god i am obsessed eith the tonal shift between ahlf life 1 and 2 in regard to the sense of success at ur accomplisments
in 1, nothing you do ever gives u a sense of success or accomplishment, u killed people, u killed aleins but u have so much more to do. its an empty feeling, oh u killed the tentacles? cool go down the hole, dog urself deeper into this mess. oh you killed the gargantua and turned on the railway? go down deeper into the water and blood deeper into the bowels of the beast you created of the facility. you kill the nihilanth and u look up at the fireworks knoeing you are going to die, you cannot escape the explosion and the mess youve created. ur pulled from the mess and you are told you have guranteed urself a future of killing and endless battles or a battle u can never win. mothing you do matter none of it is worth anything. you are cold and alone and soaked in blood and people are only getting more scared
but in 2 the mood shifts, the smallest battles give people hope for a future. you can kill even a few soldiers and even if you do have to go deeper, the people around you cheer, if only for a moment, theyre alive and breathing and so are you. so many things yo do youre asked to do them again and again and each time these people are excited, thwyre grasping for a semblance of hope til thwir nails bleed and they cheer becuz they are alive and in the sun and watching their breath freeze as they cheer in the cold air of the mountains. the grass is green and growing and its more life than uve seen since before you moved to the middle of a desert to work in a concrete prison far from the warmth of the sun where it bakes all that it touches.
do you think gordon feels the happiness of the rebels? feels a sense of accomolishment in even the smallest thing he does? is he satisfied or fullfilled for helpjng these people? can he feel the sun warm the skin of his face and the bite of eastern european chill on his nose the way the rebels do? does he relish in that he is alive still? is he coming back? or do you think he still feels dull as he sinks deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind and the concrete cage of balck mesa where his old life died?
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hi!! me and my friend wanted to know smth… we cosplayed natsumugi before and we had the insane idea to cosplay fem!ntmg because well,, women ❤️ sooo, would you be okay with us sewing the fem versions of their fs2 outfits you drew? i looove them so much they’re so cute but i wanted to ask permission first, thank u 🫶
OMG OF COURSEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! I WOULD BE ABSOLUTELY OVERJOYED!!!!
if u do end up going through with making them, i would absolutely love to see it too!!!! having ppl want to make any of my designs a reality is like the most honoring thing EVER to me and it makes me so incredibly happy to see 🥺🥺💕💕💕💕 and thank u for asking beforehand!!
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"The you that appears in her life is not the illusion. It's really you, and it's the first person that ever looked at her and saw her for who she was and was kind."
I'm actually crying a little bit Fig and Ayda's relationship is so beautiful
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Eddie points at him with the mixing spoon. Clumps of unmixed hot chocolate power plop down to the tile. “I will carry you.” He can do it, too. Though the evidence of Eddie’s ability to carry him is a frankly traumatic selection of memories, hoo boy, it still gets the job done.
Unfortunately, this has not been getting better. If anything it’s been getting worse. At least in the beginning Steve was fantasizing about, like, Eddie’s thighs splayed across his own while riding him on the couch. Now he gets a boner at the thought of kissing him on the cheek before they leave the house to go run errands, separately.
It’s the way he stretches towards the moon when he yawns and his shirt rides up enough that Steve gets just a little peek at his stomach, at the trail of dark hair on his almost weirdly pale skin. That’s bad. The sight of his wrist bones is worse. Until relatively recently, Steve was unaware that this level of attraction could mean anything other than an astonishingly unhealthy degree of genuine pervertedness. Now, though. Now he just wants to ask Eddie to let him love him for the rest of their lives.
Lamely, he ends up just saying, “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
At a few minutes to midnight somebody turns the record player down and the volume on the TV back up. On CBS, the ball in Times Square starts making its wobbly red way down. Between them, Eddie flounders for Steve’s hand. He catches his palm between two pinched fingers. For a sick moment of hesitation Steve does not look at him, but instead over at Wayne and Lisa. Wayne is staring at the TV. Lisa is too, until she catches Steve looking, and then smiles wetly at him.
Gladys Knight is singing on the screen in a silver-spangled ballroom when Steve takes Eddie’s hand. With fingers interlinked he pulls and Eddie slides down gracelessly off the arm of the couch towards him onto the edge of his lap. He can feel the heat of him through the sandwiched layers of their jeans. Where Steve’s skin is still pinprick cold from the walk to the store he burns.
He leans up and presses his face into Eddie’s neck, stretching forward until he can feel the cold end of his nose bump against the place where the pulse buzzes and bumps under the softness of Eddie’s skin. He breathes there, warm and home. Eddie’s hand comes up behind him and Steve can feel him cradle the back of his head, palm huge and thumb slipping where he strokes his back and forward through the hat-squished snow-damp puff of Steve’s hair. Without really meaning to, he lets out a small squeak of a noise, pleased then immediately embarrassed, and when Steve can hear a rumble of laughter build in Eddie’s chest he retaliates by sucking a bite into his neck.
Eddie groans, and pushes him away. Steve’s spit shines in the hollow of his throat.
New Year’s 1986 into 1987, in Waterloo, WI.
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