#we are coming up to the end of the wire very very fast and we need to understand that and not hide from it

[remyfire]

I need to know that y'all know what is going on right now.

I need y'all to understand that today there was a rally outside of the US Treasury Building to protest Elon Musk and DOGE's actions at the Treasury. I need y'all to know that there were Democrat Congresspeople out there in the streets, rallying together the protesters, unafraid to use words like fascism and dictator, literally leading chants to shut down the Senate. They were focused. They were passionate. They sent their best out and they kicked fucking ass.

I need y'all to understand that things are incredibly. Fucking. Serious right now. And I need y'all to call your goddamn representatives and put the fear of God in their hearts because if they don't get in there and slow every single thing that comes through the Senate down, I am not exaggerating, it is going to be incredibly hard to come back from this.

This is the time. This is when we need to move. There is a protest happening tomorrow in the capital of every major city. If you're ready to go, then get ready for it.

[maxispixels]

HANDPICKED

PART FOURTEEN.

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

3k words

You work at a flower shop in late 70s London and Hobie's being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around (more) 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy ? (very)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve. Part thirteen. Part fourteen.

The bell rang over your head, welcoming. It felt like spring inside of four walls, the smell of flowers and a herbal blend of tea greeted you almost as warmly as Rose, a nice break from the cutting wind drying your skin. A lot of boxes and other deliveries were still unopened. When she saw the scratches on your hands and the bruising around your brow bone though, her soft smile got replaced by tight lips.

 “What happened to you?” she asked eagerly, stepping around the counter surprisingly fast for a limping lady, her wrinkled hands cradling your face. “Did that punk do that?” Her voice rose, gingerly squishing your cheeks.

“What?” You blinked at her. “No. No, not at all!” You were so offended by her accusations, you lost all ability to remember and tell the lie you had prepared for this. “I got in a fight and punched some guy at a bar—” You blurted out so honestly that she could only believe you, no matter how surreal you getting in a fight in a bar seemed.

“You? Punched some guy at a bar?” She repeated in a mix of awe and disbelief, before shaking her head. “You know what? I’m not going to ask. We got all of our deliveries for Christmas, unpack it, I don’t pay you to stand here.”

“I just got here!” you protested, but she scolded you like you’d been lounging all day.

“With 30 minutes lateness.”

That got you. You groaned, defeated, feeling your face flushed at the memory of your reason for being late, the mere thought reminding you of the lingering warmth of Hobie’s arms around your stomach. 

Without any more playful bickering, you kneeled to the cardboard boxes, precision knife in hand as you carefully unravelled beautifully red poinsettia trees, small pine trees and other branches and wires. 

You had a few commands for Christmas wreaths and decorated small Christmas trees. So you sat in the back and mostly worked on that, as Rose was more fit to handle customers than crafts, her trembling hands making it hard to carefully use secateurs. 

You weaved together flowers, red ribbons, stars and angels on pine branches, your hands roughened and smelling like cedar. You had gotten a few small cuts, but you often did when you had to work like that. It didn’t really hurt, you had gotten used to your hand stinging.

Rose checked on your progress a few times, dropping pieces of advice, that were really just orders said nicely, for your arrangements. 

You helped her out a few times with hanging decorations around the shop, until she left earlier in the afternoon, leaving you to tie the ribbons behind the counter.

By the end of the week, you were ready for December, christmas wreaths nicely arranged on the shop’s shelf, flowery christmas trees at every corners of the room, red and white ribbons, mistletoes, and the sweet smell of the sugar cookies Rose left for you. 

When the bell above the door jingled again, a sound familiar and so harmless, you thought it was Rose finally coming back for her purse.

“I put it in the back, next to the kettle.” You mumbled without much more thought, working on an intricate knot.

And when you were met with nothing breaking the silence but a rumbling breath, you had to look up. Your breath caught in your throat, choking you silent. 

Bob, Rob, Robert, whatever his name was, stood in the doorway, his silhouette blocking out the gray light from the street behind him. He looked rough, bruising still faint along his jaw, a split lip healing ugly. 

You weren’t ready for this, not now. Not alone. The last time you saw him, there had been fists, anger, the taste of blood in your mouth. Hobie wasn’t there. No security, no one to pull you out if things turned ugly . You gripped the counter, legs unsteady.

“Unsure what you got in the back, but I assume you didn’t expect me.” He mumbled, in a feeble attempt at humor. 

You weren’t sure how to react, your eyes wide as cold sweat ran down your back. You were expecting him to pounce at any time, your fingers even discreetly reaching for scissors or something in case of emergency.

But he didn’t move. And then in all his rough, awkward glory, Robert sighed, scratched at the stubble on his chin, and muttered, “D’ya have flowers for a tosser needin’ to apologize?”

It broke the tension like a stone through glass. You blinked, and if you weren’t shaking in your boots, you would’ve scoffed.

“What?”

He shifted, looking uncomfortable under your stare. Like a child getting scolded. “I dunno. Somethin’ that says I was a proper arse, but, y’know, with petals.”

You didn’t move. Your body still buzzed with the echoes of fear, of old instincts telling you to get ready to run or fight. But he just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes flicking around like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Are you trying to apologize to me? Is that a joke? Or have you been visited by the three ghosts of Christmas or something?” You muttered tentatively, a hint of something mocking in your tone, despite the shakiness of your voice. 

He rolled his eyes, before exhaling sharply. “Ain’t here to fight. Swear.” 

It was supposed to reassure you, but it didn’t, not yet. You stayed still, watching him step closer, waiting for the punchline of whatever cruel joke this might be.

He reached for a small ceramic trinket, a tiny, painted poodle, and turned it over in his fingers, gently rolling his thumb over it. A habit, a nervous tick, something he needed to fidget with for a moment.

Just like Hobie.

Your stomach twisted and you swallowed hard.

They had the same sharpness, the same exhaustion, the same anger buried under layers of bitterness. But where Hobie had fire, Robert had something hollowed out inside him. Something that made him mean, something that made him lash out inside of pulling people close.

“I was a real prick to you,” he muttered, looking down at the old poodle. “Said shit I shouldn’t have.”

You stiffened. “You don’t say.”

That almost  got a laugh out of him. Almost.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t the same as before. You studied him, still wary, still unsure. You should hate him. Maybe you did. But it was hard to look at him now, bruised and tired, and not think of Hobie. Of how easy it would’ve been for things to go differently, for Hobie to be the one standing here with more anger than love left in his chest.

Finally, Robert sighed and set the tiny ceramic pup back down. “Hobart pulled my arse out of a real mess the other day. Coulda let me get nicked. Shoulda, probably.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He rolled his shoulders, like the memory was physically uncomfortable. “Were to the same protest. T’got bad. Couldn’t get out quick enough. Hobie could. But he didn’t.”

You could picture it too easily. Hobie, exasperated but unwilling to leave someone behind. Even Robert.

You crossed your arms, heart still pounding, but something about the situation was shifting.

Robert sighed again, like he hated what he was about to say. “I guess I owe him a little now. But that doesn’t matter, whatever went sour between us—shouldn't have taken it out on you.”

That caught you off guard. Your grip on your arms loosened just slightly.

For the first time since he walked in, Robert met your eyes. There was something that wasn’t just cruelty or smugness or a need to twist the knife.

Regret.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You really buying flowers for an apology?”

He shrugged. “Actually, I hoped the intention would’ve been enough. Don’t got a single coin in me pocket.”

The bell above the door jingled again, with Rose’s cheerful voice breaking the tension. Seemed like she finally remembered her purse.

“Hello hello,” she greeted.

Suddenly, you had an idea. Something petty, and wicked. You pointed an accusatory finger up to Robert’s confused face, and, with all the annoyingness of a child denouncing another… “He was trying to steal flowers!”

No matter what happened next, the expression on the idiot’s face was worth it. “What? No, I wasn’t—I didn’t-”

Rose’s face fell in exaggerated disappointment, and you had to bite back a laugh. In a follow-up of events you couldn’t keep up with as all your focus was on not cackling, Robert found himself forced to leave his precious cowboy hat on the counter, and to hang all the tinsels, fairy-lights and garlands where you got too tired to do it yourself. You didn’t exactly mean for Robert to linger any longer, but you had to admit it was delicious to see him obey an old lady with his tail between his legs. Rose could be scary.

For so long, you’d imagined him at this towering threat, something sharp and cruel, something you couldn’t face. But now, watching him sulk under Rose’s orders, scowling at tangled Christmas lights, he wasn’t some nightmare anymore. Just another lost man. A mean one, yes, but maybe not as bad as the only parts you got to see. 

When she was done retrieving her bag and gone for good, Robert shook his head. “That was low. And petty.” He grabbed his hat from the counter in a swift movement, tipping it back on his head.

The irony wasn’t lost on you considering the things he did. He deserved it, you thought. And there was something profoundly healing about seeing the man that scared you so much, to the point you’d almost wake up in cold sweat if he visited your dreams, pouting like a child.

From Hobie’s point of view though, as he approached the shop, the scene wasn’t one of reconciliation. All he saw from behind the windows was your glossy eyes and trembling lips—which he couldn’t imagine were from your laughter—and Robert’s fussing.

He stepped inside quickly, almost slamming the door. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me.” 

You saw it all unfold in a split second, the way Hobie strolled dangerously, jaw clenched, fingers curling tightly around the paper bag in his hand like he was resisting the urge to throw it at Robert’s head.

“You’re tellin’ me I saved your sorry arse just for you to come bother us again?”

Before Robert could open his mouth, you stepped between them. 

“It’s okay—Everything is fine.” You said, and the humor lingering in your tone confused Hobie more. His eyes switched from you to Robert, holding his hands up as to show how innocent he was in all this.

You put a hand on his chest, grounding. “He came to apologize.”

Robert scoffed. “Didn’t say I was good at it though.”

Hobie shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut through steel. “Lucky for you, I don’t give a shit.”

Robert exhaled, shaking his head. “Right. ‘Course. This was dumb.” He turned back toward the door, hands back in his pockets. “Forget it.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t feel bad for him. But you did. 

“Robert.”

He paused, glancing back at you.

You swallowed. “For what it’s worth, I forgive you.” You mumbled tentatively, eyeing Hobie in fear of his disapproval. You couldn’t forgive in his name, it wasn’t your place, and he clearly didn’t seem ready to. But unless something else you were unaware of got out, you didn’t hold a grudge against the man.

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost something genuine, but he didn’t say anything. Just nodded once before stepping out into the street, the bell jingling behind him.

The second he was gone, Hobie exhaled hard through his nose, muttering something under his breath before turning to you, scanning your face, your stance, looking for any sign that Robert had rattled you.

“He didn’t do anything.” You reassured him. 

Hobie grumbled, still clearly pissed. “Shouldn’t have to deal with his shit at all.”

You sighed. “Maybe. But… I think he needed to say it. And… It felt good. To hear it.” You paused, looking in the distance for a short moment. “Plus, wait till I tell you all that happened—” You smiled, already chuckling at the mere thought of recounting Robert sheepishly following Rose’s orders.

Hobie studied you for a long moment before his shoulders finally eased, the tension draining just slightly. He sighed, handing you the paper bag. “Got you something sweet. Figured you earned it.”

You smiled, taking it, letting the sweet smell of baked goods warm your soul. “Thank you.”

“I’m stealin’ half of it though, I earned it too for dealing with this.”

You chuckled. “Fine. I’ll get some tea.” And just like that, you disappeared in the back.

Part of you was a little disappointed everything couldn’t just be alright with Robert. Maybe you had hoped for a moment that they would be fast friends again, but considering their history—or rather what little you knew of it–it was a bit unrealistic. 

You watched the bubbles in the kettle, the bruises healing on your hands. For a minute, you let yourself sit with it. The simple fact that you had stood your ground. Twice. The fear hadn’t vanished, not completely, but you hadn’t let it win. And that was something new.

What you found funny a minute ago left a strange taste in your mouth. Not bitter, not sweet. Just like the tea currently infusing, you’ll need to sit for a little while longer with the feeling before finding the true flavor. 

For now, it was a strange mix of new-found confidence and uneasiness at something you weren’t used to yet. 

Hobie eventually followed you there. You felt his warmth against your back as his hands found your arms, and his nose the back of your head. “I closed the store.” He murmured mischievously.

“But it’s still early?” You turned to look at him, confused.

“I wanna enjoy my tea time in peace.” He argued, pulling a chair for you, just wanting to chat and relax.

You smiled and sat down with him, your hand searching for his, kissing the palm.

“So, should I tell you everything now or?...”

“Depends. Did you punch ‘im again?”

“Better.” You bit your lips and he raised an eyebrow.

“Now, I have to know. Spill.”

And so you recalled the events to him. From uncomfortable apologies, to false accusations of flower theft to him doing your work as reparation. 

“Flower theft? Seriously?” He scoffed. “Don’t go givin’ him credit for my work—” he joked in disbelief of you randomly snitching on the man. For something he didn’t even do. “I’m glad it was you I had to deal with instead of Rose.” He laughed at the old woman’s way of dealing with thiefs. 

In turn, Hobie told you about the protest a little more, how he almost left Robert to deal with the cops on his own but couldn’t really bring himself to. 

You were supposed to open the shop again after your tea break, but neither of you moved. 

The warmth of the back room wrapped around you both, the scent of cedar and old leather curling in the air, mingling with the soft hum of the kettle. Hobie stretched his legs out, his hand still loosely tangled with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles in absentminded circles. The world outside kept turning, but none of it mattered right now. 

No fear, no running, no fighting… Just this. Just him.

———

That night, his body felt warmer, his hold tighter, his voice softer.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been laying there, tangled up in each other, listening to the faint hum of the city outside. The occasional siren in the distance. The quiet creak of the radiator. The steady, rhythmic sound of his breath.

Hobie was never still, not really. Even now, his fingers traced absentminded patterns against your back, like there were some invisible guitar strings along your spine. It made you shiver. 

You weren’t even sure who spoke first. But at some point, in the warmth of the covers, in the soft glow of streetlights spilling through the window, it just happened, inevitable, like a thought waiting too long to be said.

“You know what you are?” His voice was hushed, low, like a secret meant just for you.

You hummed against his collarbone, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. “Do tell.”

“A flower bloomin’ in the cracks.” His fingers ghosted over your shoulder, resting there. “Right in the middle of all this concrete and shit, still standin’. Still thrivin’.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers brushing the line of his jaw. “You wanna know what you are?”

He smirked, teasing. “A proper pain in the arse?”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “A dandelion.”

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Now that’s just rude.”

You bit your lip, hesitating, then admitted, “I used to be scared of you. Scared you’d just… scatter in the wind. Be gone before I could catch you.” Your voice was quieter now, barely there. “But you’re still here.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something softer. “‘Course I am.” He cupped the side of your face, his thumb gently running along your cheekbone, right under your eyes.

You swallowed, your fingers curling into his shirt;

“I love you.” Your voice barely made it past your lips. It felt strange, like stating something obvious, something that should’ve been said earlier.

Hobie stilled. Just for a second. No teasing remarks, no witty deflection. Just that look. Like he had been waiting to hear it, but hadn’t dared to hope for it.

His forehead pressed against yours, his grip tightened, and his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I love you too.”

It was simple, certain. Nothing grand or dramatic, just the truth. He kissed you then, slow and lingering. Like he hadn’t a hundred times before. Like he had all the time in the world. And you were sure he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Tags: @hoe-bie @kittenjujusblog

hey haha so um yeah this is over I guess and I'm completely normal about it *sobs uncontrollably* no sorry it's fine it's just i never did that before (finishing something)

I'll do some tidy up eventually, a navigation system will probably make it easier,,, also just some tumblr formatting to make things neat

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie goes zero to sixty when he wakes up. He expects to be dead, so the strong smell of disinfectant and boiled hospital food comes as a shock that, at first, he doesn’t believe.

But then the irregular bleating of the heart monitor next to him starts to sink in, the beeps sounding way too fucking fast and that stresses Eddie out even more. He tries to escape out of the bed, gets tangled in tubes and wires, agony burning up his side and through his stomach, practically falls out of the bed when his own legs won’t hold him.

The floor is rock solid and stone cold, and that just ratchets Eddie’s panic further, because now he’s stuck and he can’t escape and there are people – people he doesn't know – touching him, all talking all over each other and it’s so much, too much to handle, the overload -

“Holy shit kid,” a voice Eddie would recognize anywhere, mostly because he’s been warned by that voice so many times about getting caught dealing and carrying and, “Jesus, give him some room a second.”

“I thought you were dead,” Eddie rasps out, voice totally fucked.

“Yeah, well, thought the same about you kid,” Hopper answers, stoic and honest as always.

“I can’t stay here,” Eddie finds his hands twisted up in the material of Hoppers jacket.

Hopper nods, knowingly, “back into bed, give me half an hour.”

Eddie agrees, holds onto that, because the lights are too bright and the noises are all so fucking loud and even the sound of his own breathing is annoying.

“Kid,” Hopper raps on the door frame, and every fucking pair of eyes in the room swivels to him because literally everyone rammed into Max’s room is a kid to Hopper. He narrows it down a bit, looking at Steve, “Munson’s awake.”

Half the people in the room shoot up, Dustin’s fastest despite his fucked up ankle, so Hopper sticks an arm out, wraps him up, stops him even though the kid is screeching and wriggling in his hold, “just Steve, the rest of you stay here.”

There’s a roomful of complaints, but something in Hoppers tone must relay the urgency, because they do obey in the end.

“So, he needs somewhere to go.”

Hopper nods down at Steve, “Owen’s can wrangle it, but it’s got to be somewhere known, somewhere that has the space, somewhere...private.”

Steve gets what Hopper’s laying down, his place is the only place that makes any sense, “yeah, of course.”

Because there’s no question.

Eddie limps across the threshold, most of his weight supported on Steve’s shoulders. They take one look at the mountain of stairs and divert straight to the couch. Steve can see that Eddie’s in pain, that he’s restless, that he can’t settle, “what can I do?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Feel like there’s...fire ants or something, crawling all over, under my skin.”

Steve tuts. Not having a suggestion for that. Eddie’s face contorts again and he’s sweating. The nurse was very fucking clear about the pain meds, and Eddie can’t have any more for another couple of hours at the earliest. Steve doesn’t state that out loud; he’s pretty sure Eddie doesn’t need reminding.

He comes back with a cool sodden towel, feeling helpless, but the second it hits Eddie’s skin Eddie practically screeches and they know that isn’t the answer, so Steve throws it in the laundry.

“I don’t know what to say man, shower? Like, a hot one?”

“Dressings,” Eddie bites back, white knuckled and almost writhing now on the couch.

“Maybe...we should take you back, maybe they can-”

“No. Fuck no,” Eddie’s words bitten out, panicked.

“Okay okay,” Steve surrenders, palms up flat, “what then?”

Eddie’s eyes flick over the back of the couch, he can’t see the stairs from there, there’s a wall in the way, but his expression looks pained just at the thought, “I’ll try anything once.” He tries to make a joke of it, tries to make out that he’s okay, but he’s clearly in fucking agony and Steve has no idea what to do for him so he agrees readily.

Making it up the stairs takes them fully half an hour, Eddie having to wait, panting, on every single step. Steve’s never felt so helpless in his life (excluding that one time Max floated in the cemetery), it’s torture watching Eddie suffer, watching him try and keep in all the pained noises, only to fail miserably.

He manages a half hearted joke about King Steve giving him a sponge bath when they make it to the turn near the top, the wider step on the corner giving Eddie somewhere safe and secure to lean.

Steve doesn’t laugh, “how are you feeling now?”

Eddie swallows, throat clicking dry, “it’s worse. It’s like there’s...like something's under there, moving around,” Eddie draws in a hissed breath, face crumpling, “hurts. So fucking much.”

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to that, so they get moving, and those final four steps are worse than all the others combined. They shuffle through Steve’s bedroom and into the bathroom, and when Steve clicks on the light Eddie makes an agonized noise and Steve clicks it off again immediately.

“S’bright,” Eddie mutters, squinting at the floor, greasy, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He looks ill. Washed out. No, gray. He looks like he’s gone gray in the dim light coming through the small bathroom window.

“Okay, okay, no problem,” so Steve turns to get the water going, trying to figure out how the fuck they’re going to do this considering Eddie looks exhausted and half dead already. He hears Eddie make a noise, there's a soft thump, and Steve turns back, concerned.

Eddie’s gone.

He’s just...gone.

His clothes are in a heap on the floor, bloody dressings mixed in, and Steve yells, hopping backward and nearly dragging down the shower curtain, when the pile shifts. Wings emerge. Tails.

Steve recognizes it instantly. It’s a fucking demobat.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck,” Steve backs away, edges his way through the door, thinking of the nail bat in the boot of his car. He usually brings it everywhere with him, when he can, but he was too concerned with getting Eddie into the house to think of it.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the thing as it flops around, trapped in Eddie’s clothes. Steve darts the rest of the way, scouring his room for a weapon and giving up fast; the kitchen, a knife; that would be easiest.

Steve runs for it, closing his bedroom door tight so the thing can’t escape. He runs down the stairs, grabs the biggest knife in the block and then takes the stairs two at a time on the way back up.

Steve opens his bedroom door cautiously, point of the knife sliding through the gap, just in case the thing is flapping around in his bedroom. It’s not, it appears safe.

But Steve knows the danger, he was nearly killed by just one of those things so he isn’t taking any chances. Steve waits a second with the door open...he realizes he can hear it. It’s not making the horrible high pitched screech that he’s used to, it sounds more like...well, it sounds like a whimper. It actually sounds kind of pathetic.

Steve creeps closer, only to find the demobat hopelessly tangled in Eddie’s clothes, it’s struggling only making it worse. Steve stands for a moment, staring. Eddie’s gone...and now that little creature is in Eddie’s clothes.

Eddie. Shit, Steve has a terrible feeling about this, “Eddie?”

Steve creeps a little closer, still pointing with the knife, “Eddie, man, if that’s you, you’ve got to give me something here,” Steve begs desperately. There’s still no response, “oh fuck me, I’m loosing my godamn mind.”

Steve kneels, moving a little closer, “Eddie?”

The Demobat’s strange, worm like head appears from under Eddie’s shirt and sort of...mewls. It’s pathetic, really. The open, rounded mouth in filled with rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth. It’s got four eyes, two above the mouth, and two more set behind that, and they all blink in turn, strange slits opening and closing slowly.

It makes another little noise. “Okay. Okay, lets, try...oh man I am so dumb. Dustin’s never going to let me live this down,” Steve slowly offers the back of his hand to the thing, reasoning that if it bites him, the wound won’t be too debilitating than if he looses a finger or something equally terrible. He waits, watching, poised to drag his hand back at the first sign of danger. He doesn’t need too though, because the demobat potentially formerly known as Eddie, snakes out a too long, thin black tongue, and licks a sticky smear on the back of Steve’s hand.

And that’s all. It sits still, staring up at Steve will all four of it’s beady black eyes, watching expectantly.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to trust you. But if you bite me I swear to…” Steve mutters to himself as he carefully untangles the bat from the pile of clothing, it’s tails and wings well and truly wrapped up with the material.

It’s not awful. It feels kind of cold, but the skin isn’t like, moist, or anything, it’s very dry and kind of scaly. The wings are more leathery, and the tail is...well, it kind of feels weirdly hollow.

“Okay, I got you Munson. God that’s so weird,” Eddie’s body snakes up Steve’s arm a little way, wings flapping clumsily as he tries to right himself. Steve has to fight his instinct to throw the thing off, the last time a demobat was this close to him it nearly strangled him to death.

Despite climbing all over Steve, Eddie wraps his tail around his arms and chest...but not his neck. Not even close. Kind of like, even in this form, he knows.

Eddie ends up hooking the ‘elbows’ of his wings into Steve’s shirt and just...huddling there. Not doing anything, tail wrapped firmly around Steve’s arm, one wing against Steve’s chest and the other against his back, hugging Steve’s shoulder.

Steve stares at himself, and Eddie, in the mirror, “well, fuck.”

With no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do now, Steve heads to bed. It’s been a bit of a day, and whatever the hell this is can wait until tomorrow. He crawls into bed, carefully lying down. Eddie seems to get it, movements still slow and very clumsy, he shifts completely onto Steve’s chest, sort of walking on the joints of his wings, curling up.

Steve lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, “I guess this is...maybe not the weirdest thing to happen?”

Eddie makes a soft trilling noise.

Fuck.

Steve wakes up slowly, very aware of the warm weight on top of him. He blinks, vision filled with a mop of brown curls. Eddie.

Steve is hugging Eddie. Eddie is mostly on top of him. Eddie is very naked under Steve’s hands and his very obvious erection is digging into Steve’s thigh and, “Eddie, you’re people again!”

Eddie lifts his head, squinting, opens his mouth and says, “mrrrrp?”

It’s eerily reminiscent of the noise he’d made last night, as a demobat.

“You’re a dude again, dude.”

Eddie blinks. It seems to take a long time to process before he finally, finally croaks out, “coffee.”

Steve wholeheartedly agrees.

Steve slips out of bed, Eddie either isn’t acknowledging or hasn't noticed his boner situation, so Steve figures there's some sort of bro code here and just ignores it too.

While coffee is brewing, Steve figures his only possible course of action is to call the smartest person he knows. He will never admit that out loud, but luckily Henderson answers on the second ring, like he’s been waiting for Steve to call him.

“Dustin-”

“Can I come see Eddie yet?”

Steve sighs, “I’m great, thanks for asking, so cool of-”

“Steve.”

“Yeah. Yes, come over.”

The little shit doesn’t even say goodbye. He just hangs up.

Steve takes a coffee up to Eddie, who is buck naked and sprawled ass up over Steve’s bed, “okay, Eddie come on, Dustin’s on the way.”

Eddie groans, crawling out of bed, Steve heads over to his wardrobe to dig out something for Eddie to wear so he isn’t obviously staring at all of Eddie’s nakedness. There’s a thump and a, “shit,” that has Steve spinning back around, Eddie sat on his ass on the floor, looking confused.

“You okay?”

“Legs. Apparently you can forget legs really fast.”

It hadn’t occurred to Steve when he woke up, but it does now. All of Eddie is pristine; there’s not a wound, mark, scar bruise, anything on him anywhere. Steve has to step closer, kneeling in front of Eddie to prod his chest, Eddie swats at him, “you’re all healed up.”

Eddie stops swatting at Steve and prods himself instead, “holy shit. I am.”

“Well...that’s a positive, right?”

Eddie hums, and Steve goes back to digging him out a sweater and some sleep pants and boxers. That’ll do for today. Eddie’s a little wobbly when he stands, so Steve hovers in grabbing distance, but Eddie gets dressed without incident.

Steve offers him the coffee from the nightstand, now cool enough to drink. Eddie takes an enthusiastic mouthful and Steve watches as Eddie’s face goes through a series of...something, his mouth obviously full of coffee. His face is definitely doing something. And then Eddie just opens his mouth, “bleaugh,” letting the coffee just...run back into the mug.

And then he hands it back. To Steve. Who takes it reflexively, “I’ll just...I’ll go and get rid of this.”

“Where is he?”

“Okay, okay, firstly, I need you to not freak out.”

“Steve,” Dustin stares at him, “saying that is guaranteed to make anyone freak out.”

“Yep,” Steve agrees, “I mean it though, Eddie is absolutely fine, I swear it.”

“But. There’s a but isn’t there, Steve why is there always a but with-”

“He turned into a demobat last night. Like just, was a bat. And I didn’t know what to do, so we went to sleep, and then this morning he was Eddie again.”

Dustin’s face is a process, before he finally settles on, “are you sure?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “yes, yes, I’m sure. He was Eddie, then bat, the Eddie again. It wasn't complicated, just fucking weird.”

“Right...so where is he?”

Steve opens his bedroom door to find...absolute carnage. His bed has moved, the mattress is off the frame, there’s blankets and pillows strewn everywhere, feathers swirling in the air.

“Eddie?”

Eddie pops up on the other side of the bed, shirtless and frantic looking, “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything, it just, it just...it just exploded.”

Steve stares, the feathers settling. Eddie’s actually naked again and appears to be building some sort of fort on the floor of Steve’s bedroom, Steve blinks, “the pillow doesn’t matter Eddie.”

Eddie nods decisively, “good.” Then, after a moments thought, “do you have more?” And then he’s back on his hands and knees rearranging his fort, like a feral racoon or something.

“Dustin’s here, do you want to maybe come and talk to him?”

“It’s the scientific method Steve!”

“We are not throwing anyone off a roof, anywhere, any time, ever.”

They both turn back to Eddie, watching as he eats another spoon of raspberry jelly straight out of the jar.

“You got any ketchup?” Dustin asks, going back to food again.

“That won’t prove either theory, ketchup is red and sweet.”

Dustin turns to him, “Steve, that is possibly the most intelligent thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Steve’s ready to slap the little shit at this point, but Dustin’s face is earnest. Apparently Dustin actually means what he just said. Like, sincerely.

So Steve lets it go, and Dustin suggests, “we need something sweet but not red, and something red but not sweet.”

“We should go to the store,” Steve adds, then stares at Eddie for a minute longer; he’s basically fucking the neck of the jar with his tongue, “I’ll call Nancy to go to the store for us,” Steve adjusts.

Dustin nods, turning the page of his notebook.

Nancy drops grocery bags on the counter while Robin hops up next to her, “so, I thought we could make red jello and add a bunch of salt or something, I got some soup for him to try, some more jelly just in case, and some more ketchup since you said he really likes that. Two tubs of salsa…”

Steve rummages in the bag next to her, when Eddie pops up next to him, Steve hadn’t even heard him come into the kitchen. Eddie wedges himself right in there, pushing Steve back with a hand and then...hisses. Hisses at Nancy. Like, makes a hissing noise and bears his teeth. Steve just moves, lets Eddie push him back, while Nancy watches, wide eyes and surprised.

She takes a few Steps back herself, closer to Robin, and tries a tentative, “Eddie?”

He just hisses again, before snapping, “mine!” at her.

And then he disappears, there’s a light thump on the kitchen floor. Everyone watches as bat Eddie extricates himself from his clothes, movements much better this time around. He half climbs and half flaps his way up Steve’s body, until he gets to around waist height and Steve grabs at the thickest part of Eddie’s body to help him out. Eddie climbs the rest of the way, draping himself around the back of Steve’s neck, tail wrapped under one armpit, Eddie standing on his wing joints on the opposite shoulder. He hisses at Nancy again.

“Holy shit,” Nancy says.

Dustin is frantically scribbling in his notebook.

Robin, once she’d got over the shock of Eddie’s transformation, laughed and laughed and laughed. Even Nancy was smirking at them. The way Steve was absently stroking over Eddie to keep him mollified, and that Nancy couldn’t come within ten feet of them without Eddie getting all riled up again.

“So, you and Eddie huh.”

Steve just rolls his eyes.

“He’s feeling plenty threatened by Nance,” Dustin adds, really, really, unhelpfully.

“Probably because they were a thing,” Robin speculates.

“So you and Eddie are like, dating?” Dustin asks, and whatever Steve’s face does makes Robin laugh and laugh and laugh again.

Eddie actually manages a graceful glide off Steve’s shoulder and onto the nest/fort/thing Eddie had constructed earlier. Steve was going to try and tidy it before bed...but from the way Eddie is wing walking across it, pathetically dragging the edge of a pillow in his tiny mouth, Steve guesses that he’s not.

It’s also been a bit of a day, and he can’t really be bothered.

He climbs into bed, Eddie flapping out of the way and then climbing his way carefully up onto Steve’s chest.

This is my life now, Steve thinks, as he stares at the ceiling.

And then gets winded, when the very small demobat lying on his chest is suddenly a full sized man again. Eddie nearly headbutts Steve in the chin and Steve rolls over to dump him off, panicked and with the breath knocked out of him. Eddie makes a pathetic and somehow accusatory trilling noise, like this turn of events is all Steve’s fault, before he rolls over and flops over Steve again.

Apparently, cuddling is a thing they do.

Eddie makes a noise like a purr when Steve rubs his hand up and down the naked skin of Eddie’s back.

So, yeah, this is Steve’s life now.

There is more of this series on AO3 - Stevieschrodinger

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry was never really Dumbledore's man

So, in HBP Harry says himself:

“Well, it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you,” said Scrimgeour, his eyes cold and hard behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry.

(HBP, 348)

But, I'm here to argue Harry actually has many many doubts and reservations about Dumbledore throughout all books (even HBP), and I find it interesting how Harry convinced the Wizarding world (and the readers) that he's Dumbledore's man when he isn't. Not really.

(Just makes me all the more annoyed at him calling his son Albus...)

I'm going to go through some examples of Harry showing his doubts about Dumbledore way before book 7. Because Harry is an abused, distrusting boy, and Dumbledore isn't actually an exception to that until very late into the books. And even when Harry chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions, he never fully trusts his judgment.

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….”

(PS, 217)

This quote above is from the ending of Philosopher's Stone and the outlook Harry, Ron, and Hermione have on Dumbledore and his behavior is the same as seen in the later books. So I wanted to talk about each of them and how they see Dumbledore because this quote really sets the tone for the rest of the series.

Ron is doubtful and distrustful. The situation is odd, and he's clever, he analyzed the situation and came to a frightening conclusion — the whole ordeal seemed planned by Dumbledore. And Ron isn't scared of voicing this question.

Hermione, while not always a rule-follower, respects Dumbledore and his authority. A lot. So, she doesn't believe Dumbledore could've planned it as it would reflect badly on his character and authority. Hermione is a very loyal person, and once she decides she respects someone she is willfully blind to their flaws (we see it with her later in the series).

Harry, while he's clever enough to notice the same things Ron did and come to the same conclusion — that Dumbledore planned for an 11-year-old to face Voldemort — he attributes good intentions to Dumbledore. Harry sees the situation and draws his conclusions, but chooses to hope/believe Dumbledore's intentions were good ones.

Harry’s brain seemed to have jammed. He stared numbly at Riddle, at the orphaned boy who had grown up to murder Harry’s own parents, and so many others. . . . At last he forced himself to speak. “You’re not,” he said, his quiet voice full of hatred. “Not what?” snapped Riddle. “Not the greatest sorcerer in the world,” said Harry, breathing fast. “Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore. Everyone says so. Even when you were strong, you didn’t dare try and take over at Hogwarts. Dumbledore saw through you when you were at school and he still frightens you now, wherever you’re hiding these days —” The smile had gone from Riddle’s face, to be replaced by a very ugly look. “Dumbledore’s been driven out of this castle by the mere memory of me!” he hissed. “He’s not as gone as you might think!” Harry retorted. He was speaking at random, wanting to scare Riddle, wishing rather than believing it to be true —

(CoS, 282)

This is one of the scenes people call to to show how much faith Harry has in Dumbledore (even Dumbledore himself), the thing is, Harry says (in his mind) he's just saying things to try and scare Tom. To try and buy time, or unbalance Tom so he may have a chance at escape.

The important note is that Harry doesn't actually believe what he's saying to Tom. He's just saying what he thinks would bother Tom the most.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help — rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

(GoF, 310)

This part about telling no one about his wand's connection to Voldemort is true. He never told anyone by that point in GoF. Not Ron, not Hermione, not Dumbledore, not even Sirius.

As I mentioned above, Harry is abused and distrustful. He's not at all Dumbledore's perfect soldier who trusts him with everything. In GoF, Harry decides against telling Dumbledore about his dreams and the pain in his scar:

“Your scar hurt? Harry, that’s really serious. . . . Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I’ll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. . . . Maybe there’s something in there about curse scars. . . .” Yes, that would be Hermione’s advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. [...] As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, fulllength wizard’s robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry’s owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid.

(GoF, 21)

Harry doesn't wish to share secrets with Dumbledore, nor does he feel comfortable to go to him with his troubles (his go-to adult while Sirius was around was always Sirius). Again, Hermione is mentioned as the one who trusts Dumbledore's authority, in Harry's head, but he's right, he knows her well.

Harry actually spends a good portion of the series purposefully trying to hide information from Dumbledore. (I'm saying 'trying ' because Dumbledore always found out, but not because Harry told him).

“He seemed to think it was best,” said Hermione rather breathlessly. “Dumbledore, I mean.” “Right,” said Harry. He noticed that her hands too bore the marks of Hedwig’s beak and found that he was not at all sorry. “I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles —” Ron began. “Yeah?” said Harry, raising his eyebrows. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?” “Well, no — but that’s why he’s had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time -” Harry felt a great jolt in his guts as though he had just missed a step going downstairs. So everyone had known he was being followed except him. “Didn’t work that well, though, did it?” said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. “Had to look after myself after all, didn’t I?” “He was so angry,” said Hermione in an almost awestruck voice. “Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary.” “Well, I’m glad he left,” Harry said coldly. “If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done magic and Dumbledore would probably have left me at Privet Drive all summer.”

(OotP, 63)

Harry is angry here, true, but he doubts Dumbledore's idea of what's "safe" for him. He's actually glad for the dementors because he doubts Dumbledore would've brought him over if it wasn't an emergency.

And Harry is right to be doubtful and suspicious. He's right that he's less safe at the Dursleys than at Grimmauld Place. He's right to feel angry and betrayed at literally everyone knowing he's being followed except for him. He's right Dumbledore probably wouldn't have brought him if it wasn't for the dementor attack. Harry is correct in each and every one of his assessments of Dumbledore's character and decisions here.

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s more like . . . his mood, I suppose. I’m just getting flashes of what mood he’s in. . . . Dumbledore said something like this was happening last year. . . . He said that when Voldemort was near me, or when he was feeling hatred, I could tell. Well, now I’m feeling it when he’s pleased too. . . .” There was a pause. The wind and rain lashed at the building. “You’ve got to tell someone,” said Ron. “I told Sirius last time.” “Well, tell him about this time!” “Can’t, can I?” said Harry grimly. “Umbridge is watching the owls and the fires, remember?” “Well then, Dumbledore —” “I’ve just told you, he already knows,” said Harry shortly, getting to his feet, taking his cloak off his peg, and swinging it around himself. “There’s no point telling him again.” Ron did up the fastening of his own cloak, watching Harry thoughtfully. “Dumbledore’d want to know,” he said. Harry shrugged. “C’mon . . . we’ve still got Silencing Charms to practice . . .”

(OotP, 382)

Remember I mentioned Harry hiding things from Dumbledore? This is one of such occasions. There are more in GoF that I didn't copy, but this is an example of Voldemort-related, dangerous information Harry is hiding from Dumbledore because he doesn't trust him and doesn't feel comfortable telling him things.

“It’s lessons with Snape that are making it worse,” said Harry flatly. “I’m getting sick of my scar hurting, and I’m getting bored walking down that corridor every night.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it —” “That’s not funny,” said Hermione sharply. “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.” “I am working!” said Harry, nettled. “You try it sometime, Snape trying to get inside your head, it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!” “Maybe . . .” said Ron slowly. “Maybe what?” said Hermione rather snappishly. “Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,” said Ron darkly. “What do you mean?” said Hermione. “Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry. . . .” Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other. “Maybe,” he said again in a lower voice, “he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider . . . make it easier for You-Know —” “Shut up, Ron,” said Hermione angrily. “How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.” “He used to be a Death Eater,” said Ron stubbornly. “And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides. . . .” “Dumbledore trusts him,” Hermione repeated. “And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.”

(OotP, 554)

Again we see the same exact dynamic from first year. Hermione is loyal to Dumbledore, not even considering he might be wrong about something, or not have their best interests at heart. Ron and Harry on the other hand, are both open to the possibility that things aren't so simple. They don't think Dumbledore is intentionally harming Harry, but they think he's wrong about Snape. Something Hermione, Arthur and Molly would never consider.

(This is actually the most annoying thing in Hermione's character for me, her unshakable faith in Dumbledore, who doesn't deserve her trust)

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finished at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hissed angrily, as both Ron and Hermione showed every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoved the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?” “Harry —” began Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

(HBP, 552)

Even in book 6, the book Harry grows the most comfortable and trusting towards Dumbledore, even then, he doesn't trust Dumbledore. He thinks (and somewhat rightly so because he doesn't know of Snape and Dumbledore's plan) that Dumbledore is wrong about Snape. that Dumbledore is wrong about Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust that whatever protections Dumbledore would leave would be enough (and they weren't).

Even at the end of HBP, the point in the series where Harry has the most faith in Dumbledore, Harry still doesn't trust Dumbledore's judgment or his ability to protect the school. Even after Dumbledore calls Harry out on it, telling him the safety of the students is important to him, Harry still tells Ron and Hermione to get the DA to protect the school without notifying Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore raised Harry to feel responsible for the school's safety, Harry is doing what he was "bred" to do. But he does it behind Dumbledore's back, because like every adult, Harry deep down expects to be let down. After all, he's used to saving the school himself.

So, no, Harry never really trusted Dumbledore fully. At least, not Dumbledore's judgment. Harry does believe Dumbledore's intentions are good for the most part, even if ineffective.

“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, without thinking, still cold inside. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry [...] Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!” “What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?” asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. [...] Numbly Harry thought of how the Dursleys had once shut him up, locked him away, kept him out of sight, all for the crime of being a wizard. Had Dumbledore’s sister suffered the same fate in reverse: imprisoned for her lack of magic? Had Dumbledore truly left her to her fate while he went off to Hogwarts to prove himself brilliant and talented?

(DH, 135-137)

And in Deathley Hollows, Harry is very quick to start questioning and doubting Dumbledore. Especially when compared to Hermione:

“Harry—” But he shook his head. Some inner certainty had crashed down inside him; it was exactly as he had felt after Ron left. He had trusted Dumbledore, believed him the embodiment of goodness and wisdom. All was ashes: How much more could he lose? Ron, Dumbledore, the phoenix wand . . . “Harry.” She seemed to have heard his thoughts. “Listen to me. It—it doesn’t make very nice reading—” “Yeah, you could say that—” “—but don’t forget, Harry this is Rita Skeeter writing.” “You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn’t you?” “Yes, I—I did.” She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands.

(DH, 311)

Harry is hurt, he feels betrayed, because while he never 100% trusted Dumbledore's judgment, he trusted his intentions. He trusted Dumbledore was good and cared for him. He feels cold and betrayed, showing trust in his intentions. But his readiness to accept Skeeter's and Muriel's accusations so quickly shows he always had his doubts about Dumbledore and they never really left, even if he wanted to trust him, he never did, not fully.

Hermione, on the other hand, who was always loyal and trusted Dumbledore (both his intentions and judgment) 100%, tries to rationalize Dumbledore's actions and convince herself everyone who says bad things about him is lying.

Harry doesn't. Because out of the Golden Trio, Hermione was always Dumbledore's woman, Ron and Harry... not really. Not as much.

“That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. He had made his choice while he dug Dobby’s grave, he had decided to continue along the winding, dangerous path indicated for him by Albus Dumbledore, to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust. He had no desire to doubt again; he did not want to hear anything that would deflect him from his purpose. He met Aberforth’s gaze, which was so strikingly like his brothers’: The bright blue eyes gave the same impression that they were X-raying the object of their scrutiny, and Harry thought that Aberforth knew what he was thinking and despised him for it. “Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry, very much,” said Hermione in a low voice. “Did he now?” said Aberforth. “Funny thing how many of the people my brother cared about very much ended up in a worse state than if he’d left ’em well alone.”

(DH, 478)

More of how Harry thinks about Dumbledore, showing, again, how he always had his doubts and reservations but he chooses to trust Dumbledore's intentions because otherwise, he doesn't think he has any hope to defeat Voldemort. He chooses to keep following Dumbledore's path because he has no real choice but to trust what he sees as the only path that'll lead to Voldemort's destruction. But Harry has plenty of doubts about Dumbledore.

Hermione, on the other hand, has little to no doubts. She doesn't allow herself to doubt.

And this pattern, of Harry doubting Dumbledore again and again, never truly trusting him, just trusting his plan will kill Voldemort... like, how does that lead Harry to want to name his kid 'Albus'? I just don't get it...

TL;DR

Harry likes to say he's Dumbledore's man, but he always had his reservations, even when he choose to ignore them since trusting Dumbledore's plan felt like his only chance at survival. Hermione is much more trusting of Dumbledore than Harry is.

[rhapsodynew]

#rare photos

RARE PHOTOGRAPHS OF GEORGE HARRISON TAKEN BY PAUL MCCARTNEY IN 1959.

Paul McCartney and George Harrison at that time lived just one stop away from each other in the so-called "Trading Estate" in Speke.

During these bus trips, George found out that Paul plays trumpet and got a guitar, and Paul found out that George plays guitar, they got together at night and played songs that Paul remembers, such as "Besame Mucho" and "Don't Rock me Daddy O".

Paul and George became fast friends, even hitchhiking to Wales in August 1959 before they became famous and joined The Beatles.

"Better times with George? We hitchhiked to a place in Wales called Harlech, we were kids." We heard the song "Men Of Harlech", saw it on the sign, yes, there was a big castle. And we just went there. We had guitars everywhere and we ended up in this cafe. You know, we tried to go to some place, to a central meeting place, there was a small cafe in Harlech that had a jukebox. So we sat down there. We met a guy, he started talking, he was into rock and roll, you know, we went and stayed at his house. - Paul McCartney

"One day Paul and I decided to hitchhike. This is something that no one dreams of today. Firstly, you will probably be robbed before you even pass through the Mercy Tunnel, and secondly, everyone has cars and they are already stuck in traffic. I often traveled with my family to the south, to Devon, to Exmouth, so Paul and I decided to go there first. "We didn't have a lot of money. We found a bed and breakfast. We got to a city, walked down the street, it started to get dark. We saw a woman and said, "Excuse me, do you know where we can stay?" She felt sorry for us and said, "My boy has left, come and stay at my house." She took us to her place, she allowed us to stay in her boy's room and cooked breakfast for us the next morning. She was very sweet. I do not know who she was.

"We continued along the south coast towards Exmouth. On the way, we talked at the pub with a customer who told us his name was Oxo Whitney. (He later appears in "A Spaniard in the Works". After we told John this story, he used this name. Most of John's books are based on funny things that were told to him.) Then we went to Paignton. We still had almost no money. We had small backpacks, we stopped at grocery stores. We bought spaghetti bolognese or spaghetti Milanese. They were in striped cans: Milanese with red stripes, bolognese with blue stripes. And rice with Ambrosia cream. We opened the jar, bent the lid and held the jar over the stove to keep it warm. It was what we lived for.

"We arrived in Paignton with no extra money, so we spent the night on the beach, got up in the morning and went for a walk again. We drove through North Devon and took the ferry to South Wales because Paul had a relative, so we decided to go there. "In Chepstow, we went to the police station and asked to stay in the cell. They said, "No." So we went and slept on a hardboard bench. It's damn cold. We left there and hitchhiked on. Moving north through Wales, we were given a lift by truck. Back then, trucks didn't have a passenger seat, so I sat on the engine cover. Paul was sitting on the radiator. He was wearing jeans with zippers on the back pockets and after a while he suddenly jumped up screaming.His zipper connected the positive and negative poles of the battery, heated red hot and left a mark. "When we finally got to Butlins, we couldn't get there. They had barbed wire fences to keep the campers and us out. That's why we had to break in." – George Harrison, The Beatles Anthology.

1960s

George, Paul and Ringo, Vee Caldwell House, Liverpool, 1961

George, Rory Storm, Ringo, Johnny "Guitarist" Byrne and their friends, Vee Caldwell House, Liverpool, 1961

George and Paul, the Cashba Club, February 1961

[fumifooms]

Jinx’s eyes and lost innocence

This sequence.

A bomb like she made in her youth. Except that unlike then, this one works, this one explodes… With paint and glitter and powder, instead of intending to kill or hurt.

The man who shielded himself from it sure that it would be his end, surprised, checking himself for wounds with disbelief, covered in paint, as if it was just some harmless prank. Relief. But the second surprise comes with the sound of the gun behind him. We see their eyes shift, both of them, her steeling and readying her shot without urgency and him understanding with urgency that yes, he is going to die, at her hand, and the bomb was just a fluke, a cruel prank, a distraction at best.

And this. These are the seconds that interest me, what ties it all together. The way we linger. The way she lingers. To, during a fight scene, slow down the pace to watch her face as she pulls the trigger and feels the recoil of her gun, watch her take in how she just took another life, watch her mouth part and her eyelids flutter when she notices the kid.

There are not enough emotions on her face for someone who just killed, but also there are more than there should be for a cold-blooded killer showing as much practice ease as she is. Does she always have this moment when killing someone? Did seeing her paint bomb go off, shooting someone covered in her paint and glitter of it, make her feel anything? Did she see the change in her that empowered her that she both loathes and clings onto in that split moment, too? Why did she even remake that first bomb? Why make it work and make it work to shoot off harmless fun showy things? Why indulge in this remnant of her past, why with that innocent intent intact stills if it didn’t get warped with the use of distracting an enemy to better sneak attack? Why taint that memory? Is the reaction only when she sees the kid?

Why does the camera linger, why does she linger? We’re not sure, and I’m sure she herself doesn’t know, but what we know is that she’s changed, and yeah, we’re low.

The kid, watching the fresh corpse fall, with curiosity more than anything.

Jinx with the gun gesture, reflecting their earlier conversation, referencing it. A shared secret, shared smirks, a relationship forming. Complicity. Jinx is knowingly or not taking her under her wing, shaping her by example like mentorship. A little girl that she resembled once getting desensitized to violence at her hand, encouraged to see killing positively. Empowering.

Episode 2 explores her past and upbringing in many ways, talking about Silco, her many mistakes, seeking out Sevika the last remnant of a person of her life with him and sticking with her, doing something for her despite knowing she should be betraying her any minute now. But fast forward to episode 3, the next time she has to confront it and herself.

Jinx praises Vi for finally using the right name for her, Jinx, and Vi talks about how she’ll kill her so she stops sullying the memory of Powder, blahblahblah. They exchange some punches and rows of bullets, we see Jinx’s eyes take in and calculate and shift here too, react and then react. Vi using the same mirror Caitlyn shot into intending to kill Jinx to shield herself from Jinx’s shot.

But this is it. When Vi uses her huge metal hextech fists to rip her invention, her gun, apart. Jinx is not the only one sullying memories, Vi is here, as an enforcer for Piltover, using Vander’s choice of weapon, and she uses it to hurt her, destroy her things, her inventions whose worth was such a source of insecurity and identity growing up.

This is when Jinx sees so very closely, at the other end of it, her sister’s rage and murderous intent as she rips metal apart.

We see her expression shift again and again during these few shots and the ones before and after. Her face as she watches Vi’s through the wires of her gun. As Vi roars. She grows less confident, less sure, more nervous, dare I say more fearful.

The music kicking up. Jinx’s face right then cutting to Jayce’s with a very similar expression, staring at something he doesn’t understand. "What have we done" he says.

Vi has always always been stronger than Jinx, inventions were how she made herself strong, and Vi can destroy them, Vi can rip metal apart.

And oh. Oh. This is truly really for real now. A fight to the death. No punches pulled.

She crawls away from Vi and it’s only the hextech malfunction that saves her.

Sevika smiles at Caitlyn biting her hand, with newfound respect as she draws blood. At her will, her bloodthirst, how far she’ll lower herself to hurt and fight. This is a scene about corruption arcs.

Jinx stands before Vi whose symbol of corruption just failed her, chained her to the ground vulnerable, and Jinx pulls the trigger just like Caitlyn, just like Vi was ready to do. No punches pulled.

Except they are. Jinx has steeled herself but Vi is softening. Vi is strong but she is vulnerable too and she can be made weak with Jinx’s guns and bombs.

And despite this when Jinx falls from her own weapon misfiring at a shot meant to kill her Vi is reaching out to catch, not hurt. Hold, not claw. Deflect, not counter.

Push, not punch.

Jinx’s eye shines pink like shimmer and this is when Vi shifts on the offensive, just before Jinx fires the shot that barelly misses her as she throws Jinx roughly at a wall.

And now they’ve fully switched places. The longer Vi has to fight Jinx the more she’s conflicted, the more Jinx loses herself to the fight the more she rages.

The chorus swells. "Just when you’ve done it all / you will turn it all / to ashes and blood" No words left to say, nothing left to mend.

She’s ready to die when she lunges at Vi with only her fists, she expects to die, hopes so. Knows from experience their respective results in that punching arcade game full well, even if she were to try with all her might, having tried all her might. She’s felt cursed by fate for a long time and she accepts it, just wants to go out with the most fireworks, to have been seen, to have mattered one way or another.

Vi punches the altar next to Jinx even as she’s got her pinned down defenseless and she readies her fist. And she has all the time to do it, she could have done it, except she couldn’t. And it costs them the chance to killl her.

The scene as a whole has a split focus on Jayce, Jinx and Vi centrally, and the song lyrics match that quite well. The full ones lyrics are worth looking at but to keep it quick: "How does it feel to reach the line that no one ever got to cross? Does it make you a god now?" A rethoric question of course, the song spells it out like it’s a damning wake-up call. The scene is all about regret. Our choices have led us here, it says. Jayce is dreading and afraid of what he’s done, Jinx is empty and as self-loathing as ever, Vi wants to stop blaming herself and is still conflicted on what side she should be on. "Catch the fire burning out your soul / Just make it die or you will turn it all / To ashes and blood" Jinx, accepting this is where she dies. She’s said in episode two she wants to kill the last of her family, but we all know it’s a lie, she’s never wanted to destroy and break things, never wanted to cause ashes and blood. She wants to fix things. She wants things to fix. She just wanted glitter bombs and arcade games. She wants there to be something left she can fix, but it’s all just dust now.

Jinx has never been in that place before, she took the time to draw all those Powders and Vis on pillars while waiting for her to show up so they can kill each other. She’s lingering on the past again, bringing it into the now to use it as a stage for battle.

Jayce is reckoning with the consequences of what he’s created and done, that he might cause a lot of ashes and blood. Vi being corrupted too, by Piltover, by rage, by Jinx, by Powder. Vi is being turned to ashes and blood, this is what jinx has made of her, what she’s made of herself. Vi is being corrupted too, by Piltover, by rage, by Jinx, by Powder. Vi has changed, too. Their whole society, their whole lives, their world figuratively and literally, it’s all crumbling.

"Every sin will be forgiven / If you lay down your weapons to the ground" But that’s not really how this works, is it. Jayce or Jinx can’t fix what they’ve done. Vi can’t say this, can’t fix her. No, they’ve dug their graves and the ground is where they’ll all be. Powder is dead.

Just when you think you’ve lost everything. Everything can get ruined and marred a little more, always. The past is not only in the past, it’s here and it’s haunting. Jinx will keep sullying the memory of Powder for Vi and Vi will keep tainting Jinx’s memories of her sister and their childhood.

[proton-wobbler]

Great Backyard Bird Off - Cosmopolitan Birds (poll 5)

Bird Info & Submission Reasons

Common Swift (Apus apus)

Continents: Africa, Asia, Europe

"Swallows are really neat but swifts are so cool and fast and brilliant. Their colour is beautiful. They are not passeriformes, which is also cool, and their feet are SO WEIRD"

"I love swifts, we got them in the street I grew up in every summer. The swifts' arrival means the beginning of summer to me, and when they leave, almost mysteriously, it's the end. We had a nest in the eaves just above our bathroom window, and swifts would return to it every year. I can't go back to where I grew up easily any more, and the sound and sight of swifts overhead always feels like the glimpse of a hug from home. One of my favourite things in the world is a sky full of gathering grey clouds and screaming, wheeling swifts ahead of a breaking summer storm. Submitting from the UK."

"they're sooo fast. so fast. and i love their little cacophonies"

"They don’t exactly live in your back garden but they’re a bird you often see zipping along through the air. In the Netherlands, seeing the first ones of the year really reminds you that spring and summer are coming. There’s a saying that when you see this birds flying low, it’s going to start raining hard very soon and they’ve never let me down. Also, these birds are hardcore. Unless they’re chicks or taking care of their own young, they’re flying around 99% of the time. They sleep in the air, they have sex in the air, they spend the first 3 years of their life never landing— until the time comes to raise their young. Isn’t that cool!!!"

Red-backed shrike (Lanius collurio)

Continents: Europe, Africa, Asia

"Woke up at 5 to see them. Worth it. Beautiful birds"

Handsome small shrike. Male distinctive, with blue-gray head, black mask, rusty-brown back; female has warm brown upperparts, fine dark scalloping on breast and flanks. Found in open areas with scattered bushes and trees, such as heathland, overgrown orchards, and open farmland with hedges and scattered bushes; especially favors areas with thorny plants on which prey (small birds, large insects, rodents) can be impaled in "larders." Hunts from perches atop bushes and on wires, but at other times is retiring and easily overlooked. Listen for harsh, rough-sounding calls. Song is a rather quiet warble, often with mimicked elements. (eBird)

Image Sources: Swift (Anonymous); Shrike (Ana Amaral)

[theblueflower05]

These Violent Delights: Chapter One

A/N: Thanks for bearing with when it came to getting this first chapter out! Work has been dragging me by my hair, but i'm going to try to get this story updated every week. At least until I’m able to work through this Spike Fearn brain rot I’ve got going on rn.

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy from the jump. I mean, check the source material. Talks of suicidal thoughts and tendencies. Loneliness. Smut coming later!

Pariring: Bjorn x Reader

Summary: A friendship is formed under the most unlikely of circumstances.

✨Masterlist

✨Playlist

Next Chapter

Every day is exactly the same.

The sentiment runs through your head as you blearily blink up at the water stained ceiling. The comforter is tangled around your legs and your mouth is dry- a side effect from the sleeping pills. The shrill ringing of the alarm is the only indication that the morning has rose on the horizon, outside the singular window in your apartment it is still black as pitch. Your joints crack when you finally force yourself out of bed.

You go through your morning routine in an almost mechanical manner. Shower. Brush teeth. Get dressed in the standard issued trousers and blouse you’d been given when you got your assignment- the holes you’d sewn up yourself are barely noticeable. Barley. Clip your hair back. Even the movements as you eat the tar like oatmeal feel too practiced. Fake.

Lately, you’ve found you dont feel very real anymore. There’s probably droid’s walking around, wires for veins, that feel less hollow than you do.

Jackson Star is a planet in the Alfeios system, and in the 11 years you’ve been stationed here you’ve realized, that it is a planet that should've never been colonized. It’s harsh, by nature. Sweltering summers followed by frigid winters, and the ever present, extremely active volcanoes. The atmospheric processors can only do so much.

And they cant do shit about the lack of sun.

They can try to replicate it; expensive lamps and vitamin C tablets acting like a cheap knock off. Like Weyland-Yutani Corps way of saying sorry we dropped you in hell- here's the shittiest consolation prize in the galaxy.

This particular Friday is gloomier then usual, rain accompanying the dark. The walk down the cluttered streets feels even more…hopeless than usual. Like maybe this is all there is. Blurring lights of neon signs and the ruddy faces of children that hold out their hands on corners, begging for their next meal.

Like maybe if you stepped in front of the bus in this cross walk- then it would end the loop. You’d be able to get out of this eternally dark purgatory.

They aren't new thoughts, but you lifting your foot to step of the curb is. You go numb, not thinking or feeling as you step into oncoming traffic.

Theres the blaring honk of a heavy hand on a horn and then you're being yanked backwards, hard.

You gasp as you’re pulled back onto the sidewalk and out of the way of oncoming traffic. You’re equal parts grateful and disappointed. But mostly you’re shocked.

The girl is small statured, her brown eyes wide behind unruly curls. She curses filthy and fast in Spanish.

Her gaze makes you feel uncomfortably scene. Its assessing and…worried. Its been a long time since anyone worried about you. “Are you alright?”

You’re taken aback by her question.

“I’m fine. Didn’t see the cars coming” you don’t understand why you’re explaining yourself to this stranger. It’s probably the hot embarrassment that’s pointing your face red.

She doesn’t look amused by your answer but nods slowly “Okay…”

The signal turns red, the cross walk sign lights up and you’re gone, fast as your feet can take you away from your unlikely savior. Leaving her standing there, confused.

“You’re welcome!” Comes her snark filled holler. You don’t blame her. But with the shame filling you, you also can’t look at her. You just give a haphazard wave behind you. A piss poor thanks, you know.

You hope you never see her again.

-

After the blip this morning, the routine persists- until it doesnt.

The office is how it always is. Bleak. The yellow lights flickering and the wallpaper peeling. Patty, a heavy set woman with an acidic smile sits at the front desk. The grim reaper at the mouth of the river Styx. It’s pleasantries, your badge is scanned and then you find your way back to your cubicle. As ready as anyone can be to stare at a screen and four walls for the next twelve hours.

Maybe it’s something in the damp air, but once again, the day deviates from the norm.

You only ever work with electronic filing. Sorting piles and piles of e-documents into they Weyland/Yutani system. An office grunt you’ve been called. And yet today they want you up front, something about “Yolanda from zoning and housing” missing a day because her son is dying from black lung. God forbid she want to be by his side. It leaves the office understaffed.

“I’m not trained for that position” you try to reason but it falls on deaf ears. There are numbers to be punched, and your lack of true no how doesn't really matter. You begrudgingly leave your familiar desk, taking only the thermos of hot coffee with me. Small mercies, really.

Front desk is as hellish as one would think it would be. Between having to interact with real human beings, not the computers you’re used to combined with Patty’s snooty remarks; you’re absolutely jonsing to get the fuck out of there and go home by the afternoon.

In the back office the digital copying machine is down for the fifth time this week. All of the filing systems have honestly been off- a result of the shitty outdated tech on this planet.

“Ugh- they really dont know what they're doing back there” Patty sighs, muttering under her beath about how she doesnt get paid enough for this shit “Im going to go help. Again. Keep your head down and follow the guideline on the forms” she gives me stern instructions and a side eye “And dont touch my stories”

She cares more about the trashy soap operas she watches on her tablet then the mother she just evicted from her apartment.

Where’s a fucking droid when you need one? This is most definitely a job that shouldn't be done by anyone with a conscience.

With dread in your stomach you put on a brave face as the security system announces the next client;

Oh.

It’s a girl. With a small stature and wide brown eyes. Ones that reflect the same recognition you feel. It takes a moment for you to swallow the surprise.

“Name” You demand in a practiced voice. The shakiness you feel not transmuting to your tone. Or at least you hope it doesnt.

“Kay Harrison” and just like that, she’s not a stranger anymore “I’m here for an appointment”

You type quickly, plugging in the details on the keyboard. Pulling up her file. Scanning the information quickly. “Yes, I can see that. Here to formally request an eviction extension”

Damn. Thats tough.

“Yes. But only because we truly will be able to pay it next week. I brought not only mine but my brothers work logs and proof of direct deposit-” she pulls out a beat up old tablet and slides it under the glass. “We’ll be able to get the rent paid in full by the fourth”

What kind of cruel fate is this? The most twisted form of serendipity. She saved you this morning and now you have to co-sign on her eviction this afternoon.

You know it doesn't matter, you saw their file. The Harrisons arent newbies to being late for rent and their landlord is chomping at the bit to get them out.

“I’ll scan these into your case but at this point in the process it really doesn't matter” at your words, panic induced tears fill her eyes.

“No- because. We’re late. But we always pay. We’ve never been negligent, not on purpose. Since my dad died we’ve done our best” Kay rambles an explanation that doesn't matter and you feel frozen. Stuck. Conflicted in a way that you we’re supposed to have trained out of you.

“I cant-” you sigh and she looks pathetic. Drained…void.

A feeling you know all too well. That had almost led you right into the grill of a bus this very morning. And yet- she’d stepped in.

You gnaw on your lip and as discreetly as possible, your eyes scan around the empty office. Your co-workers still not back yet. You’re the only one in here. Its madness, but if there was any time to act on madness- it would be now.

You begin typing furiously, entering in codes that a normal front desk clerk wouldn't know, it isn’t in their training. But you’d been trained for filing.

“An extension wont be needed” You speak purposefully, giving Kay a pointed look “The landlord marked the eviction for the fifth. That gives you three more days to get a payment in before the constable is scheduled to come for the lock out”

There’s a moment of heavy silence.

The landlord had actually marked the second but well. It’s an easy enough over turn. Easy, but extremely illegal. You just did something that could not only cost you your job but risk your contract. Land you in jail-

“He marked the wrong date…” Kay chews the words, like she cant believe what she’s saying.

“Yep” I say quickly, finishing up, covering my ass by copying multiple files into the system. It would be hard as shit to uncover it, if anyone cared to bother. Kay’s just another file in the hundreds today. “Here you go, Miss Harrison. You have seventy two hours to get the payment to the respective party. If not the constable will be there to conduct the eviction”

I slide her tablet back towards her.

“I- I don't know what to say” She stutters and you give her a glare. You don't have the time for groveling, for un- needed thanks. As far as you’re concerned, you are now even.

“Don't say anything. Take your things and go”

I don't look at her again, not even when she leaves. Instead I refocus on my computer screen. Trying to breathe through the nerves that wrack my body. That was just about the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.

Your heart beats furiously and it’s the most alive you’ve felt in months.

-

After that it seems like something has been broken. The pattern no longer functions.

Jackson Star is by no means a small colony. Thousands strong, full of unfamiliar faces. And yet. You keep running into the same one.

“Here, I grabbed you a coffee. Extra sugar, like ya like, even though it’s going to rot your teeth out” Kay waits for you at the same corner that the two of you had met on. Weeks ago. She’d hunted you down after that fateful day and had shown that she wasn't giving up on showing her gratitude so easily.

Having friends in the colony is a dangerous game. Every friend you’ve ever had has either been transferred off planet or died. And yet here you are, eagerily bounding over to Kay. Taking the paper cup full of cheap coffee.

“My teeth are my own business thank you”

And it goes like this; the train station where Kay catches her ride to the mines isn't far from your job so the two of you make your morning commute together, gabbing about nothing. It's nice. It feels familiar, you used to have loads of friends.

Kay’s easy to talk to and she shares so much of herself so freely. Her little stories about her family make you smile. Make you feel warmth, and secretly longing. And yet still, every time the topic of you meeting everyone comes up you shy away.

Being friends with Kay is one thing. Meeting the most important people in her life is another.

She offers again today. Dinner at her house, ya’ know, the one she still has because of you. It’ll be lowkey. Just the friends. Fun.

Although you crave it, you’re scared of it too. That’s why you’re shaking your head, giving another of those flimsy excuses. Kay just pats your arm.

“If you change your mind, you’re still more than welcome to come. I’ll text you the details, okay?” She’s got this way about her. Gentle but not condescending, a hard balance to strike. Too bad she’s on this near barren planet, she’d be a great mother.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you”

When the two of you hit the proverbial fork in the road- you go your way and she goes hers. You to the office and her to the mines. Both prisons in their own rights.

You watch her cross the street and join a tall man at the train station. His skin’s the same shade as hers, his eyes the same almond shape. He’s handsome in a way that you’ve only seen on screens, in those old movies your mom used to watch.

This must be the older brother she talks so much about. Tyler.

He says something you can’t quite decipher to her and then looks over her shoulder, across the street at you, and beams.

Its not a normal smile. It’s pearly whites flashed at you in a way that makes your heart skip a beat in your chest. When he gives you a smooth wave you feel like you might be knocked over.

You just know the grimace and jerky hand motion you give back is as awkward as it feels.

If you obsess about how much of an antisocial weirdo you are all day, that’s your own prerogative.

I mean come on? You can’t even manage to wave back at someone? You truly need to get it together.

You think about that as you eat dinner at your makeshift table that night. Maybe, you’re just out of practice. You’re not awkward, just dusty. You just haven’t spoken to anyone for more then five minutes since your upstairs neighbor had a pipe burst.

It’s what leads you to pulling out your phone, to pulling up Kay’s contact. It’s still new. Still fresh.

Is there anything I should bring?

You don’t have to wait long for a response.

Kay: Nope, just yourself!😊 [location attachment] see you tomorrow.

You stare at her response on the small bright screen until your eyes burn. This is the change you had craved so badly.

So why are you so scared?

This chapter kind of took on a life of its own. I so desperately wanted to have Bjorn in this but there was just- a lot of ground to cover. Next chapter we’re jumping right into introducing him (and smut towards a the end of that chapter to!)

Big shout out to @spikedfearn for letting me ramble like a crazy lady in her inbox. Her Bjorn content literally makes me salivate.

If anyone else is still going through Romulus hyperfixation please feel free to comment or send asks! I’m always here to chat!

[ratboyy-withtheexistentialdread]

Nevermore Chapter 97

Spoilers ahead, lads. Skedaddle if you don't fast pass. EDIT I guess I’ve said too much in this post and need to pull it back a little. So imma gonna edit it so it doesn’t say too much about this chapter.

Alright, first my reaction cause HOLY HELL those last few panels really got me like

I really had to put my phone down and talk myself through them. Now, lets talk about what I gained from this chapter and the infamous Annabel Lee. I've noticed, at least in the comment section, the fandom really doesn't care for Annabel's character and its difficult to know where the animosity has come from. Tumblr obviously loves her but us heathens support women's rights and wrongs (Don't we gents?) Many call her a sociopath or what’s happens in the last few panels. Annabel is indeed ruthless, calculating and stone cold but she obviously cares. She cares for Lenore above everything. It can be easy to see this as obsession as we really haven't seen her care about much else or even herself. But one comment on the Webtoon brought up a very valid point which I've also picked up on.

Annabel and Lenore in life were very isolated and broken people when they met one another. Annabel, broken and then rebuilt into a prim and proper lady. Lenore, broken physically and mentally and closed off from the world.

Meeting each other saved them. They were no longer alone. There was an understanding between them at least that we know of.

Their differences though is what divides them in death.

Annabel played games, and masked her true self around her father and family connections. She now makes games of situations to retain what little control she had in life over a society she knew she could never break the rules of. A Game that was always rigged against her.

Lenore rebelled against society. She fled the estate to escape a suitor, was bound to the attic and ostracized by her family, she then faked her death and posed as man to court Annabel, the one person who cared for her.

Lenore wants to break the rules of the deans Death Game. Annabel wants to follow them.

It’s all they’ve ever known.

Before it was only them that mattered. Now Lenore has so much more to fight for and Annabel still only has Lenore. Both are right in their own way of playing the game but it pains the other to witness.

Annabel, I’m sure is aware that the Deans are not all they seem to be and won’t simply allow the students to turn the tables on them if they played how Lenore wants to.

And playing Annabel’s way means the callous death of many many people that do deserve another chance at life.

Now. I do have to agree with Annabel in the sense that Lenore forgets

This is a Death Game

Right now the “villainous” characters show their true face with pride and the “hero’s” are charming and true but as we get down to the wire, it’s going to get grey. There are no good or bad at the end of these games, only survival.

Could Annabel show some restraint and more tact when speaking strategy and making plans with Lenore? Absolutely. She’s little too giddy about sweeping some pieces off the board.

Lenore also needs to stop being so naive. She saw first hand what exactly the Deans are capable of in Dreamland, it put the fear of god in her.

In fairness to both characters though they and we are still missing big pieces of what happened between them and what their causes of death were. Which could hold big aspects of their characterization.

Maybe Lenore was originally very callous about others. In life, aside from Theo and Annabel, we’ve never really seen her interact with others. Perhaps this is the Lenore Annabel speaks of.

Anyway, I’m rambling. In conclusion, I’m a bit disappointed in Nevermores comment section. I enjoy Annabel’s character although some parts do worry me a bit but I have hope Red and Flynn have plans to curve this to a satisfying reason and conclusion.

That cliffhanger, boy howdy, what the fuck is Lenore gonna do…

[huffelpuff210]

Mob stucky x child reader part 2

You had your back firmly pressed against a brick wall, you were taking a breather in a alley, for some odd reason you were feeling the heat if it wasn’t your brothers goons after you, some other goons from another mob were after you and from your experience that can’t be good.

You were just trying to live long enough to make it to adulthood but the way Damian treated you was awful, you’re room was in the attic bars on the windows, he locked you inside your room for days at a time, no food, no water the room was so small it barely fit the bed you have in there it was a broken mattress with springs poking out of it, no blankets or pillows, you might as well be a stray dog,

You are so small you get mistaken for a four year old when in reality you are seven,

Damian only keeps you around for jobs, you have small hands wires and quickly snatching things were what you were good at but you hated it,

But you never say no to him otherwise he would beat the snot out of you.

You hug your stomach, you were so hungry you were always hungry because you never got to have a proper meal ever, when Damian would see you were about to meet death he would give you a piece of bread with some water but it wasn’t much but enough to keep you from dying,

You look down at your shoes they were so old they had holes in them they were very tight on your feet,

Why was your life this way….

Before your parents died you had a good life, a loving family, you ate whenever you wanted…showered with love….

Now all of that was gone,

You pulled a golden locket from under your shirt and looked at the photo it was you with your parents you were a baby at the time but the picture makes you smile a little,

Bucky watched you from across the street,

“Maybe she’s homeless?” Sam says through the ear piece

“No way.” Nat responded

“Runaway?” Tony asked

“Then why is our rival’s thugs after her?” Steve says

I watch as she clutches her stomach,

She has to be starving to be hunched over like that, every time we get remotely close she runs off and we end up losing her, the kid is fast that’s for sure,

“I think I have an idea on how to catch her.” I say not acknowledging the other conversation.

“Really?” Nat says surprised

“Yeah Steve get someone to run to the bakery grab some muffins and meet me at the park.” I say

“Okay mind running us through what you are thinking?” He asked

“No time just meet me there.” I say spinning on my heel

I know she will be there because I’ve followed her pattern and the park around noon every day is a definite possibility she is there like clockwork every day to watch the ducks in the water.

I knew this plan was going to work.

********

You were at the park feeding the ducks that were in the pond feeding them the stale bread you kept just for them you kept it just in case you couldn’t grab any food.

But so far you have been lucky, you smile as you watch the ducks gobble the bread,

But your smile drops remembering you had to keep your guard up your brother was still looking for you,

And others were looking for you,

You dust off your hands as you stood up,

You look around, the park was a perfect hunting ground for food, it was lunch time and a lot of people come to the park for picnics or cookouts people on dates, the list goes on and on,

You sit on a bench acting innocent but in reality you were observing looking for the perfect target,

And you find it, a teenager he wasn’t even paying attention he was to concerned about his phone,

You quickly make your way to the teen and swipe the muffins only to have someone grasp your wrist making you drop the muffin,

“Got you little fox.” The man say

Bucky could see it on your face surprised they surprised you after chasing you for days they finally got you and now they needed answers.

[veephoenix]

snippets for my wips ✨

To let your imagination run wild. Not sure when I'll have them ready to post, though.

Thank you for your constant support, you beautiful humans <3

Trigger warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and implied sexual scenarios below, including a threesome with p in v and anal sex (m/m), both unprotected.

Zutto — Chapter 15

“I’m not hiding anything.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed, his smirk widening. “Oh, really? You got awfully fast all of a sudden. And protective. Over a suitcase.”

“It’s my suitcase,” she said, her tone defensive as she adjusted her stance, blocking him entirely. “I should be the one to pack it.”

“Okay, then.” He took a deliberate step to the side, and Lia shifted with him, keeping herself between him and the suitcase. Noah tilted his head, his grin practically daring. “If you’re not hiding anything, then there’s no reason for me not to help, right? I’m being generous.”

“Don’t you have your own packing to do?” Lia countered, her voice suddenly sweet.

“If you use that voice, I might end up busying myself with something else other than packing.” 

“Oh, yeah?" If he called it a distraction, then she would use it to her advantage. "And what is that something else?"

Noah's smile grew bigger as he reached forward and tucked one of Lia's hair behind her ear very slowly.

The Anger of Gods (Part II) from my series Into the Abyss of Bad Habits

They stared at her for what felt like minutes that stretched on unbearably. She shifted on her feet, discomfort coiling in her stomach. She remembered feeling small and intimidated by just a look from these two men years ago, but now, even though she was caught in a losing situation and she knew there’d be consequences, intimidation wasn’t the dominant feeling. It was guilt. Guilt for not thinking things through.

Noah broke the silence with a heavy sigh. He turned toward Oliver. 

“This is your fault.”

Oliver’s brows shot up, his head jerking forward. “What?”

“You left it fucking inside,” Noah snapped.

Oliver bristled. “I pulled out right on time!” He replied, but a flicker of doubt flashed across his face. “And I told you I was about to come and yet you kept on fucking me relentlessly, knowing I wasn’t wearing a fucking condom!”

The blame bounced back and forth like a live wire. She watched, her chest tight with the overwhelming swirl of emotions in the room. 

“Noah. Oliver. Listen, we can—”

“No,” they both snapped. They exchanged a look of shared anger and frustration before they locked back onto her.

“You had your chance to make us listen,” Oliver said. “And you wasted it.”

Noah stepped aside. “Go to the bedroom,” he instructed. “Wait for us in nothing but your underwear. Oli and I need to talk.”

“But—”

"Now she wants to talk," Oliver cut in, his tone heavy with sarcasm, though his expression remained cold and devoid of any humor. 

[thatscarletflycatcher]

There's something that has been gnawing at me since I saw some comments on the look-how-they-massacred-them poll for Daniel Sousa -with which I didn't want to engage then and there because I really didn't want to pick up a fight with another Daniel fan, there's few enough of us, but also because the argument was very difficult to articulate.

It is difficult to explain how Daniel Sousa is screwed over by Endgame without making it look like either "he deserved Peggy as a prize" or "he was the perfect prize for Peggy", because it all begins by understanding the experience of WWII and the building of the morale of WWII. Something that Markus and McFeely seemed to perfectly understand in Agent Carter, which inclines me to believe it was specific insistence of the Russos, whose concept of narrative and storytelling is at the level of a belligerent and not very bright 4 year old, that gave us that mindblowingly stupid "happy ending" for Cap and Peggy. Or maybe Markus and McFeely are just arcane creatures, at times intelligent and at times really dumb. Anyways.

Point is that both CATFA and Agent Carter understand that for these characters, fighting WWII is a matter of "each doing their bit", of, as Steve put it in The Avengers, to lay on the barbed wire so the one that comes after you can pass on. And in the process of doing that, you have great loses and suffer great grief. The price of war is immense, and for these people the price of war is the price of freedom (yes, that celebrated Steve speech from CATWS is also sharing in that same spirit. It's kind of impressive how until that awful mess of Endgame, the perspective of Steve as a character from movie to movie is one that addresses how some 1940s things are outdated, but how many others are still relevant and inspiring. It is a surprisingly nuanced take on History, that of course the Russo "Cap is an outdated relic that belongs in the past and should stay there" brothers don't seem to have what's needed to grasp).

In that context, the most coherent tone for Steggy is tragedy. Because that is what happened to many, many, many people during the war. You meet, you fall in love fast, because there is no time. And then suddenly the other is gone, never to come back. And all the promises of youth and life and future the other person represented, are gone with them. People who lived through 2020-2022 have some idea of what it is like for projects, opportunities, and years of your life to just vanish. Now you make that five years, eight months, and to mention "just" the British, 1 out every 100 people live in 1939, dead, and over 350.000 permanently disabled. If you were 20 in 1939, your life would be practically on hold till you were 26. It's a whole lot of grief, and an intense grief, that you don't solve the way you solve a random missing connection in a romcom like Serendipity or The Lake House. Doing so is cheapening and bastardizing the grief and trauma of a whole generation of people in different countries.

So, Agent Carter. Here we have a story focused on a group of people, spies, who, in different fronts and with different outcomes, made it through the war and are now facing this new world they are living in, and all the grief of their respective losses. The focus of the story is Peggy, a woman who, like many others, was allowed a wide range of action during the war, and is now subconsiously perceived as a threat by many of her male coworkers. It's a desperate bid to "go back to the way things were before", and her presence is a constant reminder that they can't.

Sousa occupies a very similar position to Peggy's: he's also a reminder that the war happened and that there is no way back, no magic solution, no pretending. And that's why both are ignored, and displaced, and why both struggle to prove themselves in a subconscious way while living by the continued principle that they are doing their bit. That is their lifeline that keeps them sane and working all throughout s1 of Agent Carter.

That's what we mean when we say Peggy and Sousa are equals, and that Sousa is contented with letting her have the spot; not because he's her inferior or her dependant, but because he's her equal -in intelligence, in ideals, in resourcefulness, in loyalty, but also in their relative positions in the power ladder- and does not feel threatened by her because of it.

(It is in this context, btw, that Peggy's rebuke of Daniel's "rescue" of her in the first episode must be understood. Because she was once treated like any other officer/agent of her same rank, she has knee jerk reactions to both being demeaned and being protected. It's also an important theme of that beginning of the series that Peggy needs to learn to let her friends in, and that she needs their help, and that that doesn't make her too weak to protect and defend them.)

But also, in another way, when we talk about Sousa becoming Peggy's husband, it has to do with the sentiment Krezminsky expresses in the series:

The ship of Steggy had sailed and was gone forever since the moment Steve became the legend in the ice and Peggy "Cap's Girl", this embodiment of the ridiculous damsel in distress we hear in the radio drama that plays on one of the episodes: Peggy fell in love with Steve when he was a scrawny, sickly lad, because she loved the man he was inside, but now forever for the world she is just another superficial, weak girl lusting after the handsome godlike rescuer, the picture of the eugenic dream of the übermensch. In Daniel Peggy loves and finds all the same things she found and loved in Steve, but in a different light, because Sousa is a different person, with a different life story, plus something else: they have both gone through war and its loss and grief, and come to the other side in need of rebuilding and finding new meaning in life and hope for the future.

In a world where the Dark, Tall and Handsome Hero of the Six Pack, Alpha Dominance and Endless Stamina reigns supreme, Sousa as a love interest is a remarkable and -sadly- bold statement about the things that truly matter in finding one's life partner.

So I think here is a reasonable point to start talking about Sousa in Agents of SHIELD. Because here's where someone would rationally say "well, but you see, there he's also chosen as a love interest!", and the reasons why context in AoS changes everything are multiple, so let's go there.

But before that, let me make clear that I do wholeheartedly believe the writers of AoS meant to honor Sousa, and sincerely tried to do their best with what they were given. That doesn't change what the end product ended up doing and saying about him.

Like Peggy is the main character of Agent Carter, so Daisy is the main character of Agents of SHIELD. As much as you can say all the team characters are important and get the focus, Daisy is the one which the narrative insists on making the focal point, as the arcs of several seasons hinge on her, and we are expected to sympathize with her first and foremost in any situation in which she is personally involved. But unlike Peggy, Daisy is a superpowered individual. She's more like Steve than Peggy; she's practically a demigod. She is capable of ripping Earth apart with just her hands. Where Peggy and Sousa were equals in the power ladder in-universe, in AoS the distance between Daisy and Sousa is abysmal. That imbalance is the first thing that leads to Sousa being put in the position of Daisy's Boy. The fact that he ends up in space with Daisy's last minute sister who is ALSO an inhuman does not help things.

As a side note, there's something to be said about futuristic prosthetics in AoS and how they interesect with disability. But I'd rather not get into it because it is a thorny subject and I don't feel qualified to speak of it.

In a different way, Daniel being Peggy's love interest in Agent Carter is balanced out by his having a life of his own and many interactions with other characters throughout the series. He pursues his own lines of investigation, he conducts interrogations of his own, he comes up with plans, he teams up with Krezminsky and with Thompson and in s2 he has downright made a life for himself as chief in California with a fiancé and all. There is a clear sense that he exists as a character outside of pining for Peggy.

In AoS, the opposite happens. Part of it is owed to the writers writing themselves into a corner: to take Sousa out of his timeline, they have to do it in such a way that his disappearance is inconspicuous, which means killing him. They do it the best way they can think of, honoring his alertness and intelligence, by making him realize HYDRA is infiltrated in SHIELD decades before anyone else does. But as a consequence, Sousa becomes the man out of time: there's no future for him, because he has died, and unlike Steve, he's not being brought back because he himself is required. They just save him because they take pity on him and the tragedy of his life. So he has no mission and no significant previous connection with anyone on the team. One of the concrete things in which this is evidenced the most is with the switch from being addressed as chief Sousa to Agent Sousa. He was chief, but between that SHIELD and this SHIELD there's not such a connection by which he can claim that title. There's no subordinates to manage. So he's sort of default-called agent without really being a proper agent.

So the writers choose the fish-out-of-water concept for him. Which is far fetched. This guy lived through wwii in a high spy setting where intelligence has knowledge of powerful interstellar aliens. He's most definitely not bewildered by phone cameras, guys. He would quickly adapt... if, again, you know, he was brought back for a mission. But the reality is that from a Doylist POV, he was brought in to be Daisy's love interest, and the only thing he can offer to her, in this huge power imbalance I have pointed out, is chivalrous manners and quaint WWII style references like when he tells her "Agent Johnson, we are going home"; both can be very charming to a modern woman, but they are things that highlight the cultural and psychological distances that separate them, and make it glaringly obvious that they have barely anything in common.

The series tries desperately to give them common ground in the time-loop episode, with this idea that Daisy is like Peggy because she sacrifices herself for others and to protect others all the time. Which is laughable because, again, in Daisy's condition of beloved main character that embodies the tortured, quasi byronic heroine that we understand to be the hallmark of about one half of the contemporary superhero type, the narrative and the characters in it bend all sorts of ways to accommodate her, not the other way around. Peggy's type is different because it is rooted in that WWII morale/frame I was talking about at the beginning of the post.

As a consequence of all of this, Sousa barely interacts with anyone that isn't Daisy (he has of personal scenes, what? one or two with Coulson, the scene where Jemma gives him a new prosthetic, and then he's given an idea to give to Mac in the finale. I don't remember any other non-Daisy ones), has no unique role to fulfill in the mission (specially because so much of the plan is entwined in Fitz and Jemma's rescue plan that was NOT counting with Sousa) and no personal goal to achieve, which weakens his standing as a character outside the romance plot, and when it comes to the romance plot, he has nothing in common with Daisy, and he brings nothing to the partnership other than... narratively forced love, and chivalrousness.

In the end, Daniel, who was a character and a person of relevance in Agent Carter, is nerfed and turned into a prop for the rushed happily ever after of the main character of AoS. And that, in my books, is being screwed over. That's what makes his becoming Peggy's husband and building a life and a future with her a much better and more preferable outcome for Daniel; he gets to build a life of meaning by his own significant work and significant connections, in his own time and place, with a wife who is his equal and with other people that have lived through the same collective experiences of trauma and grief he did.

[briceterry]

Time for my autistic ass to gush about the Second Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (2024) trailer!

First, we get more footage of the Chao in that restaurant that Team Sonic was in, and we now know the name of it, Chao Garden. In reference the Chao Garden in Sonic Adventure 1 and 2, the people ask Tails if he's detective Pikachu and Knuckles says that he looks like a Pokémon. Now I want fan art of Movie Tails in a Pikachu onesie. But all of the banter is closed because Robotnik's badniks found them in Japan and start to cause havoc!

So it seems like Robotnik and Gerald aren't fully teaming up with the hedgehog and his friends, which was a thing I was worried about because a sequel of a video game movie from one of my favorite franchise left a very sour taste in my mouth... I can go on why The Angry Birds Movie 2 ruined that damn franchise along with other things that Rovio done to make Angry Birds go downhill, but this isn't what were talking about. Were talking about about a fast blue hedgehog who eats chili dogs and stops a evil doctor.

We get more looks at shadow, and he looks sick and he still sounds awesome from we heard from the ultimate life form. I'm still waiting for a "Whoa..." To come out of your mouth, Mr. Reeves!

Next we see a gadget that made the vortex in the first place from the first trailer that tried to suck Team Sonic into. Also we get to see the Knuckles' strength by biting onto what seems to look like a wire so Sonic can throw a ring in time so they can get back to their parents house.

These three are literally the best brothers who get into messes, I swear to god I'm gonna be giggling like a man baby and I'm gonna get kicked out of the movie theater for being a fanboy.

More shots of Sonic and his team of brothers. You can't call them friends, they're just brothers and I love that the Sonic movie fandom made it sorta cannon.

Now we get a new look at Robotnik's brand new design, and I'm loving this. And...

He's pissing on the moon with the Space colony ARK.

Another example of their brotherly bond. It just comes to show how much Sonic evolved in the movies. In the first movie, he was forced to hide which made him lonely, but by the end of that movie Tom and Maddie adopt him as their son, though he doesn't see it yet until the second movie, where he meets Tails and Knuckles who he befriends at the beginning of the film when Robotnik gets sent back to earth, and Knuckles when he finds out about Robotnik tricking him.

All of the heart warming stuff ends because Shadow has a mother fucking gun again after 16 years with Shadow the Hedgehog (2005) and the trailer end with the mystery that Sonic fans are gonna be debating just like the film Die Hard... Is Sonic the hedgehog 3 (2024) a Christmas movie? I don't know, that's up for you to decide. In all honesty that scene with Robotnik and Gerald had me laughing. They. Are. COOKING!

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Arsonist neil please🙏

WIP Wednesday (9/18) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 232)

"K—" Andrew blanks and curses himself. He has an eidetic memory for fuck's sake! How could he run out of names?! Katelyn gives him a look, like she thinks she's won this ridiculous competition. After a few seconds of coming up empty Andrew sighs out a breath, ready to admit defeat. But on the inhale, he smells something that makes his heart stop. It's that same awful feeling he gets at work, when they first arrive on a scene. Why is he... Where is this anxiety coming from?

Andrew looks away from Katelyn and sniffs the air, dread settling in his stomach. It's smoke. A very faint smell of smoke coming from the kitchen. "Katrina,” he makes a point to say. “Your kitchen is on fire."

Aaron reaches over to flick his earlobe. "Play fair at least, asshole."

"No, I'm serious," Andrew says, standing up so fast he nearly knocks his chair over. He makes sure to flick Aaron back before rushing into the kitchen to investigate. He finds the source immediately. Katelyn's kitchen towel is too near the burner, it's already caught and the fire is licking down the material and spreading fast. Andrew shoves the sleeve of his sweater up and grabs the end that's not in flames, tosses it into the sink, and cuts the water. It douses the fire instantly and the panic in his chest bursts like a water balloon. When he turns around, he finds two pale faces in the doorway.

"Oh my God." Katelyn says, looking from the rag to the pot on the stove. Aaron puts his arm around her shoulders and murmurs something comforting.

"Perhaps the two of you should come down to the station and listen to my boss's fire safety spiel," Andrew suggests, feeling like a live wire and a lightweight. Aaron gives him a look and Andrew holds a hand out. "I can give you the basics now: Do not leave a stove unattended, do not place anything flammable on or near the stove top, do keep a fire extinguisher nearby."

At that last part, Katelyn and Aaron share a look. Andrew squints at them. 

"You don't have one, do you?" When neither of them answers, Andrew starts opening the doors of the cupboards under the counter and finds nothing but cleaning supplies and a small safe. He doesn't even comment on that. Instead he flicks his gaze up above them, scanning the kitchen walls. "You don't have a smoke detector either. What the fuck is wrong with you two? Do you want to burn to death? I hear it is the most painful way to go."

"Of course not!" Aaron huffs. "The old smoke detector died and I—"

"You're about to become parents. Get a goddamn smoke detector." Andrew grits out, making them both look like scolded children. Katelyn looks like she's about to cry. Aaron doesn’t look much better off. Good. Fire is serious. Andrew lets out a breath and clenches his fist. "I… am trying—”

"No, no," Katelyn blinks and nods. "You're right. I didn't realize I left it so close. It's my fault. And we do need a new smoke detector."

Aaron nods, “I'll get a new one tonight."

"Three," Andrew corrects. Then he counts them off on his fingers, "Kitchen, bedroom, hallway. And, whenever the baby room is ready, you put one in there too. Got it?"

"Got it," Aaron answers with a curt nod. Andrew matches it with his own and pushes past them to go sit back down at the table. Once he gets there, crosses his arms and that's when he realizes one of them is naked. He blinks at his pale, scarred skin. He didn't wear his bands tonight, he didn't think he would need them under the sweater. Andrew swallows and yanks his sleeve down over his bare arm. It's fine. It’s fine. It's not like either of them noticed.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

It was a documentary, not a series, that's why we were not satisfied because we wanted fiction, not a docuseries.

This only solidifies my POV, which I have already gone over on the Under The Table Podcast and in many previous entries on my blog, about the whole problem with S3 being in the WR. Coming from a very solid S2 and amazing S1 award season, only made matters worse, of course.

Viewers appreciate realism, as a matter of fact the kind of audience The Bear appeals to is the kinda public that digs realism and adult content, with lots of cussing, raw directorial style, fast-paced, etc. We are not the typical rom-com or even drama series audience. The Bear became a hit show back in 2022 because its eps were fast-paced, with a dramedy quality that made it original, lots of adult language, and with a hint of sexual tension that was "promising" if explored in future seasons, that at that point were not confirmed yet. S2 was ordered in July 2022 in the middle of the momentum the show was starting to get, and shot from February to April 2023, then it premiered in June 2023, only to compete now, in this award season that opened a few weeks ago at the 76th Primetime Emmy Awards.

Meaning: the reason why S3 didn't work as expected, and the numbers back that up that is why they haven't released them yet, is because the writers were not able to write a BALANCED plot. Yes, it hit all the realistic marks in terms of mental health struggles and fine dining 7th circle of hell, but at the same time, it lost every other "ingredient" that it used to have. THERE IS A WAY to write the best of both worlds, and I certainly expected that coming from who I considered the best script writer out there, the sadist. And his right hand wired for romance, Miss Calo. They didn't do it. They disappointed me. They went all in with the docuseries' raw realism style of Carmy hitting rock bottom, which if you were really paying attention in S2 was nothing but PREDICTABLE → as I proved even before S3 premiered here and here but they didn't build towards a cliffhanger that left you wanting more, actually, 03X10 is altogether hard to watch, there's no balance like in FISHES 02x06, for instance, just one punch after the other, all below the belt, no comedy, no breather, just tragedy and more tragedy and more sense of doom and more PLEASE MAKE IT STOP! THAT'S IT, END THIS, PULL THE PLUG, STOP IT! etc... Like I said: No balance.

Storer only focused on Carmy's background story, but didn't give us anything we couldn't have figured out on our own anyway, he didn't explore Syd's background story, which should be a collection of gems and absolutely Sydcarmy friendly because the more we know about her, the better we will be able to figure out how will Sydcarmy happen and when (I already know when, but still) and he also focused on Tina's background story, IMO that was completely unnecessary as T is not a central character, what he showed there was also easy to guess anyway and could have been summarised in a couple of scenes, not an entire bottled episode, not when other characters are UNEXPLORED after 3 seasons. So basically, all the decisions made in terms of SCRIPT were WRONG. The acting was perfect, the direction was too, the soundtrack, the cinematography, all of it, but the foundation wasn't there because in the WR the creative decisions made for S3 were completely fucked up, we were served a docuseries as opposed to the fictional show with a realism bouquet we were watching the previous 2 seasons.

WE WANT TO WATCH FICTION, write it realistically, sure! BUT DON'T LOSE WHAT YOU HAVE SO FAR, DON'T MUTATE INTO A DOCUMENTARY OF ALL THAT'S WRONG IN THE MENTAL HEALTH DEPARTMENT OR IN SOCIETY OR IN THE CULINARY INDUSTRY, we already know that and if we don't, we can always tune in the motherfucking news, not FX, and certainly not Disney+. Thank you very much.

[fenikorg-talks]

Alastor couldn't believe that Husker of all people had convinced him to do this.

He really didn't want to do this, but apparently, there was "no one available to do the job". What a lie. Literally, anyone in this goddamn city would have been able to do this if it wasn't because the damn tv was nowhere to be seen. Valentino had a rage sprout during the blackout and Velvette was getting him distracted before he actually hurt Vox in the process. What a bunch of losers. Who in their right mind let those three take control of the city while he was away? Lucifer wasn't doing a good job, it seems. Well, who was he to judge.

While walking in the dark streets he encountered all kind of sinners. The kind that took advantage of the darkness and the kind that panicked about it. Some of them were upset of having no signal. That's what happens when you put all your trust in an unstable individual. Charlie had told him to get to Vox's tower as fast as possible, but a little time spent in the darkness wouldn't be too bad for their health. Their brains had already rott with those screens, they should touch some grass.

Vox's tower was defended with all its artifacts and armaments, so Alastor opted to use his shadows to get into the building. Inside it was as dark as his shadows. Alastor followed the halls that he remembered leading to Vox's office. It was exactly where it was seven years ago, and when he managed to get in, it was the same as before, but a little more full of monitors. Vox's sharks and some sparks from the cables were the only sources of light. Alastor walked to Vox's motionless body, resting in his chair. He would never admit that he got the goosebumps, but he saw how the cables were still pressed against Vox's TV head, and that something was twitching in the monitors.

"Vox", he tried to call his old pal, but there was no verbal answer. Instead, one monitor glitched and, with the screen still dark, one single little red light turn on. He was listening. Good. Alastor remembered when this kind of thing used to happen before; Vox would try to use more power than he could handle and end up lost on his wires. Alastor always helped him get out. But this time, it wasn't as if he was stuck, no, it looked as if he was hiding from something. "It has been a long time, hm?" There wasn't anything to say, either way. Vox didn't look like he wanted to talk, less to Alastor of all people.

"Just so you know, I was practically forced to be here, so don't get your hopes up," he remembered when Vox used to be so hyped by the mere fact that they were gonna be sitting next to each other on an overlord's meeting. He hoped that hadn't changed between them. Then again, they did have a fight right after he got back.

"Get out of there and bring back the light to the pentagram already, Vox," he was getting tired of this, there was no way this prick was gonna listen to him anyway. The lights, slowly but steadily, started to return to every house in the pride ring. Well, that was something. Still, Vox was on the monitors, doing who knows what. Alastor sighed, of fucking course this asshole didn't have the guts to face him again.

"I doubt the Radioo Demon was just forced to come and calm down a pathetic crybaby," Vox's deep voice said through the speakers. His voice was hoarse, Alastor noticed, as if he had been crying. Vox was right, tho. He wasn't completely forced, but he had been convinced by a very persuasive bartender cat who knew how to read him like a book.

"It's not as if it was my first time seeing you this way. Besides, your partners were somewhat busy at the moment, and there is no one else who knows about your little addiction to getting lost on those electronic snakes."

"Wires," he corrected but otherwise said nothing. Alastor picked at his nails waiting for Vox to do something. He did nothing.

"Well, time's up! I came here with a job and it's done. Have a nice mental breakdown, my dear fellow, may we never see each other again!" Sparks and glitches surrounded the monitors and an electronic wave passed through the wires until getting on Vox's head. His screen tilted on and his face appeared, but he didn't move. Alastor knew that it took a while for Vox to regain full control of his body so he took advantage of those seconds to examine him. His face was drawn in the most boring, disinterested look Alastor had ever seen him do, he wore big eyebags and looked sick overall.

Sometimes, Alastor wished to not smile at all. This wasn't a moment in which he should be smiling, and yet he was. It might have been convenient for him in numerous times, but with Vox, he just felt fake. And Vox knew that.

"If your face wasn't sewn, would you truly be happy to see me?" Vox didn't look up when he talked, but Alastor could see his disappointment in his monotone voice. How he changed in the seven years they were apart. It was almost as if he was a completely different demon.

"Like this? ...No," he summoned his shadows and got out of that sad pathetic tower. On the streets, he took one last glance in his direction, dropping his gaze. He had expected to be meeting his number one fan and only friend. Instead, he met a depressed overpowered overlord who didn't remember when was the last time he truly smiled. And to be honest, Alastor didn't remember when was the last time he was truly happy either.

(I don't know what kind of crack was I on when I wrote this but I found it on my notes, so I edited the fucking grammar and now here it is, enjoy)