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flowercrowngods · 3 months

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who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it.

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”

No. “Thanks.”

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.

“Hi.”

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.

“What about Steve.”

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”

“He… He’s hurt.”

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.”

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her.

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it.

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled.

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he—

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine.

People don’t just die.

They don’t.

He’s fine.

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression.

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this.

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently.

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue.

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time.

He needs a smoke.

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life.

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes.

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles.

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him.

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him.

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt.

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit.

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or—

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today.

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.”

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while.

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie.

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.”

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug.

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it.

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself.

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t?

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs.

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off.

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?”

It’s stupid. Don’t say it.

“Eddie?”

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out.

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues.

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state.

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing.

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year.

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three?

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does.

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues.

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person.

It’s so fucking surreal.

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead.

And silence reigns.

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.”

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped.

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues.

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.”

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat.

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.”

Tell me about your favourite person.

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into.

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her.

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.”

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication.

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?”

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head.

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.”

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin.

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…”

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now.

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does.

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there.

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now.

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him.

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then.

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare.

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve.

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring.

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next.

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.”

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.”

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean?

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.”

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse.

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley.

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth.

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley.

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing.

“Why’d you call me?”

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson.

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips.

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.”

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession.

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?”

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow.

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?”

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue.

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers.

“What, the ice cream parlour?”

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…”

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses.

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened.

“He saved your life?”

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation.

“In the fire? Were you there?”

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.”

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again.

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters.

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?”

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.”

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.”

It is, isn’t it?

You’re so blue, Stevie.

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice.

Yeah. Yeah, he is.

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look.

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago.

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around.

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around.

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait.

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence.

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?”

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.”

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍#also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant???#then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo)#also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

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chrxnicdaydream · 1 month

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hc that Dazai made a point of calling Chuuya small when they met because Dazai was used to being the small one.

like, finally there was someone shorter than him. because let’s be real, Dazai was barely taller than Chuuya in Fifteen.

i think people forget how small Dazai was too— not just in height, but also in weight. He was underweight in Dark Era, but in Fifteen & even at present he's barely within the healthy weight range for his height. he was constantly described as a twig in Fifteen, and almost every time he's introduced in the light novels he's called lanky, slender, etc.

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prince-liest · 3 months

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Some thoughts on Lucifer's mental health, relationships, and role as king of hell!

Lucifer’s perception of himself as the king of hell is really interesting to me because he’s very blase about it in canon while totally using it when it suits him.

I think it’s really telling that the first time he actually brings it up himself is when it’s something he can leverage to help Charlie out. He reads to me like someone who objectively knows that he’s the hottest shit in town, but also just doesn’t really think that it matters most of the time because it's not relevant to his personal problems. Being Lucifer Morningstar did not allow him to achieve his goals in petitioning heaven. Being the most powerful person in hell didn’t even un-fuck his family life!

...Except for when suddenly it might in fact help un-fuck his relationship with his daughter.

It's the main thing he can desperately and dramatically showcase as a worthwhile reason for Charlie to maintain a relationship with him, because he as a person is depressed, half-functional, and barely has enough spoons to pay attention to a conversation he's having with her while he's actively having it, nevermind remembering their last one.

He wants to! And it doesn't start with his song at the hotel! It starts with him answering the phone, heavily fumbling actually connecting with Charlie despite clearly desperately wanting to, and then realizing she's asking him for something and promptly choking on his tea before excitedly telling her, "Yeah! Of course! Anything within my power is yours for the asking, you just name it." He knows that there is a great deal 'within his power,' and he's happy and relieved that he can offer her that!

Lilith has been gone for years but he's still wearing his wedding ring. His walls are still covered in family portraits. He's just been sitting in his room making thousands of rubber ducks he thinks suck instead of ruling hell, because his daughter liked that one duck he made one time.

Charlie needed him to support her in her mission, but damn did Lucifer also need Charlie to get him out and moving and actually doing things again.

Anyway, someone get this man on an SSRI.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #meta #personal #text posts #long post #expanding on some comments I made about him in an ask!#can't WAIT to find out what his and Lilith's deal is #my funky little depressed king #Alastor took him not knowing who he was personally #but after his comments about watching TV and not remembering Charlie's hotel #I think it's pretty clear Lucifer is just out of touch as hell because he hasn't got the spoons to function like people think he would #ETA: I tried to write a little rambling meta post failed to get my feelings out and now I'm 3k words into a fic #I NEED TO JUST REMEMBER THAT FIC COMMUNICATES MY FEELINGS BETTER..........

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findafight · 2 months

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By season 4 Steve knows who he is. He knows what he likes and what he wants. I really don’t think he’s full of angst and hiding secret interests, pretending to be someone he’s not. He’s moved past shallow highschool assumptions and cliques. He likes sports and talking shit with his best friend. He wants to find someone he can make a future with, not just have sex without connection. Sure he’s 18 and still has growing to do, but he’s not searching for who he is or the opportunity to be himself. He’s confident about himself.

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things meta #finda’s rambles #sorry I think it’s kinda wild and a bit funny when fics are like ‘Steve wishes he could be himself…’ and it’s talking #about him pretending to like sports or something. what.#not there’s anything wrong with a story exploring that it’s just not what we see Steve struggle with

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months

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sometimes I see David Tennant's face in Doctor Who as he monologues about time travel/immortality/the eternal loneliness and I go...that's him. that's my rotten lil guy. my wretched wreck of a dude. wreckage in humanoid form. the lonely divine corrupted by himself forgiven by himself made by himself made by his companions made by the universe. horrible and horrifying and far too human and not human enough. the worst thing to ever happen to so many (Martha, Adelaide, Astrid, everyone else who flashed through that whole montage thanks to Davros). a corrupter. a corruption. a cleansing. a man carved out of grief and love and pathos and hatred and grudges and forgiveness who can only make the worst decisions with the best, most selfish of intentions. a man who loved until he lost everything. a man, more than any other doctor, who should never be left alone, and yet he dies alone, with the shortest regeneration speech of any doctor. desperately lonely, desperately tragic, a disaster of a man who is too careless with everything and everyone around him.

And yet I care about him so much, because he is also the man who at the end of it all, after he lost everyone and everything he held dear, after he lost rose and donna and sarah jane and jack and martha and mickey left him and he was more alone than he's ever been, he does the right thing. the kind thing. he stops the time lords from descending on the earth. he once again gives up his people because he understands that the Time Lords Victorious cannot and should not ever be the way to go. he steps in and he saves wilfred mott. he lets himself become the doctor once again. he doesn't want to go, but instead of taking that one final step into godhood, he gives his next self a chance at being a better doctor than he ever could be.

#I DID IT AGAIN #stupid rambling #meta #tenth doctor #character study of sorts #doctor who #my writing #eleventh doctor #hey ten's character arc and his corruption and his tragedy and his callousness and his grief and the way love splits him apart speaks to me #he loves and he loses and he's guilty of so many big and small horrors but at the end he makes himself the doctor again #he is in more pain than he has ever felt #has given up his planet & his people & his companions but he still gives up one last thing- his own life- & trades it for something better #he gives it all up for wilf #and for his future self #and I REALLY want a fic where Eleven went back to see Wilf now #david tennant #russell t davies #wilfred mott

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crowleys-hips · 1 month

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Touch Forbidden

another Crowley pov poem

i have never known how to be human i watch them, and i mimic try to replicate their gestures, the way they breathe, move, speak, love my hands itch for touch forbidden so instead i’ll bury my hands in soil grow a garden in barren land watch plants starve for light they have never known as they inch closer, closer, closer to the sun i’ll light flames from my fingertips and paint the whole sky until time crashes and all my creations explode in supernovas i’ll stroke piano keys no, pummel them until i or the instrument bleed i’ll drown the silence in the violence of grieving sonatas let the black and white between my fingers blur into shades of gray as i try not to think of how your hands would feel interlaced with mine instead i’ll write you love letters you will never read until my hand cramps and breaks until i run out of ink or my veins are drained i’ll sink to the bottom of endless bottles of liquor until the image of you is a cloudy haze until i can’t feel my skin anymore crying out for the touch of yours i’ll render my hands useless as i grip the wheel of my car and try to outrun my thoughts bolting out at lightspeed going interstellar and try to find a home hidden among dead planets that have never known warmth i’ll dig myself a hole there and become rootbound maybe then my soiled hands will forget your shape my skin will dissolve and cry no more for touch forbidden

tag list under the cut:

@wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @halcyonnnn @celestialcrowley

if anyone wants to be added/removed let me know

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weathertheraine · 11 days

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ok yeah this post by @hyunota has me crazy now about this because at first I thought 'it'll fade because they ate all the monster parts, that was the point right?' but then remembered the little dragon. that she picks up in that field and carries with her by choice. and of course her feathers and fangs but... that little dragon. she takes it with her on purpose, whether she fully understands what it means at the time or not. she has a little dragon inside her forever, and everything about the imagery of that chapter tells us she cradles and takes care of it.

idk. it has me thinking about the realisation that the curse is affecting her, that she has this part inside her that is repelled from her brother, and still loving and accepting that part of herself. accepting it deliberately.

there's also the knowlegde that that same part of her is one that laios loves. i wonder if she'd even take comfort in knowing that she's keeping a monster close to him (herself). defying the curse in a small way.

#made my own post bc i wasnt sure if theyd want these ramblings in their notes #anyway i wanna write a fic about this #dungeon meshi meta #falin touden #laios touden #touden siblings #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #red dragon

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fastcardotmp3 · 1 year

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stranger things au where when it's all done, instead of the general fandom usual of NDA's and cover stories, those guys at the NINA Project figure out a way to use that same technology that brought El's memories back to instead wipe the memories of anyone involved in saving the world/ anyone who saw anything abnormal and replace them with the mundane.

It's the only foolproof way to make sure that none of That gets out, to make sure that no one decides to go poking around again 10 years down the line or write a book or a song or a movie that hits a little too closely to the truth, and the government loves themselves something that seems like a foolproof plan.

But what does this mean for our heroes? They don't remember the circumstances that brought them together, only the cover memories that were inserted in their place. They don't remember why they care so deeply for one another because a summer scooping ice cream or a walk through the woods or an-- impromptu game of baseball???-- doesn't quite line up with how it feels.

It feels bigger than that. It feels--

There are explanations for Steve's scars, he remembers a big dog and a trip to the ER, he remembers getting in a car accident and the seat belt coming loose enough to get stuck across his throat instead of his chest. He remembers-- blood on his hands, blood on his clothes, the outline of a man torn half to shreds--

He remembers a bad trip with Robin, but sometimes Robin will say something and it's-- when we got drugged- took those- when we uh, y'know tried LSD that time?-- fuzzy because of the bad trip of it all.

It's easy to accept the truth as the truth, because he remembers. It's easy, for years, to let the truth be the truth, to forget entirely that there are pieces that don't make sense, that there's no reason he should be as close with Dustin Henderson as he is because wait how did we meet? over a missing cat? It's easy, to just let it be true, because the love is there and that's what matters.

The love is there for a year and two and five and ten and Steve's life isn't always easy, in fact he's gone through his fair share of therapists for the insomnia none of them can explain, the confusion that both him and Robin talk about sometimes in the dead of night but can't remember talking about in the morning.

Eddie gets medicated for some sort of psychosis for a while because he had years of these intense night terrors that he could never explain to people, screaming at the top of his lungs, but the minute he would try to tell a shaking and terrified Steve or Robin or Nancy or whoever was present what it had been about he would just sob with frustration because he couldn't remember.

Max has a condition which made her lose her eyesight rapidly as a teenager, who has chronic pain that no doctors have ever found a real cause for despite Steve dragging her to appointment after appointment with fierce protectiveness in his eyes and voice, a desperation that there has to be a reason.

It's easy to accept it as the truth, that they all gravitated towards each other because they're all just a little fucked up in unrelated ways. That they connected to one another because oh you get scared sometimes too? scared like I do? scared like no one else understands?

Lucas starts spontaneously sobbing when some Kate Bush song plays on the radio in 1992. Can't explain it except that it hurts.

Nancy goes to a shooting range and feels her hands go steady for the first time in years in '93. She's never shot a gun before.

El Hopper had a traumatic enough childhood that doctors say she likely won't ever remember all of it, that her brain is protecting her, that-- that's probably true. They're doctors. They know better than Steve, they know about everything except why Max's legs hurt so bad she can't move sometimes.

They know everything except why Eddie can't feel pinned down without having a visceral belief he's dying.

They know everything except why Jonathan swears that their old house used to be painted a different color in the living room.

There are explanations for Steve's scars. He remembers a big dog.

Sharp teeth. Snarling.

He's in his thirties when he kisses Eddie Munson for the first time, because they're fucked in the head in the same ways, because no one else has ever gotten close enough to see the scars and hear the screaming and feel the desperation and not suggested maybe you need bigger help than I can give.

He's a grown man, and it's easy to believe the truth of his past, easy to think that growing older means it's supposed to be a little fuzzy around the edges, and that's okay because this feels bright and clear and technicolor, this thing with Eddie who has run away and come back half a dozen times but always does come back.

Whether he goes to Seattle or LA, New York or Boston; whether he and Steve are in the same place at the same time for more than a couple of weeks, he always comes back, they always find their way back to each other no matter where in the world, except--

Except there.

Everyone left that town with a haste-- or was it one at a time? No, it was the Byers first to California, except-- didn't Will graduate from that school? No. Because El went to school in Chicago at the same time that Robin started college there and she helped Will apply to the Arts Institute and--

And it was Max who went to California-- no, she was from there, but she also-- did she go back?

And why does Steve remember the house he grew up in but the minute he tries to step outside the back door onto the patio in his mind, out by the-- with the blue light and--

"Have you ever been back?" he asks Eddie one day, 32 years old and living in Chicago now full-time together. Robin's just down the road, Nancy's at the Tribune, Argyle has been franchising that coffee shop of his, is opening a spot here in town near his friends who he met when--

"Back where?" Eddie trails his hands through Steve's hair, laying half on top of each other on the couch and listening to some old tape of Jonathan's.

"Where we're from."

Eddie's fingers slow to an almost still and Steve props himself up to watch the way his brow furrows in concentration.

"Why would we go back?" he asks, and Steve has this flash-- like they've had this conversation before.

Like they've talked about where we're from before, although the name of the place never crosses their lips.

"I dunno," Steve slumps into Eddie's chest. They're getting older though so maybe just, "nostalgia?"

"Are you feeling nostalgic?" A rediscovered rhythm to gentle nails across his scalp. Soothing.

"It's where we met," Steve says. It feels true, although when he thinks about it-- "remember? How we met?"

"I..." Eddie's jaw clicks. It does that sometimes, on the same side with the scar.

There are explanations for Eddie's scars too-- a drug deal gone wrong, too many guys with too may knives-- or was it broken beer bottles? They used those as weapons, yeah. Tattered clothes and tattered skin and blood on Steve's hands--

No. He wasn't there. Blood on-- it was Dustin who found him? No. Wait, it was Wayne. Wayne found him, yeah, exactly--

"We met there," Eddie's gripping Steve's hair now, by the root. "We met back there. High school. Do you want to go back?

"Why would we go--"

Steve startles himself with the words, like they just-- like they weren't a choice to say, like they said themselves, like--

"Ed."

Breathing is tight. Steve sits up straight and looks at him. Scars on his face. Eyes so big and deep they hold endless histories--

"Eddie, do you want to go visit-- visit, uh, you know?"

"Why would we--" Eddie claps a hand over his mouth and hums out a sound of frightened discontent. "What. What the fuck."

"How did we meet, again?" Steve swallows. Eddie stands up, paces to the other side of the apartment.

"High school."

"How in high school?"

"Steve, I stopped taking those meds because they didn't help, but this isn't helping me not feel fucking certifiable either--"

"Eddie, I don't remember."

"Okay, so we're getting old!"

"We're not even middle aged!"

Eddie stops where he stands, shakes his head, and Steve watches him because it's easy to watch him, easy to look at the life they've lived and accept that they found each other, fell in love, because no one else gets what it's like to be fucked in the head. To know what's true and still feel wrong in that truth.

To believe it and still get lost in it.

Eddie clenches down on the tremble of his jaw and his eyes go big and imploring.

"What's happening, Stevie?"

There are explanations for all of it, but no one has ever been able to explain Max's pain or Nancy's sharp-shooting or Robin and Steve's inability to get drunk without losing it or the color of the paint in the Byers' old living room in that fucking town that Steve can't even think the name of--

"I'm calling Robin," he says, already striding across the floor. "I want to go back."

There are explanations.

Maybe that's not good enough anymore.

#dot fic #dot post #stranger things #stranger things au #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #I sat down to work on meta and then my brain said new idea alert! and that's this ramble

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gayvecchio · 1 month

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My initial impression when I watched Eclipse for the first time (and what I still believe) is that Stella knew full well that Ray didn't humilate himself on purpose in the bank when they were kids. I always read it as Stella knowing how embarrased and ashamed Ray would feel for having wet himself, and instead of trying to console him and tell him that it was okay, she let him be the hero instead. Because even though in Ray's memory he thought that he was being 'John Lennon, James Bond, Joe Namath, all rolled into one', I don't think Stella actually fell in love with an illusion at all. Like Fraser said, 'I am willing to gamble that Stella looked beyond that one incident and saw the whole person'. I think she always saw Ray for who he really was, but Ray's own insecurities about himself made him believe that she had to be with him based on a lie. I think the person who doesn't see Ray clearly is Ray himself. He has such a low sense of himself that he can't imagine her falling for anything but a con. He can't imagine that Stella simply fell in love with little Ray Kowalski, because who the hell is even is that? He's convinced himself that he's been playing the part of 'the hero' all these years that he doesn't really see that he has actually become one. The person who recieved all those citations that Fraser recounts wasn't a lie or a con, it was Ray Kowalski, a good policeman, someone who one would be proud to call a partner and a friend. In my opinion Ray's biggest con was conning himself into believing he isn't good enough just the way he is.

#due south #stella kowalski #ray kowalski #anyway this is why the depiction of stella in some fics of being historically embarrased by ray over the years has always rankled me #she wouldn't have stayed with him since she's 13 if he was a constant source of embarrassment #she truly loved ray for ray #she just sadly ended up outgrowing the relationship eventually #and i think ray tied so much of his identity to stella for so long which is why he struggled so much to let go of her #lol i just wanted to write a little thought about stella and it ran away from me a bit. this is why i don't do meta stuff. i tend to ramble #i just hope i made sense #ds30below #<- oops forgot to tag

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sk1fanfiction · 1 month

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blood of the covenant/water of the womb

The Black sisters are so tragic.

I mean, imagine:

As kids, Narcissa is the baby sister that the elder two dote on, while both Narcissa and Andromeda look up to Bellatrix, the proud, beautiful, powerful, accomplished, perfect eldest sister, who has always known who she is and where she's going, but especially Andromeda, since they look so alike she's always been encouraged to act like her too but since Narcissa doesn't have the stereotypical Black looks and her parents didn't follow the Black naming scheme she's encouraged to be her own person a little bit more.

At Hogwarts they're all Sorted into the same House, Slytherin, which only increases their bond. Bella does really well at school, probably the top of her class, which makes Andy, who's only a year or two behind hyperaware of where the bar is. She walks, talks, and dresses like Bella.

Until

Andy follows in Bella's footsteps (who's probably Head Girl by now) and becomes a prefect, but she gets assigned to do rounds with a Muggle-born Hufflepuff. And despite everything she'd been taught, everything she knows to be true, she finds herself falling for him and the worst part is she can't tell anyone, even Bella, the one she has always been able to confide in, always reassured her and set her on the right path.

Meanwhile Druella and Cygnus are arranging Bellatrix's marriage to Roldophus, someone she doesn't even like never mind attracted to but because she's the perfect Black and the perfect daughter she has to do it. And Andromeda sees and fears how she could get trapped, too, how there's another Lestrange boy in her year.

Meanwhile a strange foreign Dark Lord comes to dinner and he's so different to Roldophus and all those other men who think because she's a woman she must be weak and she's just a vessel for their pureblood children. And despite the way she shouldn't feel this way, Bella doesn't care. He listens to Bella's opinions and he takes her seriously and he sees her magical talent and her thirst to prove herself and he's not scared of her in the way others say that she's 'too intense.' And when he offers to train her, and adds that he never does this, she says, one better, I'll follow you.

Andromeda and Narcissa watch this strange man burn the Dark Mark into their sister's arm and they don't know what to think. Narcissa's scared Bella will put herself in danger, that she'll do too much, give too much of herself because she doesn't know when to pull back. And Andy's scared Bella's going down a path she cannot follow, because deep down she can't say she believes in blood supremacy, can't say she hates Ted and she can't figure out a way through so she leaves.

It's like part of Bella's heart has been ripped out. They were all close, the Blacks, but Andy and Bella had a certain je ne sais quoi, they were thick as thieves and inseparable. Bellatrix is the one who burns Andromeda off the tapestry, crying while she does it, the scorned love for her sister, the anger and shame that Andy chose that Mudblood over her turning that love to bottomless hate.

Meanwhile Narcissa, the lucky one, watches it all. Narcissa is the one that gets it all, she's the only one who's able to marry for love and stay with her family but there's also this Andromeda-shaped hole in her and there's a Slytherin resentfulness of being Bellatrix's supporting act.

Every night that Bella is on a mission, Narcissa stays up, even while pregnant with Draco, until she knows her sister is safe.

That fateful Halloween she waits and waits and waits but Bellatrix never comes home. When she finds out her last remaining sister is serving life she completely breaks down. Won't sleep, won't eat. The thought of leaving Draco without a mother is the only thing that helps her hold on. Regulus, Andromeda and Sirius are dead/burned off the tapestry/imprisoned; she and Draco are the last Blacks, that makes their bond even stronger, makes her scared of losing him like she did her sisters. She curses Voldemort for putting her in danger, aware of her feelings for him and that Bella would do anything for them, swears she'll never let that happen to her son.

All the while Andy raises her daughter, who hates the name she gave her in the same way Andy know she would hate the Blacks. Narcissa and Andy watch each other from across crowds; Tonks and Draco are never at school together, never know more than scattered off-hand mentions of a cousin on their mother's side. But both Narcissa and Andy fantasize of a reconcilation, of Tonks babysitting Draco while they rekindle their bond. Neither bridges the gap. That burn, that rift cannot be healed. But they still ache for each other.

When Voldemort returns that fear for Draco grows, but it's tempered with the joy of having Bella back after mourning her for 14 years -- Bella, traumatized, starved, jagged and torn up at the edges, different, but alive.

And just like knowing he was innocent kept Sirius sane, Bella's love and trust of Voldemort is what made her able to hang on. Yes, they're both drastically different physically (the snake face and the emaciation) and mentally (both shaken, less confident), but everything else can be the same. Maybe better.

But everyone is scared. It's not the same world, where the Death Eaters have control and are undefeated. Voldemort is scared of that boy, Narcissa is scared for Draco. It's clear things are not the same, things are not normal. Far from it. Fear makes Voldemort angry, and cold, and distant and nothing she does feels good enough.

And that boy -- lying hateful filthy boy -- he dares suggest that her Voldemort's filthy-blooded like him. No, he must just be taunting her, scaring her. But there are things Voldemort's said, things he's done -- she would notice, the way she hangs on every word he speaks and plays their conversations in her head over and over again in Azkaban -- Bellatrix just does her best to silence it and block it out, all these confusing things, she's a great Occlumens after all.

She'll make things certain, make things right, trim off the weakness, cut out the sickness. Like Sirius. Like that young woman with Andromeda's face and Andromeda's laugh, that filthy half-blood Andy left her to create.

Narcissa can't keep Draco safe like she, the baby sister, couldn't keep Bellatrix safe. When Voldemort burns the Dark Mark into his skin she sees her son emaciated and dead-eyed.

To assuage Narcissa's fears Bellatrix trains Draco like Voldemort trained her; but he's not the same, he's weak, he's moralistic, he looks at her with wide scared eyes and he's a failure. The glory of the Blacks is gone.

All the while, Narcissa's fear grows, when Lucius is imprisoned, when Voldemort's ire turns on her family, on her son, sets him an impossible task. The despair she feels, she hasn't felt for nearly sixteen years -- Bellatrix more interested in eking out morsels of approval from Voldemort and turning her frustration on Draco, and Narcissa by extension.

All the while, Andromeda's fear for her daughter grows, of the danger she puts herself in as an Auror and a member of the Order, and she's reminded of Bellatrix, of how she gives everything of herself and how Nymphadora does too, begging, begging her to hold back.

She's not good enough for him, not with the sickness, the weakness still clinging to her. Bellatrix very much wants to kill the woman with Andy's face. She's always been perfect. It's everyone else around her that's wrong, everyone else who has to go. She'll do better. Try harder.

And when the Snatchers catch that filthy boy, and he slides out of her grasp like a buttered eel, Bellatrix hits the bottom rung of the ladder of despair. She doesn't know who she is, anymore.

Voldemort's retaliation and rejection breaks Bellatrix's heart, but it hardens Narcissa's.

Bellatrix will do anything to make him happy. She finally kills the witch with Andy's face -- do you see -- do you love me now -- but he's still cold, still frightened, still different, and she despairs, but it will be all over when Harry Potter is dead and he can breathe again. They've won. It will be alright. It will go back to normal. She can have it all again -- Voldemort and Narcissa and her perfect, pruned family.

Narcissa will do anything to keep him safe. And so she chooses Draco's life, she lies, her heart in her throat, in front of her beloved sister, to the Dark Lord, with unshed tears in her eyes and Harry Potter's 'corpse' before her.

Bellatrix's death is something Narcissa knew was coming, deep down She mourned her sister sixteen years ago and she mourns her now, but it will all be worth it if Draco survives this ordeal; Potter must win, he must live, Voldemort must die. And Bellatrix will never allow this.

She wishes she could tell Andy that she understands.

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biboomerangboi · 2 months

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This is absolutely nothing to do with the Netflix show I haven’t even watched that thing but I’m once again thinking about Sokka and Sokkas Master again and going insane.

Especially with how Sokka was never supposed to be a warrior. Like fundamentally he’s just not built for that kind of life. He was born into war and has been basically been told and trained to believe that one day he is going to die for his tribe and especially for his sister and that’s his destiny and he’s like okay that’s my job that’s what I do and everyone in the tribe knows this and sees this as my role as I am the only man left. (I sincerely doubt a bunch of woman and old people were actually looking at this kid as the last warrior seriously until he went to fight the fire nation BY HIMSELF but that’s not the point, the point is he was doing it)

But but the thing about Sokka is he’s not a fighter, he’s a scholar to his core. He doesn’t win hand to hand against Zuko but he does get a hit in with his boomerang that takes an insane amount of math to do perfectly and even though he loses the fight we realise already that Sokka is coming at this war from a different angle that anyone else is.

Like Sokka knows when he joins Aang he doesn’t have as much to bring to the team, he basically assigns himself the role of provider and bodyguard and is now willing to die for both of them because they are two of the most important people in the world and he could have been cynical the entire time. He was prepared to be cynical. Until he goes to Kyoshi gets his shit rocked by a girl and is like oh damn there’s different ways to go about fighting and war and I actually don’t know a lot of it can you super pretty warrior lady teach me your ways and from that moment on Sokka becomes a student.

He gets the mark of the wise with Bato, he figures out how to get Katara on that prison ship and that the fortune teller is a hoax and gets the water bending scroll all through thinking things through not fighting them head on. He invents the fricken war ballon and it’s so clear that all his thinking is now coming at things from an angle no one expects which is so perfect for this war in particular considering it’s been basically a slow tug of war between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for decades. He’s looking at these things and he’s like hey I’m not a bender but I do know how benders think and how a lot of people think because I’m trying to figure out how the world works. Like by the time he gets to North he isn’t as great with the weapons because again HES NOT A FIGHTER AT HEART but he is a thinker and he points out all the holes in the Norths strategy with full confidence.

Like in book 2 all his thoughts are about winning and out thinking the enemy. He learns about the library and gets so genuine excited about it but he can’t be a true nerd cause of his responsibilities but he basically plans a way to win the war, learns haikus, try’s art, gets into wrestling and learns so much about other cultures and skills he’s always thinking and winning and no longer doing things on impulse.

But of course he still feels insecure about that and doesn’t see his brain as his true weapon because he was supposed to be the warrior. That’s his role.

So he goes to Piandao who sees all of that and sees how Sokka is so so smart and eager to learn and think in ways that no one expects and he nurtures that. He teaches him art and calligraphy and gives him a Jian! He gives Sokka a Jian "The Gentleman of Weapons" not Dao even though Dao are made for soilders and Jian are for scholars, nobels and people who have time for proper sword craft. (Not to mention the fact they are primarily used for Tai Chi which is also the base for water bending which is just a detail I love). Like the Jian is a sword for scholars it’s for scholars!!!

Sokkas a thinker not a fighter and that’s so amazing to me.

Like he starts as the boy that took on a fire nation ship by himself then ends the series as the guy who’s strategies won the war, a trusted advisor for basically anyone of importance because they know he’s smart and are willing to listen to his ideas and with such a happy future for him to grow without the weight of having to be a fighter weighing him down cause that’s not who he’s supposed to be.

#I love Piandao #me and the Sokka girlies are all stanning Piandao #atla #sokka #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the legend of aang #atla sokka #Sokka meta #zee rambles #I’m researching swords for my tgcf fic and got emotional about my boy

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swinging-stars-from-satellites · 1 year

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so here's the thing. Cass's favorite brother is probably Tim. he's her little guy, her sweet cheese, her good time boy. they're both very similar to Bruce in a lot of ways, but more than that, they find it easy to be around each other. Tim is more quiet than the others, which Cass appreciates, but he's also fascinating to watch because there's constantly a thousand things going on beneath the surface of him. Cass and Tim are masters of parallel play, but only and primarily with each other. Tim is quiet when Cass wants to be quiet or talks when she needs to talk, and if she doesn't have the words for something he never so much as bats an eye (even Dick bluescreens sometimes trying to figure her words out), he just helps her find the right ones. Tim can read her almost as well as she can read him, just slower and not trained into him, it's just how he is. he looks at her and tries to figure out how she works, the way he does with everyone, a way most people don't. it makes her feel seen the same way she sees, and that's valuable to her.

another thing is that Tim is also, in all honesty, Jason's favorite brother. like it's almost counterintuitive considering how they first really met, but hey — brothers forged in blood, right? there's some wild poetry to it and they Get each other on a level the others don't really bc they're the middle children, 2nd and 3rd and always afraid of being rejected. but they've got each other. Tim is Jay's favorite because he's so incredibly forgiving (to be welcomed back to the family by the kid he nearly killed? the kid he hated? INSANE.) and because he doesn't judge. (Jay is Tim's favorite bc he's chill when Dick or B can be smothering sometimes. Jason isn't the one who lost a brother and a son, he's the one who was lost, so he's not quite so afraid of losing. yes, he's protective, but not overwhelmingly so.) they have an instinctive kind of brotherhood where they balance each other out, tempering each other's worse tendencies and bolstering the better ones without having to talk about it.

the third thing: Cass really does not like Jason. she has the no-kill rule in her heart even before she had words to explain it, and it's different than with Bruce because she's lived it. she's lived the reason why they have that rule. and Jason has too, but come out on the other side, what Cass considers the wrong side of a worldview completely different than her own. Jason kills, he breaks the law written in her soul and in their adoptive father's, and no one stops him. she can't comprehend it, and she will never accept it. she rarely uses his name, rarely interacts with him at all if she can help it because much as she wants to start a fight, it would hurt Bruce if she did and she doesn't want that. she just calls him Hood, most of the time. if they absolutely have to work together, she does what needs done and leaves.

so. Cass hates Jason. and Jason hates being hated. as far as the principle goes, he can get why Cass doesn't like him, but she's loath to even be around him and that bothers him. she's just this side of being actively hostile, meanwhile Jason is honestly trying his best not to tick her off but it's really hard when he gets glared at by possibly the most intimidating Bat every time he's at home. the same way there's a difference between Bruce and Batman (they put away masks at home, or at least they try to), there's a difference between Jason and the Red Hood. but Cass, determined, rock-solid Cass, refuses to accept that. it's not a good situation, especially when Tim gets in the middle of it, because both Cass and Jason love Tim but hate each other and Tim is just tired and wants his siblings to get along and see, this is why he prefers one on one time to family gatherings.

because at some point something happens and Tim gets hurt, maybe captured or outnumbered (as capable as he is, even a great strategist and skilled fighter can be overwhelmed at times) while out on patrol, and Oracle, sitting in front of her computer array, sighs and rubs her temples and opens up a communications channel to the only two Bats available to assist — Red Hood and Black Bat. she tells them what's up, gives them Red Robin's location, and then dips back out of the channel because she is not going to spend the rest of the night listening to palpable silence from Cass and increasingly frustrated questioning from Jason. she's not paid enough for that.

so Cass and Jason HAVE to work together. HAVE to team up to save their mutual favorite sibling (who, for what it's worth, has no clue he's ANYONE'S favorite). and neither of them is pleased with this turn of events, on multiple counts — 1, Tim is hurt. 2, Cass hates/at least strongly dislikes Jason. 3, Jason has tried everything to make peace with her and is honestly feeling a little bit desperate about it at this point because he has tried EVERYTHING, so now he's just right back at aggression. it's a situation that really can't have a good outcome for everyone, because Cass and Jason's mutual dislike for each other is at odds with their mutual love for Tim and both of them arrive at the same conclusion: all they can do is work for the best outcome for their little brother.

Tim, who has only been lightly stabbed and could have probably gotten by with just one person for backup instead of two, let alone THESE two, is both exasperated by the turn of events, and just plain glad that someone came for him. he's bleeding and hurting and watching from the alley floor as Cass stares (glares) at Jason, who's trying to figure out how to get a shot in that will give Tim a way out without, yknow, shooting his brother in the process.

and then Cass just swoops down and between her insane skills and the intimidation factor of a bat with a full-face mask the entire situation is diffused before Jason has a chance to shoot anybody, which is a better outcome than Tim expected. Jason grapples down as Cass is finishing up with the last few bad guys and she turns around and starts glaring through the mask again. the problem is, she loves Tim. he's her favorite brother, the one most like her and most like their father. but Jason loves Tim too, and Cass can see it as soon as she looks, really looks to see it. and it's so, so obvious when she sees Jason's bloodstained, scarred hands carefully bandaging Tim's (slight) stab wound and the fact that Jay pulled off his helmet as soon as it was safe to and is talking and grinning and keeping a steady eye on Tim because everyone knows that Tim plays down his injuries often and you have to watch him, because he's smart enough to hide things unless you really know him. and Jason knows him. and Cass can see that. and as much as she doesn't like Jason, as much as she's possessive of Tim, she softens for just a minute.

not that she'd ever tell anyone, and Tim was too distracted and half-foggy from blood loss to see it in her at the moment. Cass still doesn't like Jay. Jay is still utterly frustrated by the fact that she won't give him a chance. Tim is still annoyed by all of this and complains to Babs about it (bc Steph just laughs and says all three of them need to suck it up and move on, which is TRUE, but unhelpful) any chance he gets.

it isn't until an Arkham breakout, not the worst they've seen but obviously not good news, when Jason gets badly hurt and Tim (who was with him at the time) gets Really Scary, like full-on not moving a muscle, staring down the man who did it with such intensity that it feels like he could kill with only his masked eyes, sharp and suddenly absolutely terrifying to anyone who doesn't know him, that something really clicks for Cass. because she slips in as Tim coldly, calculatingly shatters the guy's kneecaps just as thoroughly as Jason's bullets would have done and then his rigid intensity falls away and he's a kid terrified that his brother is hurt.

Cass sees the way Jason is with Tim and she can't quite reconcile that caring with all his killing but she knows, because she can SEE it, that Jay cares about Tim much the same way she does. and then she sees how Tim acts when Jason is hurt, the scary sharp side of her little brother that only comes out when he's very, very afraid and very, very determined, and she sees the way he loves his older brother and... she can't deny that either.

and maybe Cass will never LIKE Jason, maybe there will always be some tension between them, but. she doesn't call him only "Hood" all the time, anymore, and Jason is capable of recognizing that tiny detail as her version of a peace offering. Tim is just glad they're not yelling at each other (or Cass's silent staring version of yelling) all the time. maybe it's a whole mess, but hey, they're working on it. as long as there's love, somewhere, there's something. (there's family)

#this was originally a meta post but it spiralled. like. a lot spiralled.#i just think they should have a contentious little thing going on. sibling rivalry but they don't consider themselves siblings #like it's funny but also fascinating. they're narrative foils!! they're their fathers precious children! they have #directly opposing worldviews and mindsets!!!#this could be so deep but also. SO comedic #i need to write the stupid little batfam road trip fic in my head bc the ensemble dynamics are SO FUN #Lu rambles #meta finding tag #batfam #cass cain #jason todd #tim drake #i didn't proofread this if it has typos I'll find it once it's too late and it's already been reblogged. as usual 😂

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