#i could barely get through the episode yesterday

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond x brothel reader 👀

So what if instead of Aemond visiting the older woman in yesterday’s episode - he goes to the brothel and immediately regrets it and is about to leave until he sees reader and is mesmerized by her beauty. They have their little moment and she gives him comfort. Definitely feel free to add more or change anything! This is just a thought that I’d like to see created. Thank you!

Request: Aemond and a brothel girl (maybe a dancer idk) like the scene in the episode. Except they are more intimate and not weird age gap like the madam. It gave me the ick… He truly feels for her.

Warnings: mention of (past) character death, mommy issues,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The mysterious customer under a cloak all piqued your curiosity. You never had the chance of properly seeing him, always immediately escorted to a private bed. Some girls said he was disfigured, and that it was the reason he covered himself with a cloak. Some said it was Aegon Targaryen, but you knew the newly crowned King favored Flea Bottom’s whores. 

As you danced, your eyes would try to see through the veils he hid behind. To get a glimpse of him. But you never saw anything other than his bare feet. All you knew was that he was with Madam Sylvi and that he requested hot milk.

One late evening, you saw him leaving the veils. His cloak was on, but he saw you. He saw you dancing and moving your naked body to the rhythm of the music, entertaining the customers. 

The next time he came by, he asked for you. 

Madam Sylvi was not pleased, but he was the paying customer. 

You reminded him of his mother — physically —, but more caring and nurturing. He found your voice soothing and loved to rub himself against the fullness of your breasts, making your nipples harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming in satisfaction. His mother let him do this as a child, when she was still comforting him, and he missed it. 

Every night, he would curl against you, or in your lap, and stay here for hours as you gently caressed his pale skin. Unlike the other customers, Aemond was not there for sexual satisfaction. He just wanted comfort.

‘’Daemon sent them to kill me,’’ he said, his naked body shielded by the veils circling the large bed. ‘’It was my head they wanted, not my innocent little nephew’s.’’

Your heart was heavy as the prince mentioned the murder of Jaehaerys — a child. The barbarous act had everyone in tears. 

You rubbed his arm gently, the aroma of calming lavender wrapping around you. ‘’But you were with me.’’

‘’I feel sorry for my brother and sweet sister. She is traumatized.’’ Guilt filled his stomach as he remembered the suffering and painful grief in Helaena’s eyes. ‘’I should be grateful they did not find me, but a part of me wishes they had. Unlike my little nephew, I would have been able to defend myself.’’

‘’We cannot change the past, my prince.’’ 

‘’I know,’’ Aemond whispered, his cold, princely facade completely down in your company. He sighed deeply as your gentle caresses soothed his weary soul. His body relaxed as he buried his face into your covered chest, seeking solace in your warmth and tenderness. ‘’There’s a lot I would change about the past if I could. I…I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.’’

You stroked his hair gently, the soft, silvery locks running through your fingers. You could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he rested against you.

Aemond's eye closed at your touch, and a small sigh escaped his lips. ‘’They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different. One time, in the dragonpit, they…they said they found me a dragon. It was a pig. And my brother was part of the prank.’’

’'That was cruel of them,'’ you said softly, leaning to kiss his temple. He leaned into your touch as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. ‘’They were cruel to you, my prince. You didn't deserve their taunts and mockery.'’ 

You felt his hand reaching up and palming your breasts through your clothing. Getting the hint of what he wanted, you untied the front of your dress and freed your breasts. Immediately, Aemond’s mouth started to press kisses over them before. His hot tongue swiped over your nipple. You let him do what he desired, knowing this was his way of finding comfort. The warmth of his hand and the wetness of his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused on his needs.

As Aemond continued his sweet assault on your breasts, you noticed his cock was getting hard against his thigh, but didn’t mention it. Madam Sylvi never touched him there...or kissed him. Only you — when he asked for it. 

The music outside the curtains changed, and he shifted, letting go of your breasts to curl up with his head on your lap instead. You continued to rub his shoulder down to his back, then along his thigh and leg. 

‘’When I claimed Vhagar, I felt powerful.’’ 

His pride and confidence had swelled to an almost unmanageable extent when he returned to Driftmark. He was excited to tell Aegon, and his mother about Vhagar. But his cousins and nephews found him first. They got into a fight over the dragon…and Lucerys Velaryon took out his eyes. 

As if you read his thoughts, your finger brushed the scar going through his eyebrow. You couldn’t imagine the pain he went through. 

‘’Was it why you went after Luke that day? Because you wanted him to be afraid of you and your superior dragon?’’ 

Aemond grew still at the mention of Lucerys, the memory of that fateful day on Storm’s End, the catalyst of the brewing war, still fresh in his mind. 

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slowly. ‘’Yes... In a way, I suppose so.’’ 

You hummed, brushing your fingertips along his cheekbone softly. 

Aemond wished he could take you to the Keep. To his chambers. It would be nice to not have to hide under a cloak at night and risk getting seen by anyone who shouldn’t. He wished you would be there, in his bed, when he would return from small council meetings, training or even just supper, to take care of him and hold him.

But that was impossible. His mother would never allow it.  

—

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[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[3:22 pm] 

(cw: f!reader, pregnant reader)

3 months. That's it. 3 months or about 91 days until dad!Jaehyun would meet his baby girl and time was flying by so quickly. It felt like yesterday he was staring at the two lines on a pregnancy test and feeling faint. It felt like just yesterday he was looking at an ultrasound with a tiny smudge and being told it was the baby.

All these firsts flew by so fast and he was taking it in stride, barely registering how much could change in just a few weeks. Just a few months ago he was crying listening to his baby girl's first heart beat. Just a few months ago he was twirling you around after cutting into a pink cake, surrounded by your loved ones.

He rarely got time to reflect on how fast everything had been changing, but today was one of those days where the hours ticked by slowly. A day where you had both been too lazy to even get dressed fully, too lazy to be out of bed for longer than 10 minutes, and lazy enough to sleep the whole day. Okay, maybe that last one was just you, but Jaehyun wasn't going to argue since you were growing another life inside you.

The TV was playing some random episode of a random show you had put on a couple hours ago. His eyes moved from the screen to your curled up form and he smiled.

Your hair was pulled up into a messy bun, mussed from sleep and laying around. The shirt you were wearing was one of his from years ago, a thin cotton material with holes on the hem that he'd been wanting to throw away for years, but became one of your go to shirts around the house. It was "so soft and comfy" you had claimed, "the baby likes it." It made Jaehyun chuckle every time. Your legs were bare and underwear you had once claimed he would never seen because he "would lose all attraction for you" covered you.

Marriage had changed a lot for the both of you in the best ways. The shirt he hated had become your favorite, a source of comfort. The underwear you hated, had strangely become his favorites on you. Something about you being comfortable enough to share something that once brought you shame warmed his heart.

On any other lazy day 7 months ago, or even longer he knows he'd say and think the same thing, but something about looking at you now felt different, almost majestic. The sun was streaming through the sheer white curtains and illuminating you like you were some kind of goddess. It couldn't be just the sunlight, there was something else about you. Maybe it was a new vibrancy in your skin or the rosiness that had become a permanent fixture on your face.

Jaehyun looked at you and felt his eyes turn into hearts. You were breathtaking without even doing anything. He must have done something really great in his past life, like saving an orphanage from a fire to be blessed with the sight of such a divine being. A goddess just inches away from him and his wife.

Love wasn't even an emotion strong enough to describe how he was feeling. Yes, of course he loved you, but if you mixed love with cherishing you, adoration, besotted you, infatuation, and being enamored by you, maybe that would get closer to how he let for you.

You stirred and he stilled, his breath caught in his throat. You blinked your eyes open with the most adorable groggy face ever and in that moment he prayed that your daughter would come out looking just like you. Another human that looked like you for him to dedicate his life to.

You stretched your arms up, your bump arching into the air, before you settled with a sigh, "why are you staring at me?"

"Because I love you."

You snorted, pushing his face away with a gentle hand, "weirdo."

Jaehyun laughed, turning his face to press a kiss to your palm, "you love it."

"Something more than that," you hum, turning your attention back to the screen with your free hand resting on your bump.

[misstwisted]

raaaaant time

so, I am very upset over the new Menéndez brothers series that came out. If you’ve seen it, you probably know why. Before I go into this, if you don’t know about this case, the menendez brothers had murdered their mom and dad in 1989 as self defense, fearing of them soon murdering them themselves, after suffering years of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse by their parents hands.

for context I am a long time supporter of these men. I’ve known about this case since I was around 12 (unsupervised internet access, lmao) and I supported them then and I support them now.

This series is fucking disgusting. And not just because of the atrocious, disrespectful, and weirdly comedic relief portrayals of these traumatized men, no no no, it also of course just had to include sexualization and Incestuous fetishization of them. I was SO EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTABLE watching these scenes. I’m sure it’s all supposed to show how their father had fucked up the brothers relationship and how he blurred the lines for them of what’s appropriate and not appropriate to do with your family, but this crosses a god damn line. It’s possible I’m also giving this dumb fuck director too much credit. Idk if it’s just me, but this feels like a writers barely disguised fetish moment. So many scenes felt like the start of a porno, and at times DID BECOME A PORNO!!!!!

I remember so many times of me yelling out loud in shock “WHAT IS THIS SHOW????”

the dialogue is trash, the pacing is trash, the portrayal is trash, etc. The only part I personally think was great was when they recreated the footage of Lyle and Erik walking into court. When I was watching it I felt they really looked and acted like the brothers at that moment. And the fact it’s surrounded by such garbage is sad. It really felt disconnected from the other episodes and scenes because of how much I enjoyed that little moment. And they weren’t even talking or anything.

There’s only like one word I could use to describe a lot of the scenes, especially the sexualization scenes, which is: unnecessary.

Gotta be honest, I really wanted to like this show! Thought it could bring back attention on this case again. Show empathy towards them. But no, I had to watch two actors portraying real life traumatized brothers kiss each other.

I am seriously wondering now if Ryan Murphy wanted two actors with romantic/sexual chemistry casted on purpose for what seems to be some sort of fantasy of his.

I started this show YESTERDAY, I am halfway through episode 7 right now. I wanted to see if it’d get better, and it just never did. But honestly? It’s my fault. What did I fucking expect from a Netflix series that’s directed by the guy who made GLEE? I’m still mad now, but I can’t even describe how even more upset I was yesterday watching it.

I legit could probably go on for days about how disrespectful this show is, and good on Erik for not being afraid to call it and the directors out.

It’s in vain to say this, because obviously they’ll never see it, but: Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan you two are pieces of utter dogshit. What about any of this was a good idea? You guys deserve to be sued for thinking this was okay. You deserve it for making Dahmer, and you deserve it for making this. I don’t even wanna SAY all the horrible things I think about you guys. All i hope is nobody ever hands you two a god damn camera again. Sincerely go fuck yourselves.

I know I’m being a dramatic little bitch again for the 100th time but this is truly horrendous. This isn’t just a story you can add shit to and get creative with, guys, this is their LIVES. These are real human people with dignities and families that care about them. They’ve been disrespected enough, the fact that they were sentenced to life in general just shows how little people empathized with them.

This audacity of this being made. This very serious story of trauma being turned into this weird comedy show.

what is this RPF, Ryan Murphy? ARE YOU BORED??? How about you go make a actual fucking difference? Cause you know what, Erik and Lyle are, and they’re the ones who’re incarcerated!

that’ll be all.

[kennahjune]

Part 2 of my s3 Steddie :D

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Holy shit!! I’ve never made a tag list before?? Thank you guys sm for being so into it!! And without further ado;

…

Steve woke up with the initial thought of “what the fuck”. So he could automatically assume his day was going to go great.

Out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen is where he finds Jonathan and— oddly enough— Robin.

Steve was used to finding Jonathan with him after one of his “episodes”. Usually he or Nancy will help him through it the best they can, laying with him or sitting with him wherever he is.

The idea of Robin in his house doesn’t even occur to Steve as weird until Robin says, “Sorry for the intrusion, uh… you really freaking worried me, man.”

Steve blinked— then, without taking his eyes off of Robin, asked Jonathan “Where did I have my episode at last night?”

Jonathan had the decency to look sheepish about it. “Uh— pfsshh, you had it at work, Steve.”

“And how bad was it?” He looked at Jonathan.

“You collapsed and had to be carried to the break room to rest. And the fact that you don’t seem to remember much of anything is also saying a lot.”

Steve stood there, thinking long and hard about yesterdays events.

“I remember Billy coming in and saying something about Max. Then he said something about Dustin that pissed me off. I don’t know. After that… who the hell?..”

Munson.

Holy shit.

Jonathan must’ve clocked the moment of realization cause he walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, man.”

Steve groaned and hurried his face in his hands. “That’s so embarrassing!” Was his muffled complaint. Robin— the asshole— had the nerve to snort at him.

“Hush, Buckley! Ugh I hate this.”

Jonathan was rubbing his back now, barely hiding his own snickers and laughs. “Come on—“

“I have to go,” Steve said quickly and went to turn around to leave.

“Where are you going? This is your house!” Robin retorted.

“I have to go apologize!”

Jonathan snagged Steve’s wrist and prevented him from going any further. “Go sit down, Steve. You can apologize later.”

Steve begrudgingly obliged, sitting at the small kitchen table that was usually used for his dads drinking. He crossed his arms and put his head down. He’d fucked up his vision again when he spun around too fast to leave. Jonathan sighed and came up to rub his back again. Physical touch helped Steve a lot during times like these. Especially during the vertigo.

Robin took the seat next to him. “So, two concussions? If you were having such a bad time why didn’t you just call in?”

“Cause I’m constantly late to work and the only reason I haven’t been fired and kicked on my ass is because you keep covering for me so I figured I had to return the favor,” he replied in one breath.

They were silent for a couple of minutes, just basking the each others presence. Until Jonathan stopped rubbing Steve’s back, let his hand rest there, and then patted between his shoulder blades twice before going over to the pantry.

“You need to eat something before you do anything. Robin can you get him a cup of water, please?”

Robin nodded and stood to get it. Steve groaned. “I can get my own water, Jon.” but he’d made no attempts to move from his seat. Jonathan muttered something about toast.

“Considering the fact that yesterday you just about passed out on your feet and how a few minutes ago you nearly fell over just by turning too fast, I’d like to differ.”

Steve huffed, knowing he was right. He heard the toaster start and glass was set down gently in front of him. He lifted his head and eyed the water.

“I didn’t poison the damn thing, dingus.” Robin tapped her fingers on the table.

Steve snorted and finally took the glass. He was done with it in seconds.

“Christ,” Robin muttered while refilling it for him.

When Steve was just about done eating his toast and downing another cup of water his house phone went off.

“I’ve got it.” Jonathan stood.

Steve shrugged and stood himself— slowly this time— to put his dishes away. Robin remained seated and watched him.

Jonathan huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve furrowed his eyebrows and walked over, trying to hear the conversation.

“Yeah— no I’ve got it, don’t worry. I love you to. Bye.” Jonathan hung up and sighed heavily.

“You alright?” Steve leaned on the wall next to him.

“Yep. Great. That was my mom, by the way. And apparently the kids are all on the loose in Forest Hills, looking for Eddie.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Robin stood. “I’m going with Steve?”

…

Max was curious. They all were. Just who the hell was Eddie Munson? Steve had never mentioned him before, but from the looks of it both Jonathan and Steve knew him.

Will had wanted to ask Nancy about him, saying how Jonathan said they all went to school together, but Mike refused to ask Nancy about any of this other than asking about migraines.

So they were on their own.

Max took her skateboard and the boys took their bikes (Will riding with Mike) and the four of them made their way to the trailer park.

Max was running on borrowed time, telling Billy that she was going over to the Byers’. And if that’s not where she is in the next 2-3 hours when he comes to pick her up then she’s done for.

But it’s fine. They figure out where Eddie Munson lives in no time. It’s not a very big trailer park, and “Eddie Munson” seems to be a pretty recognizable name. A nice old lady named Miss. Bottomette pointed them right down the street from her own trailer.

The four of them made their way over, dumping their bikes (and skateboard) in the yard— not bothering with kickstands. Max and Mike shoved their way in front of the other two, both going to knock at the same time.

Mike gently shoved Max to the side when the door opened, now all three of them being behind him. Standing at the door wasn’t Eddie Munson, unless he’d aged 50 years in past 24 hours. The new man was a lot older, and was just a bit taller than Mike. He looked the four of them up and down before leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms.

“What can I help you kids with?”

Will gulped. He didn’t like adults and especially not ones with heavy western accents that look like they’d kill him if he so much as breathed wrong.

“Um— we’re just looking for an uh, an Eddie Munson, sir,” Max tagged on from behind Mike. Will reached over subtly and grabbed someone’s hand, he thinks it’s was Lucas’. Why the hell was this guy so scary?

The man had a gleam in his— something like amusement. It kind of pissed Mike off but he knew better than to get pissy with an adult he’d just met. Especially with how Will was reacting to him.

“Well,” the man chuckled, “I’m not sure what you kids need with ‘im, but he’s not here right now. So why don’t you go back home, huh?”

He went to close the door but Mike spoke up. “Wait! Please— we uh— we really, really need to talk to him. Even if it’s just for a couple of seconds!”

“If he’s not here do you know where he is?” asked Lucas.

The man studied them all closely, his eyes raking over them each individually. As if they were threats. Mike nearly scoffed to himself.

Finally the man gave in and sighed. “Why do you wanna see Ed so bad?”

Max tapped her foot really hard on the wooden porch. When everyone jumped and looked at her she put her hands up. “Sorry! Got excited.”

Lucas spoke up this time. “We, um— wanna thank him? And ask him a few questions I guess. He helped out one of our friends yesterday and we really really just want to talk to him, please. Sir.” he tagged on the “sir” like an after thought.

In the next few moments, they found themselves piling into the very small, very cramped trailer living room.

“I’m Wayne, by the way. Wayne Munson, Eddie’s uncle.” he finally introduced himself. He raised his eyebrow at them. Oh yeah, they have to introduce themselves as well.

“Oh! Um— I’m Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.”

“Er— Max Mayfield.” she crossed her arms.

“Mike Wheeler.”

“Um, uh—“ Will grabbed Mikes hand “—Will Byers.”

Mr. Munson’s eyes seemed to study Will extra hard. Mike gripped his hand and squeezed to let him know he was there. Even Max and Lucas moved in slightly closer to Will. They didn’t understand why this guy seemed to come off so mean.

“Hey Uncle Wayne! What’s taking you so long at the door, man?” The man of the hour showed his face at the end of a small hallway. His brain seemed to short circuit at the sight of all the kids in his very small and very cramped living room.

“Um, hi?” Lucas greeted awkwardly.

Eddie leisurely made his way into the room with him. “Aren’t you Harrington’s kids from last night?”

“We’re not his kids,” Mike grumbled under his breath. But he couldn’t deny the spike of joy that came with the title.

Mr. Munson looked at Eddie like he’d lost his mind. “Harrington’s kids?” he put extra emphasis on “Harrington”, as if it was actually so weird.

Max rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Harrington’s kids,” she said under her breath with heavy sarcasm.

Lucas shot her a glare and she grunted.

“Well—“ Eddie clapped his hands “—what can I help you kids with?”

Mike and Max eyed each other, trying to decide who was going to start. Turns out; it was Will.

“We wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” he spoke up timidly. Mike squeezed his hand.

“Ok,” Eddie accepted. “Hit me. What’s up?”

Lucas was the first this time. “Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

…

When Wayne went to get the door Eddie didn’t think it’d take 20 minutes. And he also didn’t think that going out to check on him would lead him to finding four little kids in his living room. More specifically Steve Harrington’s kids.

He should’ve known it was to be bombarded with questions.

“Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

Well shit.

“Cause I’ve had an undying crush on him since he first came to the high school in his freshman year and I wasn’t going to turn up a chance to help him out and maybe talk to him and then I realized it was actually a lot worse than I thought so I stuck around to make sure he was ok.”

Yeah absolutely not.

“Because he needed help. The guy couldn’t even stand on his own.”

Lucas eyed him but handed it over to Max.

“Why were you so chill about his migraine? I mean you said it yourself: he could barely stand on his own. Most people would’ve left the moment someone else got there if not before.”

Little Red held a strong point.

“Cause I knew he needed help. Simple as that.”

No. Not “simple as that”.

“Did you know him in high school? Back when he was dating Nancy?” Little Wheeler asked.

Now this; this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have. He sighed, maybe a little harsher than intended, and answered “Yes. I knew him in high school and when he was dating your sister.”

At this point Wayne had left to the kitchen. But Eddie knew he was listening in, making sure they didn’t cross any lines.

“So if you knew him in high school, when he was an asshole— don’t kick me he was!— then why were you so nice? Cause most people he talks to from high school seem to hate his guts.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate his guts!”

“I said “most people”, Will!”

Well golly damn they hold a lot of good points today. Before he got to answering the question there was another knock on the door. Max flinched and moved closer to Lucas.

“I got it,” Wayne said as he made his way over.

When he opened the door Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Jonathan Byers were all there on the porch. Wayne looked back and forth between the two groups before sighing and saying, “Why don’t we all step outside? Trailer ain’t big enough for all of ya.”

So that’s where they all went, outside on the front yard. Wayne sat on the porch steps while Eddie hung back.

“What the hell was the point in this?” Asked Steve, scolding the kids.

“We just wanted to ask him some questions!” defended Lucas. Will hung back by Jonathan but nodded his head.

“Questions.” Steve deadpanned.

Max huffed and Steve’s glare turned on her. She crossed her arms and looked away, seeming to close in on herself.

Steve sighed and pinched his nose, turning around and grunting before turning back around. “Ok, here’s the game plan.” he clapped his hands. “You four—“ he pointed at each of the kids “— are going to apologize to Mr. Munson and Eddie.”

The kids all started to grumble and protest.

“AND THEN—“ he continued loudly over them, making them shut up “—you are going to all go home to your own houses. We will talk about this tomorrow when I don’t want to fucking strangle you.”

“I can’t.” Max huffed.

“Cant what?” Steve asked.

“Go home. Especially not with you. I told Billy I’d be at the Byers’ and he’s expecting me to be there in the next half hour.”

Steve’s entire face dropped and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Max.”

She folded her arms and looked down. Steve sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “Ok, it’s fine. Change of plans; we’re all going to the Byers’! You four go apologize now and then load your bikes and board into my car as best you can.”

Eddie stood through their half-assed apologies while Steve stood back conversing with Jonathan. When the kids made their move to get their bikes and skateboard Eddie moved over to stand next to Steve. While the kids loitered around for a moment. Steve turned on him when he noticed his approach.

“What were they bothering you about that was so important Max lied to Billy?”

Eddie smirked and answered “oh you know; questions.”

Steve groaned.

They stood in silence while Steve watched Jonathan quietly scold Mike and Max for something.

“You can use my van.”

“What?”

“My van. To bring their bikes? There’s no way in hell they’re all fitting into your’s or Byers’s car.”

Steve watched as Mike and Lucas argued about the bikes while Max and Will talked behind them. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face in agitation. Steve placed his hands on his hips again and hit the inside of his cheek. Eddie watched him closely, finally noticing the ruffled hair and the plain gray t-shirt and way to short basketball shorts.

“Did you come over here straight from bed?” he asked.

Steve looked at him, squinting in the sun. “Yeah? What of it?”

“Dude it’s like 2pm.”

“Migraines knock me out.” he shrugged.

Another moment of silence went by until Steve sighed. “If you really don’t mind, letting us use your van would be great.”

Eddie watched Mike’s bike fall out for the fourth time and nodded. Just in time for Mike and Max to both call out in a whiny tone “STEEEEVEEEE!!”

Steve huffed and whined back “WHAAAAAT?” Eddie snickered.

“The bikes aren’t going to fit!” Lucas yelled, throwing his bike on the yard.

“Yeah I realized that. Thankfully, Eddie’s very nice and has offered to let us use his van.”

Mike and Lucas’ eyes lit up. “Can we—“

“Absolutely not.” Steve shut them down. “You four are going to ride with Jonathan and Robin back to the Byers’ while I run around with Eddie to drop off your bikes.”

Eddie nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Mike huffed.

“Steve,” Max called out quietly. “You’re not dropping mine off, right?”

Steve’s face softened and he smiled at her exasperatedly. “No, Max, you can toss your board in Jon’s trunk.”

She nodded and looked hesitant to walk away. The boys had already gotten in the car, and with one look around Max gave in and quickly hugged Steve. He patted her back and ruffled her hair and then she ran off to the car.

With final goodbyes and a promise to Robin to just call in sick next time, Steve and Eddie were left alone, Wayne going inside to take a nap.

Steve clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s just me and you now, Munson.”

Oh boy.

��

Guess I am gonna need that part three 😭😭

I’ll take tags for part 3 if you guys want :)

Part 3 :)

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part 7: Me and You In Eternity

|Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| |Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x Wife!Reader Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. My classes started already. That's why it took a while to pop this out. Have fun with this. I'm pleased to announce that there will be two chapters left. So a part 8 and 9. (Hopefully). It will finally cover the last episode of the season

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Four Weeks Before The Extermination

Someone swipes a thumb over your cheek. The strokes are hesitant, but filled with a gentle purpose.

Your eyes flutter open. It’s all blurry.

There’s a figure standing above you. Some small part of your soul wants to give in. It wants to believe it’s Alastor who stares down at you, capturing your gaze with the reddest of eyes. That it’s him who caresses your face with a softness that has you leaning into his touch. How cruel of your mind to play a trick on the flickers of your soul—the very same soul that continues to yearn for the missing.

What a cruel, yet old trick. It can’t fool you, not anymore.

You reach out for Alastor, poking your fingers on the edges of his lips to force a smile. This Alastor shows you the widest smile as he takes his thumb and runs it over your eyelids.

It’s wet.

Another lonely tear threatens to fall out. He brushes it away before it could get too far. The warmth of his thumb transfers to your skin.

You scramble backwards, distancing yourself. The questions thread through your mind. It distracts you, pulling your focus on the important facts. Here’s a fact: The bed doesn’t span as wide as you think it does. The edge looms closer. Still, you persevere with the quest to stumble backwards, far away from Alastor and the tears he’s been wiping away.

The chance to fall never arrives.

Alastor slithers out of the shadows, catching you in his arms with ease. “Hi.”

The back of your fingers trails down the skin of his cheek. It’s very real and very solid. There’s nothing else to say except, “Hi.”

“Terrible shift at work?” Alastor asks you with a smile the displays the yellow staining his teeth. “You weren’t in such a state when I left yesterday.”

You don’t know how to respond to him.

Alastor carries you to the vanity table, moving his thumb up and down the bare skin of your knees. It’s the smallest of acts.  Sometimes, you wonder if he’s aware of such an action. The topic never gets mentioned in feat he would stop.

Alastor waves his hands, opening them wide to drop you with an annoying flare. There’s an audible ‘thump’ when your ass connects to the cushioned but hardwood chair. It earns Alastor a glare, which he immediately responds to with that smug and self-satisfied smile of his.

It seems there’s a stray feather clinging on your scalp. It’s made aware to you when Alastor picks it out for you.

His eyes turn to the radio playing on the vanity table. It’s kept playing during the night. “Are you just playing static on this one?” Alastor asks, twisting the knob to switch it off. “It isn’t tuned to any registered stations.”

The hand smoothening your feathers isn’t a cruel trick. It’s as solid and as real as it should be.

“Playing static for extended periods of time will damage the speakers,” he says, lips twisting. Alastor and his radios—always so particular, even in death. “What do you have to say for yourself? I’m worried about how you’ve been caring for all our other radios.”

“I play the static as a white noise,” you say, and it’s the only thing your pride allows you to comment on the topic. “It helps me sleep.”

Alastor takes the brush next to the radio. The soft bristles run through your scalp. He untangles the twisted feathers, smoothening the ones that poke out. Alastor’s much gentler on your feather than you ever would be. It’s quite the sight to see how careful the Radio Demon is not to tug on his wife’s scalp.

Alastor runs the feather between his fingers, untangling the harsher knots.

“When did you…,” you start and trail off when you notice how hoarse you sound. Does Alastor notice it as well? “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alastor catches your gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “I used my keys,” he says. “You said not to knock. It’s quite nice to know you haven’t changed our locks.”

There’s a small box on the vanity table. The paint on the wood faded decades ago, only leaving streaks of dull colors. You grab it, twirling it around your fingers. “What brings you by?”

“Was it not you who told me it’s not a visit when it’s your own home?” Alastor wags his fingers, shaking his head with such vigor it’s almost mocking. It probably is meant to be mocking.

The box goes back on the table.

Alastor allows you to intertwine your fingers on his free hand. This definitely isn’t some trick.

“Good morning, my deer,” you say, pressing your face into his very real hand. “I’m happy to see you, more than you know, but I have this feeling you aren’t here to tell me all about how you’re going to be living with me again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, studying your face. There’s nothing much to pick apart when only a simple smile paints your face. “I’m here to take you to the hotel with me. It would be convenient to do all the preparations there.”

You shake your head, trying to release your hold on his hand.

Alastor refuses to release his hold on you, even as you give it a slight tug. It forces you to intertwine your fingers once more.

“I have work.”

Alastor drops the brush rather than releasing his hold on you.

He snaps his fingers, and a piece of paper pops into his hand. “How convenient then that I happen to have a signed and official letter from the Princess of Hell granting you one month off from work,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberties of sending a copy to Management.”

Alastor takes a step back when you reach for the letter. He doesn’t get far, considering how tightly your hands are linked together.

He inches his face closer, the paper still far away from your grasps. “Are you not forgetting something?”

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting it linger longer than it should, and grab the paper from Alastor when his ears perk up.

It’s a proper and formal letter. It’s free from any squiggles or smiley faces. There’s only one type of ink instead of a barrage of crayons and markers. You read through the lines of paragraphs then study Charlie’s signature.

Alastor grabs the brush to continue his work. “I was referring to a ‘thank you, deerest’ or a ‘How absolutely wonderful of you. You’re such an amazing husband, my deer’ as basic manners dictate, but I guess a kiss shall do.”

You roll your eyes, but press another kiss on his cheek.

It’s easy to push off Alastor’s hand from your scalp. It’s even easier to jump back into bed, and tug the blanket over your head. Doing so undoes all of Alastor’s careful brushing. There are wet patches staining your pillow. It’s something you ignore immediately in favor of pretending its existence isn’t real.

“Come on, now.” The bed dips from Alastor’s weight. “We have a full morning ahead of us! There’s breakfast, then the matter of packing presentable clothes, and getting you settled.”

Presentable clothes? All your clothes are presentable! They’re more than presentable! It’s him who wears the tacky bow ties and striped coats. Alastor saw how red his eyes and hair became and decided to lean into the whole thing.

“We can nap as much as you want once you’ve gotten your things sorted.”

“I’m going to sleep in,” you say, ignoring the wobble in your voice. Every single fiber you own wants Alastor to ignore it as well. “Go away. I’ll just meet you at the hotel on my own time. I’m sure there’s work for you to keep you busy there.”

A single tear drips to the pillow. He shouldn’t be here, not when control threatens to slip from your grasps. Alastor isn’t allowed to see the cracks. You shouldn’t let him see them, not when he wouldn’t like it.

“Look at me,” he says, tugging on the blanket. “My love, come on, look at me. There’s no point in being stubborn.”

You shake your head, bringing out your arm to show him how beautiful your middle finger is.

It’s easy to see his annoyance, even from underneath the blanket. Alastor’s lips will close into a strained smile. This one will replace his usual unsettling smile. His eyes will squint and twitch as he furrows his brows with controlled tolerance. And there it is, right on cue—the faint static.

Alastor rips the blanket off you.

There’s a neutral expression forced onto your face, even as your eyes remain shut. It’s a simple act to pretend there isn’t a lonely tear leaving your eyes. Maybe if you ignore the tear trailing down your skin, Alastor won’t see it drip to the pillow.

He brushes the next one away, and secures the blanket around your shoulders. It’s such a simple detail that can be ignored, but Alastor adjusts the blanket, tugging on the ends to cover everything…except your face.

There’s nowhere to hide anymore. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes snapped shut, and ignoring the single tear sliding down your cheek with a blank expression. You’re not supposed to show him the cracks. What are you doing?

“Look at me?” Alastor asks you, running his thumb over your eyelids.

These eyes of yours heed to him. Denying Alastor is an ability that you do not possess. Not in life, and surely, not in death.

Alastor holds your face with both his hands, still intent on wiping away the wet streaking your cheek. “We can stay here for a minute,” he says. “Don’t turn me away.”

It’s as much of a command as it is a plea.

“Will it cost me?” you ask him, leaning into the warmth of his hold. “I think I have a spare soul lying around.”

He brushes a stray feather away from your face. “Just a smile will suffice.”

“Only a minute?”

“We can stay here for a lifetime if you wish.” The bed dips further when he inches closer to press a kiss on your forehead. “Smile for me.”

You show Alastor a smile that could rival the very stars themselves.

The coat slides off his shoulders, and he tosses the thing over the back of a chair. Alastor peels the blanket off your shoulder to slot himself underneath, pressing himself oh so close to you.

There’s no need to question the tears, not when you’ve had decades to ponder on the answer. It’s an event that’s been inscribed to the story of you and him, and its existence demands your very soul to mourn.

What is grief if not the time that never was—the time that was never allowed to be?

All the time spent washing the dishes alone. All the time spent cooking a meal for one. All the time spent sleeping in a bed made for two, but houses one. It’s that very same unspent time that gathers up in the corner of your eyes, and trails down your cheek only for Alastor to wipe it away.

Alastor intertwines his fingers with yours, thumbing your ring finger. “Did you lose your wedding ring?” he asks. “Ha! I always knew you would be the first one to do so.”

“It’s on the nightstand,” you say, giving him a kick. Alastor uses this opportunity to hook your legs, trapping it to tangle them with his own.

He releases his hold on your hand to slip the cool metal around your finger. The ring slots back to where it belongs. Alastor traces it, feeling how the ring fits into your fingers.

Alastor pulls on your shoulder, hoisting you until your head lays directly on top of his chest. Every breath he takes raises your head up and down. Up and down and up and down and up and down—as it should be.

You ball your fist and smack his chest lightly. “Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Alastor.” You smack his chest once more. Still, it goes up and down and up and down and up and down.

“What is it, my dear?” he asks you in a voice that is oh so soft and very, very, alive.

“Alastor…,” you call out to him, letting his name leave your lips like a prayer. “Alastor.”

“Yes?” His thumb brushes over a tear that refuses to be hidden.

Alastor smiles at you, his yellow teeth displayed as he stares into you. It’s no longer brown, but red. That’s not important. The color will never be important. His eyes are here and they’re looking at you. Nothing’s changed—nothing important at least. To you, these red eyes still shine brighter than starlight.

“You keep answering me.” You squeeze his hand.

Alastor squeezes back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Will you keep answering me?”

He takes a moment to think, letting the silence ring as he draws out his answer. “It’s quite compelling to stop,” he says. “I can practically see it. Your brows will furrow, and these lips of your will twist in a laughable attempt to conceal a frown. It would ruffle all your feathers right off your scalp!”

“Alastor?” you ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

There’s work to be done. It forces you to have to pull yourself away from the lifetime that should have been, and start the day. Alastor has to re-brush the tangled feathers. If he has any complaints, he doesn’t voice them. It takes a few minutes more to pick up the feathers that fell to the floor, and throw them in the trash.

He takes your hand, and brings you to the kitchen.

Breakfast is whatever’s left inside the refrigerator. Alastor, somehow, manages to create a proper and relatively healthy meal for you to consume. The first bite of scrambled eggs brings a smile. It’s the same eggs you’ve used for yourself, but somehow, this one is the best eggs you have ever tasted.

It’s been years since you’ve had a proper meal on this dinged up table. The turmeric stains have faded into a small yellow. The cracks on the table have rounded with dullness. Most meals were eaten at work or in front of the television.

“How was your day?”

Alastor leans on the palm of his hand, watching you eat. “That’s a question reserved for dinner.”

“It’s a question from when I wasn’t able to witness the happening of your day,” you say. “Will you not be next to me from now on? What’s there to ask when I will be there to see how the rest of your day will go?”

“There isn’t much to say,” Alastor says, tracing the dents on the table. “I awoke quite early, got dressed, dropped by your workplace, and then went straight to our home.”

There’s a smug smile on your lips. It’s not something you’re keen on hiding. “Were you that excited to bring me to the hotel?”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take a bite off your meal, doing as he says. It’s seasoned perfectly. When you cook, its either too salty or tasteless. You never did get around to figuring out the perfect amount, but it seems Alastor was able to solve the mystery of how much salt to add. “I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take another bite, and point the fork at him. “I’m still not hear—”

“And you never shall,” Alastor says, grabbing the fork to push another mouthful of eggs into your mouth. “So, just eat your eggs.”

He keeps the fork with him the whole meal, shoving food into your mouth to prevent further questioning.

Inside the sink, an assortment of bowls and tiny plates and pans are neatly arranged. There are ten dishes neatly piled, minus the pot and the pan (of course). It’s twelve with the pot and pan. All this for a simple plate of scrambled eggs.

Alastor presents his work to you with a wave of his hands and a proud smile.

This has you barking out a laugh.

Your eyes shut once more, because despite the laughter, it seems this tear is determined to fall. “How absolutely dumb of me. I don’t know what’s gotten over me this morning,” you tell him, even if you do know. “I guess work was a bit much yesterday.”

“There’s nothing stupid about you,” he says, wiping the next tear. “I’ll go wash this mess.”

“So, you do admit it!” you say, sticking your tongue out. “Are you finally going to admit that you made a mess?”

“I never have and I never will. Go to the living-room,” he says, and his ears flicker with the smallest of movements. It would be an easy miss had you been any other Sinner. “…I’ll handle this for you.”

You show Alastor the brightest smile when you press your lips on his cheek. “I think you’re mistaken, my deer. I’m incredibly happy right now,” you say. “Can we finish the dishes together?”

Alastor’s shadow pokes your leg thrice.

It looks at you with a jagged smile, fiddling with its shadow fingers. The shadow waves you at you in a way that has you waving back. It points to its cheek and looks at you with as much expectancy as a shadow could produce.

“Oh dear,” you say, smiling at the shadow. “I keep forgetting about you. Would you forgive me if I made it up to you?”

The shadow crosses its arm, pointing its nose to the air with a frown.

It’s an easy thing to position your shadow. Just a step back and careful angling makes the shadow of your lips cross past its cheek and presses a kiss on its own shadowy lips. Look at you now—feather on your scalp, four fingers on your hand, and smooching the shadow of your husband.

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” you ask. “Or shall it take another?”

The shadow offers a thumbs up, its shadowy smile somehow becoming even wider.

Alastor summons his microphone with a distracting type of flare, and strikes the edge on his own shadow. The poor thing scampers back into him with lowered ears.

You raise your eyebrows at Alastor.

Alastor leans forward on his microphone, using it as a cane, and shows you’re his most innocent smile.

You press another kiss on the edge of his mouth. What an absolutely silly man to be married to.

Alastor grabs your hand, and all twelve dishes are cleaned with only one usable hand. It takes longer than it should. The inefficiency of having one functional hand slows the whole process.

The dishes get done. Even if the bowls and plates have to be held out and supported for Alastor to sponge, the dishes get done. No matter how long it will take, the dishes will be completed together.

The coffee mugs warm your hand.

There it is again, the ever present, ‘Two’. One for you and one for him. You and him. Him and you. It seems there won’t be any wasted coffee beans today.

Alastor’s outside, seated on the steps of the porch. The legs on this body are far longer than his old ones. It forces him to stretch them out to sit comfortably on the steps. There’s a smile directed at you when Alastor receives his coffee mug.  And if Alastor was a silly man, then you are a silly, silly woman. Even after decades, it makes you giggle like a bumbling school-girl.

You take the seat next to him, staring at the reddened morning sky. “My, most, deer,” you say, calling out for him. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

“It’s not something I think about.”

“Ask me if I miss it,” you say, bumping your shoulders with his and showing off your most innocent smile.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

The coffee mug gets discarded to the steps in favor of grabbing his face with your hands. The pads of your thumb go up and down the skin of his cheeks. “I don’t, actually,” you say with a smile that could rival the sun. “I have all of it right here in the palm of my hands.”

The laughter from his microphone mixes with his own laughter. Even his shadow chuckles at your words. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to sit next to,” he tells you. “Did you ask me just to be able to say all that?”

“I did, actually.”

“And how long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Hmmm,” you say, taking one long sip of coffee to delay your answer. “Five or six years, give or take.”

Alastor’s original voice bleeds into his words. “Years?” he says, wheezing as his eyes bulge out in different directions. “You’ve been waiting to say that for years?

You lean your head on the palm of your hand, watching Alastor take a sip of his coffee to calm himself. When was the last time you had a morning as lively as this one? “Well, it was only ever meant for you to hear.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “No flirting before coffee’s been finished,” he says. “You should already know this.”

“Then hurry up,” you start, rubbing your nose, “and finish it then.”

He takes a small but long sip.

It makes you think he’ll drag out finishing his coffee, but Alastor throws the rest of his obviously, very full, coffee behind his shoulder. The drink splatters to the plants. He smiles at you like there isn’t coffee dripping down the leaves and into the soil.

“Look who’s being ridiculous now,” you say. “My coffee isn’t finished yet. So, I guess you’re going to have to sit there and wait.”

You take small and drawn-out sips, showing off just… how…slow…you…will take to finish.

“Horrible dream earlier?” Alastor asks you with a smile that shows off all his teeth, staring at how he fiddles with the handles of his mug.

“Not one bit!” you exclaim, taking a gulp of coffee. “It was a good one.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, bumping your knees with his. “What wonderful things did your mind dream about?”

“Well, this is a dream I’ve decided to keep to myself,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Although, I think it’s one of the best ones I’ve had in a very long time.”

Alastor brushes his thumb over your eyelids, even if the tears stopped slipping. “Then why?”

“Because,” you begin, leaning into how gently he caresses you, “the dream ended too soon.”

Alastor snatches the mug around your fingers, throwing the content behind his shoulders. The coffee splashes to the plants. “It seems you’ve finished your coffee.”

“That’s wasting!”

“I’ll brew you another cup at the hotel,” he says, smiling at you. “But as of now, you’ve officially finished your coffee.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “Can I be greedy?”

Alastor picks a feather out of your head. “As little or as much as you want,” he tells you. “Anything you could ever want and anything you could ever wish for—it will be yours.”

“You promised me a kiss when you came home,” you say. “I think I’d like to cash that in now.”

Alastor studies your face, holding you in the palms of his hands. “And when did I do such a silly thing?”

You place your hand on top of his own, nuzzling deeper into his hold. Home has never felt more like home until this very minute. “I guess it must have been something I dreamed up,” you say. “Are you still willing to fulfill your promise?”

Alastor presses a kiss on the crown on your feathers. “I was in this dream of yours?”

“You always are, especially when you have this special talent of finding my last nerve and tap dancing all over it,” you say with a snort. “So, are you going to fulfill your promise? A proper kiss this time, please.”

“A doting husband always does so.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

The wind blows as you sit on the steps. It pushes feathers to your face. Alastor tucks them away, letting the loose strands flow through his fingers. He holds your face, and you would like to believe that his fingers were carved to perfectly fit along the outline. It could also be the other way around.

Even in this lifetime, his lips are chapped. The cracks poke you when Alastor hover above, brushing his mouth ever so slightly on the skin of your cheek.

You pull on his monocle, discarding the thing to the plants. It gets in the way of how deep you press yourself into his skin. Soft exhales mix together. Alastor’s nose pokes you as he brushes his face across the outline of your face.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

Alastor torments you, demanding so much space in your soul that it’s become filled with him and only him. In life. In death. In the in betweens and the afters.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth, and your eyes flutter to a close when he finally connects your lips. The pads of his thumb go up and down into a gentle caress as he presses kiss after kiss. Your arm snakes around his back, drawing spirals on his back as you pull him into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow. It’s like he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than using the language of your rings to write you a poem.

It’s you who pulls away first. You’re being greedy, demanding too much affection from him.

You smile at him.

Alastor smiles back at you, and leans back into a kiss, pulling you closer by the neck.

There have been lifetimes of tomorrows and there will still be many more tomorrows to experience.

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Two Weeks Before The Extermination.

There’s no television in this room. The lack of modern technology in Alastor’s room isn’t even the problem…you just…really miss that television.

Sure, soap operas are trash. So, what? Who cares if it doesn’t make sense that Mara and Clara are sisters? Or how a perfectly normal couple can suddenly birth a blue child that’s able to heal people with tears? Like yes, that’s not how holy water works. It’s the dumbest thing ever, but entertaining trash is still entertaining.

Alastor refuses to breathe the same air as a television, going as far as to avoid them even with you present in the room. No amount of begging or pouting convinced him to watch a single episode. You could just watch it alone, but that would mean you would be…alone.

The low dim of the fireplace and the soft music playing on the radio join to create this cozy morning atmosphere. The warm coffee around your fingers and the soft cushion of the armchair tit the whole scene together.

Something hoots from Alastor’s bayou.

That’s totally not creepy—not one bit. It does not bring a chill up your spine, and there’s totally no reason to dig yourself deeper into this plush cushion. You refused to step one foot into his bayou, preferring to stay in the part of the room that actually resembles a room. Not even the tempting offer of a picnic has you agreeing to go past the wooden floor. If Alastor refuses to watch television shows with you, then you won’t bring a single feather into his bayou.

Alastor smiles at you from the armchair across, drinking coffee like there aren’t trees and unknown animals spilling into his room.

A hesitant knock sounds from the door.

“Can I come in?” Char’s muffled voice calls from beyond the wood. “Wait, are you guys away? Oh gosh. Should I just come back later?”

You glance at the clock, checking the time then slide your eyes to Alastor. “If we stay silent, do you think Charlie will assume we’re sleeping?”

“That would be rude, my dear.”

Alastor stands from his chair, placing the coffee mug on the little table. There’s a smile on his face as he smoothens the lines of his dress pants. He walks towards the door, taking long strides. It’s as if he’s showing off just how determined he is to open the thing.

With a twist of the doorknob, Charlie comes into view.

She stills by the entrance, and gives Alastor a small wave. There’s a bright but hesitant smile on her lips. Charlie fiddles with her fingers, staring at Alastor as he blocks the opened door with his body. It keeps her from fully entering.

An awkward type of silence rises to the air.

“Al, stop messing with the poor girl, and bring her in,” you say after five painful minutes of awkward silence. It takes three long sips of coffee to kill the laughter that threatens to escape. “Good morning, Charlie.”

Alastor grabs Charlie by the shoulders, and her heels scrape the wood as she’s dragged deeper into the room. There’s this hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips. Basic manners demand you stifle all laughter. It’s simply not right to laugh at the owner of the establishment currently housing you.

Alastor offers Charlie the free arm chair. “Care to take a seat?”

“Sure…thanks,” she says, blinking, It takes her a moment to settle on the cushion. “Sooooo, how are you liking your stay here? If there’s anything bothering you, just mention it to me. I’ll be happy to try and work out a solution.”

“There’s no need to do such a thing. You’ve been so accommodating towards me,” you tell her, brushing a stray feather away. “I appreciate how silent it is here. Loud noises tend to strain my ears.”

“I’ll be sure to keep any noise down,” Charlie says. “But I’m glad to see you seem to be enjoying yourself. I really appreciate how you join our activities as well!”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Alastor decides to sit his ass on your chair. He buries himself next to you, squeezing into a chair meant for one. You bump his legs, shoving him away to gain more personal space. It’s taken as an invitation, instead. Alastor presses even closer and takes up more space.

You bump his legs once more.

 Again, Alastor squeezes closer.

There’s a strained smile on your lips when you turn back to Charlie. “I’ll tell you my secret as to why I’m enjoying myself,” you say, shoving him further away. “Any place tends to be nice when I wake up to Alastor’s snoring.”

He glares at you. “I do not snore.”

You cover your mouth as if whispering to Charlie. “He does,” you say with a lowered voice just to be infuriating. “It’s the faintest of static. It just comes out of him.”

“Whatever can we do for you?” Alastor tells Charlie, smiling as he places a hand on your shoulder. “My wife will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests! She’s quite handy with a sponge. Although, keep your bowls away.”

You dig your elbow into his side.

Alastor elbows you back.

“I’m actually here for the both of you. “There’s this questions that couples ask each other, and it’s supposed to deepen their relationship.” Charlie twiddles her thumbs. “I want to try them with Vaggie. Can I go through the questions with you guys first? Tell me if there are any stupid questions.”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “There are some bulk items we need—”

“Nonsense! I will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests, apparently,” you say, placing a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “And my husband would agree to anything that makes me happy. We would love to help you.”

Alastor elbows your side.

You return just as much as he gives. Maybe a little more.

There’s an adorable type of shine in Charlie’s eyes. Thank you…so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you guys are here. We are going to have so much fun!

Alastor’s coffee awaits to be finished. It’s still discarded on the table between the arm chairs. You reach for it and return his mug to him with a smile. There have been so many wasted cups of coffee-several years’ worth of coffee down the drain. There’s no need to waste anymore—not where Alastor smiles back at you.

“I think it’s endearing how you want to do this with Vaggie,” you say. “You should have seen how furious I was with Alastor—”

“When I lied” Alastor finishes for you. “Are we ever going to move past that? It’s been decades.”

“Never.”

Charlie tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait…,” she says, slowly. “You know Vaggie was an exorcist. How? You weren’t there when we announced it.”

Your eyes flicker to Alastor for the briefest of moments.

Alastor makes it a point no to look your way.

“You told her?” Charlie exclaims, gaping at him. “I mean…I’m not mad or anything.  Vaggie thought it would be better to tell you afterwards or if you decided to stay permanently. We just didn’t want to scare you away.”

“I thought it was common knowledge already…?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, and the base of his ears flicker down with annoyance. “Dearest, when has anything I told you over morning coffee ever been ‘common knowledge’?”

“Well, I’ll tell you this ....It was common knowledge to everyone when Ally from neuro cheated on her girlfriend.”

“Do tell!” Alastor takes a sip of coffee. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“The room they were in? It happened to be one that had an intercom that connected to the whole building,” you say, laughing. “Every little sound was broadcasted to every floor!”

Charlie’s eyes bulge a little, and she leans ever so closer.

Alastor reaches over you, grabbing the coffee pot. A snap of his fingers, and a whole new coffee mug appears in his hand. There’s a filled mug being handed to Charlie. She takes it without thinking, leaning on the edge of her seat.

“That isn’t even the worst part,” you say, fiddling with the handle of the mug. “The person Ally was with? The father.”

“The father?” Charlie echoes with disbelief. “That’s horrible!”

“Oh, my dear, it was. Believe me…it was,” you say. “What a horrible day to have ears.”

“So how did the girlfriend react?”

You press your shoulder closer to Alastor, slightly leaning your weight on him. “The girlfriend works as an accountant for the hospital and heared the whole thing. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time her father’s done suc—”

“Shall we head to the questions?” Alastor grabs the coffee pot, taking it upon himself to refill all the mugs. “There are actually some deliveries that need to be arranged.”

Charlie blinks and leans back into the cushions of the arm chair. “Right…Yes, of course.” She brings out her phone, swiping down the screen. “I guess we should just jump right in?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay…The first question asks you what your most treasured possession could be.”

There’s a box on top of Alastor’s fireplace. It’s hidden in plain sight, blending with all the other stray items he likes to keep as decorations. The painted designs faded years ago. It should have been left at home, but you found yourself pocketing the box to take with you.

“It’s just this old box,” you say, studying the rim of the mug. “It’s quite expensive. It took at least forty-years to save up for it.”

“Oh, what’s inside?”

“That wasn’t the question.” You take a sip of coffee, letting the liquid slosh down your esophagus. “I believe it’s your turn now, deerest.”

Alastor loves his personal space. It’s something he makes perfectly clear. However, it seems he also loves your personal space. He places an arm around your shoulders, shaking your like a rattle “Why, it’s right here” he exclaims. “I couldn’t have asked for a better dishwasher despite the magnitude of broken bowls. It’s quite the attractive model.”

“Stop it.” You swat his hand when the coffee around your fingers threaten to spill. “Go finish your coffee.”

Alastor slides his eyes to Charlier, watching her reactions as he inches further into your personal space. “Should I change that rule?”

“It’s his microphone.” You push his face away, rolling your eyes at him. “He never goes anywhere without it, and hardly allows anyone to touch it.”

“I allow you to hold it all the time.”

The way you sip your coffee hides your smile. “I’m not just anyone, now, am I?”

Charlie groans in her palms, pushing strands of her hair behind her face. It’s funny to see how her lips twist into the adorable sort of frown.

“Oh, stop it.” Alastor flicks your nose. “Finish your coffee.”

The armchair squeezes the both of you into this small space. It’s much more comfortable to just press together. You lean closer into his personal space, allowing yours to mix with his, and wrap your arms around Alastor’s neck. The strands of his hair brush against your skin.

“Charlie…,” you begin, inching closer, “be a good girl and close your eyes.”

There’s a loud groan escaping her mouth. She sulks into the chair as if she was being deflated. “Seriously?”

“Go on,” Alastor says, urging her with a smile. He leans ever so slightly into you.

Charlie closes her eyes.

There’s a stray strand that slides down Alastor’s hair. You brush it away, letting the strands flow through your fingers. There’s a smile on your face when you press a kiss on the edge of his mouth. It lingers longer than it should.

The tips of Alastor’s ears flicker, and you snatch his mug. It gets tossed into the fireplace

Alastor grabs your chin with the tips of his fingers, and steals a kiss.

“Can I continue now, or should I just leave?” Charlie snorts, eyes firmly shut. “I swear, Mom and Dad were exactly like this—it’s kind of cute.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek. “Let’s continue!”

The mug around your fingers gets snatched. Alastor takes a sip of coffee. It seems this is a shared coffee mug now. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charlie stares at the both of you, taking one good look and sighs. The phone’s pulled out again as she reads the next question. “Is there a personality trait or skill that the other possesses that you wish you had.”

“I do wish I could be as proficient with words as you are.” You take the shared coffee mug from Alastor and take a mouthful. “The most horrible things come out of your mouth in such a poetic way.”

“That’s too sweet.”

“And quite the ridiculous question,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “If there’s a trait or skill I want, then I simply acquire them or someone who can. There’s no use wondering about such things”

You snort at him. “Well, humility certainly isn’t a trait you would wish to possess.”

“Charlie, close your eyes.” Alastor inches closer, pressing his weight into you. There isn’t enough space in the arm chair to lean away.

There’s that hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips again, but she does as she’s told. “Again? Will you be doing this every time?”

Alastor leans away, and drinks a mouthful of coffee. A delighted hum escapes him as he savors the taste.

It’s quite peaceful. There’s this type of silence that takes over. One meant to be enjoyed during the early mornings. The crackle of the fireplace and the soft tunes of the radio blend into the background of the scene. You chuckle at Alastor and drink from the mug when he offers it to you. The morning becomes peaceful once more. You and Alastor squeeze into an armchair made for one, drinking coffee in silence.

Charlie squirms in her seat with closed eyes. 

It takes five minutes of silence for her to summon the courage to speak up

“Uh…” Charlie plays with the ends of her ponytail, twirling the loose strands of her hair around her fingers. “I hope you’re aware that I’m…you know…still here?”

You bark a laugh, leaning your head on Alastor’s biceps. “You can open your eyes now.”

Her eyes peek open, slow and hesitant.

Loud laughter echoes around the room and into the bayou. “I apologize, sweetheart. We’re just pulling your leg,” you say. “Let’s continue on to the next question?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and brings out her phone once more. “Alright then…Is there something you’ve been keeping from each other?” she asks. “Oh, I guess it’s like a secret or a confession you haven’t mentioned before.”

An answer pops into your mind. It demands to be said out loud. That demand is ignored. Who does it think it is to ask you to heed against its requests?

“I think you own too many radios,” you tell Alastor instead. It’s a safe answer. “There certainly doesn’t need to be three in the bathroom.”

Charlie tilts her head. “Why would you need three?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last few decades of our marriage,” you say. “Sometimes, I think he can hear me through the speakers.”

“Alastor can’t actually do that, right?” Charlie glances at him. “…Right?”

Alastor grabs your face, squishing your cheeks. His eyes flicker all over your face, studying your every reaction. “You thought of something.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. “I thought of the radios in the bathroom.”

“What did you think about?” Alastor says, shaking your cheeks. “I know when you lie to me, dearest.”

Charlie gives you a thumbs up with a bright smile.

“Answer the question, my love.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes louder. The answer refuses to be held back, coerced by Alastor’s demand. You pull Alastor’s hand off your cheeks. “I broke your piano.”

The confession lifts a weight off your chest.

“I was just at home.” Alastor squints at you. “Our piano is fine.”

You sulk into the cushion of the arm chair. “I meant the piano at the old house.”

“How did you even manage to break one of those?” Charlie asks. “Those things are quite large.”

It’s somehow possible to hide yourself deeper into the chair cushion. “I used Alastor’s bat and just…swung.”

“Oh! Oh! This would be a great opportunity,” she says, eyes shining. “Would you like to say anything to Alastor?”

There’s quite a lot you would like to say. “I apologize for breaking your piano.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Great, actually. I’ve been keeping this for decades.” It’s impossible to keep the lid of secrets now that it’s open. “Is this the wrong time to say I used the bat to smash your radios?”

The mug shatters from Alastor’s grip. The shards fall to the wooden floor.

Alastor pulls out a handkerchief. It has his name neatly embroidered. He wipes his hands, drying the drips of coffee. There’s a pleasant smile on his face. That’s totally not worrying.

Alastor stands and suddenly, the armchair sits one. He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Can you give me and my wife a moment?”

Charlie’s eyes slide to you as she rises to her feet.

The way you shake your head with vigor strains your neck. You try to send Charlie a message. Please don’t leave. Charlie, stay here! Please stay.

Alastor doesn’t allow Charlie the opportunity to respond.

He grabs her by the shoulders. Once more, her heels scrap the floor as she’s dragged to the door. It would be funny if you aren’t calculating how much scolding you were to receive.

You fucked up. Oh, you fucked up big time.

The door locks, and your sentence seals.

Alastor’s fingers linger at the doorknob. The base of his antlers grows…then it shrinks. The pattern continues for one long minute. It grows and shrinks as if Alastor doesn’t fully know what to do with them.

Symbols glitch into the air. It disappears just as quickly as it manifested.

The sound of cracking bones catches your ears. It has you sulking into the cushions of your chair, a pout on your lips.

The expansion of limbs and the slow growth of antlers forces you to press your hands into your face. You peek at Alastor through the slits of your fingers.  His antlers are so long now, growing like tree branches. Faint stitching outlines the edges of his cheek as he smiles with sharpened teeth. The lines around his body sharpen with an edge to it

Static buzzes around the room. It emanates from the radios, and from Alastor himself. Tingles run down your skin.  Alastor takes wide steps as his body continues to crack with expansion. “Let’s have a talk.”

The lights flicker all around, and a faint green glows into the room.

You shake your head, still peeking at him through your fingers.

His left eye morphs into radio dials. Alastor blinks and his pupils return to their original form. Another blink, and the full force of the radio dials gaze into your soul.

“…Deerest,” you mumble into your palms. “If you continue to look like that, talking will be the last thing I would want to do with you.”

Alastor’s neck snaps as he tilts his head. “Look at me

Once more, you shake your head and press deeper into your palms.

It takes a moment for his bones to snap back into place. The lights stop flickering, and his shadow pulls back into his body. Gone are the growing antlers, and the glowing radio dials to look into your soul.

Alastor takes your wrist, peeling it off your face. “Can we talk now?”

“I’m sorry about your stuff,” you say, quickly. “It wasn’t right of me to do so.”

There it is again. Alastor’s thumb goes up and down the bare skin of your wrists. It’s such a small act. Does he do this on purpose? Is he even aware of such a motion?

You give Alastor the most innocent smile you could produce. “I think this is an even worse time to mention that I burned down—”

“What, my house?” The tips of Alastor’s ears sharpen. “You burned down my house?”

Your lips twist as you sulk deeper into yourself. “Yes…?”

Alastor runs a hand over his hair and turns his back to you. The air glitches once more. It appears and disappears as if it’s unwanted. He runs another hand over his hair, and turns back to you with a sharp glare.

“You know what?” you say, and you can’t help but glare back. “No, I’m not sorry.”

“I hardly care if you feel sorry or if you don’t.” Alastor’s smile wobbles. “I could care less. Just stop saying it like that.”

“Like how?” you say, grumbling. “I’m confused right now. Do you want me to apologize or not?”

Alastor reaches for your hand, pulling it closer to him. He traces the cool metal of your ring.  “Your piano. Your Radio. My house,” he says, and his smile strains ever so slightly. “You speak as if those weren’t all yours as well. As if it was only me in that house.”

Your thumb moves up and down to caress him. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Alastor pulls away from you. The smile on his face becomes one thin line as he squints with annoyance. His ears flick down. Alastor looks at everything except you. You have to hide your face into the palms of your hands. The heat of your face spreads all over. It seems Alastor’s correct—you are ridiculous.

Alastor begins to walk away, but you grab his hand to keep him in place.

Just a moment. That’s all you need.

You intertwine your fingers around his, refusing to release your hold. Just a moment. That’s all you need. The clock ticks, and you stay like this, hands intertwined for what seems like a lifetime.

Up and down. Up and down. Alastor’s thumb brushes you. Part of you hopes he never stops.

“It wasn’t…,” you begin, searching for the courage to continue. “It wasn’t right of me to destroy our piano, and our radios, and our bookshelves, and burn down…our home.”

Alastor kneels to search your eyes, tilting your chin to look at you. It’s still red, and still brighter than starlight. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

You take his hand, playing with the tips of his fingers. There’s a ring on his finger that matches yours. You plant the gentlest of kisses on his ring. “It’s because of this.”

Alastor tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at you.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. That was something I hope you will never have to find you,” you tell him, brushing your thumb on his face. “My love, I hope you will never understand.”

Alastor brushes a feather away from your face with a smile. The things you would do to keep him smiling. It doesn’t even have to be towards you. Just keep him smiling.

Please…Please never let him find out.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

|Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| Alastor’s love language is just being the biggest nuisance, and we love him for that. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @amoraneuro @obessivlyonline @@@@soohaneul @@stelen-sweethearts

[eriexplosion]

Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.

I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.

When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.

Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.

I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.

So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.

He Fell For You, get it?

The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.

Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.

The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?

Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.

More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.

CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?

The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.

Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!

Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.

There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.

I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.

I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.

I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.

The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.

[carigm]

About Dyersfilm’s “leak”

For all of you who don’t know, dyersfilm is an insufferable individual who used to go by the name of swiftlynatalia. She is racist, homophobic, transphobic, and even made fun of her supposed favorite actress’ eating disorder. However, people on Twitter (especially mlvns) entertain her because she had reliable sources during the filming of S4, and after during post production. She had some true leaks, many being the same that Reddit got right, while others only she had. She was also wrong about quite a few things, but generally she was reliable.

It is worth noting though that she is extremely biased against byler (many of the leaks she got wrong for S4 were pertaining their storyline) and absolutely hates the ship.

This time around, she was getting some leaks during the first couple of months of filming to her curious cat, but she herself claimed that these were not reliable leaks whatsoever and that she was pissed because this time she doesn’t have access to the real sources she had for S4. She has complained about this repeatedly for these past few months. The leaks she has gotten tho, many she has mocked and made fun of because they don’t align with what she wants from the show. She also made a “disclaimer” when the show started filming again that she would not be posting leaks about Byler because she hates us all, and yet every single one of those most likely fake leaks she got she posted, and many of them talked about Byler. She would post them and mock them for “clearly being untrue”. She has barely gotten a single Mlvn positive leak this whole time, and when she’s gotten at least something that alludes to them having scenes together she immediately ran to post it and alert all her friends, even tho she herself knows all of these are most likely fake.

For weeks now, her curious cat has been dry af because I guess nda’s are stronger this time, or no one wants to leak shit to her (she’s rude as hell). she posted the following ask 10 days ago. Someone asked her if she knew about any Mike and El scenes and she said no. Keep this in mind for what’s coming next…

Then suddenly yesterday, she alluded to a Jonathan spoiler she’s supposedly pissed about, but refused to post it like she’s done for everything else. People quickly thought it might involve Byler because she said she wasn’t going to post “leaks” about it, even though she had already lol. So they asked her and she said that “yes, it has to do with Byler.”

Then shortly after this someone asked about Mlvn again, this was just today. Again, note how she proceeds to say she knows nothing about Mlvn 😭

Bylers on Twitter noticed her answers about Mlvn and her comment about a supposed byler leak involving Jonathan and started speculating. She ofc noticed this, and not even after an hour of her saying she knows nothing about Mlvn she goes on to say this.

….

She knows nothing but somehow she knows Mlvn is stable? The bipolar disorder of these answers could rival my own bipolar.

Mind you, we all know that she would’ve jumped up at the first opportunity to post any leak that implied Will was pining and miserable, her and her friends would’ve had a field day over it. And yet, she only clarifies this after…

Not to mention how utterly ridiculous this all is. They’ve filmed stuff up until episode 4 (from what we know), why the hell would Will be pining and hung up over Mike if Mlvn is endgame? That makes absolutely no fucking sense. They would have him immediately fully patch things up with Mike and move on, not be hung up on someone he can’t have in the middle of an apocalypse. Especially not after the Duffers said he’s getting a happy ending. Will getting a happy ending but still being in love with Mike halfway through the last season with Mlvn being endgame is absolute lunacy.

Especially when you consider the fact that narratively, in a sense, Will has already moved on. He doesn’t expect anything from Mike, he doesn’t think Mike can like him back. He saw Mike confess his love in front of El, he helped that confession happen. Will literally has no problem with Mlvn anymore pls 😭 He saved them!!

This is the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever read.

Will is somehow upset at Mike not feeling the same way…when Will already believes Mike doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t ever expect any reciprocation 😭

Either she’s wildly twisting this supposed leak out of context to fit her own perceived narrative of what should happen, or she’s straight up lying about this.

And we know she’s lying about Mlvn so…you people decide what you think of this buffoonery lol.

Wait for Reddit leaks y’all. This woman could get a legit leak saying Byler is endgame and dig her own grave before posting it.

[neohoestechnology]

I absolutely love your moodboards and headcanons! Could you do one for Draco? 🥰🫶🏻

Thank you so much!!💗💗

I'm SO sorry it took so long (mainly because I saw the request yesterday 🫠 my university is KILLING me sorry😭). This is LONG so bare with me + my English is rusty af so I apologize for any grammar mistake

☆ Draco Malfoy Headcanons & Moodboard ☆

Okay, so, a quick disclaimer here before we get started -----> now, I really believe that Draco is one the most tricky character to "get right" (speaking of his behavior and thoughts), so I just wanted to say that this is my personal interpretation and could be 100% different from yours so please be kind🥹

Oh boy, it took A LOT for you two to finally get together; a lot of time, a lot of effort, a lot of sacrifice and arguments between both of you and your friends. Just a lot.

I think we can all agree that our beloved boy couldn't care less about girls before during his first years at Hogwarts. Some things changed as time passed by, a lot, actually. He changed in the first place, becoming old enough to finally understand his family affairs and secrets. He HAD to change. He wanted to gain strength to be able to carry this new burden on his shoulders and to show his worth, but it all developed into a self-destruction, never-ending cycle that made him feel left out and alone. You, on the other hand, always seemed to have all figured out, and always looked so calm and caring. Truth is that you also felt like you were missing something, like you didn't really fit in for some reason.

It's not really clear how or why you two got together, but somehow, it happened.

Your caring nature always irritated him. How naive, he thought, but that time you found him crying on the bathroom floor, all alone and desperate, he thanked God that you came.

From this episode, bit by bit, your relationship started to form.

You two are VERY good at keeping it private, very discreet.

At the end of the day, you just have one another to stay with, and you are more than okay with that. People started to get suspicious, though; your friends started to notice your frequent excuses and distance, wondering WHAT ON EARTH they did to make you feel this way. Little did they know about your secret midnight meetings with a boy whose reputation speaks for himself.

Even though you two never show up together as a couple, you actually never feel lonely during the day. It's all about those secretly exchanged gazes, the typical side eye thing from across the room when someone is talking bs, him softly brushing his hand against yours when you are leaving a class and no one can see.

BUT, when you two are ACTUALLY ALONE... Soft touches, hushed words and pleading eyes.

You like to share silence together, there's nothing left to share after your first bathroom rendezvous.

I feel like he smells like wood, like deep forest or something like that, but his smell is kinda comforting (my scent-describing skills are nonexistent sorry😭)

I mean, you can feel his presence even without seeing him.

He has this thing about his eyes, like the way he looks at you. Everyone who played close attention to his gaze could tell it was love and admiration.

LOVES when you run your hands through his hair (sometimes you could swear to hear him purring).

Likes to make flowers appear between the pages of your potion book while taking classes, only to give you a subtle smile and turn his head to read his instructions immediately after.

Your first time together was during the Christmas break, when there were just the two of you in the entire Slytherin dorm. It was the first time he said "I love you" (it's fucking cheesy but I love it eheh). Everything was so slow and sensual. Lips, hands and kisses everywhere. Slow thrusts with your hands intertwined and his head buried in your neck.

His hands are always so cold that he has to keep them in your sleeves (he loves it though)

Likes watching you sleep (not in a creepy way don't worry lol). He'd brush your hair out of your face and caress your face softly.

Would fidget a lot while talking to you, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he gets weak in the knees every time he looks in your eyes, even after all this time. He'd 100% play with your hands or hair just because.

You'd literally yank his hand from his mouth every time he bit his nails or picked at his skin.

He's the type of person who would do hot things without even realizing. He would undo a few buttons of your shirt just to button them up right away just because he thought they looked weirdly asymmetrical, causing you to blush and stutter. And this mf would just tell you to go on and finish what you were saying (okay, maybe he does this on purpose).

You know that the way he behaves around others is just a facade. He is so broken and hopeless that he HAS to act that way around them, but when he's with you, his safe place, he feels so grateful that he gets to get loose from his worries and reveal the real person he is that it scares him how attracted he is to you, how primal his need for you is.

When your friends found out that you were dating Mr Bully Malfoy, they just couldn't wrap their heads around the reason that spurred you to do so. Let's just say that you are not friends anymore. You tried to explain yourself countless times, but they didn't seem to understand nor were willing to do so, and you thought you were better off without them anyway.

He got the same treatment from his friends ngl. It was better this way, honestly. In the end, you just needed one another to feel complete and fulfilled.

He thought about running away with you almost once a day during his 6th year. He knew what, better say who, was coming. He was sure that the death eaters wouldn't spare anyone, maybe himself included. When he first told you, he was sure you would laugh it off and call him paranoid, but instead, you listened to him carefully and decided to plan your escape with him without even flinching.

It was a gloomy night in the middle of the winter. Rushed footsteps were echoing in a corridor, then in the hall, down the stairs. Restless eyes were wandering around the path, occasionally looking back to check no one was tagging after them. A subtle creaking of a rusty gate opening was heard, and then nothing else.

OKAY SO I got WAY MORE carried away than I should and I know this is longer and more serious and dark than what I usually do but I tried my best. Actually, I'm not 100% satisfied with how it turned out and maybe the person who asked it expected something different and more light-hearted, and I apologize for it. Again, writing this character is difficult af.

I do not possess any of these photos, all credits go to the owners.

Love you, B. 🌱🤍

[pathologicalreid]

Ok, first of all, I'm OBSESSED. You understand Spencer as a character SO well!

Second of all, could I maybe request a part 2 to neophyte? Maybe where reader wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares (seeing all the faces of those she killed, all the faces of those she couldn't save, or whatever else tickles your fancy) and reaches our to Spencer?

sympathy for the devil | S.R.

previously

Following your previous talk, a bad case leads to you taking Reid up on his offer to help.

who? spencer reid x platonic!BAU!reader category: angst content warnings: anxiety, exhaustion, nightmares, gore (cm), general cm violence, suicide word count: 1.71k a/n: do you remember that episode after m*eve dies where spencer tried to talk that guy out of offing himself? that's where i got the idea for this from. thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy it!

At the shot of the gun, you launched into a sitting position. Placing your hand over your heart as if it would slow the pounding, you inhaled deeply through your nose.

Using the heels of your palms, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and groaned. That nightmare made three tonight alone, always the same, always Josh Quinn. Sighing, you pulled your loose t-shirt off of where it stuck to your clammy skin and got out of bed, walking into the kitchen to acquire a glass of water.

The team had started to notice your exhaustion. Just yesterday, Rossi had taken you for a coffee trip and tried to talk to you about it, but you just told him you were figuring it out. JJ tried to get you to go to a boxing class with her, but you could barely drag yourself out of bed for work, let alone to get your ass kicked.

You tried flipping through your scrapbook. When Spencer told you he hung the photos of people he had saved and victims above his bed, you decided to make a scrapbook.

But you didn’t save Josh Quinn, he killed himself. Blew his brains out right in front of you because you failed. You failed to talk him down off of that metaphorical ledge, and he killed himself.

Months ago, you talked to Spencer about how you had begun doubting your ability to do the job, and he convinced you otherwise. You wondered if he still thought the same. He was the only member of the team who hadn’t reached out to you, so you doubted that.

You swirled your water in the glass and sighed, it was three in the morning, and you had gotten approximately two hours of sleep. Assuming the team didn’t get called out to a case, you should be able to make it through the workday, but it had been almost two weeks since you traveled. You were pushing your luck.

Grabbing your phone off of the charger, you wandered to sit down on the couch. You scrolled through texts. Your mother, whom you had been neglecting to call back, was concerned. She threatened to call your boss, but she didn’t have Emily’s number.

For a split second, your thumb hovered over Spencer’s contact. You remembered what he had told you, ‘If you ever need help processing the job, or anything else, you can call.’

People said things all the time that they didn’t mean, but you were desperate, so you pressed the call button. On the first ring, you panicked and hung up. What were you thinking? It was three in the morning; you’d wake him up.

Dropping your phone in your lap, you set your face in your hands. You felt like you were finally losing it.

And then your phone started buzzing. Furrowing your brows, you looked at the screen to see that Reid was calling you back. Now it would be rude for you to not answer, so you swiped your thumb across the screen and brought your phone to your ear. “Hi,” you said meekly.

“Hey,” he responded, “What’s wrong?”

Your shoulders drooped, “There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat on the other end of the line, “You’re calling me at three fifteen in the morning. There’s something wrong, Y/N.”

Scowling, you pulled your feet up so that they were tucked underneath yourself. “I’m really sorry for waking you, Reid.”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was reading, had no idea what time it was,” he said to you. You weren’t sure if he was telling you the truth, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. “Are you alright?”

You closed your eyes tightly, “Yes,” you choked out the lie. “I’m fine.”

The other end of the call was quiet for so long that you checked to see if the call had dropped. “Hang on, I’m coming over,” he said.

“Uh, no, please don’t do that,” You spoke urgently.

There was a jingling that came through the phone, probably car keys, “Something is blatantly wrong, and you aren’t telling me what it is. If I’m there in person, you might be more willing to talk to me.”

Or maybe you’d feel forced to talk to him. You bit your tongue, “Okay, Spencer.”

Fifteen minutes later, there was a gentle knock on your door. You coaxed yourself off of the couch and to the door, opening it and crossing your arms in front of your chest self-consciously.

Wordlessly, you opened the door wider, effectively inviting Spencer in. He was dressed similarly to you, in a plain t-shirt and pajama pants. His glasses were donned upon his nose, you had forgotten he even wore glasses. Once he was inside, you shut the door behind him, and he set his things on the entryway table.

Matching your closed-off stance, he looked at you suspiciously, “What is going on with you?” He asked.

You had wholly expected his tone to be accusatory, but instead, it dripped with concern. Concern for you. Your face fell, “I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t know,” you said a little louder that time.

“When did it start?” He asked, gently ushering you over to your couch, he had you sit down before sitting in the armchair across from you.

Shrugging, you absentmindedly picked at the skin surrounding your nails. “Josh Quinn,” you muttered.

Slowly, realization dawned on Spencer’s features. “That wasn’t your fault,” he told you sincerely. “Are you listening to me?”

You nodded softly, “I couldn’t save him,” you rasped, your face crumpling as you did. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of Reid, and yet, there you were. “I tried; I thought that if I could just make him see what I saw that… He was only seventeen.” He had killed three of his classmates, but he didn’t need prison or to die. He was a kid, he needed someone to hug him and tell him it would be okay.

“Do you trust me?” Spencer asked.

The question threw you for a moment. “Of course,” you trusted Spencer. You trusted the entire team with your life. You couldn’t be a team without that kind of trust.

His mouth tightened for a moment, “Then trust me when I tell you that no one could have talked him out of killing himself.” You weren’t sure you had ever seen Spencer so serious.

You leaned back, letting your body meld into your couch cushions, “You could have.”

Spencer shook his head, “No, Y/N. I heard everything you told him. You did everything right; I would’ve said the exact same things.” His eyes studied your body language for a moment, “Once a person makes that decision, there is a point of no return. Quinn made that decision, and there was nothing you could’ve done or said to change his mind.”

Trying to understand what he was telling you, you nodded softly. “I killed him,” you murmured.

“No, you didn’t,” Spencer corrected you immediately, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees.

Your brows narrowed, “I might as well have. He might still be alive if I had done something different.” Pulling your knees to your chest, you took a shaky breath.

Following him with your eyes as he moved, Spencer sat next to you on the couch. “Did you pull the trigger?”

“No, but-“ you started.

“Then there’s nothing else to it. You didn’t kill him. His blood is not on your hands, do you understand me?” He said sternly.

Begrudgingly, you nodded in response. “I don’t know what to do,” you whispered helplessly. “I see him when I sleep, his brain all over the walls. It’s…” you faltered, “it’s haunting me.”

Spencer gave you a moment before responding, “Your ability to feel so much sympathy toward people like Quinn is what makes you such a great agent – a great profiler” He told you earnestly.

You shrugged, “The firearm’s instructor at the academy told me that my sympathy would get me killed in the field.”

“Well, if the firearm’s instructor at the academy hasn’t changed in the last fourteen years, then he’s an ass,” he told you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, surprising you as much as it did Spencer. “I’m glad that’s a universal experience,” you responded as the silence between you shifted from awkward to comfortable. “Thanks for coming,” you whispered.

Spencer smiled at you, “You’re welcome, but why did you take so long to call?” He inquired.

“What do you mean?” You asked, leaning forward, and resting your chin on your knees.

He sighed, “That case was almost two weeks ago, Y/N. If you haven’t been sleeping for two weeks, that’s a problem. Why didn’t you call?” He repeated quizzically.

Shrinking back into yourself, you frowned, “I was embarrassed and tired. I wanted to try to figure it out on my own before I went to someone else.”

“You’re not alone, you know?” Spencer said, his voice was gentle like you were a wild animal that he was trying not to spook. “Wait, you do know we’re friends, right?” He asked, “We aren’t just coworkers, we’re friends. Everyone in the BAU is your friend, whether you like it or not.”

Turning to face him, “I know we’re friends, Spencer. Coworkers don’t just show up at each other’s apartments because one of them is having a hard time.” Maybe you didn’t realize how good of friends, but it certainly brought you some semblance of comfort to know that you had people in your corner.

You watched as Spencer pulled out his phone, his fingers nimbly typing on the keypad of his artifact of a phone.

“What are you doing?” You asked, being nosy and trying to read what he was typing out.

He kept typing, tilting the screen away from your view, “I’m telling Emily that you’re sick and taking the day off.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “Spencer!” You reached out for his phone, but he lifted it over his head, having already sent the text. “Do you have younger siblings?” You asked.

Spencer shook his head, “No, only child. Why?”

“Because you act a lot like an older brother,” you grumbled.

previously

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[je-lurk]

I'd love it if you elaborated on how Agatha's hair reflects her state of mind! I'm obsessed with that kind of character analysis and I have a vague idea how I think they're connected but I'd love to hear your thoughts! If you want to of course. : )

Hi! It took me a hot second, but since I hadn’t finished yesterday I thought I could add ep 4. Here are my ideas, hairstyle by hairstyle.

The beginning of the reflection comes from the idea that loose hair in ancient Rome or Greece represented madness (can’t actually find sources on this so take the historical accuracy with a grain of salt) and, in a lesser extent, grief.

In episode 1, we see mostly Detective Agnes. Detective Agnes wears her hair in a low, untidy ponytail. This is the easiest way to gather one’s hair to free up the face. It’s not even done properly. Obviously this echoes how this Agnes is neglecting herself, mostly through self-destructive behaviors. Still, her hair is collected, as is her mind. The situation makes sense for her.

Until it doesn’t, and Agatha frees herself of the past iterations of Agnes. It might be worth to note that all of these have at least stylized hairstyles. This is, to me, Wanda’s influence: the Agneses (as well as every other character in Westview) were not allowed to lose their mind. Detective Agnes, bearing alone the full brunt of Wanda’s power, even less.

Once rid of all her layers, Agatha is naked (rebirth) and her hair is loose (madness).

"Madness" in this case as in disorientation. Agatha’s brain is barely catching up with what’s happened and needs answers. She’s constantly off balance, mostly emotionally.

She spends most of episode 2 with loose braids, done on the fly but still slightly researched. She’s scrambling for control: control of her appearance, control of others, control of her mind.

With Lilia she actively changes her appearance, gathering her braids in a somewhat tight bun, secured with a stick. She attempts to look both different and more pulled together than she really is. This, as we all know, did not work.

Then she ends the episode with a classic updo, with hair piled on her head and framed with two strands, obviously elaborate. The very little time she had she used to prepare herself, both physically and mentally. Every last hair is secured (except for the two strands, we’re aiming for class, mystique and confidence, not stuck-up-bitch-efficiency) and every thought is in place. The plan is made. And the strands can act as a curtain. She’s never really without those hair that can get in her face (except when under Wanda’s control because she doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything, much less hide and scheme).

Episode 3 sees Agatha with the same updo, although it changes once they enter the first trial.

Her hair is — I struggle to find another word for it — schooled. It is still "loose", but the kind of loose that is held together by cans of hairspray, with studied waves. Girl is holding together with dreams and a prayer. She looks like she is holding together at least. There is still this idea of vulnerability. She’ll be more understanding, more in touch with the others. Less good at deception. More vulnerable, more protective, towards her son (whose loss is, if not still raw, rawer because of Wanda), towards Teen. The front bang, if we can call it like that, is always between the ear and the eye. Again, a curtain. Curtain that she completely pushes back during her hallucination.

It is interesting to me how the hallucination only happens as she is plucking a hair. With all the hairspray it’s staying mid-air. This, with the hair carelessly pushed back, is the more disheveled we’ve seen her in this episode (yet). This is also the most open, emotional and raw we see her in the episode. Even when Teen said he would drink the wine in her stead was she more reserved.

She ends the episode in the updo of the beginning, though 3/4 ruined by the water (lot of stress in the preceding sequence, plan barely holding on). And then Sharon dies. There is something to the ruination of the most elegant and researched updo she did by herself. It recalls again the themes of mental vulnerability, loss of footing, loss of confidence, etc.

There is a little time between the end of episode 3 and the beginning of episode 4. They all dried, and Agatha took her hair down (it’s less ridiculous like this. It’s a conscious choice of appearance, too, she could have easily put her hair up with literally anything). I think it’s because she has really registered Sharon’s death (I’m calling bluff, though. First, because I love her, and second, because she looks too dead for having been dead this short). Even if she doesn’t want to show it, she cares about her and about her death. If she didn’t, she would have no issue assuming the responsibility. It’s not the first time she’s killed. But she shifts the blame elsewhere.

Then there’s Rio, and Agatha is feeling too much at the same time.

Second trial, loose hair, secured with a headband. I love how, as soon as Rio is involved, Agatha always has a loose component to her hairstyle (not counting episode 1 because she was Agnes). In this trial, Agatha is (mostly, we don’t forget Exposition Boy in this house, but hey, that’s what the loose part is for) pulled together: she plots, takes swings, and leadership, and support Alice. They finish the trial so much quicker and with minimal loss.

They get out, where Agatha immediately gets back her loose hair "style" and her emotions. She doesn’t even care to look too attached to Teen. She cries. I believe we’ve only seen her cry once before, in the hallucination. She gets careless, opens herself too much, begins to believe again (in Teen, in Rio) and only gets back a punch in the jaw ("What really happened to your son?") and in the plexus ("That boy isn’t yours". Come on Rio, she knows she’s entertaining delusions, leave her alone).

Tl;dr: It all boils down to hairstyle = control

Loose hair could represent a loss of control over her mental and emotional states, over others, and over her environment.

Styled hair/hair done could show her confidence (and/or the confidence she wants people to think she has), mental acuity, and general capability to think, plan, and plot (whether for her own benefit or that of her coven). In other words, her ability to control the situation.

[david-talks-sw]

What "The Hidden Fortress" (1958) tells us about the Jedi's status in the Prequels.

In 1999, George Lucas had this to say on BBC Omnibus: A Long Time Ago: The Story of "Star Wars" and then The Phantom Menace's director's commentary.

“I greatly admired Kurosawa, especially the film Hidden Fortress, which told a story from the point of view of two serfs, two slaves...

... peasants who tag along with this famous general and a princess-- y'know, royalty. And the whole story is told from their point of view. And I like that idea. I like the idea of telling a story from the lowest person's point of view, uh, in the food chain, and that's how the story got to be told by Artoo and Threepio.”

“[The Phantom Menace] is told primarily from the Jedi's point of view, but the story that's being told is essentially the story of Queen Amidala and her plight of having her planet blockaded. As in, say, Episode IV, where the story is told through the eyes of the droids, in this one, it's told through the eyes of the Jedi.”

“But [from the moment we get to Coruscant, Anakin and Jar Jar] are standing on the sidelines. It's a little bit a riff on the very first film where the story is told through the point of view of the droids, who were sort of the lowliest characters.”

“And in [Phantom Menace], I'm doing it through - primarily - the two Jedi, but then the secondary characters are also carrying a lot of the weight when the Jedi aren't around.”

George Lucas draws a comparison between lowly characters like Hidden Fortress' peasants Matashichi and Tahei, the droids in A New Hope, as well as the Jedi in The Phantom Menace.

What do they all have in common? They are all the lowest-ranking characters in their respective films. Repeat: the movie frames the Jedi as almost at the bottom of the food chain.

Because of course they are. Functionally, they're just diplomats. They hold no political power whatsoever and barely have any authority .

What little authority the Jedi do have in TPM comes from the Queen's young age, which allows them to ease into a more advisory position, and Qui-Gon's rebellious streak. And even he's explicit about the fact that his mandate has limitations.

The only characters "below" them in status are Jar Jar, an exiled Gungan, and Anakin, who just yesterday was still a slave kid, Artoo the literal object and that's it!

Also the other Prequel films are consistent with this portrayal. Who do we see lower in status than the Jedi? Dexxter Jettster and the clones. Everyone else is pretty much above them.

Yes, the Jedi are part of the system, but they're not as high-ranking as you'd think. Yes, they have Force Powers, but that means squat when put against political power. So, like, to expect the Jedi to...

influence the decisions of the Senate,

wage a war against the Outer Rim to end slavery,

or blatantly refuse an order to join the war effort,

... is incredibly unreasonable.

They're not meant to be seen as "the elite, peering down upon the people from their ivory tower".

They're the servants! Servants of the Republic.

And they're seeing their higher-ups destroy what they should all stand for, but are unable to stop them.

Later on, with The Clone Wars, we are introduced to civilian characters and from their point of view, the Jedi are ultra powerful and are highly placed and "should do more but don't".

It makes sense that these characters would see the Jedi as 'the elite'. But they don't have the full picture.

We, as the audience, do.

So we know that the reality is more along the lines of the Jedi "should do more but can't".

After all, we are made privy many instances of the Jedi speaking up and trying to change politicians' minds, only to be dismissed and overruled at every turn.

↑ these aren't even all the times we see it happen, btw, there's more examples...

So at some point, if you - as an audience member - see all this and are still saying "the Jedi should've done more!" I really need to know... what more could they have done?

Take control of the Senate?

That'll result in a dictatorship, there's a reason they waited as much as they did before trying to take down Palpatine.

Power corrupts and they're wise enough to know it.

Don't join the Republic in the first place?

George Lucas never frames the Jedi's involvement with the Republic as a bad thing. In the foreword to Shatterpoint (2004), he says their being part of the Republic led to 1,000 years of prosperity.

Where's the issue, then? Well, it's a two-man job and the Jedi's bosses, the Senate, grew corrupt and stopped doing their part. They stopped carrying their end of the couch.

But “no Jedi in the Republic from the get-go” means the Sith will rise to power even faster. Fun!

Stay neutral in the war?

The Separatists were killing civilians and testing weapons on neutral systems, or enslaving them.

The choice put before the Jedi was "do what we tell you and fight, or let people die".

But also, out-of-universe... do you really think Palpatine, genius politician, master of spin, can't re-frame the Jedi staying neutral in a negative light?

When they joined the war, he unleashed propaganda that either directly (on the Separatist side) or indirectly (on the Republic side) framed them as "warmongers who corrupted their values". If they don't join, they're "apathetic cowards who care more about their own values than the lives of the people they're supposed to protect".

So either way, Order 66 comes around, wipes them out and the Republic goes "good riddance".

So what else could they do?

The answer is "not much".

Because the whole point of the narrative is that Palpatine checkmated them by taking the fight to a field the Jedi had no experience in or right to meddle with: politics.

So if you look at these characters who are nowhere near the top of the food chain, and say "well, why didn't they fix things?" I'm sorry to say you're missing the point of the narrative.

Or maybe you do get the point of the narrative and just aren't trying to be fair...

... in which case, at least be consistent and also argue:

"Why didn't Threepio & Artoo do more to save the Rebel crew of the Tantive IV from the stormtrooopers?!"

"Why didn't Matashichi & Tahei do more to save the Akizuki clan?!"

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

The World Shrinks to the Circle of Your Arms

Happy Dorym Week 2024! Today's drabble is inspired by the prompt "I miss you. (I love you.)" and the song May I by Trading Yesterday

I'll post all my drabbles to AO3 later, but for now enjoy them here on tumblr.

(Beware spoilers for Episode 95)

-----

“She’ll be alright.”

Dorian kneels down in front of Orym, who in the aftermath of Laudna’s dramatic window exit has stumbled over to the wall opposite and slid down to sit on the floor. He barely glances at Dorian, instead his eyes are locked on the inky black square of night beyond the window.

“I don’t think any of us have been alright for a long time, Dorian.” he says, voice cracking with exhaustion. His eyes don’t leave the window. “I just wish I could understand why she’s so determined about this.”

Sighing, Dorian reaches out and brushes his fingers against the side of Orym’s face. His heart flutters at the way his friend leans into the contact, but he tamps the feeling down. It’s just comfort, friendly comfort. After the night he’s had, Orym just needs a friend.

He swallows hard and says, “Probably for the same reasons you’re determined. You’re both grieving, you just have different ways of showing it.” 

Orym finally tears his eyes away from the window, ducking his head with a small wry smile playing at his lips. “Gods. I’ve missed you. You always know what to say.”

“I wish that were true,” Dorian moves to Orym’s side and slides down the wall next to him, pulling the blanket from his bedroll over their laps against the night-time chill. He lets his head thump back against the wood paneling. If he knew what to say Cyrus would probably still be alive. Opal would still have all the feelings and memories that had been torn away by the spider queen. At least Dariax was fine. There, that was one person he’d used the right words for, one person he’d managed to save from the landslide that had become his life… 

Dorian is pulled away from his spiraling thoughts by Orym (probably unconsciously, Dorian thinks) leaning into his side, forcing him to pull his arm out of the way before it gets pinned in an uncomfortable position. He holds it in the air for a moment, unsure, then gives into temptation and wraps it around Orym’s shoulders.

Orym hums softly and leans harder into him. “I mean it. I missed you. I… I thought about you every day.”

“Even on the moon?” Dorian asks with a quiet chuckle.

“Even then,” says Orym, pausing as he yawns so widely Dorian thinks he can hear his jaw creak. Orym presses a palm against his eyes and Dorian can see a faint tremor to his normally steady hands. When he speaks again his voice is quieter, tone approaching dreamlike. “Did you know they call Exandria the ‘blue promise’? They look up at us and have hope for the future. I…”

He cuts off abruptly, turning his face away, though Dorian can still see the flush staining his cheekbones.

They sit quietly for a long moment, then Dorian swallows hard and gathers his courage. “I missed you every day too, Orym. There… there wasn’t a single day I didn’t wish you were by my side.” 

He feels Orym slump against his side, his breath finally evening out into exhausted slumber. With an amused huff the genasi tucks their shared blanket more firmly around them both and rests his cheek against the top of Orym’s head.  

“Hope for the future,” he whispers, breath ruffling Orym’s hair. “There’s worse things to wish for.”

Try as he might, though, sleep is not so quick to claim Dorian. He holds Orym tucked close into his side and thinks of friends lost to objects of immense and powerful darkness. The last thing he remembers before his eyes finally, blissfully, slide shut is the pale streaks of dawn peaking through the window and the creak of floorboards as his wayward companions return. 

[narujenreacts]

Will Murder Drones get a Season 2?

Alrighty. So, after GLITCH's post yesterday of Digital Circus that also mentioned "We're also working hard on Murder Drones & will be releasing final episodes soon!", which sent a lot of the fandom (including yours truly) into a panic that this meant these are the final episodes for the SERIES and not the 1st season. However, that felt off to me since GLITCH has been promoting MD as Season 1 and not a short series, which, if it had always intended to be only 8 episodes, it would've been. That's just how it goes in the industry for online series. And I believe GLITCH wouldn't make that kind of mistake in marketing. It'd be different too if it was only promoted as Season 1 for the teaser, but it's been that way up until that Digital Circus post. Hell, here are some of the things Kevin and Liam said during GlitchX:

"I remember when we were coming up with the, uh, this is like way before when, you know, Murder Drones was really, like we were really going for a smaller, smaller show-" - Kevin

"The whole oil thing that was getting set up in the pilot, that was gonna be like a MASSIVE sort of plot thread throughout the season." - Kevin

"Because in terms of importance to kind of where I want the story to go, it just ended up being less relevant." - Liam

"We, um, did the opposite of that. I think the series as it progressed, which I think is - it is intentional, I would say. We have gone from, I think, supremely silly to supremely kind of self-serious." - Liam

"There's so many dog easter eggs if you go and watch through the entire season." - Kevin

"We are announcing the finale of the season." - Kevin

With everything they said, none of it sounds like Murder Drones was intended to be a single season series. Now, this leaves two questions myself and I'm sure some of you have, "Why haven't they announced a S2 yet then and why are they barely posting MD?" I decided to enter analyzation mode and went digging through GLITCH's Twitter and YouTube. What I found was that this isn't GLITCH's first time handling their series like this.

Meta Runner Season 1 (Animated Movie Cut) was released on Aug 28, 2020 and in the description Season 2 was immediately announced since they already had it done.

Meta Runner Season 2 - EP 1: Hard Reset released Oct 16, 2020. The final episode for S2, "EP 10: Fatal Error" was released Dec 18, 2020 and there was no mention of the 3rd and final season.

Want to know when they announced it? Not until Nov 29, 2021. Over a YEAR later.

And before that they barely posted anything of MR. At first it was Sunset Paradise, and then once that series was about to conclude they started posting about MD. A lot. Way more than they have for DC. And when they announced S3 for MR they didn't even mention it was the series finale! That wasn't announced until May 6, 2022, 6 months after S3 was even announced.

However, once they did they made it VERY clear it was the final season. 99% of their posts of MR after that mentioned it was the final season.

So, to conclude my thoughts. I don't think we should be worried. I wouldn't suggest getting our hopes up TOO high, because despite GLITCH handling MD the same way they did MR, there's always the chance MD doesn't get a second season. That way we're not deeply disappointed if it doesn't, but after looking into it I personally feel a lot more confident MD will get a S2. Just be prepared that if GLITCH doesn't say anything, it could be up to a year before they do, but if MR fans could hold out for as long as they did, we can too. Don't forget either GLITCH isn't only working on the first season of DC. They're also working on the pilot for Gaslight District.

[gojozaiacc]

FINGERTIPS, ryomen sukuna

ryomen sukuna x fem!!witch!!reader some satoru gojo x platonic!!fem!!witch!!reader summary: Yuji Itaduri seemed to have a hold over Ryomen Sukuna and it appeared that no one had to worry about the king of curses randomly coming out. That is until the king of curses recognises a particular someone. tw!! swearing, violence, gore(ish), depression mentions? notes: manga got spoiled for me, if you need me I'll be crying in the fetal position in my bed.

Sun barely peeked through the blinds on y/n's window in her room. She didn't move from her fetal position on the mattress, not for anything, not even when a loud knock sounded on the door.

She would recognise the childish knock-knock rhythm anywhere. --"y/n? hello?~"Came the voice of her sensei, Satoru Gojo. A sigh passed her lips as she turned her face fully onto the pillow below her head.

"Go away Gojo."She groaned out. Which, of course, didn't drive the tall man away. The click of her door opening doesn't even persuade her to lift her face to look at her mentor.

Gojo took a couple of steps towards her bed, hands in his pockets. He lets out a low whistle at the sight of her. --"You look like shit."He comments.

Now that made y/n turn her head to the side, green eyes glaring up at Gojo. --"Are you trying to have me throw something at you?"She grumbled which only made him grin in response.

"You'd never throw something at you're favourite sensei!!"He points out with a wide grin. She raised a lazy eyebrow. --"What makes you think you're my favourite?"

"You didn't throw something at me the second I walked into the room."

He got her there. For the past two hours, y/n had been throwing things at anyone who dared to disturb her. Megumi wants to make sure she's okay? a stuffed animal is getting hurled at him. Panda wants to make sure she's not just laying in her bed sulking? a book is getting chucked his way.

Everyone had, had some form of object thrown at them. Except Gojo. Sure, Gojo is her mentor and her sensei but there was a much deeper connection between them. They met and something just seemed to click. He's the person she always goes to if she has a problem. Which only caused the strongest to worry when she didn't come to him this time with her grievances.

A short sigh leaves her lips as she turns her head the other way against the pillow so she was facing away from him. --"Just go away, Gojo."She mumbled.

He hummed a no and walked over to sit at the edge of her bed- making the matress dip. --"Y'know this could be a good thing."He spoke after a moment of silence.

Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. --"How the fuck could this be a good thing?"She grumbled, arms tightening around the pillow she was cuddling.

Gojo scoffed almost like her question was a stupid one. --"y/n he protected you."He reminded her, raising an eyebrow.

"As far as we were aware, Ryomen Sukuna didn't care about anyone but himself but that changed yesterday..."

24 hours earlier...

"Yuuji you're going to make yourself sick..."y/n scrunched her nose up as she watched her pink-haired friend try to stuff numerous marshmallows into his mouth.

She, Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara were in town doing some shopping and stopped to take a break on a set of stairs. Nobora had bet Yuuji that he couldn't fit 15 marshmallows into his mouth without swallowing so naturally, Yuuji took the bait.

So far he had managed to stuff 9 into his mouth without swallowing and he was making quite the spectacle of it- already boasting to the group despite not reaching the limit yet.

y/n sighs and rests a hand against her forehead. She loved spending time with her friends with all of her heart but recently her social battery has been reduced to only having human contact for maybe an hour and a half. She guessed it was due to her recent depressive episodes.

She had greatly surpassed her social limit.

Finally, Yuuji managed to stuff the other 6 marshmallows into his mouth (somehow), sporting a wide victorious grin on his face as he instantly bit down on the fluffy white sweets.

Nobora groaned, fishing out some money from her purse to hand to both Megumi and Yuuji. --"Should have bet higher."She grumbled to herself as Yuuji basked in his victory.

Suddenly a wave of discomfort flooded y/n's whole being. Her eyebrows drew together as she sat up straighter and glanced around. It appeared she wasn't the only one to experience the discomfort- all three of the sorcerers were now on high alert as they glanced around with her.

Standing from her seat, y/n slowly turned her head to the side and locked gazes with one hell of a curse in an alley way. This was most definitely a special grade curse.

Her green eyes go wide as she watched the curse feast on what looked to be a group of teenage girls in the depths of the alleyway. She swallows uneasily and glances over to Megumi who had already pulled out his phone.

"Call Gojo."

Megumi was already on it but pulled his phone away from his ear seconds later with an irritated grumble falling from his lips. --"He's not answering."

A sigh leaves her lips, shoulders slumping. --"Fine."She mumbled. The group watched as she shut her eyes and lifted her hands up at either side of her head. --"Guess I'll do it the hard way..."

y/n isn't technically a Jujutsu sorcerer. She's a witch. The only witch actually. In fact, had she grown up around some testy characters she could have probably caused quite some trouble for Gojo.

She could rival the strongest if she ever had a change of heart.

Fortunately, that won't ever happen. Even if she did have a change of heart, she loved Gojo too much to actually cause him harm.

Not to mention she is far from her full potential in terms of magical ability. She's nearly 18- a witch back in the golden ages of Jutjutsu would have reached their full potential when they hit 12. But since y/n is the only remaining witch on earth she has no one to show her the ropes.

Sorcery is way too different to witchcraft so Gojo's no help in that sense.

But y/n doesn't mind. She would much rather take things at her own pace.

Yuuji watched as y/n started chanting something under her breath- palms turning a dark purple. The boy always felt entranced when she was using her witchcraft- not to mention he would go quiet whenever she would use it. So he was thankful for her abilities in a way.

Her eyes then snap open- her usual her green irises shone a dark purple. The group watched as every civilian in the area suddenly stopped walking for a moment before clearing the area, leaving the group alone with the curse in the alley.

She didn't usually use her magic to do that sort of thing but desperate times cause for desperate measures. The second the area was clear- her eyes dusted back to her bright green and she collapsed to her knees- completely drained.

Using powerful spells like that drains her rapidly and in some cases renders her completely useless in some fights. Yuuji springs to his feet to walk over and check she's okay.

She only lets out a grumble and lifts a hand to signal she's fine. Groaning, she stands back to her feet, legs shaky. Sighing, she glances over to the alley where the curse seemed to be finishing up it's 'meal'.

"Shall we?"She grumbled.

And that they did. Around five minutes into the fight and all three of them were exhausted. y/n more than the other three due to her previous exhaustion from spellcasting.

Yuuji had landed two black flashes onto the creature, Megumi's shikigami had attacked the visible weak parts and Nobara had been attempting to use her straw doll technique (to no avail) but nothing appeared to be working.

Megumi and Nobara went sailing past y/n and into the wall with a grunt. The creature snapped it's hungry attention to her. y/n may be one of the most powerful beings in the world right now but she's always at a disadvantage when facing curses.

Due to her witchy blood, her scent is strong and incredibly attractive towards curses. Swallowing her whole was a constant on a curses mind the second they would catch a whiff of her scent. Her blood was something that every curse craved.

Her green eyes widened and she lifted her hands to prepare to throw a purple blow at the creature. However, her limbs were failing on her. A loud gasp passes her lips as she collapses to her knees again out of exhaustion.

Yuuji, seeing what was going to happen, went back onto the attack- hoping to buy y/n sometime so she could build some strength and exorcise the curse.

But Yuuji was always sent flying backwards. y/n groaned, snapping her head up with gritted teeth as the creature stalked towards her- teeth baring as it licked its lips.

With shaky hands, she lifts them- purple aura dancing between her fingers. However, the creature quickly snatched her up in its claws- the magic instantly disappearing.

A gasp leaves her lips- teeth clenching together as she struggles against its grip. She felt utterly pathetic. Was this seriously how she was going to die? all because she was too tired to fight back?

She didn't have much more time to chastise herself before the creature suddenly let out a large yell of...pain? Her eyebrows pull together as she is suddenly tossed to the ground.

Landing on the palms of her hands, she watches as the creature falls forward- collapsing at her feet. And behind the creature stood Yuuji. Except it wasn't Yuuji.

It was Ryomen Sukuna.

She wasn't sure how she knew, she just did. The creature sprang right back to its feet- suddenly not caring about y/n and only on the pink-haired youth.

"Still standing?"A voice mocked. Now she knew it wasn't Yuuji. She flinched at the gravelly voice, scurrying back until her back hit the wall.

And she watched Sukuna completely destroy the curse. He practically tore the thing inside out. y/n flinched as some of the curse's blood splashed back onto her.

The body collapses. And in the end it's just y/n and Sukuna. Megumi and Nobara were still knocked out from previously being thrown into a wall and Yuuji had no control over his own body at this particular moment.

She pants through gritted teeth lifting her hands to cast some form of defensive curse in such case that Sukuna attacked her. But he didn't. She thought he was going to when he walked closer to her.

But he didn't.

He simply kneeled in front of her. Her heart thudded in her chest as their eyes met. It was Yuuji's body but she felt incredibly uneasy under his gaze. She swallows- still attempting to perform some form of spell on the king of curses.

However, he quickly clamps a hand over her wrist causing her to hiss- the spell instantly stopping. He never took his gaze away from hers, never looked away from her fearful eyes.

With one hand on her wrist- he lifts the other to rest against her cheek causing her to flinch back. She was close to hyperventilating but she refused to do so. Not in front of the king of curses.

"Nothing will ever touch you as long as I'm here."He spoke in a distant voice. Almost as though he forgot he was even talking to her and not just talking in his mind.

His hand caressed her cheek as a softness takes over his features and then in an instant he was gone. The pink-haired boy blinked rapidly and she suddenly knew that it was Yuuji looking at her and not Sukuna.

His eyebrows furrow when noticing where his hands where- his cheeks instantly going red as he scurried back.

"heh- sorry."He mumbled. He then took notice of the very dead curse a few feet away from them.

"What happened?"

Present time...

y/n sighed, turning her head to face Gojo again. --"It was probably just a one-time thing..."She mumbled. The white-haired sorcerer only snorted in response.

"One-time thing or not- we may have found Sukuna's weakness."He spoke, nodding towards her. Her green eyes roll to the side at his words.

"You're being a bit dramatic now."She mumbled, finally sitting up. her back meeting the headboard. Gojo grins and shrugs his shoulders.

"I try."

She hums softly in response and glances to the side. --"Do you think Sukuna would speak to you?"He asked her and she instantly shook her head.

"Even if he would. I don't want to."She told him. Her voice incredibly stern. Gojo is silent for a moment but nodded his head eventually.

He wasn't going to push her on this. Not yet at least.

A few tense seconds pass before he stands to his feet, fitting his hands into his pockets. --"Hey squirt?"He spoke as he walked towards her door again.

She hated the nickname but still glanced over at him.

"You know you can come to me if something's bothering you."He mumbled and she nodded her head with a faint smile on her face.

"I know, 'toru."She told him.

He cleared his throat and nodded, walking back towards her door- pulling it open swiftly- but before he could quickly disappear- she calls out his name.

He glances back over towards her.

"Love you."She simply said. Gojo seemed to pause for a moment before nodding his head. --"Love you too."

And then he was gone.

She relaxes the second her door shuts. She slides down onto her mattress fully, sighing deeply. She hadn't slept properly since yesterday. She kept replaying the events over and over again.

Why had he protected her? Wouldn't it make things easier on Sukuna if she was dead? that's one half of his problems gone, right? she's practically on par with Gojo in terms of power so surely having two of them alive wouldn't be beneficial to him.

So why had he protected her? Not just that though, what did he mean by 'nothing will ever touch you as long as I'm here'? Why had he touched her face with such care?

Her mind was swarming with questions and before she even knew it- her eyelids had fallen shut and she was in a deep sleep.

However, it felt as though the second her eyes were shut they were open again.

It appeared as though she was no longer in her bedroom. Her eyebrows pull together as she sits up. Big green eyes dart around the space.

All she could see was red. She squints and staggers to her feet. And that was when she noticed that she was standing in some form of liquid. Glancing down she staggers back in fear.

Is this....blood?

"Gojo if this is you it isn't funny..."She mumbles to herself as she glances around. But all she could see for miles was red. With a shaky breath she glances around again- hoping to see any signs of another human being.

"Gojo?"She calls out his name in hopes of a laugh in return. Gojo pulled pranks on her all of the time...though she wasn't sure if even he would go this far for a prank.

"Not quite."

She flinched back in surprise at the deep voice that seemed to echo in her brain. With wide eyes, she spins around- looking for the source of the voice.

But she never questioned who the voice belonged to. She would never forget his voice.

"Sukuna..."She whispered out in horror.

A low chuckle echoes around the room sending a shiver down her spine. His voice could be heard but she still couldn't see him. Though she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"my wife..."His voice echoes again and she flinches back, pupils small as she darts her eyes everywhere- searching for the form of Sukuna.

She needed to see him.

And then, as she took a fearful step back- she bumped into something or rather...someone. Her eyes go wide and an arm wraps around her waist from behind.

She is pushed back into what she assumes is his chest. Fingers press to her jaw as her head is forced to the side so she could look up at him.

Her heart stopped when their gazes met. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach Yuuji's form stared at her- yet it was Sukuna's hungry eyes that were taking her in.

Her breath stuttered as his fingertips danced from her jaw up to the side of her head- tucking a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear.

And then he leaned in close- her head fully tipped back as their noses brushed. He grinned maniacally.

"We're finally together again..."He whispers before crashing his lips onto hers with a lust-filled fury.

She wasn't sure if she had anticipated this or not but either way she didn't react in the way she thought she would. She didn't push him away like her brain was begging her to. No, something about this felt oddly right.

It felt oddly familiar.

His hand moved to caress her jaw fully whilst his other arm stayed wrapped around the back of her waist- her back pressed tightly against his chest. He didn't plan on letting her go anytime soon.

Heart thudding, she felt herself lift a hand to hesitantly rest on his jaw- though it wasn't a full embrace. Instead, it was just the tips of her fingers resting on his jaw.

Why am I kissing him back? And why does it feel so right? Her brain was yet again on overload with tons of questions. His wife? Together again?

And of course, Sukuna knew that the girl would be filled with questions but he couldn't bring himself to care at this moment and time. So instead he continued to kiss her.

Eventually, his hands moved to her hips so he could twist her around in his arms- their chests now pressed together. Her hands had lifted to fully press against his jaw whilst his had slid to grip her waist tightly.

He held onto her like she would disappear if he didn't. His grip was so firm on her waist that she was certain he would leave bruises on her pale skin. A noise of surprise left her when she felt his sharp nails dig into her waist.

His nails dug into her waist- tearing through the thin pyjama top and breaking the skin almost immediately. But though his nails broke her skin- he never harmed her. If anything the grip was more possessive than anything.

She was sure now that he would leave marks on her. The grip on her waist had her fingers reaching for his hair- gripping onto it tightly like a safety net.

But it felt like the kiss was over much sooner than it started. Sukuna was the first to pull back. Her eyes stayed shut as their lips detached. She was petrified to open her eyes and face the reality that she had just made out with the king of curses, the villain that the sorcerers were trying to prevent from gaining a body.

She had made out with the enemy.

Still, she knew she would have to look at him at some point.

Swallowing thickly, she snapped open her eyes. But she isn't greeted by the face of Sukuna. Instead, she is greeted by her bedroom roof.

Her eyebrows pull together and she instantly lifts herself up into a sitting position- glancing around her dark bedroom as her chest heaved. With anxiety or lust? she wasn't sure.

Had that all been a dream? Surely not. Why would her brain jump to such mad conclusions? but then how could that have happened? it's impossible.

A sharp pain in her side is what breaks her from her thoughts. She hisses and stands to her feet, walking over to her bedroom door to switch on her light.

Gritting her teeth, she lifts her shirt up. She goes pale when catching sight of the dark marks that litter her sides. There were five separate fresh puncture marks on either side of her waist- like someone had been gripping it.

She swallowed uneasily and lifted a hand to brush her fingers over her lips. Guess it wasn't a dream then...

notes: if Sukuna seemed out of character I'm so sorry- uhhh part 2?

[jakes3resin]

So I'm watching episode 1 of MOTA again, and all I can think about is what if Bucky wasn't there when the boys land. What if he crashed on one of the missions he was a tag along? What if Buck landed in England and didn't see his John there waiting for him?

Just imagine you're the other crews and personnel at the base. You've just had a new arrival of boys ready to run missions while you're still recovering from the last one that saw more planes leave than came back. How do you respond when one of the newly arrived Majors asks where Major Egan is? How do you say sorry sir but he went down yesterday without sounding callous? How do you react when that Major nearly falls to his knees in front of you?

What do you do when your worst nightmare comes to pass? What do you feel when you let half of your soul slip away like a thief in the night?

How do you breathe when it's your fault?

John's not there when Buck steps onto English soil.

Something's wrong, a sharp voice whispers into his ear. Something's changed. Find him.

There's no one to ask.

The ground crews run to secure their plane, running diagnostics and checking what they have to work with. A lieutenant directs them to a truck, saying they'll be taken to their assigned quarters.

There's no time to stop and ask. No one will stop and let him ask at least. They're dropped at their assigned huts and barely given enough time to drop their stuff off before they're shuffled off again.

Meeting after meeting keeps them busy. Huglin introduces himself and leaves just as quickly. A British Colonel steps up to welcome them. Apparently, they need to be welcomed by every higher up this base has before they can lay down or eat. Every higher up except the Air Exec.

Buck tries to ask, but no one stops long enough to answer him. Apparently, they're planning the next bombing mission already, and all hands are on deck.

Buck wonders if that's where John is.

They're sent back to their huts and told dinner gets served at exactly 6 o'clock sharp. The rest of the evening is their's as they're not on rotation just yet. Buck leads the boys in.

"Are you Major Cleven, sir?"

Buck turns and finds a short curly haired boy staring at him. Kid barely looks eighteen, but there's a tired look to him that doesn't match. He's dressed in the typical ground crew's overalls holding a bike steady in each hand. There's a stripe of grease across his cheek.

"Depends whose asking," Buck waves the other boys into the building. They're all exhausted and should get some rest before dinner. They trail past, grumbling about meetings after being stuck in a Fort all day. All of them staring between Buck, the mechanic, and the bikes.

"Sergeant Ken Lemmons, sir," The now named boy smiles at him, cherubic and sweet. "I'd shake your hand, but I need them to keep these steady you see."

"Nice to meet you." Buck nods staring down at the bikes. "How can I help you?"

Ken pauses, eyes wide and full of some emotion Buck can't place. He doesn't like it.

"Well, I," Ken bites his lip and drops his gaze. "I thought I'd deliver these to you. For Major Egan, sir."

"John sent you?"

Relief flows through him. John's fine. He's just running late or stuck somewhere, and he sent someone to make sure Buck didn't feel forgotten. He'd roll up soon with a bright smile to talk Buck's ear off about what idiotic, mind-numbing task kept him from Buck's side. Life could finally get back to normal with them.

Ken shakes his head. Buck tilts his.

"John didn't send you?"

"No sir." Ken stares up at Buck. "He was just so excited to give you these that it didn't feel right not getting them to you somehow. Can't get anywhere on base without one, and he won them for you."

"Right," Buck glanced down at the bikes, confusion growing. "Would you mind telling me where Major Egan is, if he didn't send you?"

"No one's told you."

It's not a question. Not with that level of devastation attached. Ken's eyes look destroyed, startlingly so. Heart jumping, Buck nearly growls.

"Tell me what, Sergeant?"

"Major Egan didn't come back from a mission yesterday. He, well, uh, he crashed, sir."

The earth drops out from underneath him. He's freefalling.

Buck tries to breathe. He'd told John not to die on him before he got over here, but it'd been light-hearted. He never truly thought John would die, never allowed himself to think it for fearing of jinxing John.

I told you, the voice from before whispers. You didn't notice.

He knew something was wrong when John didn't meet them on the runway. He should have known then. John had been so excited to see him, had talked about all of the things they'd do together once Buck flew over. Nothing would have kept him from seeing Buck.

"Where?" Buck manages out. He needs to know. Needs to know so that he can think. He needs facts and data, something logical. So that his brain will work. His heart feels slashed open from just that word. Betrayed by his brain, his heart rebels even thinking those words to be true.

"Sorry sir, there's no record of where his plane went down."

No record? How could there be no record? That was the navigator's job! How could they not know where John went down? How could they not see it?

Worse, how could Buck not feel it? How did he go about his day yesterday unaware that the other half of his soul was gone? Fell from the sky, and Buck didn't do a damn thing! Had lived through that moment none the wiser! He'd hadn't even paused.

"Buck?" Benny's voice breaks through his downward spiral, and Buck has to push through it. Has to swallow his grief and hold back his tears because he has men to take care of. He has a job to do.

"Sorry boys," Buck turns around face now carefully wiped blank. Benny watches him, and the rest of the crew gathers round the doorway watching. They look worried. Some of them glance behind him at Ken. The one man who'd finally answered Buck. The one man Buck never wanted to see again.

John's dead.

Buck knows he has to say the words, has to tell them what's going on, and then he has to find the other crews and tell them because that's his job. He has to find Curt and Jack. A laundry list of people who need to know. Then he has to write John's mother and sisters. That's his punishment now. He let Bucky fly alone. He has to do this. He has to say the words. But he can't. Because once he says them, it's real. John's gone, and Buck spoke it into the universe. Buck made it true.

"Bit of a hold up on our welcoming committee?" Benny asks. Buck can hear the question he's really asking. Where's Bucky? All of the waiting faces scream it at him.

I don't know! He wants to scream. He's gone! Gone where I can't follow when he promised not to!

"Yeah," Buck says, voice soft. "You could say that."

He clears his throat.

"The sergeant here..."

Fuck, Buck's a coward. The words eat at his insides, gnawing at his heart, but he can't say them. Can't get them up his throat and out his mouth.

"I've got to head in, more debriefs." Buck's heart races. The faces around him nod in understanding. "I'll find you boys after."

The men fall out talking amongst themselves as they head back to their bunks, but Benny stays. Buck tries to breathe. Ken stands silently next to him still holding on to those damned bikes.

"Where's Bucky?" Benny asks before Buck can escape. Buck clenches his jaw. Benny's eyebrow ticks up.

"Something happen?" Meatball runs up to them, panting and happy to see Buck. John will never get to meet him.

"You could say that." Buck manages. He reaches down to run a hand over Meatball's head. John had loved it when Buck played with his hair. The dog bounces around, playfully nipping at Buck's hand.

"What else could I say about it?"

"There was a mission." Buck starts. Tries to speak but shuts his mouth a few times. Benny stares at him. Ken shuffles behind him.

"John," Gale pauses. "Bucky didn't make it back."

"Shit," Benny curses, and Gale stares down at Meatball. His hand rests just behind his ears. The dog tilts his head at him, wondering why he stopped. Bucky used to do that too, whenever he wanted Gale to do something with him.

"Where'd he go down?"

"No record."

"Shit," Benny breathes out. Gale bites his tongue.

"Sir, I really am sorry." Ken's voice is soft. "I thought everyone knew to tell you. They were supposed to tell you."

But they didn't! Gale wants to scream. They didn't, and now I'm alone!

"Thanks for telling us, you can leave those there." Benny says gesturing to the bikes.

"Yes, sir."

Ken slowly turns away with another quiet apology that Gale doesn't acknowledge.

Rage boils up within him. Rage at Ken for telling him. Rage at the crew for allowing Bucky onto their doomed mission. Rage at the Germans for starting the stupid fucking war. Rage at every person who had a hand in taking Bucky away.

Rage at Bucky for leaving him.

It feels hollow to be so angry at Bucky. It's not his fault, but Gale is angry at him. They were a pair, Bucky had made sure of that the day he named Gale.

He's alone now.

He doesn't know how to do it. It's been torture these past few weeks with Bucky in England. The only thing that had gotten him to today was knowing the separation was temporary. How was he supposed to last the rest of his life?

"I'll tell the others," Gale turned to Benny. "Would you mind telling the boys in there?"

"Sure, Buck," Benny nods, staring at him. Gale knows the other won't turn away until Gale leaves, so he does. He has to. He has to turn away and start moving. Because if he lets himself stop now, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to move out of that rage. He'll sink into it, and that's not who he wants to be. That's not the man Bucky loved. He need to keep going. For Bucky.

Gale heads out. He walks without any place in mind. He doesn't know where Curt or Jack are quartered, doesn't even know who he could ask. He simply walks through the base.

A crowd draws his eye, and despite himself, Gale wanders towards it.

Men rush into a hut not to dissimilar to the one Gale had just walked away from. A few of them hold clipboards calling out names, and as Gale watches, trunks matching those names get carried out.

"Excuse me? Are you assigned to these barracks?" A private walks up to him, clipboard clasped to his chest.

"Pardon?" Gale walks closer. He scans the rows and rows out trunks as they're loaded onto a truck.

"Are these your quarters, Major...?

"Major Gale Cleven. No. What are these?" Gale runs his hand along the nearest trunk.

"Trunks to be sent home, sir." One of the privates turns to him. "We have to move them out so the new arrivals can move in."

That's why they were stuck in useless meetings all afternoon, Gale suddenly realizes. They'd had to move the missing men's belongings out. The knowledge makes him ill.

"Where do you take them?" Stomach rolling as he asks, Gale projects an air of stoic calm.

"Down there," The private points down the road. "It's another empty bunkhouse, but it's better than storing them in the open sir."

"Right," Gale murmurs, mind already racing. "Back to it boys."

Gale walks, purposeful this time, down the road. If all of the trunks were being moved now, maybe... maybe Bucky's was there. It wouldn't be much, wouldn't be him, but it'd be enough, just enough to get him through today.

No one stops Gale as he walks into the bunkhouse. In fact most of the boys avoid his gaze as if he were a ghost walking among them. Which maybe he's as close a man can get. Half his soul is gone. Doesn't that make a man a ghost? Can't he qualify?

Bucky's trunk is tucked in a back corner. His must have been one of the first to be cleared out.

Gale kneels beside. He'd never been too religious, but this feels near enough to a church that Gale barely dares to breathe.

The trunks sits there bathed in the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. Gale reaches out his hand. The metal is cold to the touch. The paint spelling out Bucky's name is a soft white. There's a scratch across the top, and scuff marks along the bottom. Gale traces those. They're signs of life. Signs that Bucky once lived and breathed dragging this trunk along behind him.

Gale can't open the trunk. He thought he could, thought it'd help him, but he was wrong. This is worse. Sitting here in this graveyard of lost men, Gale feels tears burning at his eyes that he can't hold back anymore.

His John is gone. Bucky is dead, and all that's left is this trunk. This trunk and Gale.

"Can't believe you boys moved my fucking trunk! Talk about burying a man before he's dead!"

Gale's heart stops, and he turns tears trailing down his cheek. Barely daring to hope, he stares at the entrance.

"Sir, we were informed that we needed to move these trunks. Our apologies for not double-checking!"

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, any of you guys hear if the 100th flew in yet?"

Gale scarcely dares to breathe.

"Yes, sir! They flew in three hours ago."

The voices grow closer. Gale turns, still on his knees next to Bucky's trunk. Any second they'll walk in. Any second Gale's hopes will be dashed, and he'll return to a world where his John, the boys' Bucky is dead. He'll remain a Gale with no one else's name attached to him.

Any second.

The moment passes. The door opens. Light bleeds into the room, and Buck hadn't known how dark it had been before then.

[heavenlyfay3]

Workplace grievance

By Sawyer-summary: you haven’t been doing your best at work and get a “scolding” by your bosses bosses boss the ceo Mr. O’Hara

miguel x reader

warnings:smut, p in v, dubcon, spanking, power dynamic!!

You’ve been messing up at work and by “messing up” you mean fucking up your reputation and acting as if you don’t want a job at all. you’ve been making careless mistakes, arriving late, slacking off, yesterday you even yelled at a highly valued client. it’s not like you were trying to get fired you just haven’t been in the mood to deal with anyone and that’s basically what your job is dealing with people. Today you got called to your manager’s office immediately after you sat down at your desk knowing exactly what you were in for.

“I can’t let stuff like this slide y/n we almost lost a client!” your manager yelled at you

“I know I know and I’m sorry I promise it won’t happen again,” you said pleading to keep your job

“yea well sadly for you it’s out of my hands,” he says sitting down with a tired look on his face

“What do you mean out of your hands?” you ask confused

“you have to go speak with Mr O’Hara y/n” your manager said with a sympathetic look on his face

you’d never met the CEO of the company you figured he was like a unicorn or something that only allowed you to see it when it wanted. you’d only heard rumors about him no one was dumb enough to fuck up to the point where they had to go talk to him

you were in the elevator that opened directly to his secretary’s desk and then to his office you were nervous your whole body was shaking thinking about all the things that could go wrong about how you were definitely getting fired and never getting a job again becoming homeless begging on the streets like Squidward in that episode of SpongeBob.

the elevator doors opened and you immediately felt like you were gonna throw up your breakfast you looked to his secretary for some kind of hope or reassurance and all she said was “Through the brown doors honey” With a dead grin on her face you stepped out of the elevator and walked towards the doors saying thanks to his secretary you stood in front of his doors for about a minute before finally working up the courage to knock

“Come in” you heard his voice and it sent shivers through your body you took a deep breath opened the door and walked “Mr.O’Hara?” you said in the smallest voice afraid to make too much noise

he didn’t say a word just pointed to the chair in front of his desk telling you to take a sit and you did that immediately “You understand why you’re here right?” he said in a stern voice

“yes, yes sir but I-“ he stops your words “you know yelling at that client was over the line don’t you?”

“yes, Mr. O’Hara I do I’ve just been under a lot of stress, and im so so sorry please forgive me!”

“I can do that. but punishment is due, y/n” he says looking a Your breasts through the three buttons you lefts open on your blouse“Yes I understand I'll go clear out my desk,” you say slowly getting up from your chair tears filling your eyes

“Why are you doing that?” he asked. You turned back at him confused “Come here next to me” you do as he says standing next to the chair that he sits at behind his desk anticipating his next move

He immediately pulls you over his lap by your arm you’re not even able to protest or get a word out because as soon as your torso hits his thighs he’s lifting your skirt above your ass

A look of shock crosses your face as you feel yourself being pulled across his lap and him lifting your skirt. he moves your panties between your cheeks and places his palm flat on one cheek

“or would you rather lose your job?” he asks in a time that makes you melt “No sir i-i want to keep my job,” you say not exactly prepared for whats about to happen but exited nonetheless “I thought so”

You gulp, your body shaking as you feel his hand on your bare ass cheek. you can hardly believe what's happening, but your mind is a mess and if you resisted you would lose your job and it’s not like you wanted to resist anyway.

while in your thoughts he slapped your ass hard. Your body jolts on his lap the feeling sending a heat radiating through your body to your surprise a loud gasp more like a moan left your mouth.

“This is what happens when you don’t do you job” he says slapping your ass again on the same cheek “you think girls that do their jobs correctly get punished like this?” he says slapping it again “n-no sir” the slaps hit harder and harder each time sending heat to your core making you soaking wet you let out moans you never even knew you could make.

He gives your ass another slap before looking down at your wet cunt “Are you wet right now, love?” embarrassed by the mess you made of yourself you stay silent hoping he’ll just ignore it.

He slaps your ass again and you let out a soft moan again his fingers start touching your wet pussy and he pushes your soaked panties to the side revealing the puffy lips of your pussy begging to be fucked. You let out a surprised gasp When he does this your breath shallows and your heart starts raising

he pushes his middle finger in your hole and uses his other hand to slap your ass again “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, baby” he says with a sly grin on his face looking down at you. Your body tenses at this new feeling of his finger inside you

He adds another finger and starts pumping them in and out of you at a slow pace teasing and antagonizing you and making you squirm in frustration “You’re being such a good girl for me now Why couldn’t you do that before huh?” his words alone do something to you making you feel butterflies in your stomach. You cover your mouth to try and suppress the filthy moans coming from your mouth

He takes both fingers out and starts slapping your pussy lightly your moans only start to get louder as your entire body starts shaking as you feel a wave of pleasure building up inside you. Your eyes are glistening with excitement and pleasure. your breathing coming in gasps as you try to fight back the urge to beg for more “oh god…please”

“Stand up and bend over my desk baby” he says taking both hands away from your body as soon as he tells you what to do you stand up and bend over his desk. He stands up behind you and presses his bulge into you so you can feel how hard his huge cock is “ See what you do to me?”

A small moan leaves your mouth as you feel him pressing into your swollen lips. You feel a cool breeze and hear him unbuckle the belt of his pants and just as you hear that his hard cock is pressing into your hole. “Fuuuck your tight” you can barely think, your entire world reduced to the sensation of his thick member invading your tight pussy. You can feel every inch of him as it slides in and out of you, your body shuddering uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure grows stronger.

He sucks air through his teeth and sighs right after from how good you feel “God i might give you a promotion for this pussy!”

you try to hold back your slutty moans, but it’s difficult to contain your excitement as you feel his hard cock sliding back and forth inside you. You gasp loudly as another wave of intense pleasure rolls through you, your whole body shaking as you feel yourself getting close to climaxing.

He starts fucking you hard into his desk pushing you against it “yea that’s right baby cum on my cock” he says groaning with each thrust

At this point, you can't suppress the slutty moans coming from your mouth as your body starts to tremble your hands clutching at the edge of his desk as you begin to lose control. The feeling of being filled by his cock pushes you over the edge as you scream out loud “Fuck, Mr.O’Hara!” your juices gushing out around his cock as you cum

“Fuck baby good job!” he doesn’t let up after you cum fucking you even harder you try to catch your breath as you feel him fucking you even harder, his cock slamming into your sensitive flesh over and over again. You can barely hold onto the edge of his desk as you try to keep up with his pace, your legs shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure grows stronger.

He cums inside you as he grips your hips digging his thumbs into your back and his thrusts become slow and deep hitting all the right spots “Oh my god that’s so good!”

your eyes roll back in your head as you moan loudly, your pussy tightening down on his shaft as you orgasm once more. your body shaking wildly as you cum again, your juices spill all over his desk and you struggle to stay conscious.

“Shit baby!” he says slapping your ass one last time you pants heavily, your body limp as you try to catch your breath. you feel a slight pain in your ass as he slaps you one last time, but you can’t help but smile as you think about how good that just felt. you turn and lie on your back to look up at him, your eyes filled with lust as you reach down to touch your sore cum-filled pussy

“Who said you could touch your pussy?” He says grabbing your face and pulling you up so you can lean back on your hands “Sorry sir” you say looking up at him with lust filled eyes telling him you want more

“Tell me what you want y/n,”

a/n:Ending it here cuz i don’t want it to be too long and i might do a part 2 if it doesn’t flop