However, judging by his stumbling and droopy eyes, it came with a concussion this time. Just when Eddie was trying to figure out who did it, Billy Hargrove came stalking through the empty halls and all attention was focused on his scabbed knuckles. On the hungry glare he sent Steve’s way. On the way Steve shrank back a little on instinct.

And Eddie… Eddie just couldn’t leave well enough alone, now could he?

He walked up to Steve, brows furrowed. “Harrington?”

Harrington didn’t turn, eyes still focused on the spot where Billy had been before. Eddie tapped his shoulder. “Steve?”

He jumped that time, like Eddie had actually hit him, and spun to face him. Up close, his face looked a hell of a lot worse and Eddie had to suppress a wince just looking at him. Steve looked at him confused, though it was hard to tell between the swelling and assortment of bandages on his face.

“…Munson?” Steve began. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up.”

He said it flippantly, with a wave of his hand towards his left ear like that explained everything. It didn’t, but Eddie felt like it wasn’t his place to push.

“You good, man? You look like you got in a fight with a dump truck and lost,” Eddie said. “Badly.”

He expected Steve to scoff and roll his eyes, push past him and hit his shoulder too hard to be an accident. He expected him to spit some barb and walk away, to leave Eddie there in the hallway alone. None of that happened, though.

Instead, Steve smiled. A little self-deprecating, but a smile nonetheless. He huffed a laugh.

“Make it a supercharged dump truck and you’ve got it right,” Steve joked at his own expense. It resulted in a shocked laugh bursting from Eddie’s lips, which he immediately stopped by smacking a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away. “That’s not funny. I mean… your joke was, just not,”—he gestured to Steve’s… everything—“this.”

“It’s okay man, I know what you meant,” Steve said sincerely and Eddie doubted why he was ever called King Steve. The person who stood in front of him was the furthest thing from what those jocks supposedly worshiped that Eddie had to hide another bubble of laughter.

“Seriously, dude, did you even go to a doctor?” Eddie asked, and at Steve’s wince he knew the answer. He rolled his eyes and slung an arm around his shoulders, careful not to land too hard in case he was bruised there too, and led him down the hallway towards the nurse’s station.

“Uh,” Steve began. “Where are we going?”

“The nurse,” he explained. “Figured a look wouldn’t hurt, right?”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed a little under his arm, and Eddie decided to focus on him during their walk down the empty hallway. He noticed the way his hair bounced a little with every step, how a couple strands were threatening to fall from their perfectly coiffed positions. He noticed his moles and freckles, how he had a smattering of faint ones all over his face from time in the sun. He noticed how his nose was a little crooked now, with a bump on the bridge that wasn’t there before the weekend. He noticed how pretty his eyes were, with at least three different shades of brown all swirled together like melted chocolate with flecks of forest green nestled in the folds.

He noticed that Steve was looking at him.

They had come to a stop in front of the nurse, yet Eddie’s arm was still over his shoulders. He quickly retracted it, but Steve didn’t move away and neither did he.

“Well, this is your stop,” Eddie nearly whispered out. Steve smiled, just a small quirk of his lips, and his eyes flitted across Eddie’s face.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he started. Steve took a step backwards toward the station and did a little wave with his fingers that had no right being as endearing as it was. “See you around.”

With that, he disappeared behind the thick mahogany door and Eddie was left there alone, face full of flames and smiling like he was in fucking love with the guy.

Fuck, maybe he was a little bit in love with the guy.

That feeling didn’t waver, not even after seeing him in a skimpy sailor uniform as he scooped overpriced ice cream for toddlers in the Mall. Or, when he was pinning him to the rickety wall of the boathouse he was hiding in after seeing Chrissy murdered in front of him by some freaky wizard from an alternate dimension with a broken bottle to his beautifully freckled throat.

That feeling greatly intensified when he saw Steve take an honest to god bite out of a demonic bat and spit the flesh and blood out on the dried lakebed in the previously mentioned alternate dimension.

And, really, you can’t blame him for falling all the way when he found out exactly who dragged his half-dead body out of hell and saved his life.

So yeah, Steve was a very interesting subject indeed.

“Is… Is he okay?” Eddie questions as he straightens from his hunched position, head tilting to the side and making his bangs fall in his eyes. Robin throws her hands up with a mighty huff and a frustrated groan.

“Obviously not!” She exclaims. She starts pacing around his living room, back and forth in front of the coffee table. “He’s obviously not okay because you’ve been avoiding him and making him feel like shit for months and I’m actually really worried about him ‘cause he’s been doing stupid shit that can get him killed and I don’t know how much longer he can go on like this before it completely ruins him.”

As Robin rambles, her face turns a bright shade of pink. She finishes her speech, sucking in a deep breath as if she ran out of air. Eddie’s brows furrow.

“I haven’t been avoiding Steve,” he defends weakly. He hasn’t, not really. He just… he doesn’t want to get hurt.

Okay yes, Eddie is practically in love with the guy, but that doesn’t mean Steve feels the same about him. They’re friends, that’s it. Steve is going to find some beautiful girl and get married and have the houseful of kids he’s always wanted and Eddie will be here, still pining from afar. He knows it would be easier to just forget about him, and forget about the feelings clutching his heart like a starved hawk with its first fulfilling catch in months. That’s why he’s been slowly letting go over the past few weeks, trying—and failing—to get that stupid pretty boy out of his head. Of course, it’s not working, and every day he spends not talking to Steve feels like hell.

So no, he’s not avoiding Steve. He just doesn’t think he could survive it if he confesses and Steve rejects him completely. Staying away means he won’t accidentally reveal his feelings for the man, and judging by how much he’s feeling, it wouldn’t be very hard for that scraggly cat to come clawing and screeching out of the proverbial bag.

Robin, however, thinks the opposite because according to the look she’s giving him, she says he absolutely fucking has.

Eddie sighs. “Okay, maybe I have just a little bit but it’s not—“

Eddie freezes, stomach plummeting as Robin's rambling words take purchase in his mind. She said Steve was doing something stupid, something that could kill him. Flashes of a night now a distant memory play in his mind, one filled with panicked breaths, stilted tears, and a bloody bat with nails.

“Robin… What do you mean by ‘stupid shit’?” Eddie asks tentatively. Part of him wants to know the answer, while part of him fears the idea of ever finding out. Robin only gives him a confused look and crosses her arms.

“Eddie, that’s totally not the point of this conversation and you know it—“ Eddie cuts her off by waving his hands.

“Robin! Just…” he trails off. Should he tell her about Steve? He promised he wouldn’t but…

“Okay, I have to tell you something about Steve but please please don’t tell him I told you because I promised him I wouldn’t but if you also know something about him then I think you should know about this too,” he rushes out, words tumbling fast out of his mouth as his lungs scream for air. Robin’s icy glare has melted a bit, turning into one of anxiety and caution.

He sighs and flops down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks down at his hands. He feels more than sees Robin sit next to him and he knows he has her attention.

“What happened, Eddie?” She prompts, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I had a visit from Steve awhile back, around four or five days ago,” he begins. “It was early in the morning and I couldn’t sleep so I was writing notes for a new campaign idea in the living room. I could feel that something was… off, so I looked out the window and there he was.”

He ran a hand over his face, pushing his bangs back and pulling on the ends. He glances over at Robin to find her looking at him. He squeezes his eyes closed for a moment before looking back at her.

“He wasn’t all there, Robin. Like… like he was trapped in his mind or something. I thought,” he huffs a deprecating laugh, “for a moment there, I thought he was cursed.”

He doesn’t mention that the image found its way in his head and can’t seem to find its way out, like a stubborn housefly who keeps banging against the glass hoping to be freed. The thought of Steve floating—eyes rolled back in his head while his lids flutter and his limbs shudder and break one by one—has kept him awake on more nights than he can count. The thought of him being subjected to his worst nightmares given life, all the lies that he tells himself turned to truth. The thought of Eddie being completely helpless, watching him die in agony in front of him.

He doesn’t mention that every night since then, he’s called Steve. He needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay. To know he was alive. He never got a call back.

“I got him to come inside but he didn’t stay long. Something spooked him, I think, I just… I don’t know, it was really weird. Like…” he trails off, unable to find the words.

“Like he was in fight or flight mode?” Robin suggests, and he nods.

“Pure instinct.”

Robin groans. “Shit, this is worse than I thought.”

“Wait, did he tell you?” He asks. Steve was so insistent on Eddie not telling her—made him promise, in fact—so why…?

“Well… after a very long, very emotional, and very vulnerable conversation, yes. He told me on his own terms though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she supplies. “He… He didn’t tell me a ton of details, though. Not… Not like that.”

There’s a pause as Robin clenches her eyes closed and looks away from him.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” her voice comes out just barely above a whisper, something he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t right next to her. Eddie stays silent, unwilling to break the solemn mood. Robin, however, misses that message entirely as she smacks his arm.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me, doofus?!” She accuses, giving him a half-hearted glare that is no less threatening. Eddie holds his hands up in surrender, unable to hide the exasperated look on his face.

“He made me promise!!” Eddie defends. “Plus he gave me those damn puppy dog eyes and I couldn’t say no.”

“He is really good at that, especially when he wants something. He says he has no clue but I bet you he does,” Robin whispers, almost conspiratory as if they’re sharing a terrible secret. Eddie can’t help but smile and shake his head. Screw Harrington and his stupid pretty eyes.

“Did he say anything else while he was here?” Robin asks after a moment of silence.

“No, that was the only thing he said really, other than an absent ‘I’m fine’ before he bolted out the door. It was a very uh… one-sided conversation,” Eddie explains. “He mostly gave only one or two word answers before he panicked and ran.”

“I’m gonna assume he didn’t tell you why he left?” She asks, and at the shake of his head she curses. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Robin shifts beside him, raising her hand to mindlessly chew on her thumbnail. He thinks the conversation is over. Or, rather, wishes it were over.

That universal god must really hate Eddie today because Robin roughly shakes her head and waves her hands around, letting out a huff.

“Okay, one problem at a time. That was totally not the point of this little talk and you know it, Munson,” she admonishes. “Why. Are. You. Avoiding. Steve?”

She punctuates each word with a, quite literal, punch to the arm. Eddie reels back, dramatically clutching his bruised arm and gives her a fake glare.

“Ow!!” He rubs his arm. For her incredibly bony arms, she really can pack a punch. He’s only half joking that it hurts.

“Answer the question!”

“Fine fine…” he takes a deep breath, knee bouncing with building anxiety before he stands up, unable to quell the urge to move. He paces twice in front of the coffee table before he has the nerve to look at her waiting gaze.

“So, as you know, I am a raging homosexual,” he states, and at his pause, she nods. “And I miiiiiight have a teeny weeny, itsy bitsy, enormous crush on him.”

The end of his sentence is rushed out, words jumbled together as he screws his eyes closed and waits for… whatever Robin’s response is going to be. He waits for five seconds. Then ten. Then twenty-five because yes he’s counting. If he knows one thing about Robin Buckley it’s that she doesn’t know when to stop talking so silence is a very rare occurrence for her and now its been a whole minute and something must be wrong so he opens his eyes to find her—

The only word that even remotely comes close to encompassing the expression on her face is seething.

He instinctively takes a step back.

“Edward Lee Munson you better explain yourself right fucking now or I swear to every god out there that I will rip out your spleen and feed it to the neighborhood dogs before you take a step out that door,” Robin all but growls out, eyes icy and cold as they stare through him. He’s quick to explain because he really quite values his spleen, thank you very much.

“Okay, okay, geez I get it! Fine,” he huffs. “I’ve been avoiding Steve because it’s hard to be around him.”

Robin only raises an eyebrow. Eddie groans. He really wishes he didn’t have to explain his big, fat, gay love this early in the morning.

“It’s hard because he’s so…. So Steve all the time. He’s so kind and caring and hot— god, Birdie, he’s so fucking hot—“

“Okay, yeah, I didn’t need to know that,” Robin interrupts.

“Sorry,” he says, a bit sheepish. “Every little smile he gives me feels like a swarm of butterflies are fighting horde-style to get out of my stomach. I just…

“I think I’m in love with him,” Eddie confesses. The way her eyes blow wide is comical, and he’s half expecting them to pop and burst like they do in cartoons.

“But I know better,” he gives her a sad smile. “I know that I’m not special, he doesn’t mean it like that. Like I want it to. And…. And I know he never will.

“I thought that distancing myself would make the feelings go away, make it… I don’t know, hurt less? But not seeing Steve at all… fuck, it hurts worse than dying and I know what that feels like. Now I don’t even have him as a friend,” he scoffs at himself, shakes his head a little and focuses on a framed picture of him, Steve, Robin, and Dustin from graduation on the wall. Focuses on how Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders, hand gripping his upper arm as he smiles shyly at the camera. How Eddie himself is leaning into his side, tucked under his arm as if he belongs there. As if he’ll ever belong there. He looks back at Robin.

“But this is what’s best. I can’t have my stupid heart feeling things my brain knows it shouldn’t,” Eddie ends his little speech by flopping back down on the couch. Part of him regrets telling her, but another small, itty bitty part is almost grateful.

Eddie’s always had a way of caring too much, even from a young age. Wayne could tell you better than anyone that Eddie has always had a soft side. He could tell you that Eddie refused to let him kill any of the bugs that got into the trailer when the weather turned cold and insisted that they be put outside under the trailer where it was at least a little warmer. He could tell you that every time Eddie would see another person cry, he would too.

He’s just always been like that, so carrying this around with him everyday? It was becoming too much to bear, having to put on a face around everyone so no one could tell. So no one could see how it was breaking him inside. Wearing him down to the bone. Slowly, slowly killing him.

Robin sighs beside him and he had almost forgotten she was there. Her voice is quiet and strangely gentle as she speaks.

“Why do you think that, Eddie?”

What?

“What?” He asks incredulously and knows his face is in a similar state to his voice.

“Why do you think Steve wouldn’t like you like that? Has he said anything to make you think he wouldn’t?” She clarifies, which really doesn’t clarify anything at all for him because what?

“Um… are we talking about the same Steve? You know, Steve Harrington, Hawkins’ resident ladies man? Why the fuck would you think I’d have a shot?” He explains. “He’s so painfully straight and I am so painfully not, Robin.”

Robin just looks at him like she’s trying to read his mind. Or, rather, push a thought into his mind. Waiting for something to click. It doesn’t. Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Besides, Steve never tried to talk to me about the whole distance thing, so I just—“

“You know what happens when people assume things, Eddie,” Robin interrupts.

“—figured that he didn’t mind,” Eddie finishes with a glare. Robin closes her eyes and takes a breath as if calming herself. She pinches her nose, right between her eyes like Steve always does when he’s frustrated or tired, and turns to him. She takes his hands in hers, and her face is only a mere mask of calm, the tumbling waves of anger rolling just under the surface.

“Eddie,” she begins. “Have you ever thought of the possibility that Steve doesn’t talk about his feelings? That he would keep it all bottled up inside like he does with literally everything else?”

Well, when she puts it like that…

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees. “I only found out about this whole… thing two days ago and that was only because I just so happened to catch him falling asleep at work. He wouldn’t have told me if I didn’t ask him, I know that for sure. He… Eddie, he honestly believes that this is all his fault. That he’s the one that fucked everything up between you and he kids.”

Eddie’s brain screeches to a halt. “Wait, what do the kids have to do with this?”

“You haven’t told them anything?” Robin asks, eyes going a little wide.

“Have I told a bunch of teenagers—whose opinions I regretfully respect—that I have a crush on their babysitter? No, I have not.”

“Okay, yeah that was a stupid question, sorry,” she amends. “Just… the kids are avoiding Steve and I can’t think of a reason why.”

“They’re what!? Wait, why haven’t I heard of this until now?” Eddie exclaims. Robin gives him a look that makes him deflate a little. “Let me guess, you only found out two days ago?”

“Bingo, we have a winner!” Robin fake cheers, raising her arms in a mock-celebratory fashion. She drops them with a huff. “They haven’t talked to him in weeks, Eddie, and I think it’s because you have been avoiding him.”

Her tone isn’t accusatory, but it still makes him feel like shit.

“They must have picked up the sense that something was going on between you two and assumed they should be avoiding him too,” she suggests. Eddie leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t get how they could think that, though. I mean, Steve has been nothing but good to them for years now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees. “But they’re kids. Stupid, dumb, ungrateful kids, but they’re still kids.”

Eddie drops his head in his hands, pressing hard on his eyes until spots form behind his eyelids.

“I really fucked this up, didn’t I?” He asks it rhetorically, but Robin gives a noise of agreement anyway. “How do I fix this, Birdie?”

“You could start by talking to him,” Robin suggests.

Now isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Because knowing you have feelings for someone is one thing, but telling them? That’s something so far out of the realm of possibility for him that he’s never even thought about considering it.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Buckley?” Eddie exclaims, looking over at her with wide eyes. “I’d like to keep all my teeth if you don’t mind. I mean, I know I’m not your type and everything but some poor schmuck would probably like to look at this face one more time before it's beat all black and blue.”

Robin only rolls her eyes at his rambling—which is rather hypocritical of her if you ask him, since she seems to treat rambling as an Olympic sport she plans on winning every time she opens her mouth. She grabs his face between her hands and honest to god shakes him.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I’m telling you to trust me and talk to him,” she practically demands, giving him a pointed look much like the one from before. Except he still doesn’t know what it means, as that final piece has yet to click into place.

He nods in her hold, partially afraid of her now, and she releases him.

“We need to fix this. Now,” Eddie insists. He looks over at her. “We need to talk to the kids.”

Eddie stands up, running to his room and groaning at the mess he left. Tossing his sheets and blankets back on the bed, he reaches under his bed for the walkie he knows he last saw under there three days ago. Except, it’s not there. He stands up, scrunches his eyebrows, and thinks.

Let’s see… it was next to the keychain that was on top of the VHS sitting on the books on the corner of the desk, then he moved it when he had to answer one of Lucas’ questions which he did while he walked around the trailer and he laid it down when he finished to get some cheese from the fridge, meaning—

Eddie runs back to the kitchen, finding the walkie on top of the fridge, right where he thought it would be.

“Got ya!” He grabs it and runs back to the living room where Robin is waiting very impatiently.

“Where even was that?” She asks but he ignores her, electing to set the frequency so he can talk to the kids all at once instead of answering her. He presses the button.

“This is Eddie the Banished calling an emergency Hellfire meeting pronto,” he orders into the speaker. “I repeat, emergency Hellfire meeting.”

He waits for a response. One minute. Two minutes. Three—

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Eddie mumbles, pressing the button again. “Over.”

Immediately, Dustin responds. “Hear you loud and clear, Eddie. Is this a code red situation? Over.”

“Nope, not a code red. More of a uh…” he glances over at Robin who shrugs. “Code yellow? I think. Over.”

“What the hell is ‘code yellow’? We don’t even have one of those,” comes Erica’s, as always, sarcastic remark. Eddie can faintly hear Lucas yelling in the background.

“Munson, you better not be shitting with us.”

“I promise you, Red, I wouldn’t. Not about this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, people! You’re supposed to say ‘over’ when you’re done talking! Over.”

“Shove it, Dustybuns, the adults are talking.”

Eddie has to hold the walkie away from him at Dustin’s responding shriek. He presses a hand over his eyes. These kids are going to kill him one day.

“Guys, this is serious. Just get your asses over to my trailer as soon as possible. Robin’s already here, does someone have Little Byers and Supergirl?”

“I’ve got them. Over and out,” Mike responds.

“Erica and I are on our way. Over and out,” Lucas says.

“Be there in fifteen. Over and out,” Dustin declares. Eddie glances at Robin, sharing equally nervous and worried looks. This is not going to be fun.

Thirty minutes later, all of the kids are cramped in Eddie’s living room. Lucas, Max, El, and Mike are scrunched together on the couch, while Will and Dustin sit on the floor in front of them. Erica claimed Wayne’s recliner as soon as her and Lucas got there, refusing to move for the older teens.

Robin is standing next to him, hands on her hips again���really driving home the whole “Steve is my platonic soulmate” bit—as he stands there with his arms crossed. The two of them remind Eddie of disappointed parents about to tell off their kids, which, in reality, isn't too far off.

“Okay, what the hell?” Dustin asks, still breathless from the trek there. “I literally just got home an hour ago. Why did you call us and make us bike all the way here in the heat?”

“Because you deserve it for being shitheads,” Eddie defends and rolls his eyes. He’s met with a cacophony of dweeby teen voices as they retaliate.

“What did we do this time?”

“What?! We didn’t do anything!”

“What did Dustin do, now?”

“Me? Why am I the one being blamed? I wasn’t even here!”

“Because you’re too damn nosey, dude.”

“Ouch, Lucas. Ouch.”

“Hey!” Eddie yells, clapping his hands to get their attention. It startles them all enough to quit talking over each other and look back up at him. “Okay, I’m just going to get to the point. Why are you all avoiding Steve?”

Mike gives him a confused look and crosses his arms, his expression the epitome of teenage angst.

“We thought you hated Steve, dude. You would always leave the room whenever he was around with some shitty excuse so we just decided to do the same,” Mike answers. Dustin nods from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, we all thought he did something or said something to you since every time we brought him up, you’d shut the conversation down somehow. It just… naturally progressed from not talking about him to not talking to him either,” Dustin explains.

“Steve stopped showing up to things, too. He used to help me practice but he’s not shown up in weeks,” Lucas adds.

“Mom’s gotten really worried about him. He’s not shown up to dinner in a while, either,” Dustin chimes in. He shrugs. “We just thought the feeling was mutual.”

Eddie clenches his eyes closed and throws his head back. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. He hears Robin shift beside him, and knows firsthand the look she’s giving them right now.

“Have any of you even considered asking Steve about this?” Robin asks accusatively. “Or even talking to him about anything other than rides or movie nights?”

Silence falls over the room, so thick and suffocating that Eddie briefly prefers the air of the Upside Down to this. He pulls his hair, scrunching down on the floor and balancing on the pads of his feet.

“This is all my fault,” he groans, twisting strands of hair frustratedly.

“It is,” Robin agrees and ignores the glare Eddie sends her way for that. “But we can still fix this.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Mike asks.

“Why does Eddie look three seconds away from strangling himself with his hair?” Max hesitates, sounding the most cautious he’s ever heard her. Eddie groans and avoids eye contact with the group.

“The reason I’m avoiding Steve isn’t because I hate him. It’s uh… quite the opposite, actually,” he explains, nervously fidgeting with his rings and pulling a thick strand of hair to hide his face. He glances at Robin, who gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, and he rolls his eyes.

Max and Erica give him equally smug smirks while Will looks at him with wide, understanding eyes. The rest of the group, however, look confused.

“Wait, then why are you avoiding him?” Dustin asks.

“Dude, that makes zero sense,” Mike counteracts. El just looks lost, almost like she’s trying to read his mind. Which… he really wouldn’t be surprised if she could at this point. Eddie sighs.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie redirects. “The point is that an issue with me and Steve shouldn’t affect you guys’ relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, and he deftly ignores the pointed look she sends his way. “Steve has been there for all of you for years.

“Dustin, wasn’t it Steve who helped you catch D’art when he escaped from your cellar? He bought pounds of meat for you to lure a demodog away with, then fought a pack of them by himself to keep you safe. Steve put himself in the line of fire again against said demodogs in the tunnels after he was beaten unconscious by Billy, then sacrificed himself to Russians just so you and Erica could make it out alive a year later.”

Dustin clamps his mouth shut from its gaping position—likely from him wanting to defend himself from the truth—and has the decency to look sheepish. Eddie turns his gaze to Lucas.

“Lucas, wasn’t it Steve who helped you train for basketball when you started to show an interest in it? He practiced with you every week, even after a long shift at work or when he felt like shit, just because you asked. Steve protected you against Billy because it was the right thing to do, and took a beating so you wouldn’t. Not many people can say they’d do that for someone else, especially not against anyone as vicious as Hargrove,” Eddie adds. Lucas drops his head in his hands, knee bouncing from his place on the couch.

“Max,” Robin begins. “Steve checked up on you every day after Billy died. He would bring you food or ice cream or a distraction, but he was always there. He would drive you to the arcade just to cheer you up, let you beat him at Dig Doug and Pinball just to see you smile. Steve was terrified to let you be the bait for Vecna, he… he kept telling me that he wished it was him instead. That he should be the sacrifice, not you.”

Robin wipes her eyes where they begin to tear up, and Eddie uses the pause to look at Mike. He still has his arms crossed, but the smartass look on his face has dwindled a little.

“Mike, I know you don’t like Steve because of him and Nancy, but you can’t hold onto that grudge forever. What happened between them had nothing to do with you, so there's no need to be mad at him for it,” Eddie states. Mike isn’t looking at him now, and something tells Eddie that the kid just needs a reality check. Hopefully, this will work. “Steve has been protecting you from the beginning, even when you were more than hostile to him. You’ve at least got to give him credit for that.”

Eddie looks around, sees the morose expressions on the kids’ faces.

“Steve has picked you all up countless times from Hellfire, waiting the entire session out in the parking lot while wasting away in his car. He was there rain or shine, snow or sleet, and he never missed a day. Not once,” he states.

Eddie first found Steve’s presence after Hellfire to be confusing, an anomaly. He didn’t know that the Steve the kids talked about was the same Steve he had a debilitating crush on in high school, not until he saw him waiting outside after the first session the kids attended, leaning against his maroon BMW like a Calvin Klein model. A ball of anxiety formed in his stomach at the sight, because one thing about Steve Harrington was that he’s unpredictable. Eddie just didn’t know if it was good or bad yet.

“You know, usually when people graduate they tend to stay away from high school, not willingly come back,” Eddie teased.

His words seemed to spark some life into Steve, as he jolted from his relaxed position against the hood to stand firmly beside his car. Steve ran a hand through his hair, and looked Eddie up and down.

“You’d probably know more about that if you managed to actually graduate, Munson,” Steve quipped, but it wasn’t mean. He had a smile on his face, and the air around him was friendly. Some of the anxiety churning in Eddie’s gut eased at the sight.

“Besides, who says I’m here willingly?” Steve asked rhetorically, as Dustin made his appearance by running up to him and immediately began talking his ears off about the new campaign. Steve turned his full attention on the boy, nodding along to certain comments even when Eddie knew for sure Steve didn’t know what the hell Henderson was talking about. The other kids soon crowded around the former jock, all talking so incredibly fast that Eddie was surprised the sound barrier survived their cracking voices.

Eddie watched as Steve glanced at him over the kids’ heads, giving him a loose smile and a shrug as if saying, ‘what can ya do?’

Soon, all the gremlins piled into Steve’s fancy car, still talking and gesturing wildly with their hands. Eddie had a passing thought that he should get Steve some earplugs or something to at least help drown out the noise. He immediately shook his head at the thought and jumped in his old, beat up van, driving home to an empty trailer and trying desperately to forget Steve Harrington existed.

“He always waits until the excitement starts to wear off before he takes you all home, letting you talk to each other for nearly an hour after each session despite the fact he never has a clue what you’re talking about. He always listens to you guys, no matter what,” Eddie supplies. “Did you guys know he has mixtapes for each of you?”

At the question, they all look at him with varying degrees of confusion and an all-too-late realization. Eddie huffs, while Robin mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like, ‘of course they didn’t.’

“There’s one for each of you, filled with songs you like or mentioned liking at some point despite some of them not being his own taste. He listens to you, all of you, and it fucking hurts to know you don’t see that,” he exposes, and part of him regrets letting a bit of his anger out. Though, the kids need to know this is serious, that you can’t go through life assuming the worst in people, so if being angry is what it takes then so be it.

The kids have various emotions on their faces, ashamed and regretful being the two most prominent. Dustin clears his throat and looks up at Eddie, flicks his eyes to Robin, and returns them to his lap.

“I… I didn’t realize he did so much for us,” Dustin quietly admits, and a small part of Eddie cheers at finally teaching the kid a thing or two about humility.

“We’ve been taking advantage of him for… for so long,” Lucas breathes out. Max nods morosely beside him, and Will raises a shaky hand to cover his mouth.

Mike rolls his eyes, still petulantly crossing his arms. “Why should we even care about him? All he’s probably doing is wallowing in his fancy house or something.”

He says it with a layer of snark so thick, all the kids turn to him with varying levels of bitchy glares. Eddie, however, can tell his attitude is a mask, a way for him to hide how he’s truly feeling to prevent from being too vulnerable. From being too open. Eddie knows a lot about that.

It started when Eddie was four and he scraped his knee on the harsh gravel outside his parents’ run-down home in Kentucky. Tears rolled down his chubby cheeks as he ran inside to tell his mom, who he knew would take care of him. She told him to play outside, and not come in until she told him so, but his knee really hurt and he was scared they would have to cut it off if it bled too much. At least, that’s what Charlie—a kid who lived two streets over—said they would do.

When he stepped over the threshold, something felt off. The house was quiet, more so than normal, and it set him on edge. The TV was filled with static that grated on his little ears, and he covered them with his hands as he made his way over to turn it off. He picked up the antenna off the floor, wondering how it got knocked off the top of the TV in the first place. He looked around the living room, finding it in a similar state of disarray. He followed the trail of broken things before him; the overturned coffee table, a spilled ashtray, a stray pillow, and the chair his dad always sat on, pushed far out of its normal place. He questioned who could have messed up his house like this, leaving a big mess behind.

He found his answer when he ventured into the kitchen, just a few short steps from the living room, and found his mother laying on the floor. She was on her stomach, arms splayed out as if she tried to catch her fall and head turned to look at the doorway where little Eddie stood. Her eyes were closed but she was still breathing, the floral pattern of her dress moving with each breath. Shards of ceramic were spread out around her, littered with droplets of dark blood that spilled from a cut on her forehead. It dripped down the side of her face, along the curve of her cheek and onto the floor where it formed a small puddle. Her skin was pale in the artificial light of the house, the soft yellows doing nothing to soften the tones of her ashen face.

“Mama!” He ran up to her, falling to his knees beside her still body. He shook her, trying to get her eyes to open, but all it rewarded him was a pained grunt. His eyes welled with tears again, this time for his Mama, but nothing he was doing was working.

A shadow fell over the floor and he looked up to find his father blocking the light from the gold-colored light fixture above the kitchen table. His face was stern and dirty looking, his stubble well past the point of a five o’clock shadow and leaning more towards a sleazy strip club owner. There was a smear of blood on his face from his hand, which he noticed was bruised around the knuckles. However, the sight of what was in his other hand made him freeze, entire body going stock still.

In his father’s left hand were the remnants of the broken plate on the floor, the jagged edges cutting into his skin where he gripped it tightly. Matching blood littered the edge, and a splatter of the dark liquid traveled up his hairy arm and disappeared into his rolled up flannel sleeve.

He looked up at the figure before him, and the tears spilled over against his will.

“What happened to Mama?” He asked. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“‘Cause she’s sorry, son,” his dad answered, throwing down the ceramic and causing it to shatter against the floor. Eddie flinched, and his father caught the motion. He hadn’t been able to quell it, hadn’t learned how to hide his fear yet. The man scowled at him, lip curling as he grabbed Eddie’s arm and hauled him off the floor in one solid motion.

“She’s weak, Edward,” he began. This close, Eddie could see the redness of his eyes, and the deep purple bags that hang underneath. “Just like all women. Do you wanna be weak, boy?”

Eddie shook his head, and his father gripped his arm tighter. “Answer me!”

“N-No sir,” Eddie muttered, voice small and weak in the face of his father.

“Then stop that fucking crying, don’t be a sissy. I ain’t raising a fucking faggot, Edward.”

With that, his dad dropped his arm and stumbled into his bedroom down the hall. As soon as his figure was gone, Eddie turned back to his mom, crouching next to her. Sometime when his dad was talking, her eyes had opened and her breathing grew stronger. Eddie felt like it was nothing short of a small miracle.

“Mama, are you okay?”

“‘M okay, baby,” she replied, pushing herself off the floor with a grunt. She sat up with Eddie’s help, and frowned when she saw the reddened mark on his arm. “I shouldn’t have let him do that to you.”

“You were hurt, Mama. ‘S not your fault,” Eddie reasoned, pulling his arm out of her grasp to wipe at some of the blood on her face. “You’re bleeding, too.”

“Oh,” she began, reaching up to touch the wound as if she hadn’t realized it was there. “It’s nothing, Eddie, just a little scratch. Mama will be okay, promise.”

She didn’t look okay, this close, with her sunken-in face and slowly forming black eye Eddie hadn’t been able to see before. But his Mama was always right. Always.

“Pinky promise?” Eddie asked, holding out his little pinky. His Mama smiled, and raised a shaky hand to lace her pinky with his.

“Pinky promise.”

A year later, he was riding in the car with his Mama, backpack at his feet. She was dressed nicer than he ever remembered her being; a baby blue, short-sleeved dress hugged her slender frame, paired with white heels, white bug-eyed sunglasses, and a sheer white scarf she had tied around her hair. Her suitcase was in the trunk, but his father was nowhere to be found.

“Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Where’s Dad?” He asked. His Mama cleared her throat before she answered, voice shaky.

“He’s not coming with us, Eddie,” she said. “We’re going somewhere far away from him. Somewhere new.”

“Where?”

“Have a look for yourself, honey,” she said, pointing to the window. Eddie crawled up on his knees to look out, seeing a sign welcoming them to a place called Hawkins. He sat back down in his seat, looking back at his mother.

“What’s here?” He asked. His mother smiled.

“Your Uncle Wayne. He’s my brother,” she supplied. “We’re just going to pay him a little visit, okay?”

A few short minutes later, they were parked in front of a small trailer, a gruff looking man waiting for them on the newly-built porch. They got out of the car and Eddie grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulders before his Mama led him up the steps.

“Eddie, this is Uncle Wayne,” his Mama informed. He looked up at her and she nudged his arm, urging him to say something.

“H-Hello, sir,” Eddie greeted, sticking out his small hand for the man to shake. Wayne huffed a laugh and crouched down, causing Eddie to take a step back on instinct, before he took his hand and shook it.

“Nice to meet ya, Eddie,” Wayne began. He let go of his hand but stayed crouched. “You can call me Wayne, or Uncle Wayne, or Uncle, or—hell, Todd for all I care. Just none of that ‘sir’ business, you got me?”

Eddie smiled and nodded. “Sorry, si—uh, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s better, boy,” Wayne said, smiling as he clapped his shoulder softly. Wayne had kind eyes, blue and soft around the edges. They weren’t mean like his fathers. Instead, they looked exactly like his Mama’s—save for a few extra wrinkles around the edges. “Why don’t you go on inside while your Mama and I talk?”

Eddie did as he was told, walking in the trailer and taking in his surroundings. It was small, smaller than his house, but cozy. A couple mugs were hung up on the wall, paired with three trucker hats and a framed picture he was too far away to see. An old, floral patterned couch sat on the long wall of the living room, a coffee table in front littered with an opened can of Coke and a half-eaten bag of chips. The windows were open to let light in, making the space feel much bigger than it actually was.

He stepped into the kitchen, just a pace away from the living room, and took in the red-toned wooden cabinets and cream countertops stained with coffee rings yet to be wiped away. There was a hallway to his left where he found a single bedroom and a bathroom. The bathroom was small, just big enough for a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink. A single toothbrush sat in the cup on the side of the sink along with a bar of soap and an almost empty tube of toothpaste. On the other side of the sink though, Eddie noticed an unopened toothbrush. It was blue and had sparkles throughout its plastic. At the bottom, there was a small dog sticker and it made him smile a little.

His attention soon wandered to the bedroom, where he found a little twin-sized bed and tons of boxes. The bed was bare, save for a folded up quilt near the bottom with a pillow on top. The boxes were filled with various things; clothes, books, a cassette player, shoes, and tons of other small trinkets. He sat on the ground, pulling a box closer to look through it. There were thin books near the top labeled ‘Hawkins High’, and he flipped through it to find pictures upon pictures of people. He read the names, sounding them out to see if he could get them right. Some of them were weird, though, and he quickly put the book down to look at something else.

There was a box of cassette tapes to his left and Eddie scooted over to look through it. There were tons of names he didn’t recognize as he rifled through the plastic cases, though one stood out to him.

He picked up the Fleetwood Mac tape along with the cassette player from a box near the closet, plugging it into the wall and putting the tape in. He eyed the front door, seeing it still firmly closed. Just then, the tape clicked, causing him to jump, and he pressed play.

The familiar voice filled his ears, and he smiled. He and his Mama used to listen to Fleetwood Mac back home in the kitchen while they made supper, singing along with the tape or the radio to fill the house with music. The sound of it brought a smile to his face, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the words.

Engrossed in the music, he barely registered that the front door had both opened and closed until a soft hand was laid on his shoulder.

“Eddie, baby, I have to go,” his Mama said, and he jumped to his feet. He kinda felt bad about going through Uncle Wayne’s things without him being there, but if they were leaving then he didn’t think he would get too mad.

“Where are we going now, Mama?” Eddie wondered. His mother’s face turned pinched, and she lifted her glasses to look at him directly. She wore make-up, much more than she usually did, and as she crouched down Eddie could see it was barely disguising a bruise along the top of her right cheekbone.

“Eddie, only I’m leaving,” his Mama corrected. “You’re staying here with Wayne.”

At that, his whole world fell apart.

His mother, his Mama, was leaving him. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t go with her, that he couldn’t stay with his Mama like he wanted to. Wayne seemed nice from their brief interaction, but he didn’t know him. Not like he knew his Mama.

His stomach sank to his feet, and it felt as if someone poured ice-cold water over him. His eyes grew wide as tears welled, spilling over his cheeks.

“Why, Mama?” Eddie sobbed, wiping at his face because he wasn’t supposed to cry. “Why can’t I go with you?”

“You just can’t, Eddie, I’m sorry,” she stated. It felt hollow, her explanation. Like she was hiding something.

“But why?”

“Because you just can’t, Eddie!” She snapped, and Eddie’s breath caught. She sounded mad, but Eddie had never heard her get mad, not at him at least. He didn’t know what he did, only that she wouldn’t let him go with her.

She took a breath and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“But- But you can’t leave me!” Eddie wailed. “Mama, please!”

She opened her arms and he fell into them, clinging hard enough to deem separating impossible. She hugged him back just as tight, and Eddie saw evidence of tear tracks streaking through her caked-on foundation.

“I know, baby, I don’t want to leave you either,” his Mama soothed. “But Wayne is going to take care of you, okay?”

Eddie looked over her shoulder to see Wayne leaning against one of the kitchen countertops, smiling sadly at him. Eddie screwed his eyes shut and buried his face in his mothers neck.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Eddie mumbled before he moved to look at her. “Pinky promise you’re gonna come back for me.”

His Mama cried and wiped at her cheeks, smearing the make-up and making the bruises appear fresh on her pale skin. She held out a pinky, and Eddie laced his with hers.

“I promise, Eddie,” she said, leaning forward to kiss his forehead before getting to her feet. Her and Wayne shared a hug on her way out, and Eddie caught Wayne wiping his eyes too. He and his uncle stood on the porch as his mom drove away, waving until her taillights disappeared around the curve of the road.

That was the last time he saw his mother.

Unfortunately, it was not the last he saw his father.

He stayed with Wayne for two months until his father found him. They had grown accustomed to each other in that time, Eddie having warmed up to another parental figure and Wayne having gotten the basics down for caring for another being. Wayne insisted he start school in the fall, and he was two weeks in when all hell broke loose.

His father rolled up to the trailer in a fancy-looking sports car Eddie knew his dad didn’t have the money for. He stumbled out on the gravel, banging on the door until Wayne pulled it open.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” Wayne asked, standing firm in the doorway.

“I’m here to get my son,” his father demanded. He pushed past him and stormed the place until he found Eddie in the only bedroom—Wayne having set up a cot in the living room.

Eddie hadn’t expected to see his father again, mostly because he didn’t think the man really cared for him. That was prominent when he snatched Eddie off the bed and hauled him out of his room.

“Dad?” Eddie questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking you away from here,” his father responded, glaring at Wayne who stood blocking the doorway.

“You’re not takin’ him anywhere, Al,” Wayne countered. He crossed his arms, looking far more intimidating than Eddie ever imagined. “He’s happy here.”

“He’ll be even more happy with me,” his dad insisted. “With his real family.”

“Son of a bitch, Al, I am his real family!” Wayne yelled. “You ain’t got the means for takin’ care of that boy, and you know it.”

His father stood toe to toe with his uncle, glaring at him. He whispered something Eddie was too far away to hear, but it made Wayne deflate completely.

Eddie didn’t want to leave. He found that these past two months with Wayne were filled with more happy memories than he ever remembered having back home. Wayne was nice, a little rough around the edges but he was a big softy inside. He cared about people, that much was evident in the way he was constantly helping people out around the park. He was a good person, so leaving him felt like his Mama all over again.

“Come on, son,” his father demanded, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the trailer. Eddie looked back at Wayne, eyes stinging. He waved, and Wayne waved back. He watched the trailer from the backseat until he couldn’t tell which one was theirs, only facing the front when his dad snapped at him.

They rode for hours, far past the Indiana state line, until they ended up in a strange city filled with tall buildings and blinding lights that made Eddie’s eyes sting. They went through the city, stopping on the outskirts in a run-down neighborhood even more decrepit than his old house in Kentucky.

He spent two years with his dad in a city he came to know at St. Louis, but it never felt like home. Not like the trailer with Wayne, or anywhere his mother was. He learned how to hotwire cars and how to drive like a bat out of hell whenever his dad told him to. He learned that he was too much to take care of; his father constantly complained about feeding him, keeping him clothed, taking care of him like a father should. He learned that showing emotions would only get you hurt, that he had to hide them to survive. He learned what all the different white powders did to someone, how they would affect your mind and your body. How they made his father violent, or remorseful, or depressed, but never happy.

His father was on a bad trip when a rush of red and blue lights invaded their windows, sirens blaring and making Eddie’s ears ring. Their front door was kicked open, the old wood splintering easily under the force of a steel-toed boot. Police flooded the house, and Eddie was grabbed and dragged out before he had time to comprehend everything that was happening.

He was sitting in the back of a cop car with the door open, body completely still as police went in and out of their house. He couldn’t let them know he was scared out of his mind, that he was afraid of what they would do to him. He knew the best way to get through it was to show nothing at all. To be indifferent. Emotionless. It was the only thing his father taught him that he deemed useful.

His father was dragged out of the house by two policemen, kicking and screaming at them but Eddie couldn’t hear what he was saying, ears having gone deaf to anything other than the ringing in his head. Next thing he knew, his father had broken free and punched one of the officers, causing several to tackle him to the ground and handcuff him before practically throwing him into a car and hauling him away. All Eddie could do was watch, knowing there was nothing he could do to help him.

“You got somewhere to go, kid?” One of the cops that took him out of the house asked, leaning against the open door and blocking the flashing lights. Eddie nodded, and the cop took him back to the station where he called Wayne.

“Eddie, son, where are you? Are you okay? If that bastard hurt you, I swear to god—“

“Wayne,” Eddie began, his voice rough from not using it. “Can you come get me?”

A pause. “Sure, kid, where are you?”

“St. Louis,” Eddie supplied. There was cursing on the other end, muffled so Eddie couldn’t tell what was said but he knew Wayne well enough. Even after only two months, the man had become more like a father to him than his own dad ever was.

“I’m coming right now to get ya, just hold on tight, okay? I’ll be there ‘fore the morning.”

True to his word, Wayne showed up right before dawn in his beat up truck. He stormed the station like a madman, looking for him. He was rumpled, like he threw on just enough clothes to be decent before booking it all the way here. If he knew Wayne, that’s probably exactly what he did.

“Eddie? Eds, where are ya?”

“Sir,” the lady at the front desk interrupted. “I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voice—“

“Wayne!” Eddie perked up from the desk chair he was sitting at in the station, running around desks before jumping straight in his uncle's arms. Wayne held onto him just as tight, and he could’ve sworn he heard a sniffle or two come from the man.

“I was so worried, Eds,” Wayne whispered. “I tried lookin’ for ya, I swear I did, just—If I’d known he’d taken ya to another state I wouldn’t’ve stopped ‘til I searched the whole damn country.”

“I know, Wayne,” Eddie muttered. “I missed you too.”

As much as Eddie tried, he couldn’t put up that mask of indifference around his uncle. He could try, sure, but it never worked longer than five seconds before he saw right through it and it crumbled at Eddie’s feet.

“Let’s get you home, son,” Wayne insisted and before he knew it, Eddie was asleep in the passenger seat of the truck as they took the highway home.

Since then, Eddie and Wayne had become inseparable. There were no secrets between them, no masks. They weren’t needed, not when Wayne was more than good to him. They weren’t wanted, either, since Wayne made sure to remind him that showing emotions wasn’t a bad thing. That it was good, healthy.

It wasn’t until much later in middle school when he learned that having a mask was necessary sometimes. Especially when people started calling him a freak and a weirdo because he wasn’t identical to everyone else. Because he lived in a trailer with someone that wasn’t his biological parent and wore hand-me-down clothes that were baggy on him since his growth spurt hadn’t hit yet. He donned the air of indifference he had left behind long ago, letting the names and rumors bounce off his skin like water off an umbrella.

That need intensified when high school hit and the rumor mill grew exponentially. Suddenly, he was bombarded with accusations of Satanism, prison time, drug dealing—though that one was true—pet raccoons, and, at one point, an army of undead babies he sucked the life out of that he could command at will. Really, the shit people came up with was astounding, and Eddie learned to shove it all away. None of it was true—save for a couple things he would never, in a million years, tell another soul at Hawkins High—so he made sure to act like it was true. Let people believe what they want to believe. In the meantime, Eddie used it to his advantage to prevent anyone from getting too close. From looking past the barrier he put up between himself and everyone else.

So yeah, Eddie knows a little bit about where Mike’s coming from.

“Actually…” Robin starts. “Steve’s not doing so great—“

“What?!” Dustin squawks out, cutting Robin off and all but jumping up from his seated position. “Why the hell did you not start this whole damn thing with that?!”

“We were getting there, Henderson!” Eddie clarifies. “Now sit your ass down.”

Dustin—for once—does as he’s told. Eddie looks to Robin and gives her a nod, letting her have the floor.

“Steve’s got it in his head that he’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself for us, that he’s only needed or wanted when he can put himself in the line of fire. So, like the caring dumbass he is, he’s been wandering around Hawkins at night because he’s worried that something will happen.”

“But I closed all of the gates,” El starts, head cocked and eyebrows scrunched like a confused puppy. “We are in no more danger.”

“I think part of him knows that, Supergirl,” Eddie explains. “But he needs to know for certain, to make sure you guys are absolutely safe.”

She nods, and sadness finds its way to her eyes. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy for her, knowing that learning how to live all over again is never easy.

“He’s not been sleeping much,” Robin continues. “It’s like he’s barely there anymore. Like he’s just… a shell.

“He thinks you all hate him. He thinks he deserves this for all the shit he did in the past, even though we all know he’s more than made up for it by becoming a decent fucking human being,” she spits out. There’s anger in her eyes now as she glares at a stain on the carpet, unwilling to look at the kids but needing to get her point across. “He broke down in my arms because this is the fifth fucking time the people he’s loved has left him and I think… I think this time broke him.”

She raises her head and looks over the kids, tears balanced on her lower eyelashes and threatening to spill over.

“You’re his family, the family he got to choose, and you still… you left. Just like everyone else has.”

The room fills with silence as the words sink in.

“How… How do we fix it?” Will asks, his quiet voice now loud. Eddie sighs and rakes a hand through his hair—a motion that keeps reminding him of Steve—before shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I know part of it is my fault, I admit that. I shouldn’t have just stopped talking to him all of the sudden, I should’ve… well, there’s a lot of things I should have done but I didn’t, so I plan on fixing that,” Eddie admits. He looks around the room, makes as much eye contact as he can to drive his point home. “You should too. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, not this time. Not for this.”

The kids all nod, and Eddie gestures to the door to dismiss them. They all look like kicked puppies with slouching posture and ducked heads, walking out of the trailer with their tails between their legs. Dustin and Mike are the first to hop on their bikes, ready to either apologize and get it over with or get as far away from his and Robin’s disappointed glares as possible. Before they can push off, Eddie calls out to them.

“Hey! Give it a couple days,” Eddie orders. “Steve… He’s going to need some time. Go to him when he’s ready, okay?”

He’s met with various nods and ‘will do’s as some of them take off, their knobbly knees hitting the handlebars of their too-small bikes. Then, he notices a particular brunette has yet to leave, her bike with little white training wheels still standing in the grass. Her big brown eyes lock with his and, even though there's a porch between them, he can feel the seriousness in her gaze.

“I miss him. He was always very nice to me,” El confesses. “He always gave me piggyback rides.”

Her face falls a little. “I did not know we were being mean to him.”

Eddie finds himself softening a little at her words.

“I know, Supergirl,” he winks at her. “That’s why you’re my favorite.” 

She giggles in response and hops on her bike, meeting up with Max who stopped to wait for her a few yards away. 

Eddie closes the door, falling against it with a thud. He groans, the sound bouncing off the thin door and out in the empty trailer. He turns to go to his room, preferably to wallow, before nearly jumping clean out of his skin. 

Well, he thought the trailer was empty, except there now stands one Robin Buckley who has resumed her unimpressed, hands-on-her-hips, "you're a fucking dumbass" position from earlier. 

"Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaims. A hand comes up to grab at his heart which is actively trying to beat out of his chest as his lungs grapple for air. "Birdie, I forgot you were there."

"Yeah," she deadpans. "Clearly." 

Eddie straightens up, and quirks an eyebrow at her rather over dramatically. Robin rolls her eyes.

"Well?"

"It's a deep subject," Eddie sarcastically responds. Robin, unfortunately, doesn't find that funny. "'Well' what?"

"Go apologize!" She yells. 

“Okay, okay, geez!”

Eddie pats himself down, looking for the keys to his van before Robin clears her throat. He looks over at her to see an unamused quirk of her eyebrow before she points to the hook by the door where his keys hang. 

“Thanks, Buck!” he exclaims, pressing his hands together in prayer to the saint she is. Grabbing them, he throws the door open and clears the steps in one jump, stumbling a bit on the landing but really, he’s quite proud of this rare athletic appearance. 

Jumping in his van, he slams a random tape in the deck, grinning a little at the song that plays first. Despite his obvious avoidance of the second track, the Master of Puppets album still holds a very special place in his heart. So it's really not a surprise that the song that just so happens to play first reminds him of the very man he’s going to see, sacrificial tendencies and all. 

He slams on the gas, tires squealing as he peels out of Forest Hills trailer park faster than he ever has before. 

He’s not running away this time; not running from a small cheerleader’s body trapped on his ceiling, not running from angry town hicks with their fiery pitchforks, and not running from a creepy interdimensional demon who enjoys sucking the life out of depressed teenagers. 

No, this time, he’s running to something. Running to Steve. 

He just hopes Steve will let him.

———

Permanent tag list: @tea-beloved @estrellami-1 @mericatty @bookworm0690

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[soulmatesinc-if]

Hey! I have just played the update (and also the gamer route in the first chapter that I waited to play through so that I could get it at the same time as chapter 2). And man, the emotions are HIGH!

This game is such a rollercoaster for me. When I first saw the intro post a long time ago, before I could even play, I thought that Romero would probably be my chosen RO, and if not them, then Sam. Wyatt was a non-option to me. How wrong I was! Ever since they first appeared, Wyatt stole my heart! I couldn't imagine picking any other RO anymore! But also, now that I've reach chapter 2... the opposite is true too... Never EVER would I have expected I would DESPISE Romero that much! I'm not saying this as a bad thing though, in the sense that the writing was great! But I genuinely want to utterly destroy them at this point! And I must congratulate you on that, because damn, I rarely feel that way about characters in IF! Which, funnily enough, also has the side consequence of me wanting to find Sam's soulmate at all costs. I think because of what Romero did, finding Sam's soulmate has sort of become... "personal"(?) to my MC, so to speak.

It's sort of hilarious to think I expected to like Romero most and Wyatt the least.

But yeah, my MC deeply believes in his job, and it's something that is incredibly important to him. Not only that, but he also has very high job ethics, and this whole mess is basically his worst nightmare - and from my MC's pov, indirectly it's Sam's as well, though as an innocent victim caught in the crossfire (obviously, that also means I can't even see Sam as a RO anymore heh).

Please please please tell me we'll be able to report what happened to Eugene? This isn't something that should be left unattended, and I can't imagine my MC not doing so. At this point, it's not even a matter of MC's status but a matter of doing something about the chaos Romero unleashed and trying to make things right. And also I'm literally freaking out IRL because of my own empathy towards my MC here, heh.

Anyway, it was an awesome update and I can't wait for more!

But I had a few small coding issues here and there:

I've been having trouble with the gamer route in chapter 1 and my performance results compared to the other route (I believe I did very well but I didn't get any performance boost), and I ended up taking a peek at the code and I've noticed there seems to be an issue with the bots part, where I should get 10 effort points for having 250 bots at a specific point, but the game checks for 25 instead, and so I only get 5 points there (since it's still above 50) - this difference in points seem to make it impossible for me to get a performance boost on the gamer path if I don't have a shroud oriented character (and I recall you saying you made it so it would be possible now, hence me now doing that path since my MC is empathy oriented but also an avid gamer).

Another issue I had was at the very end of the gamer path, with this: "They are about to be altered, restoring the sanctity of Vivian and Selma's privacy and releasing whatever hold your powers might still have on Jack Tomaszewski." - but I have no idea who that person is. As far as I know, I have never met them in the entire playthrough?

In chapter 2 there is this line: "the man across the table from you asks, voice laced with concern" - but I believe it's Sam talking, right? Sam is female on this playthrough.

Hope these help!

Thank you! Glad it was such an emotional experience 😁

Which, funnily enough, also has the side consequence of me wanting to find Sam's soulmate at all costs. I think because of what Romero did, finding Sam's soulmate has sort of become... "personal"(?) to my MC, so to speak.

Well, then you might like what's going to happen next!

Please please please tell me we'll be able to report what happened to Eugene?

Possibly.........

As for the reported errors...

Thank you for letting me know! I've already edited and uploaded 2 and 3.

The bot situation is a bit more complicated. The intention is that a no-power MC has an easier time tending to them because of their experience with such convoluted plans. Others need to ideally start with the medium number and not leave the botnet unattended (a high number of them running on their own results in more culling by the forum firewall). If that doesn't stand, I will need to rethink the math there. I'll tend to that before the reputation stat starts manifesting in the game.

[beesmygod]

HI EVERYONE: TODAY'S PAGE IS LATE.

im calling my shot too early, but i've spent the last 2 days getting my ass beat by lupus symptoms. im feeling so much better. the page is coming.

BUT in the meanwhile: i wrote this long post about why i left Hiveworks

ill put it under a readmore here on tumblr in its entirety:

intro: dont get your hopes up

look, i’m going to be straight up with you: there’s no messy drama or fallout that caused this. no juicy deets or salacious rumors to slurp down. you know if this were the case, i would have erupted across my various social medias in a frenzied rage with all the delicacy of a bull in a china shop partly for entertainment purposes. instead, this will probably be a boring at best navel gaze where i try to walk the line between pragmatically trying to explain why i left and moral grandstanding. because leaving abruptly looks weird externally, i do actually have to explain why instead of just mysteriously leaving during a period of time where i am being an obnoxious asshole. a combination of disdain for the current cultural zeitgeist and a growing culture of disrespect toward audiences has culminated in my online behavior devolving into the online version of grabbing people saying stupid shit on the street and shaking them very hard. this is something an insane person would do. i know.

the commodification and increasingly blatant commercialization of an art format that could once arguably be compared to other amateur transgressive arts (ex: underground comix, tijuana bibles) is borderline heartbreaking. not to be too dramatic, but i want to start smashing things like im a monster from the rampage arcade game to scare the NIMBYs away before they start building escape rooms where the fetish web comics used to be. there is no place unspoiled by the poison of advertising and sponsorships. except…

 

 

trying to make money in comics is a fool’s errand. go make furry porn commissions if you want to make money doing art! you’re completely out of your mind if you go into the arts to make money. full on detachment from reality if you choose comics. they should commit you if you choose web comics.

 

at hive:

i think people have a wildly different perception regarding the popularity of A Ghost Story so i have approximate data to give people an idea. having culled the SHIT out of my analytics results to remove bot traffic, i think i have relatively accurate results, i get about 1000 unique visitors a month (generously rounding up lol), about half of them are regulars, and 10% of them donate to patreon (this is, imo, an unfathomably large amount lol. shocking and humbling. thank you for your continued support of me in spite of [gestures]).  i feel like a small comic 99% of the time, but man. 1,000 is a big number. i can at least reasonably assume, i’m PRETTY sure, that i was a comparatively small comic in hiveworks.

my monthly payout was roughly $100 a month (and merch sales, if applicable) and their services included web site help, dealing with any merch sales, and site hosting in exchange for running banner ads (which have been a fixture on web comics since the conception of google’s ad program; remember the homestuck bidding wars??). banner ads felt like a small and reasonable compromise to be included in something that felt like a weird pipe dream. in certain circles, a hiveworks invitation was a stamp of quality with prestige; i was very aware of the company i was invited into keep and was initially pretty concerned with how my presence reflected onto them and their work. i was going through some serious brain problems due to a deeply stupid relationship and, as a result, i did my best to keep my head down, stay out of people’s way, and focus on not bringing undue shame to something i was well aware i was completely unsuited for. i had (and frankly, still have) no idea why i was chosen as i had not applied. i cannot stress enough that i was under no delusions as to the quality of my comic lol. my perception was that someone had stuck their neck out to make a special exception for me and i was constantly on the verge of fucking it up and humiliating them.

it was a very off-balance exchange extremely in my favor, and i was aware of this. especially since, being frank and honest here, i was bringing absolutely nothing to the table for them. i don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth, but its a reasonable conclusion that i was more trouble than i was worth, given the infinitesimal worth.

the vast majority of hiveworks readers completely bounced off my comic, which makes perfect sense given the hiveworks audience is i think more interested in the genre they primarily host: fantasy and magical realism. in comparison, “a ghost story” is a slow, slooow burn about federal bureaucracy and being insane with extremely amateur art; i know what i am! and that’s fine! but i became a little resentful (and i tried not to! honest!) after 7 years of perpetually being put on a back burner. it felt like i was being strung along for reasons beyond my comprehension or as the baseline of acceptable awfulness for the website’s quality. someone has to be the “worst”, objectively. it’s not a great feeling to know it, coming to terms with it i think was much healthier than trying to fight it. it was a really good driving force to keep my mind off the nightmare of my life at that point and improve my art a lot.

AGS’ irrelevance was underscored by it being mentioned once over the course of 7 years on official social media networks, upon which a great deal of importance was placed. but frankly, there is nothing worse than dealing with the guy who sucks whining for the spotlight as though they are clueless as to why they are getting the shaft. so i simply achieved enlightenment by getting over it and realizing where i was in the hierarchy and how lucky i was to have so much shit done for me. i was (am, unbelievably. it never gets less wild when i sit down and really think about it) making enough through patreon that the $100 became my monthly fun money while i lived in oregon. it was welcome, but not essential.

a lot of real life, awful things happened that suck and couldn’t be avoided: one of the main points of communication and organization became terribly ill, COVID happened and obliterated shipping and manufacturing rates for apparently all eternity, uhhh the fabric of reality began to unravel lol. it’s been a terrible couple of years. i want to underscore this stuff so that people understand i was not wronged greatly in the grand scheme of things.

there are things that started to chip away at me over time, which made me question if i was a good fit at all. genuinely: the only thing i want to do is to try to live happily within my morals doing what i love to do. even and especially if it means living very broke. that’s the exchange i’m consciously choosing to make when i pick up the pen every day. due to the generosity of the people who support me or have supported me at any time (special shout out to adam, who puts up with this shit for some reason), i am able to do that. i contribute a proportional amount to the household now but tried to be (was??) 50/50 or 25/25/25/25 when i had roommates. i don’t want my one unyielding selfish choice to be anyone else’s burden.

i was told by another artist in hiveworks that my confrontational behavior could be a poor reflection on the brand, which became the tipping point in my choice to leave. to be clear, no one in charge told me this, but even conceptually i was not comfortable representing a company that i felt i was a member of out of obligation or inertia. i didn’t belong there and my presence was an active detriment instead of a tolerated nuisance.

anyway:

when the offer to leave was presented, i didn’t feel regret, or anxiety, or upset at all. i felt a placid sense of relief. i COULD leave. that’s TRUE. i had been kicking it around on my private twitter for a few months going back and forth with myself over what was more important to me: being able to take care of myself financially or doing something about my own hypocrisy that kept me up at night. if my incessant argument is that advertising based commercialization is a societal poison, then i need to put my money where my mouth is. and if i’m consistently annoying, i need to leave as a courtesy to everyone else.

i don’t regret my time with hive at all, but the overarching transformation from a collection of cartoonists to a brand is not where i want to take my art. i can’t bring myself to work even within the proximity of seven seas, a deeply abhorrent company. i am completely disinterested in wasting time or energy worrying about “the algorithm” because i don’t make comics for the computer’s sake and recognize that there’s a finite number of people interested in web comics in the world and an even more finite amount of money to spend on luxuries (because none of us have any money lol). i don’t want to repeat the familiar cycle of lamenting the death of art as we know it every 6 months.

people who are choosing to spend their limited funds supporting me are making a deliberate choice to elevate my presence in their life. i want and need to keep this in mind at all times, because it drives my attitudes toward what i want to choose to focus on. i want to keep my art (“art”) free with additional goodies being as reasonably priced as possible in the hopes that in this way we scratch each other’s back. making money drawing comics is a ridiculous privilege granted to me by people willing to sacrifice their time and money to me; i need to be thinking more about all that i have instead of worrying about what i don’t.

[bitimdrake]

rereading nightwing (2011) #30 and god i have. so many thoughts about it. And also I still cannot get a coherent hold on it.

This post is really just a mess of me rambling for myself and spewing thoughts out, so I'm putting it under the cut and read at your own discretion and curiosity.

first off, we basically only talk about the middle part, but this comic is actually three sections and it's. bad?

it's just so awkward. This is a transitional issues, but it's not even a well executed one. It's not even a mediocre one. It's very blunt and inconsistent in abruptly shoving the story forward to make way for a Grayson status quo.

The three sections all have different styles and very different tones, but they are also directly related to each other. So it's not like they work as three different vignettes sharing an issue. But they also don't make a particularly cogent whole.

And they definitely do not come even close to the kind of satisfying ending you'd typically want to see at the end of a run.

Like: the first section is Leslie recounting to Bruce how she ran into Spyral. A section which, you will note, does not include our lead and title character in any way, nor is it remotely emotionally relevant or meaningful to him on first read, nor is it remotely related to anything in the run previously. It's a Batman Inc scene that got lost and landed in the wrong issue.

And then the second section (Bruce fights Dick until he agrees to go undercover) and the third (intro to Grayson with Dick doing international crimefighting to lure in Spyral recruitment) are plot-wise directly connect and yet. Could not be more at odds.

sec. 2 Dick has a very bad time being pushed into this by Bruce, and he hates it, and the whole thing is very violent and dark and grim, and Dick ends the section saying things can never be the same between him and Bruce.

and then sec. 3 Dick has a classic inner monologue about who he is and where he's been, that includes how Bruce saved him from being an angry, revenge-obsessed kid, and how he loves his family and is defined by being a legacy. And shows zero concern at what he's doing except a mild mention that after the Crime Syndicate he wanted to go back but he couldn't.

are you seeing what i'm talking about here. are you seeing how this is technically a continuous plot, but on every other level makes no goddamn sense

anyway let's talk about dick and bruce, but first specifically about Bruce because I still do not get him here

"get him" does not mean "agree" (or even "empathize") but literally just get it. Even when I fucking hate him I have at a basic level understood what was going on in his head previously. I do not now.

Bruce was already abusive ofc, but the thing that really threw me off the first time I read this--and that still feel jarring--is how completely different this is from any of his previous violence towards his kids.

He's not suddenly lashing out in a moment of high emotion. He waited for Dick to be ready and laid out the rules (non-rule) of the fight. And it's not even about some deeply personal matter that he's getting emotional over. Yes, Dick's recent brief death is a key part, but mostly Bruce is monologuing about the danger of this one random secret organization.

The whole thing is so planned, which is never something I've thought of his previous physical abuse, and it feels fucking awful.

It also just feels so irrational. And not in a "people who are very emotional make questionable decisions" way, but in a "I'm genuinely struggling to understand how the character got here way"

Bruce is upset that he recently watched Dick die. No question there. And so he....wants to send Dick undercover with Spyral?

??????

Like I can try to explain this as some variation of the classic 'push people away so caring about them won't hurt me again', but that's really not how it feels? It doesn't track. Bruce has pushed Dick away plenty before, and he does it by some combination of explosive anger, complete emotional shutdown, and literally telling Dick to leave. But like. This is not that. He's instead ensnaring Dick in a long fight and longer conversation and telling him not to leave, but to go do something specific. And it's not even really pushing him away!! Because Bruce is still asking Dick to do a thing for him, under his control! No. wrong vibe. Explanation rejected.

Second attempted explanation: section one of this issue ends with Leslie telling Bruce that, because of super Spyral interrogation powers, she might have revealed his identity and can't even remember. So Bruce is deeply troubled by that, and Dick's identity was just revealed to the world which compounds things ("you let them give your secrets to the world"), and now he is deeply concerned with figuring out what Spyral knows/stopping info from spreading and sending Dick to handle that.

I also hate this explanation. It feels dumb. Ridiculous priorities. (also, boy, it does not paint Bruce in a good light. but the bad light it paints him in is an all new one.) Ugh.

I really really just cannot create an explanation for Bruce here that feels coherent with my understanding of him, and I hate that.

And my understanding of him is of him as an abusive father!! So imagine how inexplicable this must feel! But this is the wrong kind of abusive father for what he's been before idk i don't even know if i make sense anymore

new thought time

for the first ~2/3 of the fight, I was thinking that on reread, I could kinda see how some very dumb and oblivious writer would not see how horrific and abusive it would be in the end:

Two characters are disagreeing, and one is going to convince the other by the end. So it's dramatic, and makes the art reflect the story, to have them spar as they're talking! Both script and art are a spar!

Bruce is trying to ~prove Dick will never break~ so it'll be fitting for him to fight Dick, and then call it off when Dick indeed proves he won't give up an gets the upper hand!

Misjudge just how violent the fight will come off. Write panels where Dick is on the ground looking up/being beaten by Bruce/getting injured, because you're going for the classic structure of the hero getting their ass kicked at the start before turning things around later on, but accidentally make those too pained.

blah blah blah, completely overlook the fact that these two are father and son with the power dynamic that implies, and fail to tune the dialogue so that you don't realize it seems less like Bruce is convincing and more like he's coercing

and maybe, theoretically, a writer with real bad instincts could think this would be less horrific than it is

...I thought for the first chunk of the fight, still trying to come up with a rational explanation for this scene, even if only a Doylist one

EXCEPT

Towards the end of the fight, Bruce literally says he knows he's hurting Dick, "my family," and calls Dick "my boy" and then punches Dick in the face so like. I'm sorry you can't do this by accident. If you wrote this by accident you are simply too stupid to be alive and I refuse to believe you can exist.

so anyway I don't have a Doylist explanation for this either :/

they really did just straight up have bruce beat up his son and have said son literally say it could never be the same between them after this, and then were like. yeah :) this is fine :) back to bruce solving crimes as batman :)

FINAL SECTION: random assorted things that make me mad

right before the fight when Alfred can't get into the cave and Bruce, who planned this, lies about it being a malfunction he's fixing

alfred tries to ask if he's alright after "master richard's... the boy's passing". Quote Bruce "Dick was never a boy." (this would make me want to slap him in the best of circumstances but I just want him dead)

the beat early on where Bruce gets a good shot in and Dick is sitting, and he pauses to ask Bruce what's really going on, and Bruce kicks him in the face

genuinely just the number of panels in this that are Dick on the ground, Dick getting punched/kicked/hit, Dick slamming into some solid piece of the environment

Dick keeps questioning this idea and bringing up new points and then just outright asking how Bruce can do this to him. And literally never once does Bruce reply to any of it.

Literally the entire fight Bruce spends monologuing, completely ignoring everything Dick says, as if he's not talking at all.

The only thing that Bruce does respond to is how Dick is doing in the fight. He breaks his monologue to commend Dick on fighting well, but not even once gives the tiniest acknowledgement that Dick is also saying things.

Just the fact that Dick "wins" by dropping down to Bruce's level of violence.

when bruce says the "we fall so we can get back up" and Dick says, no, someone pushes us and we get up to push back, it's fucking sad. I think this is meant to be his victorious moment of turning the tides, but it's upsetting to me! That Dick "it's about catching people when they fall" Grayson has been pushed to reject all of that and is now only talking in terms of fighting!!! I don't like this quote I judge anyone who uses this as a great quote representative of dick grayson, sorry, it's not, it sucks

Dick cracks his head on a railing owie

as soon as Bruce gets properly decked and hits the ground, he calls the fight off :) Because this proves to him that Dick won't break in Spyral, of course, and confirms his stupid plan will work :) and definitely not because Bruce can dish it out but can't take it :)

unreal how much I hate him

And finally! Amidst all of that, amidst all the blood and violence, the single moment that made me most want to shove Bruce through a woodchipper!

"I know I'm hurting you. My family. I'm making that sacrifice. Because I don't give up. I don't give in."

shut the fuck up you fucking martyr hurting your family is not sacrificing shit

man, I really did start this post with story analysis and a genuine curiosity to find sense in chaos. My primary emotion was the fervor of solving a story like a puzzle. But now I am simply going to kill.

[blueskiesfillmymind]

what the fuck is wrong with you? if you're going to post about sexual assault in public tags, TAG IT.

I deeply apologize for any harm I have caused from my lack of trigger warnings,

I have faced a similar issue like this with your same tone of attitude, i havent been consistent in my taggings as I myself have never found it as much as an issue

Although I wish you could've worded your ask better and more politely anon I understand all of your concerns! Please know that I'm human like everyone else and we have flaws. Again I'll hold myself accountable for my mistakes and will learn to improve!

Small edit: even if most people may or may not have heard of blue's story, I have now updated my blog's description to add the triggers aswell as with my intro pinned to have said triggers.

Some posts themselves are mostly tamed, if you have any posts that I've made prior without triggers please let me know!

[mamahoggs]

hey, i kinda fell in love with your oc's, can you tell me more about kassandros and pauline??

djkfskjdfjsd im so glad you like them omg.... to be honest there's not much more to say about them other than what was in their intro posts as they're both still kinda new lol and i tend to develop my ocs over long periods of time with a lot of back and forth BUT i will provide thee with some vague musings i've come up with

although he certainly doesn't act like it, kassandros is actually one of the oldest vampires currently active-- he was born in athens during the 5th century bce and while he doesn't know exactly who sired him, it's widely suspected he was made by a woman only known as the original, or the first vampire in ancient history. in his mortal life, he was born a poor weaver's son but became revered for his beauty and made a name for himself as a model and muse, so much so that he'll happily point out at every. fucking. museum which pieces he's technically in.

as a person, he is deeply vain and equally oblivious, he needs to be the center of attention and will cause problems on purpose if he's not. he'll drink your victims, he'll leave bodies on the lawn, and if he gets blood all over your prized persian rug? no he didn't and you can't prove he did. every clan he's stayed with hates him and doesn't want him back, so he's mostly taken to living on his own, but he's convinced himself its a personal choice and not because he's intolerable.

although the age of renaissance painters and poets is mostly gone, he's found a new outlet for feeding off the attention of creatives and creative strangers: becoming an internet micro-celebrity. as far as anyone's concerned, the whole vampire thing is just a silly gimmick.

kassie's wiped out every vampire slayer that's come after him, so much so that the greater slayer community considers him untouchable... a sort of trophy kill no one's been brazen enough to go after. until now.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

pauline really only stumbled on the slayer life by accident. before she was staking the undead, she spent her days taking on way more college classes than a normal person should and being the hot goth cashier at a local supermarket. the burn across her face? cooking oil accident-- she's not the best chef.

having come from a long line of successful accountants and hardware store owners, pauline's more rebellious nature meant she had little interest in the mundane life of someone who tells you which wrench to buy for what, or how to manage your savings-- she wanted meaning, she wanted purpose, and she found that in art. after graduating high school, she went off to art school with the intent to study art history on the side but didn't make it far before her actual destiny found her.

although vampire killing was something she didn't think would become her whole life, after she accidentally killed one when he tried to follow her home (it's not her fault he fell onto a picket fence and turned to dust), they just kept popping up around her. what started as a nuisance quickly became some kind of... calling. she thinks, anyway.

the hunter community is small, and she made her way up the ladder fast, becoming something of a mercenary for those with a genuine bloodsucker problem. now, she's the best of the best, a modern day van helsing.

as a person, pauline is actually deeply introverted and more than a little awkward-- she has a handful of fronts she puts on, little masks she's invented to get through the day (and night). being an infamous slayer helps take the edge off, but when she's not in her safe little cocoon of weirdos, that bravado crumbles. if her social avoidance comes across as mysterious, in her mind, that's better than people knowing its really just because other human beings terrify her. luckily, this works in her favor-- after all, it's hard to make connections when not everyone understands the intricacies of hunting the undead.

pauline started hunting kassandros not because she felt she had anything to prove, but rather it felt like something she was supposed to do, another piece in this weird destiny thing she's gotten herself wrapped up in. that and, if she has to see one more damn fancam of him, she's going to throw up.

if only he wasn't so damn slippery.

[madd-information]

Have you watched Kati Morton's new video about Maladaptive Daydreaming? What do you think about it?

[intro]

For years, I believed maladaptive daydreaming to be a form of dissociation, but it could also be added to the DSM as its own diagnosis, since it does have its own set of unique symptoms. Either way, at this time maladaptive daydreaming is not listed in the DSM as a diagnosable mental illness.

I was concerned because her last couple videos on the topic were very confusing to watch and seemed to conflate MD with the inner-worlds of DID.  It looks like she has done some more research on it and is going to make a more informed video. This is great and I deeply appreciate that she’s taking the time to do a proper dive into this. 

The closest diagnosis would be DPDR, or depersonalization derealization disorder. And this is the diagnosis given to those of us who struggle with dissociation. [explanation of DPDR]

Gonna need you to source that Katie, I’ve never heard an MD researcher say something like this.  When they talk about MD they call it a behavioral addiction with OCD features which is related to dissociative absorption (different from derealization and depersonalization, these two dissociative experiences are not particularly significant in MD, though they can happen.)

These experiences are extremely common. It's estimated that half of all adults have had at least one episode of DPDR. 50% of people. That is a huge amount of people.

Cool but not sure it’s at all relevant to the video topic. 

Also, it's important to mention that in 2016, four researchers put together the Maladaptive Daydreaming Scale, or MDS. This is a 14-item self-reported scale, meaning that you as the patient answers 14 questions based on your own maladaptive daydreaming experience.

It’s a 16 item scale now, it was changed very early on and has been 16 for years.  This is a very small and forgivable knitpick, just fyi. 

The MDS focuses on the content of our daydreams, how intense the urge to continue daydreaming is, and how much it impairs our ability to function in our lives, and the benefits and costs of our daydreaming. I am not personally familiar with this scale, nor have I used it in my practice, but I've linked the research article in the description if you wanna learn more about it.

A good description, and here’s that link again for anyone who wants to read about the finer details of this scale. 

When it comes to maladaptive daydreaming, it isn't just feeling out of body or environment. We can create very intense and detailed daydreams with plots, characters, and very lifelike issues and storylines. Some people will get the plots for their daydreams from their real lives, while others can create a utopian place unlike their current experience.

Yep, decent overview of content, though content doesn’t matter that much.  Also, use of “we”.  Is Katie Morton an MDer or was this a creative choice?  I don’t know, just a passing thought. 

We can find ourselves staying in these daydreams for various amounts of time. And some of my patients have reported staying in them for hours. And many of you have let me know that you struggle to get out of them at all, spending days in this other life that we've created.

Yep, good overview, but more importantly she’s listening to her patients and the feedback of MDers in her audience.

...there are many causes for this, and the first I wanna address is trauma triggers. If we've experienced a trauma in our life, things that remind us of that time or situation can pull us into a flashback, cause us to dissociate, or in many cases push us into our maladaptive daydreams.

When our brain and the rest of our nervous system feels overwhelmed and unable to deal with what's going on in the moment, it can pull us out of our current situation through dissociation. I always talk about that, like our brain pulling the ripcord. And it can also utilize maladaptive daydreaming. It's a way to cope or get through an overwhelming situation when we don't have other skills to help calm our nervous system down. So we just rely on what we know, and that can be daydreaming or dissociating. It's almost like this coping skill protects us from having to feel traumatized again and so it takes us away, you know, drops us into a much safer and happier place.

Trauma is always talked about first when people do overviews of MD.  She’s not wrong but just to add more information;  about a quarter of MDers report trauma, the other 75(ish)% don’t.  It’s a significant number but trauma is not the only pathway to MD.  Sometimes people walk away from these videos feeling like “well, I don’t have any trauma, maybe I don’t really have MD”.  That’s not a comment on what Katie has presented, she does go into other things below, just adding on.

Another cause or trigger can be high levels of stress or anxiety. We can slowly feel ourselves become more and more overwhelmed until our brain pulls us out of our reality and into a new one, aka our maladaptive daydreams. In short, we can want to stay in these daydreams to feel better and safer, but it can get in the way of us functioning in our life.

Yep

[audience anecdotes]

...Which is why even the term maladaptive daydreaming is used. Maladaptive means it's not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation. So the daydreaming is only holding off the bad things. It's not actually making anything better or helping us process any of the upset. It's really just a temporary check-out, which can be helpful sometimes, but if it's happening all the time or making it hard for us to focus at work, school, or with our friends and family, we should find other, better ways to cope.

Exactly.

Which moves us into how we can better cope so that we don't get sucked into our daydreams for hours, days, or even weeks. And first up is mindfulness. Now, I know that term is overused now and super annoying but in order for us to know when we even need to use other coping skills, we have to know when the daydreaming urges are happening. So often we aren't aware of what we were feeling or thinking until it's too late and we're already pulled into our daydream. And at that point it's more difficult or even impossible for us to pull ourselves out. Therefore, we have to start being more aware of what we're going through.

[continues explanation]

Perfection.

And so next is figuring out ways to calm our system down. This can take the form of a distraction technique like going for a walk or organizing a part of our home, coloring, watching a show, playing a video game, you name it. These calming things could also be more process-based, things like journaling or talking to your therapist or a friend about it, or even using an impulse log. [Continues with calming things]

Good examples, MD researchers specifically recommend keeping a log.

We're also going to have to find some coping skills that we can use when we're starting to feel overwhelmed and wanting to go back into the daydream. Maybe we hold an ice cube in our hands, clap our hands, count the number of things in the room that are blue, brown, black… whatever works for you, do it.

Good stuff. 

And it's okay for something not to work. We just have to try it to know and then move on to something else.

Important point to make, happy to see this. 

Once we have a few things that work, write them down in your phone or on a post-it note so that you can see it and be reminded when you need it. We will also need to come up with some ways to pull ourselves out of the daydream. And I know this is gonna be harder and we may even wanna call upon helpful and supportive people in our lives to assist us.

Good advise. 

We could, because it's our daydream, right, we could put a big door in our daydream and we can choose to go through it and pull ourselves out, or have people in the daydream that remind us of our real life and tell us to go back.

A good suggestion.  Q, on the Parallel Lives Podcast (I can’t remember which episode off the top of my head), did something like this by turning to his characters and saying “ok, take 5 guys, we’ll pick it up at xtime”, and many people have found that to be a clever and helpful method. 

Now, I know this is really, really hard… which rolls into my final tip, which is to work with a therapist to heal from the trauma or to learn how to better cope with the anxiety or stress we're feeling. Working to heal or process through the reason our maladaptive daydreaming exists in the first place will ensure that we don't need it anymore.

Absolutely seek professional support if you can. 

... if we heal the issue we're struggling to cope with, the urge to use those unhelpful coping skills will go away altogether.

[outro]

I think this last point will frighten a lot of MDers.  It’s probably the brevity of the video that didn’t allow her to really expand on this, and I certainly don’t want to put words into her mouth that she may not have intended.  Don’t be afraid of losing your MD.  “Curing” Maladaptive Daydreaming does not mean “I’ll never see my world again.”  You’ll always have the capacity to daydream like this, you were born this way, but it *doesn’t* have to be maladaptive. Like overeating, you will never not eat, you will fix your relationship with food. 

Good video overall, brief but accurate and includes the standard helpful advise. 

[talpy]

Avatar fic rec post

Hi people, this is an Avatar fic rec post for @kuruccha​ who wanted a primer. Happy Avatar renaissance to you :D

Everything under cut, because boy, there are a lot of fics. Forgive me for being repetitive in my recs, but they are all so good and amazing and *melts in a sea of feelings*

First, some authors who are so, so very good and my favourites by them (fics aren’t in any particular order, authors are in alphabetic order):

Avocadolove  (Tumblr: @awesomeavocadolove​ )

The Problem with Zuko: I love the idea that Zuko finds his way to team Avatar even without the Agni Kai and the rest. One of my favourites fics for at least 10 years.

Another Brother: Zuko was adopted by Hakoda, but he doesn’t remember his past. I really like how Iroh is portrayed in this story, very interesting!

Unchained Melody: Sokka doesn’t return with his body after being spirit-napped from Her Bai. Strangely, only Zuko can see him. I really love how everything is developed here :)

Consider Chaos: series where Zuko finds Vaatu and becomes the Chaos!Avatar. Really interesting premise, cooler effects!

Half a Heart: Zukka!soumates AU. Very interesting choices about world building and Hakoda’s character.

Haircrescendo

Carry On For You: from the series intro “Not the Pokémon AU you asked for but the one you’re getting anyway.”. I like it a lot, amazing adaptions and backstory building for Zuko. It focuses on Zuko and Sokka.

Compassion For All Our Monsters: intro “How Sokka learned to shut up and be nice, and also learn a little bit more about Zuko than he wanted to.” mandatory Sokka-finds-out-about-Zuko’s-past.

Fire Nation Yacht Club: one of the angstiest series I’ve read, I love it and I re-read it like once a month. Intro of the fist fic “Sokka knows three (3) things: 1. The caldera is on fire. 2. Ozai’s really, really dead (and so is his daughter). 3. The only one having a worse day is probably Zuko.”

What We’re Given: such an amazing series! Intro “Started out as a “What would happen if Zuko happened to rediscover sky bison while searching for the Avatar?” and turned into something more than that.” Zuko blasting Aang for not washing Appa properly will always be amazing xD

MuffinLance (Tumblr: @muffinlance​, suggest following for plot-bunnies)

Towards the Sun: Zuko doesn’t manage to escape on the Day of the Black Sun, a very angst novella-length intro ensues. I love this a lot because of the angst and how it sparkled inspiration for other stories with a similar premise.

Salvage: here it his, the original dad!koda fic. Intro “Mid-Season-One Zuko is held ransom by Chief Hakoda. Ozai's replies to the Water Tribe's demands are A+ Parenting. Hakoda is… deeply concerned, for this son that isn't his, and who might be safer among enemies than with his own father.” Lots of feelings and amazing A+ writing.

The One Where Zuko's Hair Matches Sokka's and Other Tales: fillets from tumblr, extra material, general awesomeness all around.

Miscellaneous

The Home I've Searched For by Kayasurin: I didn’t know Azula/Kuei could be that good! Really awesome story, amazing Azula.

The Festival of Four by SuperKat: Aang knows his time is coming near and he says goodbye. Very touching and moving (yes I did cry), amazing Aang voice.

Sunday in the Park with Appa by Dracze: Parks and Recreation!AU, Aang as Leslie Knope and Zuko as Ben Wyatt. I loved how the AU was adapted on the characters and on the format -blogging instead of “watching in camera”.

Like Fire and Water by Setari: Sokka and Katara find their father in Ba Sing Se with his new wife, Ursa. Very funny, especially when Sokka/Katara and Zuko/Azula realise that they are siblings.

the beginning of a new and brighter birth by aloneintherain: from the intro “In a new era of peace, Zuko works to be a very different Fire Lord than his forefathers.”. I love how Zuko tries to make changes in the Fire Nation at the start of his reign.

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris: the platonic Gang soulmate AU I needed without knowing. I liked it a lot, especially at the end. One of my favourites!

illustrate the remnants of the life i used to live by WitchofEndor: also a platonic Gang soulmate AU but much angstier. This Zuko is simply heartbreaking.

where the stars do not take sides by WitchofEndor: intro “When Azula is nine, she becomes an only child. She hears the Fire Lord call for Zuko's life, and in the morning, her mother and brother are gone. Azula may be young, but she isn't naive. She knows what happened to them. Which makes it all the more surprising when Azula tracks the Avatar down and fights his group of peasant friends, only to find herself staring into an eerily familiar face.” as beautiful as it sounds, really amazing Azula voice.

Doe-eyed by OldeShoestrings: Azula as the big sister of Zuko. I love how Azula is fundamentally the same but how her being the old sister changes everything. I like this a lot.

How to Care for Your Local Fire Lord; A Memoir by The Palace Staff by RejectsCanon: the fire palace’s stuff joins the Zuko protection squad. I salute them.

The Sins Of Our Family by Mangaluva: amazing series inspired by Towards the Sun. Intro “Zuko didn't escape the Fire Nation on the day of the eclipse. Azula decides to invite him to her coronation, setting off a chain of events involving abuse, trauma, siblings, recovery, and rebuilding.”. Really love this portrayal of the fire siblings.

There Is No Fire Lord by OccasionalStorytelling: other fic inspired by Towards the Sun, basically Zuko remains in prison even if he is basically the Fire Lord. The plot soon becomes its own creature and I love how it develops.

Two Perspectives by Sabretoothgooselion: series about Zuko and Kuei, really lovely. As of now there are 2 fics, but apparently more are in the works. Cannot wait!

this love burns so yellow (becoming orange and in its time, exploding) by meliebee: the first year and something of Zuko reign. Amazing Zuko voice, very angst, much approved.

and love will be your teacher by Ford_Ye_Fiji: series on hiatus, AU where Azulon doesn’t die and takes Zuko away from Ozai giving him to Iroh instead. Very very nice, I love the relationship between Zuko and Iroh.

Of Dead Fire and Dragon Dreams by ChickadeeChickadoo: during the Day of the Black Sun Ozai lies to Zuko saying that Iroh is dead. Zuko redirects lightening to him and he finds himself Fire Lord. Very cool story, love Azula in here.

In the Soft Light by CSHfic, VSfic: Zukka, moon-spirit-Sokka!AU. I love this story so much! Zuko is so very an awkward turtleduck here.

How to Disappear Completely by aeoleus & the long way around by ciaconnaa: two modern Au where Zuko is Kiyi’s guardian, very very nice.

kintsugi by discordiansamba: when Zuko is banished he becomes Toph’s bodyguard. Yes it is as amazing as it sounds.

it's the illusion of separation by argentoswan: very nice Zukka!modern Au. Sokka starts working at the Jasmine Dragon, but alas, his old high school bully Zuko works there too. I love how Zuko’s past with the gaang was adapted and how the relationship between him and Sokka develops.

Finding Solace in Parking Lots by RejectsCanon: Zukka!Modern au, Sokka and Zuko find themselves in the same McDonalds’ parking lot having a breakdown. Really really lovely.

Fractures by EvieNyx: instead of being banished, Ozai imprisons Zuko far from everyone’s eyes. When Ozai and Azula are defeated he evolves from prisoner to Fire Lord in one big step. Love the characters and the cliffhangers!

Fight by Electrons: Zuko doesn’t side with Azula at Crossroads of destiny, but that doesn’t make everything much easier. Amazing word-building and lovely dive in cultural diversity. Also, ace!Zuko which is very lovely.

Dragon of the Yuyan by 00AwkwardPenguin00: intro “In which Zuko is fostered/adopted/raised/recruited by the Yuyan Archers of Pouhai Stronghold, and destiny hiccups.” very very cool story, I really like how Zuko is portrayed here.

Always trust Sokka's instincts by Thisisentertaining: whereas Jet shows Sokka an interesting Fire Nation prisoner... a Zuko-joins-the-Gaang-early-Au. Very very good :D

all my skeletons out for the taking by 136108: Azula wins the Agni Kai. It’s still on progress but for now it’s very very good and I can’t wait to read what’s happening next.

Mark Time by foil: yes, another Zukka modern au. This is very very angst, be careful with the tags’ warnings. This story keeps surprising me and I hope Zuko and Sokka will find their happy ending.

[ribcage-rodents]

Post two

Diana

Diana smiled indulgently resting a hand on Donna’s shoulder.

“Hello Donna, it is wonderful to see you again, I have some exciting news.”

Donna

She fidgeted awkwardly trying to act like she hadn't been eavesdropping.

Diana

“You are finally going to see the Man’s World. Go pack your bags, we will leave once you say your goodbyes. We can discuss the rules of your mission in my plane.”

Her excitement was only shown by the joyful flash in her eyes.

Donna attempted to keep her face in a soft smile with her eyes telling her emotions

much like her older sister does, as she made her way towards her home.

Scene 6

Bruce sat at the kitchen counter a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, while his face rested heavily in the other.

Alfred

Alfred curved around Bruce to top off his drink and use a rag to clean up a puddle of coffee Bruce had spilled while complaining about League business.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just let the boy have friends, master Bruce.”

Bruce

Bruce looked up exasperated from where his face was resting.

“Because Dick is more skilled and intelligent than all of those other ‘heroes’. I don’t want him to be influenced by those immature, idiotic, side kicks. Who knows what one of those older kids could encourage him to do!? He’s much safer at home.”

He said moving his hand sharply to the left spilling coffee all over the counter.

Alfred sighed deeply moving to clean up the coffee, sending Bruce a disapproving stare while he sheepishly averted his gaze. Dick was upstairs in his beautiful, pink-marbled bathroom leaning over the counter worriedly applying concealer to purple bruises on his neck as Tate Agile played in the background, he stopped for a moment to read to a text from ‘science lab partner’.

Dick

“Come on dude, it's not that big of a deal Bs never gonna know”

Dick sighed becoming even more concerned, he glanced in the mirror frowning at his reflection before replying.

“Idk Babs, I’d be in a ton of trouble if B found out”

He stared at his phone for a couple of seconds then added,

“Especially since you’re like a little too old for me”

Dick’s hand squeezed around his phone as he shut his eyes, he counted to ten silently before exhaling. Pretending he wasn’t waiting for her response he went back to covering up the bruises on his neck, despite his eyes flicking back over to the black screen every couple of seconds.

Yet when the phone finally pinged he hesitated, it wasn't until the second text arrived that he actually answered.

“No, our age difference really isn’t that big, if you think about it people get married with like a 10 year diff.”

“Are you gonna come out w me tonight?”

Dick sighed softly, his cheeks lighting up pink.

“Yeah I got some free time around 12-2am. But we’re just gonna hang out ok, just like a little bit of kissing. No making out or hickies or anything.”

His phone pinged again.

“Haha yeah sure that's what you said last time.”

“What's up w your schedule man? 12-2am is so random.”

“You might not need sleep but I do, next time we should just meet up during like second period or something.”

Dick’s frown deepened.

“I’m not skipping school. I think you’re a bad influence on me:(“

“You know we don’t have to do anything when we meet up we could just cuddle or something.”

He paused before deleting the last message.

“Ha, maybe I like making you into a bad boy”

“See you tonight, maybe I’ll make you break into the school to find the best secret makeout place!”

Dick set his phone face down, scratching at his arm he went back to covering up those bruises.

Scene 7

Wally was in his tiny little bathroom that looks like it was designed in the 1950’s. He was leaning over the tiled blue and turquoise countertop messing with his forever windswept hair. There was a loud banging at the door as Wally dragged a brush through the birdsnest on top of his head.

Wally

There was a brief pause before Wally once again dragged the brush through his messy hair. The banging returned causing Wally to jerk smacking his hand against the counter, he turned and opened the door staring annoyed at his uncle.

“What?”

Barry

Barry stared back a pleased smirk on his face leaning against the door frame.

“Come on kiddo, we’re gonna be late.”

He reached out and plucked the brush from Wally’s hand as he spoke.

Wally

Wally did a full body groan leaning back, he shot one last mournful look at himself in the mirror before he moved towards the door, his uncle disappearing into his room. Wally sighed rummaging through his room for his suit. “What's the point of having super speed if you’re gonna be late to everything?”

Barry

Barry zipped over to his nephew ruffling his hair, effectively ruining any improvement Wally had managed.

“I ask myself the same question everyday when I show up late for work.”

Flying down the streets of central the two speedsters made haste, two flashes of red and yellow sped down the streets and around buildings. Stopping quickly at a hotdog vendor, handing the man a red credit card decorated with tiny lightning bolts, the city's way of thanking the heroes. Before getting back on the road.

Flash

“So kiddo, are ya nervous?”

Flash called stuffing a whole hot dog in his mouth.

Kidflash

Kidflash made a contemplative noise, looking down at his feet.

“Well yeah, I’m not exactly good at making friends,... or being cool.”

Both speedsters came to a halt, Kidflash resumed looking down self-deprecatingly, shoving the last 12 hotdogs into his mouth. Flash slipped behind him resting a hand on his shoulder.

Flash

“Don’t worry kiddo, just be yourself they’re gonna love you!”

He punctuated his statement by ruffling his nephew’s hair one last time. The two then proceeded, one at a time to enter the transporter.

Scene 8

Kidflash stepped into the JL headquarters quickly moving to catch up with his uncle as he sped towards the monitor room.

Flash

“Welcome to the Justice League break room!”

Flash called happily swinging his arms open to fully display the room. He leaned in close,

“It used to just be the monitor room but we all started to hang around here, mostly because Wonder Woman and Supes like to annoy Bats.”

He said with a nod.

Wonder Girl sat alone on the edge of one of the ugly green couches, sipping on a mug of herbal tea periodically.

Flash

Flash bumped his shoulder against Kidflash’s, whispering an encouraging,

“You got this kiddo!”

The Flash then departed, walking over towards Batman and Wonder Woman chatting by the supercomputer both holding steaming cups of coffee.

Kidflash

Taking a deep breath and gathering all his courage Kidflash confidently strided over to where Wonder Girl was perched. Looming over her he plastered on his best ‘Wall-man’ smirk. Wonder Girl cocked a single eyebrow as a supercilious look settled on her lips.

“Hey gorgeous, I hope you brought your library card because you can totally check me out!”

He flinched expecting to be hit or splashed by her tea.

Wonder Girl

“Wow, I’m already regretting this,”

Wonder Girl huffed glaring at Kidflash

“Maybe I should’ve stayed home,”

She mumbled quietly to herself.

Speedy

Speedy came up behind Kf’s right purposely smacking their shoulders together before plopping down on the couch causing Wonder Girl’s tea to slosh spilling over the rim and roll down the side of her thigh.

“Ew, dude have you ever actually gotten a girl with that line?”

He asked his arms resting on the top of the couch. He then raised his hand in a halting motion.

“Nevermind don't answer that, you have loner-loser written all over you.”

Kidflash

Kidflash lost his composure striking his arms out, before bringing his hand back around to point towards himself.

“Hey! I get tons of ladies!”

Speedy

“Yeah whatever dude,”

Speedy cut him off waving his hand still resting on the top of the couch, looking in the opposite direction of the scene before him.

Garth

Garth parted from his King’s side as they entered the break room with a nod, he walked towards the other heroes, his dark eyes calculating.

“Hello, I’m Garth.”

He said before sitting down on the couch next to Speedy.

Speedy

Speedy made a face.

“Great intro fishboy! But shouldn’t you have like a superhero name?”

Garth

“No, I don’t have a secret identity.”

Garth spoke, his tone relaying how idiotic he thought Speedy was.

Kidflash

“What about protecting your family man?”

Kidflash asked, lifting both his eyebrows, he was never able to just move one, leaning towards Garth.

Garth

Garth’s eyebrows pulled together as frustration took over.

“I don't wear a mask, villains will know who I am regardless.”

Speedy

“Wonder Girl doesn’t wear a mask,”

Speedy said leering at Garth.

“Maybe we should come up with a dumb superhero name for you, personally I like Fishboy!”

Kidflash laughed loudly, Wonder Woman groaned standing up and walking towards her sister.

She was stopped by the Flash calling them over in an energetic voice waving the rest of the sidekicks towards them.

Green Arrow

Green arrow spoke first giving all of the teens a cursory glance before focusing completely on his own sidekick.

“Now listen up, this mission is very important to your future as legitimate heroes.”

Within his brief pause Black Canary sighed heavily at Green Arrow's natural talent for being a terrible parent. He moved one hand to his hip as he spoke lightly elbowing Aquman in the process.

“All ya gotta do is sit and watch your targets,”

Once again there was a lapse in his speech when he turned to check that Batman had brought up the images of the targets and the suspicious big black bags, as well as the address of their hideout. After seeing Batman had in fact project the correct information, Green Arrow nodded to himself before turning back toward the sidekicks. Jerking his thumb backwards, he continued.

“These are them.”

He took a moment to clear his throat at the odd phrasing.

Flash

Flash took that moment to take over patting his colleague’s shoulder as he stepped closer to the center of the group.

“We’ve been monitoring these guys’ set up for a couple weeks. We think that they’re smuggling something illegal in those big black bags-”

Speedy

“What do you mean “illegal” things?! Don't we get to know if there's gonna be guns or drugs or something, idiot-man!”

Speedy cut in sharply placing both hands on his hips and leaning forward, aggressively sneering in the Flash’s face.

Green arrow placed a hand on each side of Speedy’s chest pushing him back as Flash stood there shocked.

Flash

“So we’ll drop ya off at their hideout, be very careful sneaking into the building and while choosing stalking positions. If they begin to pack up and leave or the situation starts to turn violent, stay safe and contact us before attempting to fight. If they have guns, retreat to the transporter immediately.

Batman then swiveled around in his chair, sending a questioning glance at Wonder Woman from across the room, ignoring the conclusion of Superman’s story much to his disappointment.

Batman

“Why would you send these children out into the field if you don't trust them to fight without supervision?”

It was a statement rather than a question, challenging all of the other mentors.

Wonder Woman answered anyway with a judgemental look of her own, but Green Arrow was the one who spoke.

Green arrow

Green arrow took several long strides towards batman.

“Well we’re not just gonna leave our kids at the mercy of a bunch of gun wielding scumbags. I mean, Flash can’t even stand a chance against a handgun, do ya think any side kick could survive that?!”

Batman

Batman glared at him but spoke in a calm voice, only failing a little to keep the smugness out of his tone.

“Robin could.”

Aquaman

Green Arrow geared up to make another loud and spity remark but Aquaman spoke up for the first time since the debriefing began.

“If he is so proficient then why is he not here?”

He questioned with far more smugness in his tone.

Batman

“Because Robin is currently working on his own personal mission tonight.”

The statement was followed by Batman swinging his chair back around and continuing to type up a mission statement.

The group dispersed most of the sidekicks getting last minute pep talks, Kidflash who reached out to his uncle grabbing his elbow as he went to go carbo-load.

Flash

The flash turned to look at his nephew.

“What’s up kiddo?”

He asked, placing a hand on each of his shoulders looking at his face in concern.

Kidflash

Kidflash looked down taking a deep breath before locking eyes with his uncle.

“I-I don't know if I can do this uncle B.”

Flash

Flash answered with a sigh rubbing rough but soothing circles on his shoulders and nape.

“Alright listen kiddo, ya made a jerk out of yourself.”

kidflash‘s face whipped up to face his uncle.

“I know I flirt with all the ladies but I do so in a joking manner that means no harm or a promise for furthering the relationship...just apologize to Wonder Girl.”

Kidflash made a face at the ground scuffing his shoe against the shiny tile floor.

“Make some small talk when appropriate on the mission and you’ll have three new best friends in no time!”

Flash turned him around to face the other sidekicks and smacked him on the back pushing him forward.

Scene 9

A wide shot of the seedier area of Arizona, several of the lamp posts have been shattered and no longer work, streams of light shine across the wet road through boarded up windows of an old warehouse. The sidekicks crouched behind a stack of molding crates, listening intently as the goons played cards and chatted about their personal lives, peering at them periodically.

Roy

Roy groaned softly clunking his head against the rotten wood.

“This is so boring! They aren’t doing anything, I say we just jump ‘em now!”

Roy whispered looking expectantly at his teammates.

Garth

Garth glared annoyed, grabbing Speedy’s wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“We were given direct orders-”

Speedy

Speedy shoved his flat palm into Garth’s face creating space between them.

“Calm down Fishboy, I’d never go against our wise and fearless mentors’ orders,”

Speedy sneered, ripping his arm from Garth and rubbing his wrist.

[fairnell]

callout post for tris atelierwriting

there is no callout i love tris @atelierwriting​ and i hope she has a lovely day filled with academic success and joy- jk this is a callout. and it’s been a long time coming 😤😤😤, i can’t believe i’ve been mutuals w/ them for [insert amount of time sorry i won’t check] and never wrote this, but it’s here now. 

intro: context for all of this + an introduction

when i first followed tris* it was under the impression that she was an actual writeblr. a pillar of the writeblr community, one of the original writeblrs, here since 2017. (and i still stand by that, but my definition of what a writeblr pillar is has definitely changed rip**) a writeblr that posted content, a regular to large amount of it, and engaged with their audience/followers about the things that they were writing. 

first body paragraph of your english essay that’s due in 24 hours <3

 a common phenomenon associated with tris atelierwriting is the fact that everyone around her, sincerely believes that she’s constantly posting writing and information, and feeding writeblr a steady stream of words that are wip related, to the point where she somehow get’s anon asks with no boundaries whatsoever asking whether she’s concerned about theft of her ideas or not.*** 

unfortunately everything that i thought i knew and believed turned out to be a lie. 

on an unprofessional note: what the fuck anon tris has literally starved her audience to the point where they’ve tricked themselves into thinking that she has more than ten posts in her wip tag i swear to god there are literally ten posts what are you even on about- 

anyways, tris if you’re reading this ily and i think you’ve got a great business strategy happening, the ‘starve ur followers of content to the point where they mentally rearrange facts and truth to believe that ur feeding them a lot of content’ is definitely working. more importantly i respect the grind 😤💪 but not enough to not call you out for it rip

tris atelierwriting voice: with the amount of things i have posted about my wip you could definitely write a fic for it

also tris atelierwriting: has literally ten posts in her wip tag****

second body paragraph of your english essay that’s due in 10 hours because you spent 14 hours procrastinating the first body paragraph 😤🔫

i spent several hours conducting an experiment to test my hypothesis. the pie graph shown below (all numbers rounded to 3s.f) shows my conclusions in an easy to understand way. 

AIM: SOLVE THE REAL MYSTERY OF THE DROWNED GIRL

HYPOTHESIS: TRIS ATELIERWRITING MAINTAINS THE ILLUSION OF CONSTANTLY POSTING AND BEING A PLETHORA OF ORIGINAL WIP CONTENT BUT IT’S ALL ACTUALLY AN ILLUSION THEY CREATED TO HIDE THE FACT THAT THERE ARE LITERALLY TEN POSTS IN THE DROWNED GIRL’S TAG, AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS POST

RESULTS: THEY’RE LITERALLY SHOWN ABOVE.

EVIDENCE: DUE TO THE NATURE OF THE HYPOTHESIS THE EVIDENCE IS LIMITED BUT THAT JUST PROVES THE HYPOTHESIS RIGHT WE LIVE IN A CIRCULAR WORLD 😤😤😤😤 AND EVERYTHING JUST FEEDS BACK INTO ONE REPEATING LOOP 🌞🌞🌞🌞 NOTHING IS NEW AND EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER FELT HAS COME BEFORE AND WILL COME AGAIN LONG AFTER YOUR LEAVING 😳😳😳😳😳

COMMENTS: because of the deeply personal nature of this investigation not all of it can be shown 😔 tris atelierwriting has been a beloved mutual for literal(ly over a) year(s) and my findings were deeply unsetlling and shook me greatly emotional words emotional words aggressive mean commentary about the person i’m calling out manifesting the energy of tris’s cryptid posts. 

CONCLUSION: i’m literally breaking down angles were not meant to be sighted with thine mortal eyes help me what’s a metaphor tris atelierwriting being an actual writeblr that posts content that’s what

*i’m pretty sure i followed them first as in i have no memory of anything i did before quarantine but my sources say so and my sources are tris atelierwriting herself so @ her not me

**at this point it’s just. u are a writeblr. u talk about all of your interests except for writing. you post about how you want to write. you think about writing. there has been no actual writeblr content in months 😤😳... tiding over ur hungry followers with a graphic every other week 😳😌

***plagarism is bad i will gut you like a fish if you plagarise someone else’s work / write an even longer callout than this for you 🔫🔫🔫🔫

****sources for the tris atelierwriting has only ten posts in her wip tag

[missjanjie]

Prompt for Jan/Jackie - A is new in town and looking to join an improv troupe - B is the over excited troupe leader..... you decide who is who :) Love your writing!!

fun fact i almost accidentally deleted my entire inbox as i went to post this

——

Jan was excited, he’d transferred from college in Boston to Manhattan when he was offered a prestigious spot that he just couldn’t turn down. It was nerve-wracking to start his junior year in a new city, but at the same time, it was the city. 

Staying with Alexis also made the move easier. That was his mentor, his best friend, he wouldn’t trust anyone else as much to get him acclimated to his new situation. 

But after a week, Alexis was starting to get concerned. He knew Jan to be so lively and outgoing, but he just didn’t seem to be making any friends or properly fitting in. “Why don’t you try an extracurricular? Oh! You could join an improv club.”

Jan tilted his head. “Do you know of any?” He asked with sincere curiosity, it didn’t sound like a bad idea. 

After a beat, he snapped his fingers and perked up. “I do! An old friend from college runs one. Says they’re always looking for people from the local schools. Here,” he texted him the info and a picture. “That’s me and him, just show him that and he’ll know,” he chuckled. 

“He’s cute,” he observed, pinching the screen to zoom in. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“159, 161…” Jan looked from the buildings to his phone, then back up. “Ah, here we go, 163,” he pushed his phone into his pocket and let himself in. 

A few other people around his age were trickling in as well. When he looked around, he’d say there were about fifteen people total, taking up just the right amount of space in what he could only assume was otherwise used for community theatre productions. 

Jackie sat with his feet hanging over the ledge of the stage. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he read over a page of scribbled notes, only looking up when his friend sat beside him. 

“Looks like we got some new recruits today,” Brita observed, tapping his shoulder to get him to look up. 

And when Jackie looked up, the first person he spotted was Jan. His bright smile and warm eyes instantly drew his attention. 

“You are skating on thin ice, mama.”

“I didn’t say anything!” He shoved him lightly. 

Brita clicked his tongue as he got up. “Your eyes said it all,” and as he was walking away, Jan was approaching. 

“Hi,” he greeted as he got his phone out. “I’m Charlie, my friend actually recommended your group, says you guys went to school together,” he explained as he showed him the picture. 

His eyes went to the photo as he chuckled. “Oh of course. Well, I’m very happy to have you here.” 

Jan beamed brightly, running his hand through his hair. “I’m happy to be here,” he replied before going to take a seat with everyone else. 

The beginning of the class went as smooth as always, and they flowed right into their first activity with Jackie taking the lead. “So, this is just a little intro warm-up we like to do,” he said as he got everyone standing in a circle. “When you get the ball, just say your name, where you’re from, and a fun fact about you,” and unsurprisingly, he tossed the ball to Jan first. 

He caught the ball with one hand, those around him seemed impressed by his reflexes, and he tossed the ball back and forth between his hands as he spoke. “My name is Charlie, I’m from New Jersey, and a fun fact, Hmm…”

“Just tell him if you’re single,” Brita, who was standing a couple people over, chimed in with a hearty laugh. 

“Oh, uh, well, I am,” Jan answered, as flustered as he suddenly was, and haphazardly tossed the ball to someone else. 

Jackie glared at his friend, mouthing ‘I’ll kill you’. 

Other than that, the class seemed to go off without a hitch, even though Jackie and Jan would stutter or trip up their words when they got too close.

“Are you gonna ask him out?” Brita asked once everyone was starting to pack up for the day.

“Oh my god, enough,” Jackie exhaled deeply. “It wouldn’t be appropriate if he’s staying in the group. Besides, that’s who Alex is taking care of, it’s gotta cross some sort of boundary.”

His friend rolled his eyes. “He’s twenty, not fifteen, relax,” and with that he ducked right back out of the way when he saw Jan approached out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” Jan smiled and sat beside Jackie on the stage. “This was really fun, it’s the same time every Friday, right?”

“Yeah, I hope I’ll be seeing you at the rest of them.”

Jan smiled. “You will,” he said as he started to get up, then turned back to him. “Are you busy after this? Do you… I dunno, wanna grab something to eat?” 

Jackie could feel Brita’s eyes staring him down from the other side of the stage, and he had to actively tune it out. “Yeah, that’d be great. You sure Alex won’t mind?” 

“He probably will,” he shrugged, taking his hand to help him up and lingering closer than he needed to. “But we don’t have to worry about that yet.”

[neversidekick-blog]

Flamethrower’s Alleged Harassment

What’s going on?

deadcatwithaflamethrower has suggested she is the victim of a targeted campaign of harassment, and along the way she’s used some antisemitic dogwhistles, which would be problematic on its own, but is especially insidious IMO given the topic of the alleged harassment.

I am positive that I am one of the people she says harassed her, though I maintain I did no such thing. 

I’m going to attempt to provide the fullest accounting of these events possible, with the caveat that I simply don’t have copies of a few key pieces of evidence.

If you’re going to follow along, I ask you read all the screenshots and quotations carefully, because the details do matter if you want a complete picture.

The first two sections are background info for those unaware of a few relevant facts. The issue of alleged harassment follows.

Jewish Snape

Flamethrower has written a long, serial HP fic called Of a Linear Circle. In it, Severus Snape is portrayed as Jewish. While his Jewishness is touched upon in multiple chapters across multiple parts of the series, this is how it is introduced:

“I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Severus rolls his eyes and taps the bridge of his nose. “It isn’t obvious?”

Nizar gives him a baffled look. “What does your nose have to do with it?”

“It’s a…stereotype.” Severus grimaces at Nizar’s continued look of confusion, but he still meets older adults who’ve never heard the word used that way. “Racism.”

“Oh. Idiots,” Nizar mutters. “Besides, if you wanted to see some truly horrific examples of nasal protuberances, you’d find yourself a Viking who’d had their nose broken four or five times.”

I applaud including Jewish characters in fic, even in the case where they are not Jewish in canon. Positive portrayals of Jewish characters should be encouraged throughout fandom.

Picking Snape to be the character from Harry Potter to reframe as Jewish is a complicated choice, because of the vile and enduring antisemitic stereotype relating to Jewish people having large, ugly noses. 

Consider the following quote spoken by the Marauder’s Map in POA:

Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.

Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git.

Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor.

Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball.

Leaning into a stereotype is a difficult choice. It’s not bad, but it should be handled with some thought. IMO you either need to ignore the canon association with Snape’s nose, or you need to deliberately deconstruct it.

Flamethrower did neither. This by itself I would not say is antisemitic, merely clumsy. She went to great efforts to portray Snape’s Jewishness positively, and I honestly applaud that.  

But I know I’m not the only person who encountered it and was uncomfortable with the antisemitic stereotype being on display so clumsily. Not that I thought it meant flamethrower or her fic were antisemitic, just that this particular use of a stereotype was uncomfortable. 

A Thread about Hebrew

Of a Linear Circle is heavily concerned with linguistics. It features discussions of many languages, including Hebrew. One of those discussions contains an error, a faulty transliteration. This is a minor mistake, and in a fic with so many linguistic discussions, some mistakes would happen for even a true polyglot.

The problem is that when a Jewish fan commented with a polite suggestion of a fix to the error, flamethrower proceeded to Goysplain both Hebrew and the Shoah to her.

It’s not a good look. It’s arrogant and condescending. By itself, though, it’s not antisemitic, just an author being a little too defensive and overbearing. But it’s there, and more than a few Jewish fans noticed it because flamethrower has promoted the fact that Snape is Jewish in this fic.

Where the Harassment Supposedly Begins

At some point, a Jewish fan (who implicitly identifies herself as such later), leaves a comment on the chapter of flamethrower’s fic with the potentially upsetting antisemitic nose stereotype.

The request is for a tag or warning of some kind for the comment, just so it doesn’t take readers by surprise. Perhaps requesting the fic as a whole be tagged with “antisemitism” is a step too far and would seem bizarre, but the gist of the comment is a request for a content warning. Flamethrower could have sorted out a note or a less inflammatory tag if she cared to do so, but she never replied to this comment.

The fact that she didn’t reply to this comment doesn’t matter really. She gets a lot of fic comments, so the idea she missed one or didn��t feel like replying isn’t the issue. 

But this comment was left on August 10, and when it received no response for a week, I believe the same fan sent flamethrower an ask on the same topic, which is where the saga of supposed harassment begins.

The Ask

The text of the ask was as follows:

HI! I LEFT YOU A COMMENT RECENTLY ON YOUR FIC OF A LINEAR CIRCLE, BUT I CAN SEE YOU WERE VERY BUSY AND PROBABLY DIDN'T SEE IT. I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND ME ASKING, BUT WOULD YOU MIND TAGGING IT FOR THE ANTISEMITIC HUMOR IN IT? I KNOW IT WAS MEANT IN GOOD FAITH AND YOU HAD A JEWISH FRIEND CONSULT, BUT NOT ALL JEWS ARE COMFORTABLE WITH JOKING ABOUT STEROTYPES, AND FOR THOSE OF US THAT AREN'T, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD BE VERY KIND. THANK YOU!— queried by heatherly84

I consider this fairly innocuous and polite. As I said above, perhaps the reasonable outcome wasn’t the exact tag suggested, or even a tag at all--maybe a note in the intro notes of the chapter warning for it would have sufficed.

But this is how flamethrower responded:

So, because you had a single moment of twinge due to a child character’s self-consciousness regarding their appearance and their religion as they struggle to come to terms with stereotypes they face every day…you want me to add a tag to my fic that will see it immediately black-listed as anti-semitic even though it’s absolutely nothing of the sort.

No. No, I will not.

I am not here to gatekeep your internet experience. If that moment made you uncomfortable, you should a) think about what the character was going through instead of expecting it to be the author being a dick, and b) click your back button.

EDIT: No, wait. I’m not done.

What really gets me here is that you are asking me to tag a scene as anti-Semitic when this underconfident Jewish-born child, already dealing with horrible stereotyping, is promptly reassured by an Adult that there is nothing wrong with his faith or his appearance, and said child shouldn’t put stock into the people doing the stereotyping.

You want me to tag something as Bad that is meant to be enouragement for anyone in that position, a common theme in YA lit.

Are you sure it’s the perceived anti-Semitism that’s the problem, or is it something else entirely?

I saw the ask and flamethrower’s response shortly after it was posted on her tumblr. To say I found the response troubling is an understatement.

Flamethrower condescends to a fan asking, not for any substantive change or edit to the fic, but to a mere content warning.

Flamethrower presumes to tell someone how they must feel about the handling of antisemitic stereotypes in a fic, which would be bullshit even if she didn’t handle this particular antisemitic stereotype so clumsily.

Flamethrower accuses the fan of some secret and malicious motive because she, the author, is overly defensive.

Particularly considering the topic of antisemitism, I found the response wanting, so I decided I should say something.

The Submission

In an attempt to convey to Flamethrower that the concerns about the antisemitic stereotyping of Snape’s nose wasn’t the concern of a single fan, and to try to open a dialogue and point out some other missteps I felt she had made in the general region of Jewish representation in fandom and antisemitism, I decided to send her a submission.

I am an ancient member of fandom from the days of usenet and livejournal, and to be honest I just never got tumblr, so I had to create an account solely for this purpose. I’m sure that makes me sound like a bizarre dinosaur, but it’s the truth. And I created this account and wrote up a submission to flamethrower and sent it in.

Admittedly, my tone was a little sharp in a few places due to very genuine frustration, but as I tried to make clear, I was trying to appeal to her to do better, not simply condemn, and definitely not harass.

The following is the full and exact text of my submission to flamethrower: 

I feel that you're being deeply disingenuous. You introduced Snape being a Jew in your fic with the following lines:

“I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Severus rolls his eyes and taps the bridge of his nose. “It isn’t obvious?”

And a Jewish person rather politely asked you to mark it as referencing antisemitic stereotypes, because holy fuck you made a character whose nose is remarkably large in canon Jewish and leaned into that in. Sure, you followed it with a joke about Viking noses, but that's not the deconstruction you seem to think it is. It's just a handwave that accomplishes nothing.

That, by itself, I could maybe give a pass, but then there's this comment thread: https://archiveofourown.org/comments/113294382 Someone tells you they're Jewish and gives you a bit of helpful advice about a bit of Hebrew linguistics that you have absolutely and totally wrong; it's not something, as you suggest in your replies, that varies with regions. It's universally understood, but you talk over the person whose cultural language you're using as if you know better.

But the part that really crosses the line is that you say the following in your scramble to throw shit against the wall to insist you could be right:

Then there are the parlances common to specific groups that are just fucking GONE because of the Holocaust, and we don't have any way now to know how they might have said certain words.

You Goysplain the Shoah to a Jew.

If you actually care as deeply about positive representations of Jewish characters in fandom as you say you do, maybe listening to actual critiques from actual Jews should be a thing you do, instead of reacting defensively and shutting them down.

Also, please never refer to a person as "Jewish sidekick" again, as you did in that thread. Unpacking the baggage there would take a separate submission. I'm taking the time to write this out, perhaps foolishly, because I hope you're sincere about caring and will actually listen. Shutting down the voices of Jewish people is not a part of portraying Jewishness positively in fandom. I hope you can see that and will listen and do better.

She posted and responded to this. I don’t have a screenshot of her response, nor do I have the full text because of how quickly she deleted it, but I do have a partial quote of her response:

However, you did accuse a Jewish woman by proxy of Goysplaining, which I find incredibly insulting on my best friend’s behalf. (She wants her name left out of it for anxiety reasons, and given how this is probably going to turn into a huffing and puffing Drag Down The Evil Witch Goyim thing, I don’t blame her.)

This bit of rhetorical gymnastics on her part served an interesting and infuriating purpose. I objected to her refusing to listen to actual Jewish fans trying to tell her things on multiple occasions, and I also criticized her use of the “I can’t have done anything wrong, my best friend is Jewish,” defense. Here she doubled down on that defense, essentially saying the person she has referred to on multiple occasions as her “Jewish Sidekick” insulates her from all possible problematic statements re: Jewishness.

The rest of her response was equally inane, but as I can’t quote it directly in her own words, I can’t justify saying more about it.

A Second, Unpublished Ask

As I mentioned above, I’ve never really used Tumblr. The difference between submitting posts and submitting asks confused me. I knew the original request for a content warning tag was an ask and that I’d done a post. I was afraid I should have sent an ask instead.

I was also rereading her response to heatherly84, and I was annoyed that she didn’t get why the joke about Snape’s nose wasn’t okay.

So I sent in an ask before my submission was posted and responded to.

I don’t have the text of my ask, but I give flamethrower permission to post it in full if she chooses. I recall saying two things:

1) In the form of a question, I tried to walk her through understanding why the joke about Snape’s nose could still read as antisemitic.

2) I acknowledged I’d sent the submission, and said I would prefer she respond to it, since it was more detailed.

Perhaps I committed some terrible tumblr faux pas in submitting a post and an ask on the same topic closely together and that constitutes harassment.

I suspect the former is true but the latter is not.

Flamethrower Deletes Posts and Claims Harassment

In a matter of minutes after flamethrower posts my submission and her response, she deletes it. A new post goes up.

I have to assume the combination of two asks and a submission is what she is saying is harassment. You’ve seen the text of one ask and one post, so hopefully you’ll agree one ask was very polite and the post was slightly terse but A) not harassment, B) not an ad hominem attack, C) and a list of reasons why she was wrong to do certain things, not a list of reasons why she as a person was awful. I maintain the unpublished ask is in the same vein, and she is free to publish it in full if she chooses.

Then she begins posting more, and her claims about what she was sent escalate.

Here we have what is called a dogwhistle: she’s not saying evil Jews are conspiring against her to make her look bad. However, in response to criticisms of potentially antisemitic behavior, she falls back on the trope of “devious” Jews in a malicious conspiracy. This is problematic, and I will say flat out it is antisemitic.

She also misrepresents what was going on: Jewish fans asking her to listen to them without being condescending. Jewish fans asking for a single content warning.

I believe at this point I sent either another ask or submission, with the gist being, “If you’re going to post about things I submitted to your tumblr and characterize them a certain way, I would appreciate it if you reposted them so viewers could judge for themselves whether what you’re saying is accurate.”

Continuing to engage was a mistake, clearly. 

Her vague posting with the context hidden continued.

And she ends by going full non-sequitur. 

She never raised not wanting to attract white supremacists and Nazis as a reason to avoid a warning tag. 

She condescended and attacked and told a Jewish fan her reactions were invalid.

If flamethrower cared about Jewish representation in fandom, opposing antisemitism, and Jewish fans, she could have compromised with some sort of warning in some fashion.

Even if she were absolutely opposed to a warning of any kind, she could have not condescended and invalidated the experiences of Jewish fans trying to speak with her.

Even if she couldn’t do that, she could have avoided deleting all context and then going on a posting spree that suggests an evil Jewish conspiracy is harassing her.

The only conclusions I can draw from all of this are as follows:

1) Engaging with flamethrower as a person who cares about Jewish fans is a mistake, because she cares more about presenting herself as an authority on Jewish experiences to non-Jewish fans than she does to listening to any critique, no matter how minor or polite, from a Jewish fan.

2) Flamethrower is happy to oppose antisemitism in the shallowest possible way to pat herself on the back and seek congratulations from others, but the second she’s in conflict with actual Jewish people, she resorts to vague and just barely deniable antisemitism herself.

3) Flamethrower is unable to accept anything she perceives as criticism, no matter how kindly it’s presented, because she’s too invested in presenting herself as the absolute expert on every topic she has passingly researched for a fic. Her defensiveness over a trivial topic is merely odd, but on more serious topics, it becomes problematic.

4) No one has harassed flamethrower, and nothing she is construing as harassment is part of a “setup” or conspiracy.

5) I probably don’t know how to use Tumblr properly.

Edited to Add: What I Think Is a Lie

I have been refreshing flamethrower’s tumblr nearly non-stop since this began, as have several people I know. Unless the offer of a different tag occurred in a private message, I am confident in saying it is a lie, particularly given her instant negative reaction to the very idea as shown above. If screencaps are provided, I will of course retract this and apologize.

[hopeymchope]

Unpopular opinion: I really don’t like Kokichi I get that he’s complex and he did so much in the endgame and objectively, he’s a great well written character, but he rubbed me all the wrong ways for way to long that it was kinda too late to redeem him for me.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree | ah shit, here we go again

I had to save this one a bit so I could really go into it, because I strongly agree with your distaste for Kokichi. He rubbed me the wrong way too - so many times and in so many ways, he’s there acting wantonly cruel and hateful to everyone. He’s introduced with a scene where he’s treating Kiibo as a sub-human, upsetting Kiibo greatly on the exact topic he already can tell Kiibo is most senstivie about - that’s literally his INTRO SCENE, and that says a LOT about the kind of shitheel Kokichi enjoys being.

However, as for whether he’s a great and well-written character... I dunno. I both agree and disagree.

I’ve written before about how I hate him (check me out - directly linking to a post that has gotten me hate messages, death threats and active trolls before! Gosh I’m such a rebel but seriously please don’t send me death threats I’m unstable enough as it is). Honestly, I feel very vindicated by the fact that last week saw someone else on Tumblr saying “Man, I fell in love with fandom Kokichi, but now that I’m playing the game myself, canon Kokichi is murdering that love.” That is funny as hell and it says SO MUCH

But my disagreement is that... well, is he a well-written character? I mean... he’s... inconsistent, that’s for sure. There are elements of his writing that I just don’t find very believable.

Sometimes he is. Sometimes he’s great. He’s incredibly good at pushing the buttons of the characters to make them disgusted with him. His manipulations are well-handled. He make a very powerful antagonist - I’d argue he’s a greater “enemy” to the cast than the main “mastermind” of V3. (The real mastermind of V3 isn’t really an individual, I’d argue.) He instills real rage in me with how he knows exactly how to find what our sympathetic cast members are sensitive about and then use it to tear them down and make them feel like shit.

Hell, I guess that means he’s exactly what John Mulaney says about teenage boys. (“Check out that high-waisted man; he got feminine hips!”)

However, his ability to always, ALWAYS know exactly what happened in any case from the moment a trial begins, and (even moreso) his ability to always be a 100% foolproof lie detector no matter how straight-faced the lie is delivered? Those are basically bullshit. They make him seem like magic. Even when a case is absurdly convoluted or someone says a lie in a completely believable way, Magical Ouma can see through all, proving a better detective than anyone in the cast (and then use the fact that he sees through all to... dick with everybody for no reason). These powers of his are just annoying plot device that aren’t justified for me in any believable way.

But I guess that’s limited to trial-writing. Because outside of the trials, I’m not sure if those same things still apply? For example: When Kaede suggests that maybe Monokuma ISN’T dead in the first chapter, he is immediately suspicious and accuses her of wanting the killing game to happen.

There are two possibilities at that moment:

He legitimately is unable to see that Kaede is sincere in her concern and thinks she’s lying, making his “flawless lie detection” skill not function properly outside of trials for some unknown reason.

He knows she’s sincere but just wants to hurt her and discredit her and make her feel shitty because he’s an asshole.

Both are equally plausible for the character, sadly. (It’s also worth noting that this is one of many moments where no one has died so there’s no way he’s already formulated his elaborate ‘end the killing game’ plan, but he’s still acting like a Grade-A dick in spite of that.)

He is, ultimately, a super-effective troll who reaps exactly what he sews. His entire gambit to end the killing game by taking on the blame and hiding his true intentions doesn’t work in the end, but it DOES result in multiple deaths because so many people hate him and want him dead as a result of his own actions. So when you consider that the game (and the series) celebrates cooperation and trust as the only true route to success, he’s thematically screwed and going to never be more than a thorn in the side of the cast; I’d argue he’s more effectively damaging than either Komaeda or Togami were in their games. Someone so accepting and embracing of distrust that he’d try to hurt as many people as possible so he can put up a front and end the game all on his own? He was kinda doomed from the get-go.

I think you’re completely justified in finding his distasteful. Canon Kokichi is a deeply toxic person to be around, unfortunately. Fanon Kokichi, on the other hand, is just kind of a fun-loving goof who lies in the silliest of ways?

Maaaaybe this is an attempt to imagine what he’d be like outside of the stress of being trapped with his students like in V3. On the other hand, I’d also ssume a huge chunk of the fandom never experienced the game firsthand without a filter, opting instead to experience it through someone else’s playthrough that contained an amateur translation as that person went along. And as I’ve seen time and time again, watching a DR playthrough that’s still in japanese wildly affects how people see the characters and events of these games, because that person doing the amateur on-the-fly translation is absolutely going to serve as a warping lens that distorts the events and characters through their own interpretation and because of unfiltered cultural divides.