#smoking bad /srs

[matd0]

in celebration of it finally being warm enough for me to wear my "omg it's just like tim from marble hornets :O !!!" jacket, i did a silly sketch of us hanging out (incredibly self-indulgent 4 sure, but i would argue; what's even the point of being an artist if you cant draw silly self-indulgent picturs of whatever 🤨 i rest my case.)

bonus epic never seen before breathtaking unbelievable groundbreaking face reveal 🤯 [REAL] (NOT CLICKBATE❗❗)

o yea and btw since surprisingly many people have been asking about commissions I'll post a info thingy sooooonn :3 (been meaning to do it for a while but uhhh I've been procrastinating oopsi)

also sort of obligatory psa; i do not condone smoking, it's seriously very bad for you (ik it gets said like. all the time but like,, take it from the guy whose physical health is already deteriorating in part bc of it) also !!! please don't shame anyone that does, it's not going to help them and might even make things worse. The best way to help someone with (most) addictions is (usually) to offer support to them and not judge them. Also good to remember that you can't help someone if they don't want it, so forcing it will often cause more harm :] (idk ig this is like talked about all the time, but since it also affects me and alot of my friends i thought id mention it) (also im in no way a professional !!!! just talking from personal experience :P)

[skenpiel]

wish i was a witch for real that would be so badass. god i would do anything for a magic broom

[lavishlyleo]

Astrology Observations 5

One thing I've noticed with Gemini Moons is that while they do love to talk to people and share their thoughts, if they aren't interested in the conversation's topic or if you stay on one topic for too long, they tend to zone out. If they aren't very invested in the convo at hand it will be VERY noticeable (e.g. blank stares, they suddenly go very quiet, dry repetitive responses, checking their phone frequently).

The same can be said for individuals with a lot of Air in their charts in general, especially Gemini and Libra. It can be hard to keep these individuals attention for prolonged periods of time. They like to cut to the interesting part so keep what you have to say very brief and to the point.

Not something Leo Moons are known for, but that I've noticed is that they can be really good at analyzing peoples behavior. Like, they'll see how someone acts and can make connections to their own behavior to understand some elses emotions and feelings. It's how many Leo Moons relate to people, bonus points if their Moon is in a water house!

In your Natal chart, if your ruling planet 's transit is in opposition or square with your natal ruling planet's sign, it can indicate a period of bad luck and hardship. It may feel like the world is against you at the moment, especially if said aspect is in a less than 5° orb. Not a great transit aspect to have.

For example, My ruling planet is Jupiter (Sag Rising) and it's in Scorpio at 9°. IRONICALLY ENOUGH, in my Solar Return chart for this year, Jupiter is in Taurus at 9°. So I'm expecting a lot to happen this year. Later on this year I'll make an update on this aspect.

If you have Scorpio or Pisces in your SR top 3 this year, don't take this lightly!! Like I said in my last post with manifestations, this will be a year that your manifestation power is at an all time high! You may literally speak things into existence, for better or for worse.

On the topic of Scorpio/Pisces SR top three, my advice for this (and I'm speaking from experience) is try to think about things you want to happen, not things you don't want or like. For example, if you think about how much you don't like a certain person, later on down the line you may find yourself suddenly coming back in contact with that person a lot more, when either you wanted to or not.

People with Cancer personal placements, I'd advise you to frequently check the Moon's transit and positions! Whenever it's the full or new moon, keep tabs on what happens those days and how you feel. Let me know in the comments anything interesting that's happened to yall during those times!

I've said this once and I'll say it again, Scorpio Mars are some of the most PERSISTENT people I've ever seen. When it comes to their desires, NOTHING stands in their way. However this can be detrimental if it's bad habits like drinking, smoking, stealing, ect. One way or another they will get what they want, even if it costs them everything. These people can truly be the victim of their own desires. Honorary mention- Taurus and Leo Mars.

Listen, if you ever need someone to promote your music, call an Aquarius Venus/Dominant person. I swear to god these people listen to the most obscure, outta pocket things I've ever heard.

Taurus 6th/5th housers tend to be those people at work that live by the slow and steady motto. They don't like to rush and do a sloppy job on whatever their working on.

On the other hand, Aries 6th/5th housers may be very fast workers, and it usually works well for them, works well under pressure. not the most thorough people but for the most part they get the job done.

People with a lot of Gemini and Leo placements in their chart tend to give off Aries energy.

Capricorn and Scorpio relationships are literally ride or die. I know a couple with many of these placements and they are so possessive of each other. Even after heated arguments and many hardships, they always come back together and work out their issues, it's really sweet!

When in an awkward situation, Libra Risings tend to try and break the tension first. Sometimes they can make the situation more awkward doing this but they're always the ones to bring the vibes back to the way they were, so I appreciate it. Gemini Risings may also do this but can be slightly more unhinged in their methods. I love both regardless for it😭💕.

The reason puberty for all of us hits hard is because it's around this time that Saturn is usually in the sign opposite from our Saturn sign. It makes a lot of sense when you think about it, itcchanges a lot of what we focus on and introduces us to new struggles. Although with Saturn retrograde, the age of which these changes can affect us can range from 13 all the way up to 25. Saturn is trying to toughen us up before we become adults.

What your Rising Sign's season is may be the season/months you prefer. For example, I'm a Sagittarius Rising and I tend to like late fall/early winter.

Your Moon sign can show how you process not just your emotions, but how you handle other peoples emotions, and how you relate to them. For example, a Leo Moon may relate to others by thinking of themselves in someone elses shoes, and how they would handle situations. While a Gemini Moon may relate other peoples emotions with stories from others that they've heard, and use what they've observed from other people to help others.

Venus PC Moon can also show this, I'd look at both sign's relationship to see the full picture of how one truly processes theirs and others emotions.

Moon/Pluto Aspects in someone's chart can show a relationship where however the mother treats the native, is how the native will end up treating her as they get older. For example, if the mother was negligent to the native in their younger years, then as they get older they will have a detached and impersonal attitude towards her. Basically the natives mirror how they were nurtured in youth.

"She say do you love me, I tell her only partly. I only love my bed and my mama I'm sorry." -Drake, a Cancer Moon.

People who say Gemini/Libra placements are indecisive have CLEARLY never met someone with many personal fire placements, especially if it's their top 3. Fire sign energy is naturally high and can be all over the place sometimes, this can include their thoughts and decision making as well, mostly concerning the direction of their passions and work. They may have a million ideas of what they're about to do but have trouble slowing down and planning it all out into managable chunks at a time. Will fight for what they want but may have trouble picking their battles wisely.

HEY HEY, new post! I actually had this one in the drafts for awhile! I just got around to posting it now! I haven't been on at all lately because I'm having trouble finding what else to post about. Sooo I'm thinking of doing a little zodiac game soon since I want to practice my art more :] .

More Nitro Nexus art!! I'm not sure when I'll be officially starting my Anthro's Anthem series with him but if I'm being honest I probably won't be releasing the first official chapter until like 2025-2026. I have a lot planned for it but I don't know when I'll get around to it. Only time will tell!

[ladykailitha]

Just some thinking thoughts.

I read or saw somewhere talking about Eddie's buzzcut and who and why someone would have done that to him.

Now granted this is all based on when you think Eddie showed up on Wayne's doorstep.

My thought had always been middle school. He still remembers how to hotwire even though it's a pretty sure bet he hasn't had to in a while.

And when he's talking about his dad I got the impression that as a kid he idolized his dad, but has long since been jaded by the man.

So young enough to still look up to his dad, but old enough to see an obvious difference between Wayne and Al (it's a dumb name, but it's the one we've got).

I've seen a lot of fics where Al shaved his head in punishment for *insert horrible parent reason here* and hurt Eddie in someway, prompting CPS (child protective services) to swoop in and take Eddie to Wayne's.

But may I offer a different perspective. Eddie got buzzed between CPS taking him from Al and dropping him off at Wayne's.

When I was growing up I had this friend who was the fifth child of EIGHT. Now, Dad had a pretty well paid job, but Mom was a SaHM and they could NOT afford the amount of children they had. Their house was always a mess and lice was prevalent.

Lice here is where I'm going with this. One of the things that parents, school teachers, and the like would do if it became too bad was just shave off the hair. All of it. To make sure there were any eggs left near the scalp.

So, I propose, that CPS found Eddie in absolute filth and shaved his head and probably burned his clothes, too.

So imagine this 11-12 year old kid showing up on Wayne's doorstep with a shaved head and nothing but the clothes on his back.

I was also thinking of Steve, too. We know so little about him. We don't know his parents' names, what they do, or where they are from. We know Sr has a business that often takes him away from home, that he most likely cheats on his wife and that's why she goes with him, and that they are neglectful at best, and abusive at worst.

Kids that underage drink and smoke, have parties all time and are considered the "bad boy" at school not very likely to have good parents. Yes, even in the hands off era of the 1980s.

I have always had this feeling, something not supported in canon, but just a vibe I get from Steve. The house that they use for the Harrington place was built in 1976, so if we use it's actual age that would make Steve ten (if he was born in the later half of 1966 and not the early part of '67) when he moved to Loch Nora.

Now it's true the Harrington's could have lived in Hawkins elsewhere, but it's more likely that Steve is a transplant to Hawkins.

So not only does Steve not have a connection to the people surrounding the Upside Down, he also doesn't have a connection to the town the way the others do. But he still chooses to fight the monsters, protect his friends and the town.

And I think that just speaks to Steve's character. And isn't that just beautiful?

[xappetites]

jouissance (2)

Phillip Graves x Reader | political marriage, Graves is down bad and buys an engagement ring, reader gets shy about her personality being taken into account to choose said ring, Graves' older brother continues to be an asshole | word count: 2,033

Phil’s always been smart, so it’s never really been a problem to see why Pete’s his father’s favorite. He’s the eldest, salt of the earth rancher following in daddy’s footsteps, obeying the old man to the letter of the law. While Phillip himself, well, he’s been a fighter his whole life.

School was a struggle, since he's never liked being told what to do, but he was just too damn efficient at acing his tests for any teacher to do shit about his attitude. They did call home to complain, though; got his dad good and fired up for when Phil made it to the house. Where he found himself doing everyone's chores for months on end before he backed down. Which is why, he figures, the old man was actually real pleased when he enlisted and got his ass into West Point.

Phillip Graves Sr. probably thought the military would straighten out his problematic namesake son, and maybe it would’ve, if Phil hadn’t run into the same problem, made even worse by a much stricter hierarchical structure. Thing is, he’s smart, he can pinpoint better ways to do shit, if you let him look at it long enough, and it gets on his last fucking nerve when people don’t even try to listen to what he has to say.

So he waited his contract out, poaching as many worthwhile guys as he could along the way, set his own private army up; and ended up exactly where he promised himself he never would: folding to his father's designs.

Except, it doesn’t fucking feel like it.

Here, heat drunk and mostly horizontal, lounging on a recliner as the senator’s girl swims laps from the dock to the property’s edge, he feels unburdened.

It’s nice, being this relaxed with someone he thought he was going to fight with for the rest of his life, or at least the first couple years. The way Pete did so famously with his oil heiress that even Phil overheard them have a go at it during one holiday or another, before she resigned to the particular blend of manipulation and pettiness his mother is so fond of.

No, Phil’s never had a fight in the few months he’s been traipsing around through weekly breakfast dates, being fed waffle bites and smoke tasting kisses.

He tells himself that it’s because neither of them care enough for it, but truth be told he just likes this girl who’ll gladly ride him at ten in the morning when he shows to pick her up, so he can play footsie at the restaurant table knowing how she sounds when she comes around him. 

Likes her to the point of requesting a safe link to call her from half the world away, probably making a weird face about it, since more than one shadow commented on it, ribbing him about it being ‘suspicious’. And that’s after he swore Vance to secrecy for hearing her answer with a surprised chuckle and sleep in her voice.

So now, he’s in town for Pete’s birthday with the folks, senator’s girl in tow, and the engagement ring he finally settled on burns a hole in the back of his mind. Nothing in his heart but the rabid, acidic satisfaction of doing what he can to ruin his brother’s event. He’s quite proud of it, too. Having spent months looking for a ring that encompassed all those things he’s come to associate with his soon to be wife —the glint of the thin chain she always wears, the lines of her clothes over her body; being warm and naked under her, chasing shapes across the overcast morning sky that looked endless from the giant windows of her apartment in the city.

“Your mother hates me”

Phil isn’t exactly expecting her, so he almost flinches when she drags herself out of the water, reaching to brush wet fingertips against the overheated skin of his arm. And since he doesn’t expect it, he can’t think before reacting. The shock of temperature and the instinctual violent response he’s trained in himself have him pulling her down over his thighs in a second.

She laughs high at being suddenly straddling his torso, crushed against his chest; it makes him pause long enough to look at her, sun kissed and shining water droplets hanging off her lashes.

“If she liked you, I wouldn’t.”

Phil can’t help but smile at how she isn’t afraid of him, even now; can’t stop the way his cock hardens under the pressure of her hips. But the impulse of brutality is still there, motion and strength, flesh on flesh. So it’s a rough, clumsy thing to get his mouth on her, clacking teeth and bruising fingers on the back of her neck.

Her gasp tastes of the Bellini she’d been sipping before her swim. And her hands come up around him for purchase, sliding delightful and drenched and cool against his flanks. Until she finds the curve of his ass and tugs with the same sort of fierce compulsion he’s lost to.

It jolts him enough to pull away, panting like a fucking dog against her. She’s out of breath too, but chuckles again, peach sweet, and she doesn’t let him go, just nudges her body a little further into his half chub. Her flushed face fills Phil’s chest with the sort of pride he feels for his shadows; amused and startled at the fucking stones on her.

“Marry me.”

It comes out of him as a demand, with one palm steady over her thigh and the other dipping into the chill of the cooler for the tiny square box he stashed in there just in case. 

“I thought that was a given.”

“Not until I’ve given you a ring,”

“You’re going to propose to me at your brother’s birthday dinner?” the look in her eyes is sweet fucking poison, shines like there’s nothing she’d rather do with her night but cause a good bit of chaos.

“No,” Phil flips the lid open and offers the ring to hopefully soothe the sting of disappointment that furrows her brow, “no one’s gonna yell at you during your proposal. But we’re gonna make damn sure everyone sees it tonight.”

He expects her to laugh, go along with it, because he’s used to having her on his side by now, in a way that suddenly seems incredibly dangerous. Hell, he’ll even take her complaining, but she just stares down at the ring in his palm in complete silence, expression unreadable.

“You don’t like it? Want it bigger?”

That gets him a giggle, higher pitched than anything he’s heard from her, even in bed. So he leans into the innuendo, even waggles his eyebrows, dumbstruck at how much he wants her to like this stupid thing. She has to like it, Phil’s not gonna have her wear something of his, that marks her as his, and not be fucking proud of it.

“I love it,” she says, in the end, looking like she can’t fully put into words whatever’s going on in her head, “it’s mine.”

“Damn right it is, baby.”

She has the gall to come off shy —when he slips the ring on and it fits as right as he knows it would—, sitting over his cock in her little bathing suit, kissing him like she means to make them late to this damn dinner.

“Your mom’s really gonna hate me now.”

“And why would that be?”

The playfulness finds its way back to her smile, squeezing relief into his bones until he’s pretty much hanging off the lounge. She follows, pressing her body onto his, tilted sideways so her body blocks the view from the lake as she gropes him over his shorts. And Phil needs this conversation to move away from his mom, expeditiously.

“‘Cause you’re her favorite and she doesn’t want you to be anyone else’s”

“Yeah, well, too fucking bad.” And he’s gonna let go for now that she doesn’t clarify if she means he’s now her favorite or just hers, which in a way are one and the same with that goddamn pleased cat look she keeps giving him. “Now, you’re gonna stop talking about my mom, you’re gonna get this ass in the house and I’m gonna bend my wife-to-be over the first surface I find. How’s that sound?”

“Like we’re gonna be late, husband-to-be.”

…

It’s been a hell of a long time since Phil’s had a family event like this. Generally he comes in, shotguns a drink or two, plays with the kids for an hour and dips with a bag of leftovers and the annoying opening notes of a headache. And he honestly thinks he could hardly be blamed, when the conversation revolved around either cows or school districts, or Marnie’s —Pete’s pretty blonde wife— friend’s struggles to express milk, of all fucking things.

Occasions at his folks’ saw him show up already tense, looking for his way out even before he made it in the house.

Well not today. Today Phil’s excited.

He feels it in every muscle, bubbling as laughter in his chest, easing his joints with the residual afterglow. So he breezes past the birthday boy, and the nephews and Mama Graves, keeping his senator’s girl tucked to his side out of a compulsion that’s borderline need.

She laughs under her breath at the ugly look his mother gives her, she pours his drinks and perches on the armrest of his single seater for cake slices in the den, like she did the first time, close enough to smell his aftershave on her skin. Therefore, Phil has no choice but to pull her all the way into his lap, abandoning his plate so he can play with her free hand. And he presses a deliberate kiss to the diamond on her finger just to see the glint in her eyes when he shit-stirs on purpose.

Her smile is the sharp one he likes the most, for a second that feels stretched huge like sugar syrup, before the gesture sends his father roaring into a mess of congratulations. Shouting and clapping shoulders, the old man rushes out for the champagne from the cellar; while Mama Graves follows close, most likely to slam a couple cabinets with the excuse of breaking the good glasses out.

“You know he’s only marrying you so dad won’t cut him off the inheritance, right?”

Pete’s voice rises, mocking, in the silence that’s left, because of course it is. Pete isn’t dumb either, he can pretend to behave when he’s got their parents eyes on him, but he has no compunction being a fucking asshole when it’s just someone he considers beneath him in the room.

It’s got Phillip’s skin itching in a way that’s also quite nostalgic. Their last physical altercation’s been a few years in the past, too, and he’s got a whole host of new tricks to keep Pete from thinking he can ever talk to his girl like that again. But she shifts, while he’s still considering it; chuckles into the skin of Phil’s neck, leaning so far back that she’s looking down her nose at the rest of the room.

“So?”

She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t justify a goddamn thing. She simply stares at Pete as if she’s waiting for him to explain why he thinks he has any right to question her decisions.

The question floors him, Phil can see it in real time, how there’s no possible answer for it that doesn’t involve admitting that the effort to humiliate her failed so badly, that Pete’s probably gonna be resenting it for months to come.

She waits a minute for a response and then giggles when it doesn’t come, gloats so deliciously that Phillip has to cling to her; has to kiss her. He has to sit there and pretend to pay attention to his parents when they come back, because against all the odds he ever thought he was going to have to deal with, he can’t wait to call this girl his wife. He can’t wait to make sure no other man ever gets her in his ranks.

[fleabagoftheendless]

Highway

Chapter 1

Here is my fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang :)

Robert Gadling, an alpha, found himself at cross roads when he was abducted at a party organized by Roderick Burgess. With his fears about his abductors mitigated soon, he decided to go on a roadtrip with them instead, one of the abductors being the infamous omega, Morpheus Endless.

Tags and Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, implied past rape, implied miscarriage, Dream of the Endless saves himself from Roderick Burgess, abduction, Stockholm syndrome

The whole thing is up on ao3!

Also luckily I got paired up with a wonderful artist who made this fantastic art! @kydrogendragon ❤️

The chapter is below the cut

The smell of smoke calmed him down a bit. It wasn’t a good habit, but Hob couldn’t stop it. The night was still young, and he wondered if it would be a bad idea to leave so early. He took another drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes, trying to keep his building frustration under control. He crushed the cigarette in a nearby dustbin with the ashcan before making his way inside the grand hall. His father was somewhere around; he didn’t bother looking for him. Being the only son of Robert Gadling Sr. meant attending such parties to make contacts and also to find a perfect omega.

His father owned several pubs in London, which he was expected to run once his father retired. This meant he was supposed to settle down soon now. Considering that, he was in the eyes of many people who wanted their omega children to find a perfect alpha. But Hob wasn’t sure if he could handle this again. After having a taste of this life, and then losing it soon after, he wasn’t sure he wanted to even look at another omega. But he also didn’t want to upset his father. He took a drink from the bar counter, deciding he was leaving once he finished it.

Suddenly, there was a crash somewhere. He startled a bit, almost spilling the whiskey he was sipping on. It came from up and it sounded like glass shattering, echoing in the hall. He looked up, only to see one of the chandeliers fallen to the floor, its glass pieces scattered around like phosphorescent in the water. And then came the loud bang of a gunshot. There was shouting and screaming, all the guests running around to find shelter from more bullets that were sure to come. But none came.

“Where is he?” someone yelled from across the hall, and Hob finally saw the culprit. Two men, who had their faces half-covered with scarves walked frantically, with their guns raised.

“Where is he?!” one of them shouted again, but no one listened as they continued to run for their lives. Hob, for some reason, stood frozen in his place. Later, he will call this fate but right now, he just couldn’t move. When he realized what he was doing, he quickly went behind the bar counter, as the men looked like they would shoot any second. His hands were shaking badly and he cursed himself for not leaving from here earlier. But more importantly, how did these men even enter the party when the security was so tight? Hob shook his head, as his breathing quickened with each passing second.

Hob must’ve missed the walkie-talkie because he was surprised when he heard static and then a voice say:

“Boss, we have to leave, now! Rodrick is nowhere to be found and the police have entered the building.”

And then, more footsteps. When they started fading a little, Hob sighed with relief. Still, he decided to wait for another five minutes. The men didn’t find who they were looking for, so they would leave now. Maybe that is where he went wrong, because suddenly someone was pulling him up by his arm and Hob stood up on wobbly feet. He realised one of the goons was holding him up while pointing a gun at his temple.

“Do not try anything.” the man holding a gun at his head said. And then another masked man came to stand on their right and Hob figured this was probably the “boss”.

This boss looked at his companion and nodded. Meanwhile, Hob himself kept still as getting shot by some random hooligans with scarfs on wasn’t on his bingo card today.

"Sorry mate, but you have to come with us," the man holding him hostage said, and Hob frowned at his American accent until he realized what he meant. His heart sank, wondering what these guys wanted from him, but Hob wouldn't go down without a fight. He stupidly tried to break into a run, and he could only make it a few steps forward when he ran into someone. So he tried to punch whoever stopped him, only for something blunt to hit him on the back of his head. The pain exploded in his skull, his steps faltering.

The next thing he knew, someone was holding him up by his shoulder and dragging him outside the building. Belatedly he realised the security officers at the party didn’t do anything to stop these goons from taking him.

“Do not try to be smart right now mate. We will release you later, promise!” the same American accent. Hob tried to elbow the person in his ribs, only to fail spectacularly. He was now being pushed into a van, the door sliding closed in his face. He saw the partygoers stand back and stare as these men took him away.

Hob had read about the abducted victims and the statistics. Of course, he knew omegas got abducted most of the time. They were usually the perfect victims. Alphas got taken rarely, maybe because the state punished the convicts harder for that. He tried to remember how to escape when someone was taken, but unfortunately, his chances of escaping were lowering as the seconds passed by.

Strangely enough, he couldn’t scent his abductors. One of them was now driving the van, and the one with the American accent was sitting beside him.

“Boss, do you think they are following us?” the man asked the driver.

“No Matthew, the security there was solely for Burgess, they won’t care for a partygoer that much.” a deep voice replied.

The man named Matthew sighed deeply, loosening his hold on Hob. Hob leaned against the window, knowing full well his chances of escaping were less than none. He just hoped that Matthew wasn’t lying back in the manor when he said about letting him go later on.

He didn’t understand why they took him though. Was it some sort of revenge because they didn’t find Burgess? Well, he will find out sooner or later. So instead he paid attention to the road, trying to figure out where these guys were taking him. It was a good thing that they didn’t tie his eyes or his hands, at least he had this much liberation. His heart was beating fast though and as they drove further from Burgess’ mansion, Hob’s hands started shaking. It was as if he was in shock first because the growing panic in his gut made him realise how deep in trouble he was. He tried to take deep breaths, remembering Matthew’s promise, but he still couldn’t help and thought the worst. He went back to the statistics to remember how many people made it back home after captivity and he couldn’t remember the clear numbers. He just looked up at the London night sky from the van’s window.

~~~

They were outside the city, near a forest area when the van came to a sudden halt. Hob looked outside the window, only to see a small cottage at the side of the road. It looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago. The driver got out first, sliding open the backdoors. Matthew held onto Hob’s arm and dragged him along as they got out of the vehicle.

The cool air hit Hob right in his face as they got out of the van. Matthew took off the scarf from his face, but the driver didn’t. And he was giving weird looks to Hob as if he was shocked. Hob decided nothing could be done, so he let Matthew drag him to the cottage. The man took him to a room on the right upon entering.

“We are sorry about this, but we will let you go in a few days,” he said, pushing Hob into the room and closing the door on his face.

Hob tried to take deep breaths and tried to get his heart under control. He told himself that these people wouldn’t hurt him, since Matthew promised to let him go. Still, he couldn’t find it any easier to believe those words. His captors didn’t disturb him for the rest of the night, except for when Matthew handed him some food. It was just boiled peas and mashed potatoes.

As the night crept up on him, Hob found himself alone in the eerily dark room. There was a small bed in the corner which he had been using and he laid down on it, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he should try the door of his room once. He ought to try, or he will blame himself for not making any effort to save himself. So he got up from the bed and approached the door. As he moved the knob, a soft click echoed in the room.

The door opened.

Hob gasped in surprise but decided not to waste any more time. He opened the door halfway through and wiggled out of the gap. It was dark in the entire building, and he wondered why his captors didn’t lock the door of his room from the outside. As his eyes adjusted a little to the moonlight falling in from the window, he could see the main door a few meters away. He slowly stepped forward, making sure he didn’t run into anything.

Luck wasn’t with him- he bumped into a low table, or maybe it was a pile of books because it made a loud thud. He heard the release of a gun’s safety as the light came on.

There on the couch to his left, sat a man, whom Hob recognized as the driver. But more importantly, the man wasn’t wearing his scarf from before. Hob knew that face, he had seen it before many times. And his shock overtook his fear for a few seconds as he remembered all the times he had seen this man before in his life.

The other man kept pointing the gun at him. “Robert Gadling, go back to your room. Matthew told you before, that we will let you go when the time is right.”

Hob gulped loudly, sensing that the man was kidding. But the deep baritone which Hb had heard earlier in the van now belonged to a face; a very familiar face. He quickly turned around and went back to the room, before closing the door behind him. He wasn’t sure what he found scarier, that his captor saw him trying to escape, or that his captor was none other than Morpheus Endless Burgess.

~~~

Morpheus couldn’t sleep that night.

Crashing at Burgess’ party was already a stressful task and not finding Burgess added to his frustration. And then he did the one thing Matthew told him not to do. Abducted a random citizen instead. When he had run away all those years ago, the disdain he had for alphas in general was almost scary, not that he still didn’t dislike them. Morpheus didn’t know what took over him, maybe he wanted to punish someone else for what Burgess did but he just ordered Matthew to do as he said and take Robert Gadling jr with them. This wasn’t the first time he had abducted an alpha though. A few years ago when he was on a similar mission to catch Burgess, he had failed. So he took another alpha from that party and kept him in this same cottage overnight to teach them a lesson.

All of them were the same, all of them thought the world revolved around them and Morpheus took it upon himself to teach them a lesson this way. Now, after today’s adventure, a nightmare plagued his sleep so he woke up and decided to sit outside in the small living room of the cottage. Except, his hostage decided to run away at that moment.

Here saw Robert Gadling, escaping from his room and then running into the small dining table where Morpheus’ books were kept. Morpheus was sitting beside a lamp to his luck so he switched it on as he pointed a gun right at Robert.

“Robert Gadling, go back to your room. Matthew told you before, that we will let you go when the time is right.”

And Robert might’ve been shit scared because he flew back to his designated room.

~~~

Hob couldn’t sleep the whole night after that encounter.

Morpheus Endless Burgess. The infamous omega who had been missing for nine years now. There were rumours Morpheus married Rodrick for money, which didn’t make sense. Then there was the pregnancy announcement; Rodrick had been so happy. And then some months later, Morpheus ran away. No one knew why and no one looked for him, not even his husband, which was odd considering Rodrick would never let someone take away his child and future heir.

Ever since then, Morpheus has become a sort of urban legend in the city. No one ever talked about him, even his own family. But behind closed doors, every omega is given his example of how disgraced omegas don’t deserve a spot in society. Hob wasn’t sure about his stance on it.

He looked up at the ceiling. He hated Rodrick Burgess with all his being, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Morpheus. At best, he felt that Morpheus deserved a much better Alpha and husband than that bastard; at worst, he felt that Morpheus was a bratty omega who disgraced his own family. He slept finally in the wee hours of the morning, hoping he hadn’t made his abductors too angry.

~~~

It was early in the morning and Matthew was already at work. After all, if your boss won't eat then, how will they continue terrorising the rich alphas?

He took a plate of sandwiches to the man sitting at a desk. “Here boss, bet you are starving.”

His boss turned to look at him, sighing as the sandwiches were shoved in his face. He took the plate nonetheless. “Your hospitality is appreciated, Matthew.” His deep voice reverberated through the cottage.

Matthew chuckled. “Your royal way of speaking still hasn’t gone away, huh? And this is not hospitality, I mean we’ve known each other for five years now, making food for your partner in crime isn’t a big deal.”

The other man shrugged, picking up a sandwich to eat. Matthew could only smile at that.

“So, are we leaving tomorrow?” Matthew asked.

His boss nodded. “Yes. We will leave Robert Gadling here, he can easily make his way to the city. I don’t think it is safe for us to stay here.”

“Got it, boss. I think one night of terror is fine for him.”

Morpheus looked at him and sighed. He knew Matthew disliked that he did this to innocent people. He said, “He is an Alpha, and he was at the Burgess party. This will teach him a lesson.”

Matthew sighed at that. His boss could be an ass sometimes.

~~~

Hob woke up with a start, grappling at the sheets blindly as his heart raced. He looked at his surroundings and realised he was in a room in some cottage on the outskirts of London and not in a cramped hospital corridor. He kept a hand on his chest, trying not to cry. It had been so long since that day and he still had nightmares about it.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his reverie.

He got up, standing on shaking legs and making his way to the door. He wasn’t in the mood to see Matthew or Morpheus for that matter, but he wasn’t in a position of power right now. When he opened the door, Matthew was smiling like a child who was trying to impress his parents with a drawing.

Hob looked questioningly at him before Matthew enthusiastically explained, “So, the boss and I are leaving tomorrow, that means you will be free to leave! I suppose you are happy now?”

Hob’s eyes widened. That’s it? They are letting him go so easily?

“Really?” he asked and Matthew nodded.

“Yes, buddy. I am sorry I scared you the previous night. The boss can be out of his mind sometimes. Hope you live a good life from now on and stop hanging around Burgess, that guy is trouble.”

Hob hummed at that. “Okay…thank you I guess?”

Matthew shrugged.

Hob sat back down on his bed, contemplating what Matthew just told him. Of course, he knew Rodrick was a troubled man, but now he wondered why Morpheus teamed up with Matthew in whatever plan he had against Rodrick. Were they planning to kill him? Or just abduct him like they did with Hob, but in a much more horrible way?

Hob wasn’t even sure if it was right for an omega to do that in the first place. But he wasn’t about to tell them to not do whatever they had planned. Burgess deserved whatever was coming his way.

He took off his dinner jacket, as it was getting a little warm now, and sleep evaded him even though he felt nothing but tired. The nightmare woke him up a little earlier than usual. He wondered if anybody was looking for him. If his father sent the city police after Morpheus and Matthew. Nonetheless, he would be a free man tomorrow, so it didn’t matter.

“Are you hungry?” Matthew asked, making Hob pause. And then he felt the slightest pain in his stomach, realising he was hungry. But he shook his head.

“No…I mean yes, I am hungry. But I was wondering…” he gulped, not knowing if this was a good idea. Although, his abductors weren’t even that scary. He exhaled, “Can I sit outside for a little while? I promise I won’t try to run away, I just feel a little suffocated here, please, just for a while.” He spoke in one breath, so quick that he wondered if he was even coherent. Matthew stood there in surprise, but eventually, he nodded.

“Wait.” He stepped back and closed the door on Hob’s face yet again, latching it from outside. Hob rolled his eyes and waited for two minutes when Matthew returned, opening the door and moving aside.

“Yeah come out buddy. But you are not allowed to move out of our eyesight and mind you, all the doors and windows are closed so no hanky panky.”

Hob’s smile turned into a frown. “Hanky panky? Seriously?”

He made his way out eventually and stood in the middle of the living room as if he wasn’t sure what to do now, which he wasn’t. He looked to his left and jumped a little when he saw Morpheus sitting at the dining table. Gulping loudly, he made his way to the window, sitting at a chair nearby so he could get the view from outside. It seemed it was about to rain and he could tell it was windy outside with the way the trees were swaying. He loved admiring nature but usually from afar.

He must’ve gotten lost in his thoughts because the sudden voices startled him.

“You know boss, I think we should’ve waited for Burgess to go to his country farmhouse, these kinds of parties have a lot of security so he might’ve gotten intel from his investigations,” Matthew said like a civilian wasn’t in the same room with them who might get them arrested with all this information.

“I am aware, Matthew. It was a miscalculation on our part. But we won’t miss the next time,” Morpheus replied, and now Hob was fully invested in the conversation. He was a curious man, which was his fatal flaw. And right now, he was curious about why these guys were trying to catch Rodrick Burgess of all people, especially when Hob’s own experience with that man had been really bad. A lot of people wanted Rodrick Burgess dead.

“So what are we going to do?” Matthew asked.

“We’ll have to find him. Certainly, he is not going back to his house. There must be a place where he goes in such a situation.”

“Yes, but it would take a few days boss. And since we crashed his party I am pretty sure the police are already after our lives. This reminds me we also have to disappear for a few more days.

Morpheus didn’t reply for some time.

“Also what if his men are looking for us?” Matthew spoke again, and like before, he didn’t get a reply.

Hob heard everything from where he was sitting. He could understand why Matthew sounded so concerned. Rodrick was a powerful man, he must’ve already sent his goons after these two.

He would later wonder what provoked him to say his next words, why he didn’t think before saying what he did. But he would never regret it like he never regretted his other decisions.

“I can help with that. If you want.”

Both Morpheus and Matthew perked up at that, staring at him for long excruciating seconds and Hob felt insecure.

“Why would you say that buddy?” Matthew spoke up finally, saving Hob further embarrassment.

Hob stood up straight, “See, I know you don’t believe me, but I have kept an eye on Burgess for the last few years. His whole business is corrupt. Apart from being a money-hungry industrialist, he also runs a cult which is just a cover-up for sex trafficking. And before any more omegas are trapped in that hell, Burgess needs to be handed to the police.”

Matthew was about to say something, but Morpheus beat him to it. “And how can you help us, Hob Gadling?”

Hob took a deep breath: this was his last chance, and he had to be convincing, “Okay listen, I know for a fact that Burgess is going to meet one of his clients tomorrow morning, who might be a potential investor and also a new member of his so-called cult. He needs more investors for his hidden business so he can't miss the meeting even if he almost got killed today. I can tell you the location and you can check if I am telling the truth.”

Hob took a deep breath when he finished and looked at the other two men. By their face, it seemed they genuinely didn’t know about Burgess’ meeting the next day. Morpheus eyed him suspiciously, and then he looked at Matthew, tipping his head to tell him something. Matthew nodded.

“Okay then, let’s check how much you know about Burgess.”

Hob could only wait.

~~~

It was his second night at the cottage of his abductors, and Hob couldn’t sleep again. He desperately hoped he was right about Burgess because it was his only ticket to gain Morpheus’ trust. If he had known that Morpheus was so jet-set on trapping Burgess, he would have hunted Morpheus down years ago. He wondered where Morpheus and Matthew were planning to run away the next day though. And where the former had lived for all these years after he ran away.

Hob fell asleep with this thought.

~~~

Ten years ago…

Hob stood in a corner, hoping none of the parents and their omega children approached him. He had ditched his friends to attend this big dinner party held at the Burgess Manor. The Burgesses were one of the big names in England, specifically, Rodrick Burgess. A successful industrialist, who also delved his hands into black magic from time to time, courting with powers he shouldn’t be even thinking about.

Hob didn’t even want to be here, but his father had dragged him along. The party was in the big hallway downstairs, lit up and too bright. Drinks were being served, and the music filled up the air with the voices talking about mundane things. Hob was at the bar counter, asking for more whiskey when the crowd went silent. He turned around in confusion until a loud voice sliced through the air.

“Good evening everyone.” It was Rodrick. Hob sighed, pinching the tip of his nose. Rodrick always had a very condescending tone, which made Hob want to punch him right in the face.

“Today marks my first marriage anniversary with my husband Morpheus Burgess. My beautiful omega!” he continued, pointing with his hand towards the bar counter. The crowd moved aside, forming a perfect alleyway from where Rodrick was standing, towards another man, who was leaning against a pillar near the bar counter, nursing a glass of white wine. His jet-black hair was a little longer, curling around the end, and he was wearing eyeliner, with blue kohl under his eyes. His blue dress fluttered a bit when he moved, and Hob smiled at the way the dress’ colour matched his eyes. Hob decided then and there that Morpheus was the most angelic man he had ever seen.

Morpheus smiled when the crowd looked at him, exactly in the way an omega was supposed to smile. He kept his almost empty glass on a table beside him and walked towards his husband, his heels clicking against the marble floor, echoing in the room now that the music had stopped playing. Rodrick held his hand out as Morpheus neared him and the omega took his alpha’s hand, standing beside him.

If anyone saw them, they could tell Rodrick and Morpheus made an unusual couple. Rodrick was much older than his omega, at least 30 years if Hob remembered Rodrick’s age correctly. And Morpheus looked much younger than his age. Last Hob heard, Rodrick had married a 19-year-old omega, which meant Morpheus must be 20 currently. But good god he looked like a 17-year-old was told to play dress up with that dress and make-up.

But Hob couldn’t do anything, even as the crowd cheered and applauded for the couple. The DJ behind the dance floor started playing a romantic number once Rodrick was done giving his speech. Romantic guitar strings filled the air this time, followed by equally sappy lyrics.

I found a love, for me,

Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead

Rodrick moved his husband around and kept a hand on his waist while holding up his free hand. Morpheus gave him another shy smile and held his hand. They danced slowly, other couples following their lead.

‘Cause we were just kids when we fell in love

Not knowing what it was

Hob almost scoffed at that lyric. So ironic.

Morpheus’ laugh reverberated through the hall and Hob immediately understood it was controlled laughter. As if Morpheus had attended one of those grooming schools where he learned how to act properly. It sounded sweet and naive and so fake.

Hob shrugged, walking around the dance floor, eyeing the main couple with disdain. He was standing with the crowd at the front now, where Rodrick and Morpheus seemed too close as if he could just walk towards them. But he stopped himself.

Rodrick spun his husband around before taking him into his arms again. Then they were spinning around in each other's hold.

It happened then. The most important few seconds of Hob Gadling's day. As the couple were spinning, intertwined in an almost hug, Morpheus rested his chin on Roderick's shoulder, so that he was looking at the crowd. And as he spun, his eyes met Hob’s.

Hob froze. As if he saw a ghost. And then the couple spun again, and this time he again met Morpheus' gaze.

It was intoxicating. Those piercing blue eyes gazed into yours as if they knew all your embarrassing dreams. After a few more minutes, the song faded and then stopped altogether. Rodrick smiled at his omega before letting him go. And Hob could swear he saw something akin to predatory behind the alpha’s smile.

If he could, he would call the police, or anyone to stop this madness. But no one would come to help, because this was how things were supposed to go.

Eventually, Morpheus walked away from the dance floor and picked up his abandoned glass. And Hob could see it then; the omega stood out in this place. Even though Morpheus Endless was from a big family, he still didn't belong in this place. His curious eyes were full of wonder, and even though it seemed he was pleased with this life, one could tell he wanted more.

Or maybe Hob was just projecting.

He shrugged it off, this situation was anyway not under his control.

~~~

Hob woke up with a start.

God the dream had been too vivid. Those eyes, that young face. Morpheus had been so young at the time. Hob took a deep breath to centre himself. He hadn’t even thought about the other man in so many years, and now suddenly all those memories came back to him like a tsunami, sweeping him off his feet.

He wondered if Morpheus thought about him at all. If Morpheus even remembered him. Well, who was Hob kidding? They only ever met at six parties total in the one year Morpheus was married to Burgess. The last meeting had been strange. Morpheus looked so out of himself that time but Hob didn’t get a chance to ask what had happened.

Before he could fall into his thoughts further, the door to his room opened and Matthew barged in. “Oh, you’re already awake.”

Hob shrugged at the man. “So, are you leaving today?” He felt a sense of dread at the thought. The fact that he got one chance to catch Burgess, but he will lose it too.

Matthew sighed. “Sadly yes, but I have good news for you.” A smile appeared on the man's face.

Hob looked at him expectantly.

“The information you gave about Burgess was right. And don’t tell him, but the boss is impressed. He wants to talk to you before we leave.” Matthew said, delighted.

Hob’s smile fell at that.

~~~

Morpheus sat on one of the dining table’s chairs, and it was astonishing how he managed to make such a simple-looking unpolished wooden chair look like a throne. Hob stopped himself from rolling his eyes and sat in a chair across from Morpheus when the man gestured at him to do so.

“Why do you want to help us?” Morpheus asked.

Hob took a deep breath, straight to the point. “Like I told you before, Burgess is not a good person, apart from being a corrupt industrialist, his cult is a cover-up for sex trafficking. That man should be stopped.”

Morpheus nodded. “We know everything about Burgess. I don’t need to know his history. I am asking why you want to take him down. Is it because of personal reasons, or do you want to be charitable?”

Hob felt a little offended; for an omega Morpheus seemed to have a high level of audacity. “Well, I don’t know what helping my friends and the general public will be called. I just saw the man committing extreme atrocities and decided he needs to be stopped.”

Something shifted in Morpheus’ face then. He seemed satisfied with the answer. “What else do you know about Burgess’ businesses?”

Hob turned his face to the side, thinking. “Well, I have heard that he lures some desperate people into this cult of his, promising a connection to god or some higher power. He even tried to summon death once, god knows for what. And in-between playing with all these delusions of his, he also…sells people to other really powerful people.”

If it wasn’t for his eyes watering, Hob would’ve assumed Morpheus wasn’t affected by such a story. And this got Hob thinking again about Morpheus’ marriage with Burgess. Rodrick already had a cult, even before his marriage. It was shocking that Morpheus’ parents even agreed to marry their only omega child to a delusional man like that.

Morpheus blinked his tears away and spoke further. “And you are well aware of his whereabouts?”

Hob nodded. “Yes, from his hiding places to his schedule for the next fifteen days. He will be hosting another one of his parties by the end of this month. And I think that will be a good opportunity to catch him.”

Morpheus tipped his head upwards, giving Hob a look. “And are you sure you want to help us?”

Hob jumped at the opportunity. “Yes, yes of course.”

Morpheus took a deep breath, “Hmm, very well. We are leaving today, disappearing for some days until the police calm down. Meet us outside in 15 minutes or we are leaving without you.”

Hob’s eyes widened.

Shit, he was a part of this team now.

[steddiejudas]

The Five Stages of Grief (and love)

Steddie || full fic on ao3

Would you believe it if Steve Harrington told you he wasn’t a huge fan of parties? He played the part well, kegstand king and all, but in reality, All the alcohol and drugs being thrust into his hands just made him feel out of control, like his body and mind were two separate entities fighting for whichever could give him a bigger case of Foot-in-Mouth disease. All through high school, his so-called friends threw parties, and of course he attended; most of them were at his house after all. Once in a blue moon he might even say he enjoyed the company, if he’d had a bad week — back then, a bad week entailed a lost basketball game, Tommy and Carol being grade A dicks, at worst Harrington Sr. getting on his case for his less than perfect grades — but really all they ever achieved was to make him feel like shit in the morning. 

Eventually, the stakes of a bad week to “King Steve” seemed inconsequential, laughable even. Now, in the face of the end of the world, temporary distraction is all he could hope for. Weekend after weekend, Steve hosts hordes of high schoolers who barely acknowledge him as a person rather than a symbol. He’s searching for a moment of relief, a second of feeling safe. 

It never comes, but the appeal of weed and liquor finally do. Steve thinks if he can just muddle his way through the trauma of fighting monsters in a drunken haze, eventually he’ll forget. Wishful thinking.

Because graduation comes with another apocalypse hot on its trails. Steve may have found a form of peace in Robin, but she isn’t the cure for the void in his chest. That void can now only be filled with a constant stream of substances. Okay, maybe it doesn’t fill the void, but he can pretend it isn’t there under the haze of glorious intoxication.

So, to Steve’s delight, after killing Vecna, he finds an acquaintance in Eddie. Maybe pursuing friendship would be more beneficial, but Steve can’t find the capacity to expend the energy that requires.

No, Steve has been meeting with Eddie, nearly three times a week, to stock up on weed. They share little more than a nod of solidarity for what they went through together, before Steve rushes home to smoke and pour himself a drink. Or two. Or three.

The morning after one of those nights he goes harder than most, Steve walks into his shift at Family Video, looking completely worn down. His hair lacks its signature “Harrington” shape and volume. A pair of thick sunglasses shield his eyes. His clothes are clearly unwashed, and smell strongly of his unconscionable decisions.  

“Gooood morning, sunshine!” Robin says, far too loud for Steve’s throbbing headache.

Steve winces and puts a hand up to rub his temples. 

“Damn, Rob, it’s too early to be so cheerful.”

While Steve self-destructs on a nightly basis, Robin is on constant alert, ready to be at his side at a moment's notice. She hardly ever lets on to this behavior though, fearing Steve will withdraw if he knows she’s focusing her energy towards him. 

Steve, though he’ll never admit it, has a habit of closing himself off the second he needs help. He would drop everything for any one of those damn kids, Robin, Nancy, or even Eddie, but he was never able to let them reciprocate.

“It is 12 o’clock in the afternoon, Steven. The sun is fully up.”

“Okay, so it’s too early in my morning to be this cheerful.”

“You really are a delight, you know that, dingus?”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, dummy.” Steve lets out a half hearted chuckle, unable to fully match Robin’s energy. Frankly, he can’t match any energy at this point. The nightmares and crippling paranoia had too strong a grip on him last night. His sides, where the demobats had left nothing but shredded skin and muscle, were aching the worst they had since the night he got them. A joint and a nightcap hadn’t helped the way Steve had hoped, so he poured another. And then another. And then another. It was around the time he found himself dancing around the pool, a whiskey bottle in one hand and another joint in the other, that he realized he’d lost count.

The hangover’s cruel, but not enough to make Steve regret his choices. The room may be spinning, but it’s reminiscent of the circles he danced in with his arms out, listening to something that vaguely reminded him of Eddie. He may have a splitting headache, but it hurts less than his injuries had last night. He may have feel a constant dull pressure on the back of his throat, like everything from last night is trying to scratch and crawl its way out, but really, he’s so jumpy these days, that nearly every sudden noise has him on the verge of vomiting.

Robin stares Steve down as she watches him wince at too sharp a movement, or quickly grab at the trash can, just to set it back down with a thumbs up and a “false alarm.” Things had been hard on all of them, sure, but she knows Steve is far deeper than anyone else. Four times saving the world, and not once had he let his emotions be felt.

“You know, Eddie and I have movie night tonight. You should help me pick something out.” Steve is sitting on a stool, with his head in his crossed arms on the counter. It was a slow Tuesday, so Steve is taking advantage of this time to sleep the hangover off in 5 minute intervals. He lifts his head slightly, to give Robin a confused look.

“You want me, Steve Harrington, to pick out a movie for you and Eddie Munson? The man has never once entertained the idea of renting a movie I even express an interest in.”

“Granted, his taste is a bit… niche, but we’ve run out of movies to watch. We need a fresh pair of eyes, Steve!” Robin practically whines at him, and the noise is like a sharp object scraping against his eardrums.

“Oh my god, if you stop talking in that voice I’ll pick out a full movie festival for you.”

There’s a small mutter from Robin as he stands to search for something Eddie acceptable-ish.

“What was that?” He asks, now standing to his full height over Robin.

“Oh um, just that, maybe… Could you also drive me there when our shift is over?” 

Steve exaggerates a sigh and roll of his eyes, but they both know the answer to that question.

“And why isn’t Eddie picking you up today?” He calls from the sci-fi shelves. Robin follows him over, but he turns his back to block his potential selections from her view.

“I wouldn’t normally ask. You know I hate making you drive me around everywhere. Just two more months until I get my license and you’ll be free. It’s just, Eddie’s stuck at home. His van isn’t running. I think it’s something to do with the tank? Lines? Shit, I don’t know about cars, dingus. It doesn’t go.” 

Steve lets out a real laugh at that. They were few and far between, but the real laughs that could only be produced by Robin were almost as good as Eddie’s top shelf shit.

“You know I don’t mind driving you anywhere, Rob. Of course I’ll take you. Can’t let you miss the incredible film night I have prepared for you.”

“Show me what it is if it’s so incredible.” Robin giggles, trying to snatch the VHS from Steve’s hands. He holds it up above his head with a hand over the cover so she can’t read it. Robin jumps and grabs at it, the two in a fit of laughter. It’s moments like these that make the guilt catch up with Steve.

The rest of the day matches the speed of their slow morning, and the distinct lack of customers proves a strain on Steve’s mental health. His every other thought is an attack on himself, tearing him down for ditching his best friends. Sure he still spends time with them, helping the kids with homework and general chauffeur duties, taking Robin out to practice driving, single handedly keeping Eddie in business; but every attempt the others make to show him how much they care, he withdraws himself more. 

Physically, he’s still there, still looks like Steve, but he laughs a little less. Most smiles fail to reach his eyes anymore. He just can’t get his mind to wrap around the concept that he deserves their effort.

Customers trickle in and out one by one until closing. Steve, exhausted and ready for a drink, rents out the movie and ushers Robin out to his car, locking the store behind them. The ride to Eddie’s is filled with Robin’s pleasant chatter and soft laughter. Steve’s state of mind is plastered all over his face and Robin can see he’s drifting into a dark place. Though she can’t outright say anything, she knows her blabbering about nothing is just distracting enough to stop his mind from wandering too far.

Before long, they’re pulling into the Forest Hills driveway, down the couple lots to Eddie’s trailer. Steve notices the spot next to Eddie’s van was empty of Wayne’s car. He pulls in, headlights glinting off the trailer windows. 

“hold on a second. Robin, how were you planning on getting home if Eddie’s van isn’t running and Wayne is gone?” Steve looks at Robin, who’s been oddly quiet since turning into the trailer park. He can just barely see the mischievous smile that forms on Robin’s lips as she turns to him with just a bit too much melodrama. 

“Oh nooo! I TOTALLY forgot about getting home, Steve! I guess I’ll just walk home later, in the dark, alone.” she exaggerates a sigh to really sell it.

Steve rolls his eyes. Of course he isn’t going to let Robin walk home. He wouldn’t let her in broad daylight, much less around midnight. Still, he’s a tad bit annoyed. He’s exhausted from nursing his hangover all day and ready to fall into the bottom of another bottle. He doesn’t want that to be postponed by the looming responsibility of needing to operate a car to pick Robin up.

“You could always join us, of course. No need to drive back and forth. I can even drive us back after, as long as you ‘observe’,” she says with air-quotes. Driving lessons originally scared the both of them, but they quickly discovered that since she didn’t have to move her actual body, Robin was actually quite adept behind the wheel. Most of the drives they take, Steve just zones out to the music and watches the scenery go by.

He sighs, but it’s a decent enough compromise. “Alright, fine... If I’d known this was your plan all along I would have picked a movie I’d actually enjoy,” he grumbles. They exit the car, Steve with the movie in hand, and rap on the door. It swings open a moment later to reveal a comfortable looking Eddie.

Boy is this different. Steve’s visits with Eddie typically take place away from the trailer, where he’s always keeping up appearances as the metalhead ‘freak’. This Eddie looks so… soft? His crazy hair is half pulled up in a little bun on top of his head, while the rest delicately hangs over his shoulders. He’s wearing a shirt that reads ‘IRON MAIDEN: Live After Death’. It looks like it’s been well loved, and sloppily cut to stop right above Eddie’s navel, revealing the trail of hair that leads into his black sweatpants. He finds himself thinking he understands why girls find that so attractive and quickly shoves that thought into a little box he’ll be locking up tight under about a pound of weed. He doesn’t even realize he’s just standing there, looking dumb as fuck with his mouth hanging open until Eddie finally speaks.

“Good to see you too, Harrington. Buckley.” he gives Robin a little nod as she walks past him. Steve shakes his head, pulling a hearty chuckle out of Eddie.

“Uh, yeah, man. Good to see you. Sorry, I’m kind of crashing your movie night aren’t I?”

“Not a problem, man. So, you gonna come in or what?” Steve slip past Eddie, praying to a god he isn’t sure even exists, that Eddie hasn’t noticed the heat spreading in his cheeks.

Robin is already in the kitchen, making herself at home with snacks and a couple beers for the other two. The boys accept the drinks and get comfortable in the living room. Eddie slings across the armchair sideways, his head leaning over the side, near the spot on the couch where Steve sits. Not long after, Robin sets a big bowl of popcorn on the coffee table for all three of them, and curls up into Steve’s side.

“Alright, will you finally tell me what we’re watching, Steve? Eddie, this man would not tell me what we’re watching for the entirety of our 8 HOUR shift.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know I would be joining you, and I didn’t want you complaining to me all day that my choice was stupid. Now, sit back, relax, and get ready for 87 full minutes of the most dramatic irony you will ever experience in your life.” Eddie and Robin share a confused look. When the movie starts playing, the title screen alone is enough for them to start groaning. 

“Really, Steve. Strange Behavior? That couldn’t be more on the nose.” Eddie grabs a throw pillow and hits Steve in the face with it, smiling all the same.

“I know it’s on the nose, that’s why I picked it. Come on, I know you two cope with humor and this movie is ridiculous compared to the real deal!” 

“You were right, Steve. I would have– no, should have complained until you picked something else,” Robin teases. They all turn their attention to the screen to watch an evil scientist experiment on teenagers and turn them into murderers. 

In no way is the film intended to be funny, but they can’t help themselves as they laugh at how exaggerated and unrealistic it all is. 

“Okay, come on. You’re telling me ‘I was drunk, I don't remember what happened’ is a good enough excuse? How is no one questioning how Oliver was just MISSING FROM THE PARTY when Waldo got stabbed?” Eddie hollers criticisms at the movie’s lack of consequences the whole way through. At one point, he’s out of the chair, jumping and screaming about Mildred being useless when “SHE WAS GIVEN A FULL DESCRIPTION OF HER FRIEND’S KILLER AND SHE DOES NOTHING WITH THAT INFORMATION?” Upon settling back down, his head is just slightly closer to where Steve sits, the loose bottom half of his hair falling over the arm of the couch. 

With one arm wrapped around Robin, mindlessly drawing patterns in her cardigan sleeve, Steve’s other hand instinctually goes to stim somewhere else. The hand finds itself in the curly mess of hair near him, twirling it around his fingers. They stay that way in silence until the movie ends. The only noise left filling the room is Robin’s soft snoring. Eddie slowly stands, forgetting his hair is in Steve’s hand, the sudden loss of contact taking them both by surprise. A swift nod towards the trailer door is all Steve needs to detangle himself from Robin, wrapping her in a blanket before leaving. 

Eddie leads them to the back doors of his van. It opens up to reveal a fort of pillows and blankets. Eddie gets comfortable and pats the spot next to him for Steve to join. Eddie pulls the little black box holding his stash out from under the driver’s seat, as Steve grabs a handful of pillows and a loose blanket to make himself a little cocoon next to Eddie. 

“Cold, Harrington?” Eddie asks, not necessarily teasing. Well, maybe a little, but he doesn’t wait for a response before leaning over the center console to stick the keys in the ignition. The van starts up, filling the small space with warmth. Steve relaxes a bit as the warm air reaches him, which only reminds him of why he’s there at all. 

“Hold the fuck up, dude. Robin said your car broke down?”

“Oooh, shit. I forgot that was our story. She uh, she’s actually running just fine,” Eddie replies sheepishly. He passes Steve a freshly lit joint with an appeasing smile.

“So, what? You guys made up some kind of secret mission to get me to drive Robin around? I would have said yes if you just asked.”

“Exactly! That’s why we used driving Robin as the ploy to get you here.” Steve passes the joint back with a confused look on his face.

“That hard pressed for customers, Eds?” The nickname makes Eddie chuckle, but only slightly.

“No. No, I really don’t need any more customers actually. You’ve bought up nearly my whole stock.” Steve’s eyes widen. He knows he’s smoking probably more than he needs to, but damn, not that much.

“I- fuck. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to smoke you out of house and home, jesus.”

“Hey no apologies necessary over here. If anything you’re keeping me in house and home. You’re paying my bills, Stevie.” He takes a long drag before passing it back. Steve watches as Eddie’s head tilts back, letting the smoke stream out to hit the roof of the van. His head drops back down, meeting Steve’s eyes. He tries to take a hit to play it off, as Eddie continues.

“That’s actually why we wanted you to come over. Are you doing okay? I mean like, as okay as you could be?” 

Steve isn’t surprised. It isn’t the first time his behavior has alerted someone’s concern. After he and Robin experienced the highs (literally) and lows of Russian truth serum, Steve started drinking more and more in an attempt to forget what that horrible drug had felt like. Robin, of course noticed, having also been remembering that overwhelming, dread-induced, giggly feeling. 

Steve sighs out his hit, rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I’m doing fine, man. Really, I’m… coping.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Steve.” Eddie’s face is suddenly intense, the space between his eyebrows all but gone, his lips steeled in a frown. “You’ve been coming to see me three times a week, and I know you’re not stocking up for a rainy day because you don’t like having a large amount in case the kids find it. Don’t think just because you hide behind those sunglasses we haven’t noticed the bags under your eyes. They get darker every single day, dude. When was the last time you slept through the night?”

“Why do you care?” Steve suddenly spits back. “You just said yourself, I’m paying your bills. Isn’t it beneficial for you not to ask questions and let it happen?”

“Normally, yes, but you’re not just a dickhead rich guy who buys weed off me. I mean you are, but you’re also my friend. As a rule, Eddie Munson does not supply self destruction. And while I firmly believe weed is beneficial as a medication, that doesn’t hold true when you’re soaking up your cotton mouth with a bottle of vodka.”

Steve can’t fully process what Eddie is saying to him. He’s too caught up on the word ‘friend”. Steve likes Eddie. He’s a lot more than what he seems on the surface, even made Steve feel a bit of relief tip-toeing around vines in the Upside Down. And those lips. Fuck. But can Steve safely say they’re friends? Eddie’s incredible, but Steve doesn’t deserve incredible. 

“Whiskey, actually,” Steve mutters under his breath. “Look man, I appreciate the concern. If you don’t feel comfortable selling to me anymore, I understand, but I should really get Robin back to my place, that couch is going to kill her neck.” 

Eddie has no chance to react. Steve’s already out of the van, waking Robin to drive them home.

The drive is silent. Steve knows Robin set the conversation up, and Robin knows Steve knows. Maybe she thought Eddie would have a rougher approach. The whole ‘scare him straight’ tactic. It might have worked, even, if Steve could believe help was coming to him with no ulterior motive. Maybe it has to do with how he was raised, or maybe it’s his form of repentance for the way he acted in high school. Whatever the reason, he can’t see the unconditional love the others hold for him.

When they finally pull into Steve’s driveway, Robin hesitates to turn off the car. “I know you’re probably mad at me, I know. I just wanted you to see that I’m not the only one.”

“The only one? What do you mean?”

“The only one who loves you, Steve. We just don’t want to see you suffer anymore. Just, please, say something. Even if you need to yell at me. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking… I’m thinking, I love you, Robin, and that’s never going to change. I’m not mad, really. I just don't know. I don’t know what I don’t know, I just know I don't know it.

“O– okay,” Robin says hesitantly. “So, you don’t mind if I stay over?”

“No, I don’t mind. I think I might actually need it.” Robin smiles softly at him. He means every word he says. Nothing could ever change the fact that he loves Robin. But, something is eating away at him. It was like pieces of his heart are slowly being flushed out of his body. Everyday he can feel all those positive emotions less and less.

Silence between them again, they swiftly make their way upstairs, working around each other to get ready for bed with ease. They’re a well oiled machine of toothbrushes, face washing, and pajamas. 

Robin crawls into Steve’s bed after him, both laying on their sides facing each other. Their hands intertwine in a ball between them. They slept like that almost every night following the mall incident, and it still brought them comfort to talk each other to sleep.

“Hey, Rob,” Steve whispers, not wanting to disturb the comfortable quiet between them. Robin hums in response. 

“I don’t know why we had to go through everything we’ve gone through. I still feel like… something is coming. I don’t know, maybe that’s dumb, but I just don’t believe it’s really over. I’m– I’m scared shitless rob.” He finally looks up from the four hands clasping each other on the bed. Robin is staring straight into his soul. She has tears in her eyes, which Steve rushes to wipe away and apologize, but she stops him. 

“Thank you, Steve. For telling me. To tell you the truth, I’ve been really scared too. It just feels like every time we get comfortable we get flipped on our heads again. I know you’ve been through more than me, so it’s not the same, but I really appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me.” Steve is smacked in the face by the power of the smile she gives him. His hands detangle themselves from Robin’s and wrap around her back, pulling her in for a hug. 

They sleep like that for a couple hours, until Steve wakes up from a nightmare, scars burning. The clock reads 6:30 AM, almost time to get up for their opening shift in two hours. Steve carefully pulls his arms away from Robin’s still sleeping form, and heads toward the bathroom. He checks the scars in the bathroom mirror. They look the same as always. Red. Bumpy. Disgusting.

The shirt drops with a heavy sigh and Steve trudges down the stairs to start breakfast, the only sure way to get Robin out of bed being the smell of sizzling bacon. He rounds the corner at the bottom of the stairs and enters the kitchen. Sitting out on the corner is half a bottle of whiskey. There’s a pot of coffee already brewed, still hot. Steve figures Robin must have gotten up to pee not too long ago and started the pot while she was up. He pours a cup and looks back at the bottle. Two hours was enough time to sober up after an Irish coffee. He grabs the bottle and twists the top off. The scent of the amber liquid tantalizing as it hits the mug full of coffee. He raises the drink to his lips, seconds away from taking the first sip, when it’s rudely yanked from his grip.

“What the hell?!” He shrieks, jumping at the sudden intrusion to the moment he assumed was private. 

“This what you eat for breakfast every day?” Eddie stands with Steve’s stolen coffee in hand, directly in his personal space. He’s back in his typical getup, though his hair is still half up as it had been the night before. It’s not unfamiliar, Eddie leaning in too close, throwing himself all over Steve, and he sees him dressed like this more often than not, but the look on Eddie’s face makes him nervous.  

“How the hell did you get in my house, Munson!” Steve realizes he’s shouting too late, as he hears shuffling on the stairs.

“Steve? What are you screaming abou–? Oh, hey Eddie.” Robin says, instantly relaxing into a smile and wave.

“Mornin, Buckley. I was just checking in on our boy here,” Eddie says with a strong hand clapping down on Steve’s shoulder. His knees buckle slightly under the weight.

“Wait, Rob, you knew he would be here? You watched me lock all the doors and you never went back downstairs. How did he get in here?”

“Duh, dingus, I gave him my key!”

“Okay, ignoring the fact that you apparently made yourself a key to my house, you then gave that key to Eddie and didn’t tell me? I thought I was about to be eaten alive by Dart.” Robin chuckles at the name. She had heard stories of Dustin’s pet demodog, though thankfully, she hadn’t been present to witness it.

“It was a necessary evil, dingus. Eddie is officially the babysitter’s babysitter!” Steve turns to look at Eddie who returns it with a smirk.

“And I need a babysitter because?”

Eddie speaks up to answer this time. “Because you have a problem, Steve. And maybe you don’t see it that way, but it’s the truth. So if I have to keep setting traps to pour down the drain until you realize you’re killing yourself and let us fucking help you, I will.” He punctuates the sentence with a flourish of the hand holding the mug, dumping the contents into the sink.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. We all cope differently, okay! You guys laugh at shitty movies about teenage murderers. Some people fuck their way through the whole town, and some people need to dull their thoughts so they can relax. What’s so wrong with that?”

“First of all, you just described three behaviors that fit yourself. Second, you are proving my point, pretty boy. You don’t see this as a problem, just like you don’t see that we really, honestly want to help you. You can kick and scream, call me a freak, annoy the shit out of me, I don’t care. I’m your friend, Steve, the same as Robin. We went through hell together, but you’re still stuck there. I’m here to lead the way out.” Steve, though annoyed, can’t help his eyes watering at the sentiment. Eddie the banished, who fought his way out of Mordor within an inch of his life, is still fighting. All for the sake of Steve. He can’t help the tears from flowing down his cheeks. 

[spooky-dice]

random specific dndads hcs that are canon To Me (content warning: brief discussion of mental illness)

carol and darryl’s house is very white + millennial griege with dark flooring, open concept minimalism. carol likes interior design pinterest, and darryl can’t stand clutter. they’ve got one of those portrait gallery walls. (stainless steel fridge house)

mercedes and henry’s house is super maximalist with busy, warm coloured patterns and plants and decor on every surface. it gets dusty sometimes but most of their trinkets are gifts from other people or handmade from a craft market so they refuse to get rid of anything. (coloured vintage fridge house)

glenn lives in an apartment, it’s very undecorated bc renting is Like That, and he’s a big believer in buying impulsive treats and luxuries over any investments. big dvd bookcase. intense stereo system setup is the centerpiece of the place. has a bunch of neon signs taken from bars. (white fridge house)

samantha and ron’s place is generally anti-big light. always natural light or little lamps. dark hardwood. periwinkle walls. has a big sliding door to the backyard that’s always open with the screen closed so bugs don’t get in. lots of bookcases and rugs. (black fridge house)

henry and mercedes will keep EVERY drawing or test and put it on the fridge “to celebrate both victories and opportunities for growth!” and teen sparrow gets really private abt his art and shoves it all behind his bed frame so they can’t hang it.

he also doesn’t draw for a year after getting sent to the realms.

lark sneaks out of the house and wanders the neighbourhood/park/gas station at pretty much any chance. takes a lot of buses to random places. henry used to fight with him abt it but eventually just agrees as long as he sends a check-in text after 5 hours. they still fight abt this.

grant has harm ocd. darryl never gets diagnosed with anything but it’s likely he had religious + contamination ocd. they don’t really talk about this.

glenn has the radio or tv on all the time because the silence freaks him out.

mercedes is really passionate abt all types of craftsmanship. she takes up woodworking and upholstery after she retires.

carol had subtly hinted that she wanted one of those fancy hair heat tools for christmas for 3 years straight before caving and buying them herself.

the first time nick smoked he did it alone on their balcony so glenn wouldn’t see if he coughed.

grant and carol go to comic con together. they both pretend they’re doing it to indulge the other person but they both really enjoy it.

terry is a several-hour-long-video essay fan, any topic. sparrow and grant are into those video game lore deep dives so they send each other links.

nicky’s texts are generally incomprehensible. he thinks emojis are unironically funny.

lark has bad taste in music, like folk punk and midwest emo shit. (folk punk fans know it’s bad. don’t complain. im one of you.)

ron does not know geography. like he just doesn’t know any places.

samantha leaves a place for terry sr. at their holiday dinner table. it helps all three of the stamplers feel better.

morgan got tattoos when she was in her early twenties. in the first timeline she got a few more, and in the second she didn’t. she had her tattoos touched up before moving to hell.

the marlowe’s fence has a really busted section where scary used to practice scoring.

link does all those summer library events. he doesn’t like reading he just likes the vibes.

taylor is highly susceptible to tiktok (or whatever the time period equivalent is?) ads. bought one of those electric pots where the guy cooks in his dorm room and never uses it.

normal will rewatch the same movie a million times. he’s also really into those mediocre shows where they run for like 10 seasons even though all the episodes are the same.

rebecca and sparrow are one of those “don’t go to bed angry” couples. it’s not really working but the unspoken agreement is there.

veronica and terry love going out for brunch. scary sleeps til noon. they leave her waffles in the fridge.

scary wants more piercings but veronica says she has to wait til her other ones heal. scary is not very good at taking care of them. her helix is perpetually infected and she keeps toying with her eyebrow bar.

veronica also keeps warning her that black box dye is a bitch to lift. veronica knows this from personal experience.

link has bad posture but worries about it a lot so he’s always correcting himself.

hermie keeps a ranking of his favourite B:TAS/timmverse shows/episodes. he’s also the guy who has to bring up the fact that it’s animated on black paper backgrounds in every conversation about it.

[lexmista]

Kuya, 180 cm, 24 y.o.

Ayakashi: Romance Reborn

N, R and SR card design

ayakashi is a gatcha otome game about cute anime boys that you can date. obviously, i ate that shit up 😌

ayakashi is about a girl, yokais in human form, bad spirits set in meiji or taisho period

the game doesn't update anymore, but it has all the stories fully released, and you can play it for the story, not for the gatcha :>

anyways, kuya is a silly one, i didn't think i would like him at first. he is lazy, not very talkative, prefers not to be involved, and sleeps a lot. honestly, me irl

but his story unexpectedly caught my heart!

(screenshots from ayakashi: romance reborn)

how can i ever compete with these godly designs holy smokes

i turned kuyas existing earing into a purple gem

and his counterpart is.. kuya haha, that one was easy

like all other yokai, he was born in nc world, having bits and pieces of his memories from past life. kuya is tengu yokai, which is more mythical than normal animal (in nc all yokais were animals at their birth). it complicates things just a little, but there is some mythical creatures in nc, so i say it doesn't matter that much.

kuya lives in wood territory, too, but closer to the border with light territory. he enjoys human-made cuisines, and likes reading books. so he often visits villages and cities nearby.

[pianostarinwonderland]

Any theories on the new Halloween event? People are saying the boys are going to the twst version of pleasure island.

circus.

that's all i have to say.

No because, masquerade AND circus events, paired together??? That is a literal match made in heaven, especially for Twst. Pleasure Island is also the perfect setting for a circus themed event. Like, just look at this.

It's just so. good. for a circus theme.

Anywho, on any theories regarding how the story will go, hmmm well, Honest John and Gideon were essentially the ones who led Pinocchio to Pleasure Island. They're not the actual villains themselves, in fact, they're hired by the Coachman to lead boys to this island. Maybe in the event, they're also misled, which very much fits the theme of Twst and how its villains aren't simply 'bad' people.

If they're going with Pleasure Island, by God, it's going to be a really complex story. Pleasure Island is a place where bad boys are led to, and they can do anything there: eat to their heart's content, drink alcohol, smoke, etc. Do things that good kids don't do. But the longer they stay, the more they start to transform into donkeys. And once they completely turn into donkeys, the Coachman strips them of their clothes and ships them out to mines where they are made to labor. And according to the Disney wiki, the origin of Pleasure Island is from the original story where the donkey is a symbol of stupidity in Italy. So supposedly, the moral of the island is that boys who don't care about their education and moral code and engage in "jackass" behavior instead will grow up to become men who can't do anything except do backbreaking labor.

It's pretty haunting to think about. Makes me wonder how Twst will twist this to suit the game. Obviously the boys will make it out alive, but I wonder if the themes of the story will be the same. Or will there be some adjustments to accommodate our contemporary sentiments? Regardless, it's really interesting how both Glomas and the upcoming Halloween event tackle themes of morality. Glomas focuses on the high and mightiness of those who think that they're in the right, on the need for atonement. This event is likely going to tackle the other side, people who succumb to their desires too much that they forget their morals, and the consequences.

On the topic of SSRs, a lot of people are speculating Ace and Ortho. Some say Jade. Some say Jack.

I really do hope for Ortho SSR, as much as it may pain Ortho/Ignihyde fans. He and Pinocchio are so similar in that they're not human, yet they are alive in a way. As for Ace, I really see it! I think he fits the aesthetic very well, that's one. But more than that, Pinocchio is also a story of growing up, particularly in growing up to be the kind of person you want to be. You want to be a good person in society? A bad one? Or somewhere in between? And Ace's character arc is definitely ripe for that theme, because as of now, he's not even sure what he wants to be. His chances of being SSR are a little lower than Ortho's, but I still hold on to the idea that he would be an SSR.

I really do want both tweels to be SRs, not going to lie. But something that interests me is that Pleasure Island is advertised to be free. Free food, free alcohol, free tobacco. But it's not. For all that pleasure, you turn into a donkey. There was a price to pay. And that's very on brand for Octavinelle, so Jade being the third SSR is possible.

On the other hand, Jack being the third SSR would be so delicious. First of all, he's a fellow first year, so the theme of growing up would be so good. Secondly, he has strong principles, to the point of being rigid. It would be so good to see him placed in a situation where his morals are tested, where he has to learn the complexities of the real world while keeping his wits and principles about him.

Man, this event is going to be so good. I'm really excited for October. 😭

[birlwrites]

Alack and alas, I have no knowledge of horror myself let alone gothic horror. I've been thoroughly recommended The Magnus Archives and Welcome To Nightvale (a hybrid podcast and book set up I think?) by a friend whose taste I trust well enough which are horror but uh no clue about the subgenre.

I can however offer elemental discussion adjacent to your (Harry Potter) Regulus Black fanfictions based on your one line: "fire just dies" and this post about Barty if Regulus dies: (nevermind searching is taking me too long).

"fire just dies"... when not sustained by something external! Therefore Barty fits it spectacularly! Regulus gets to be some kind of Hestia equivalent feeding Barty continual logs of affection and needing things of Barty. Evan in general gets to be magic fire dust which only influences or changes the colour of the flames for a little bit but doesn't sustain them (perhaps the occasional thrown wad of balled-up newspaper as Evan won't shut up about passing on Interesting Stories). Barty's mother gets to be the chimney (stopping him from dying of building paternal-smoke inhalation), the stone hearth stopping him from burning himself/his own house down when the fire is controlled and sometimes gives long-lasting lumps of coal but not enough to keep a whole fireplace going. Barty Senior gets to be both gasoline and fire lighter as a motivation, pushing Barty to burn out but blaze bright and fast in response as he does so. Other friends occasionally throw handfuls of twigs/branches/flammable materials at Barty but not consistently really.

Voldemort with Death Eater Barty (hopefully not lachrimae future Barty) simply gestures to a pyre bonfire labelled "Demonstrate Your Faith In The Cause! The Party Never Ends!" that Barty subsequently throws himself onto draws great destructive direction from finding suitable Guy Fawkes Substitutes to throw onto (muggleborns, blood traitors, traitors to the cause, loyal ministry members, his own father... etc).

Hopefully, the metaphor isn't too far removed from the style of Barty's pre-approved Cyprian Silkwood's style. But so long as it hits vaguely adjacent to being entertaining.

i've been recommended the magnus archives as well, with the fascinating addendum of "i've never thought about worms the same way ever again." i feel like i'm going to end up listening to it and then sending terrified messages to the person who recommended it to me

they really are regulus black fanfictions afjskhgjkfd as evidenced by the fact that i named barty's mom 'harriet' fully forgetting the series is about a guy named harry. normally i try to avoid super similar names like that unless it's for Plot Reasons but in this case i just. did not recall

THE METAPHOR ABSOLUTELY HITS. associating barty with fire appeals to me because of the, like... dual-purpose of it as a weapon, a tool, and a destructive force. he needs constant fuel and room to maneuver - he can't be smothered and he needs something to motivate him to keep going, and i LOVE your comparison of crouch sr to gasoline and a fire lighter YES ABSOLUTELY

i'd say voldemort is also gasoline in his own way (not in lachrimae you will be pleased to know, barty's actually one of the characters who has a Less Bad Time in lachrimae!!), but he's judicious in how he uses it. less dumping a ton of gasoline on the fire and more a steady drip. he doesn't want barty to go out too early, but he's fine with barty self destructing as long as it's in a useful way

and regulus connected with the earth element is also fun because i think he really is like the earth in a way - kind of [literally] overlooked/stepped on until he decides to become a Problem. he's always there, he doesn't disappear, he's so reliable that you don't notice him, and whoops you weren't paying attention to the Danger and now you've died in a mudslide

[avian-misdemeanors]

airplanes but as people

707: classy, elegant, cultured, very big presence, Audrey Hepburn vibes

717: smart, unassuming, a feminist before it was socially acceptable

727: autistic, will tell you everything about its special interest, weird and lovable, may use it/its pronouns

737: she likes her pumpkin spice lattes and her leggings. gets called basic, but she's reliable and easy to get along with

747: 6'6" woman with broad shoulders and long, wavy, dark hair. she looks amazing in an elegant dress and has a commanding presence. powerful dark voice, very charismatic. when she speaks, you listen.

757: 74's little sister, much less imposing, very leggy, plays volleyball, total tomboy, very very likeable and cute but also very pretty and athletic, short dyed hair

767: pantsuit businesswoman, smart, a little conventional but that's not always a bad thing

777: she's a professional athlete, a competitive powerlifter. she looks intimidating, but once you get to know her she's a pretty open book.

787: trans girl programmer, drawer full of thigh high socks, RGB everything

797: 787's fursona

Spitfire: short British girl who owns and carries a pistol. she's a skilled martial artist but she much prefers spending time on her other hobbies: makeup and ballroom dancing

AN-225: rural Ukrainian grandma in her 70's. still milks the cows every morning, and still chops her own firewood. her grandson is off fighting the Russians and she's very proud of him

B-1: used to wear a black cape and Naruto-run around the playground at school as a kid. was and still is obsessed with Batman, joined the army and has had a long career

B-21: like the 787; trans furry gamer girl obsessed with programming. wears thigh highs, RGB everything, but also joined the military and has guns at home

U-2: shy and introverted, lean and kind of lanky, she spends all her spare time hiking in the middle of nowhere. the kind of person who you stop being surprised by when she tells you she did a "light" 30 mile hike over the weekend. you're convinced she could just get up and walk the whole Appalachian Trail if she felt like it. has an account on FurAffinity and she will make it your problem. she also has the absolute best weed

L-1011: beefy working class woman with broad shoulders and a heavily worn-in denim jacket. she quit smoking in the '90s but she still knows a bunch of lighter tricks and does them when she's bored using her old beat-up Zippo. will come into your life for one week and ruin every other person for you, forever.

Tu-144: former Soviet professional athlete who had huge potential but got super addicted to amphetamines and burnt out REALLY hard, did not live up to her potential, and gave up fast. she's now a retired but functioning alcoholic watching the collapse of the modern Russian state going "here we go again"

Concorde: slightly stuck up but not mean at all, had her day in the sun, won a lot of gold medals in the Olympics, now gracefully retired and coaching the next generation of athletes. keeps in touch with Boeing 2707, Tu-144, and Lockheed L-2000

SR-71: older legendary retired Olympic sprinter, kind of a loner but she sometimes hangs out with Tu-144, L-2000, B2707, and Concorde

Space Shuttle: hotshot test pilot who wears aviators everywhere, loves to reminisce about her glory days

MiG-15: retired soldier, left Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union and now lives in a cabin in northern Canada. used to believe in the USSR but now basically doesn't believe in governments at all and just keeps to herself. drinking problem.

F-86: retired Olympic fencer, focuses on her grandkids now, visits MiG-15 to play chess and drink

F-111: furry trans girl techie who likes to watch mecha anime. taller than she'd like but she still loves herself and finds ways to see her own beauty.

F-117: Goth girl who was best friends with the B-1 in school, they'd both watch anime together as kids. F-117 kinda vanished after high school then reappeared on instagram years later as an owner of a crossfit gym

F-22: expert martial artist, small in stature but tough as nails, buzz cut, tank top, combat boots. she will be your friend but she is also a little...unhinged

XF-85 Goblin: tried to join the military but was rejected due to ADHD. no longer believes in the military and is glad she got rejected. when asked about it she says "the military is dumb and war is for straight people". silly little shit who makes bad puns and likes rolling around on the floor with cats. drinks soda in the shower.

P-51: played quarterback in high school, then drafted into WWII

P-38: played tight end on P-51's team.

P-51 and P-38 got drafted together, went to boot-camp together, but they got deployed to different theaters of war.

They write each other. The letters don't always go through. When they get a letter, they head back to their bunk, shirtless with dog-tags dangling, they read with a big smile on their face and a cigarette in their mouth

They rehash heroic football plays that sent the bleachers into uproarious cheers, sounding like a crowd ten times larger than the entire population of Littletown, Arkansas that they were.

Their letters also contain very very vague but pointed allusions to the times they spent together after the games were over and the other teammates went out with their girlfriends. Locker Rooms. Cornfields. And the Ice House. Oh, the Ice House…

P-51 bitches about the cold in western europe. P-38 bitches about the tropical humidity and mosquitos, and how he always forgets the name of the island he's on this week.

It'll be over soon, right?

P-38 says he overheard B-29 saying that the war is going to end one way or another very soon in a very confident manner. B-29's tone kind of spooked P-38, and he's not sure why. He prays that B-29 is right, but something feels off around here.

The censors blacked out most of that letter. P-51 is glad P-38 is alive…but what is going on over there?

P-51 wanders the aerodrome, and he spots B-17 and C-47 making eyes at each other. His hands ball up in fists in his pockets. Those two get to go home and get married, ring bearer, flower girls. Tuxedo, Wedding Dress.

All he gets is the Ice House. But oh…Oh, the Ice House…

A300: Old fashioned diesel dyke. She's in her 60's but still does powerlifting as a hobby. She lives with her cute femme wife, who is absolutely the domme in the relationship. They're both retired and raise goats together at their cottage in the country to sell goat dairy at the local farmer's market. She wears denim vests covered in patches, many of which are old and faded, she's tattooed and still has a buzz cut. She was on the front lines helping her fellow queers during the AIDS crisis.

A320: When you find out your friend from high school who said she was going to major in finance actually did major in finance, got a finance job, and has been working for 10 years and somehow hasn't burned out, has savings, bought a car, a normal but attractive fiance, and watches an appropriate amount of Netflix in the evening

A320neo: Same woman but she just discovered aromatherapy

A350: Same woman but she got a masters from an online college while still working full time and has multiple CFO job offers

Honda Jet: The only posts on her instagram are her college graduation in 2016 with her white american mom and japanese dad, and she's taller than both of them, and a STOP ASIAN HATE post from 2020

Stipa Caproni: down for literally anything and will absolutely blow your mind but not for long.

Wright Military Flyer: an 85 year old lady who still beautiful and dainty but also keeps a fucking Colt 1899 on a thigh holster. under her dress, of course. she's still a lady.

Tu-154: a track star and will go all night long, you won't be sure if you're boinking or in a cardio race

F-14: a retired Subaru lesbian who lives with her wife and 3 dogs. was the popular girl in school and kind of everyone's friend in college.

Bristol F2b: knows how to use flintlock weapons and always smells a little bit like leather and campfire, but she's really sweet and comforting to be around.

T-38: 5'2" and a little fucking firecracker. doesn't actually know how to fight you but she will certainly try and one or both of you will end up with teeth missing.

Kfir: the kind of girl who you suspect might actually be an assassin.

F-4 Phantom: a butch martial artist in her 40s who is suspiciously muscular and shows off by crushing watermelons with her thighs, arms, hands, etc. She wears combat boots and a leather jacket and rides a motorcycle

7J7: refers to the D&D Monster Manual as the "Girlfriend Guide"

F4U Corsair: collects swords but in a hot way

TBM Avenger: a classic softball lesbian

P-47: a bodybuilder, she can lift you over her head. big and imposing, but a kind person who will happily use her large stature to help her smaller friends feel safe.

CRJ-900: collects swords but in a pretentious way

DC-3: keeps pigeons on her roof, but it's cute bc she talks to all of them. they are her friends. get her talking and she will tell you stories from her youth that will haunt you

Convair 990: does illegal street racing

DC-9: has a piss kink. sells landing gear pics online.

UH-1 Huey: smokes cigars and drinks whiskey, and goes hunting often. She's trans and beautiful but still calls herself a "good ol' boy"

Bell JetRanger: in her late 40s and just figured out she's gay, she's doing her best.

V-22 Osprey: a genderfluid gun enthusiast, not in a toxic way but sometimes you worry about their stability. not the best mental health.

MD500C: an aging ballerina who is still way more strong and agile than you.

MD530F: her daughter who took after her mom but is a better dancer and has an undercut she dyes silver.

EC-135: she is a no-nonsense doctor with a femme wife and a 3-year old.

CH-53: is a 'roided out butch whose father was in the Navy, she served in the Navy, and now won't stop talking about the Navy. She's now a volunteer firefighter who has strapped every subby femme in the region but will always remain single.

Mi-26: a heavyset Russian grandmother who only makes one facial expression. She has subsisted off of nothing more than potatoes for at least the past half century. She is old, but she is not frail.

R22: is a lanky truck-stop hooker. Everyone can come inside for a low price, no experience required.

AW-109: works as a first mate on a megayacht. She knows all the secrets of a particular billionaire but won't say who.

MiG-29: she will shove you the fuck up against a wall and you will like it.

Lockheed Constellation: goes by Connie, she will give you the classiest evening of your life.

Ekranoplan: she was going to be an Olympic swimmer for the Soviet Union, but when the USSR collapsed, so did she. she's a sad story, but she's happy in her retirement to see the younger generations taking an interest in her career, and trying to carry it on in some way.

Sopwith Camel: completely unhinged but in a hot way

made with help from @bananabreadloveman

[thebrownssociety]

Tweety really didn't know how he ended up in these situations. All he'd wanted to do was go to Downtown Toontown to do some shopping. Now he was being eyed up as some hungry cats dinner.

"Ooh, dere's a bad ol' puddy cat watchin' me." Tweety said, mainly out of habit.

The sales-girl looked concerned. "Do you want me to get security?" She indicated the tough-looking rat in the corner, who was smoking a cigarette.

Tweety smiled and shook his head. "I'ww be awwight." Heading out, it was no surprise to the young canary to be grabbed by a cat. Not in the mood to be jerked about, Tweety bit the cats thumb hard enough to draw ink and started to fly off while the cat was jumping about like he was on fire. The bird did a double-take when he recognised the young cat. "Juniow?"

Sylvester's son- the spitting image of his father - glared and sucked his thumb. "Who wants to know?" His eyes went wide when he recognised the bird. "Tweety? Oh, Tweety!" He grabbed the bird and hugged him tightly, while Tweety gasped for air. "I'm lost! And so hungry." The young cat said, pitifully.

Tweety rolled his eyes. "Yes, weww. You'we not eating me. What awe you even doing hewe? Whewe's youw fathew?" He looked around, aware that this might be a trick, but the lack of father-cat and the despairing look in Junior's eyes made him think this might not be the case.

With that the younger cat launched into his story. It seemed he'd been dragged against his will to a clothes shop to get a suit for the premier of 'Goldimouse And The Three Cats.' While there he and Sylvester Sr had had an argument, which had escalated quickly and Junior decided to make his father suffer by running away. He was intending to go back home, but instead of saying 'Uptown Toontown' to the bus driver he'd said 'Downtown Toontown' and here he was.

He'd been to afraid of the 'mean-looking' bus driver to ask for a ride back [and he didn't have the money anyway.] so figured he'd hang out Downtown until either his father turned up or he found some money. One of the two. Three hours later and he was hungry. Cue the situation...

"I see." Tweety said. "Weww, in that case we better get you home. Fowwow me." So led to the slightly strange sight of a bird leading a cat by the hand onto a bus and basically guarding him on the journey home. Tweety distracted Junior by playing I-Spy with him as well as quizzing him on all the times he'd outwitting his father. That was quite a long game that kept them entertained until the bus drove into Uptown Toontown's station.

Tweety caught sight of a familiar-looking set of pussycats outside the window and grinned. "Eh...Junior. I tawt I saw some puddycats...." At the bus station was a anxious-looking Sylvester who was pacing up and down, while his wife stood next to him, foot tapping and steam gently coming out her ears.

Junior lit up. "Father! Mother!" He didn't even wait for the bus to stop properly, teleporting himself outside and into their arms.

Tweety flew over and hovered next to the family. Eventually he was noticed by Sly, who glared at him. "What are you doing here, pipsqueak?"

"Father, Tweety saved me." Junior said, indignantly.

Both Sly and Sylvia looked alarmed, and Tweety quickly explained what had happened.

"Well." Sylvia said, warmly. "Thank you! You must come to dinner one night."

Tweety must have looked cautious, because Sylvia quickly added. "As a guest, not dinner."

The bird nodded. "Yes...that would be...nice." He smiled. Sylvia smiled back and took Junior by the hand leading him away.

Sly looked fondly after them, then turned back to Tweety. "Hey...listhen. Thanksth. For looking after him. Eh..." The older cat stuck his hand out.

Tweety laughed at the formality of it, but shook his hand anyway.

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

Ford pines for headcanons?

YES FUCKCING YES GIRL!!!!!!!! LETS A GO !

A (Realisitic): lovessssss doodling on paper. has an affinity for eyes (;]), swirlies, scribbles, and creatures. whatever he can get his damned hands on he will doodle on it and he will do it happily. my boy's an artist ❤️❤️

B (Not Realistic But Funny): honestly in canon ford's probably into music too much but i can see him being an period music fan. abba, queen (teehee), freetwood mac, david bowie, etc. that's just his VIBE to me, not in the crowley way but in his own strong inks and cigarette smoke way. i associate thoss things with him as well as anythinf existing before 1982 with him alot if u didnt know. i still see something and go "ford missed this 😔" or "ford didn't miss this! 😁" in a sad or happy tone at least once a day /srs. oh i love this guy

C (Heart-Crushing): this kinda collides with D but im keeping it in that category. soul crushing? ford never knowing what to hope for in regards to stan on the other side. whenever he has time to think about it, he isnt sure whether to imagine him in his house or dead in a ditch, and the mystyer honestly scares him more than he'd like to admit. ford kinda treats it like schrodinger's cat in a way--as long as he never confirms, it could really be anything, and that absolves him of any potential guilt. so. (also: that he celebrates holidays out in the multiverse too, when possible. makeshift menoras, pastries in substitute of bday cakes, lighting sticks during new years. just for the sense of grounding. ALSO alsohe's spent at least 3 birthdays in a prison cell or very hurt. so. yeah)

D (Unrealistic but FUCK CANON): has always stuggled with addiction, especially with antidepressants or alcohol. thus sort of snowballs into a whole "if this makes me feel good i cannot have for more than needed" but still ends upgrappling with it anyway. he suffered MAJORRRR withdrawlel when portal stranded and since then swore off it bc he drank the most under bill's influence. it's very important to me and i need more fics about it sooooooo bad, bc while i HAVE written my own, i think someone else is needed to do it justice. now that im remembering this i HAVE read some with this hc and they were beautiful and i need to reread them again and i need to REWATCH THIS DAMN SHOW SO I CAN READ AND WRITE SOME FIC AGAI .... also there IS some evidence as extracted by @/callipraxia (need to find that meta again) but i DOUBT that would ever be canon bc of the kid show rating. (watch the book of bill canonize this seven fucking months from now. i swear to god..../j)

TY FOR THE ASK!!!!!! 💖💖

[cursedvibes]

It's honestly kind of hilarious in a macabre way how pearl-clutching the Kamo Clan (and by extension the higher-ups) are about the whole Death Painting incident and Kamo Noritoshi in general. I don't mean that in the way that they are blowing things out of proportion or being unreasonable, but simply that they use Kamo Noritoshi/Kenjaku as a smoke screen.

Kamo Noritoshi is called the most evil sorcerer to ever exist. A stain on the Kamo Clans prestigious history. There was no one like him before and will never be since. In actuality, they are just using this incident to camouflage or play off their other heinous acts. It's not like the concept of locking women up and using them to create powerful offspring is something solely unique to Kamojaku or even the Kamo Clan.

Noritoshi Jr's father, the 24th clan head, is not much different if we come down to it. He has a wife but when she doesn't produce adequate children, he picks another woman and forces her to bear his kid. Noritoshi's mother at least had the benefit of being let go afterwards and being able to start a family on her own terms, but her interactions with the Kamo Clan were clearly anything but consensual. Still, they kept Noritoshi for themselves solely because of his blood and force him to conform to their conservative ideology and live up to impossible standards, worsened by the burden of his name.

The original Kamo Noritoshi was probably not much better, just another conservative clan head obsessed with power and bloodlines. After all, we haven't heard anyone say "Omg those experiments were so out of character for him! Never would have thought dear old Noritoshi would be capable of that!" So this behaviour isn't uncommon for the higher members of the clan. Similar to how the Zenin operate I assume. Shino seemed to look up to Noritoshi Sr. quite a lot, so until things came out he must have not been that unpopular, maybe even had quite a number of supporters on the inside. Someone must have organized and hidden the curses, I find it hard to belief that Kenjaku did all this alone.

Now the problem with the Death Painting experiment is how public it was. Kenjaku just left those aborted fetuses there for everyone to stare at and collect. Undeniable evidence. Who knows what happened to the mother, but her body might not have been that well hidden either. There is probably also a "racist" aspect to it, where the mere idea of humans and curses mingling is seen as a freak of nature and I wouldn't be surprised if that was initially much more of an issue than the violation of the mother's body and autonomy. While there might not be much of Noritoshi in the Death Paintings, it would still be a quite literal cursed stain in the bloodline the Kamo place so much value on.

The Zenin have thrown at least 3 children into a pit of curses (the fact that it exists at all suggests they do this more often) and treat their women as subhuman. It's not that Kamojaku forced the mother to go through 9 pregnancies and abortions that's so abhorrent to the Kamo/higher-ups, it's that it became public and involved non-humans. A Bad Look. Dampens the respectability of the clan. So now they have to make Noritoshi out to be this outlier. He shouldn't be counted in the statistics. Unreasonably more evil than anyone else, of course no one would ever get any similar ideas. And still they do nothing to treat their women and children any better. Why would they? It's not as bad as what Kamo Noritoshi did, so it's fine right? It's just tradition. They have to somehow cleanse their bloodline again after all, what else are they supposed to do?! And so nothing ever changes unless it gets completely burned to the ground.

[frasier-crane-style]

Some random musings on Picard season 3

-I’m not trying to be an asshole, but in the very first scene, Beverly Crusher is operating a pump-action phaser rifle. I really don’t mean to be a pedant, but it’s a laser gun! what exactly is she pumping?

-I assumed... and according to Wikipedia, this is the case... that time had progressed in real-time for both the Trekverse and the real world. So 21 years have passed since Star Trek: Nemesis was released--21 years have passed for Picard and co since the events of Nemesis. Then we’re introduced to characters who... seem unlikely to have existed during Nemesis. Crusher has a secret love-child that is said to be about 23 years old and Geordi has a daughter who is at least old enough to be a bridge officer on the Titan. (The actors are both in their early thirties.) The notion that all the characters, immediately after Nemesis, got down to making babies is pretty silly.

-As for Jack Crusher himself... I really wish Star Trek would stop throwing in characters that are meant to be their version of Han Solo. We tried it with the Outrageous Okana, he banged Teri Hatcher--if it didn’t work then, it’s not going to work now...

And like... I’m sure this bunch of Hollywood nepo baby commies loves the idea that Star Trek is socialist and evil late-stage capitalism and shit and like... you do realize you keep introducing these grizzled captain rogue tramp freighter characters, they undermine that completely? You’re literally characterizing the socialists as lame dweebs and the capitalists as cool, sexy badasses. Which is valid, but I don’t think you intended to do that, Alex Kurtzman, I think you’re just lousy at your job.

-The circumstances of Baby Crusher’s existence are particularly silly. I’m going to get into spoiler territory, but apparently after Nemesis, Picard and Bev started dating, had unprotected sex, and conceived a child. But this Picard is a sort of workaholic Spider-Man and Beverly realized her new son would never be safe because of all Jean-Luc’s enemies. So she cut off contact with everyone from the Enterprise and started raising young Jack with Picard having no knowledge of her existence (I’m really tired of this trope, which I think no rational human being would ever actually do, but at least Picard chews Beverly out for this psychotic and incredibly uncharacteristic decision).

-This is where the TNG characters and the Picard characters feel like two separate entities that happen to be played by the same actors and share the same names. It’s not just that as they’ve aged, their ‘character development’ has led to Stewart and co. essentially playing themselves more than anything else (at one point, Picard calls someone “a dipshit from Chicago.”). It’s also that they’re treated as action heroes who are always going rogue and getting into crazy adventures; this season even introduces a mean, by-the-book Starfleet officer who acts as something of a pissed off police commission trying to rein these loose cannons in!

That’s just not my recollection of the characters. It’s the pop culture perception of Kirk, sure, and not a particularly accurate perception. But Picard was never really a cowboy. Yet they have these dumb moments like in the first season where he shows up at Riker’s house like “I’m in trouble” and Riker turns on a forcefield and busts out the phasers like the two of them are Murtaugh and Riggs. Picard had his moments of bucking the system, but they act like he was constantly riding around on a motorcycle in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette--it’s even retroactive! They have Jean-Luc tell this anecdote about him and Jack Crusher Sr. stealing a shuttle from the Stargazer to go get laid. I really don’t think these writers have actually watched TNG--they just assume Picard is an older version of Shepherd from Mass Effect.

-Speaking of video games, the requisite superweapon this time around is portal technology. Yes, like in Portal. And the big obligatory terrorist attack is the bad guys opening a portal under a Starfleet recruitment center and then dropping it on top of a few city blocks. It’s a cool visual and all, but as a weapon, this seems to rate way behind good old-fashioned 20th-century nukes, much less all the phasers and torpedoes that are commonplace in Star Trek.

-And I know the last two seasons sucked, but it’d be nice to have some consistency. In Season 1, Picard was a contentedly retired old coot, not daredevil workaholic Spider-Man. In Season 1, Riker and Troi were happily married, albeit dealing with the grief of losing a child. Here, they’re estranged because Riker suddenly can’t take the grief we’d previously seen him work through.

And another thing: I found it risible in S1 that the technology existed to cure Riker’s son, but it was illegal, so Riker and Troi just shrugged their shoulders and said “Well, nice knowing ya, kid.” That’s the time they’d get the old gang together and steal a starship. And that’s the by-the-book, competent, dutiful officers we saw in TNG. The bunch of renegades and outlaws they’re characterized as in Picard just laid down and buried a kid? It’s so stupid!

-I know remaking The Wrath of Khan is the ol’ reliable of the Trek franchise, but this has to be the most bald-faced redo yet (with bits of Treks 3 and 4 The Force Awakens into the mix). I think Picard suffers in comparison.

-Speaking of comparisons, that “these Enterprise crew members have no respect for the law!” guy I mentioned before has a mad-on for Picard due to his time as Locutus. Obviously, that’s recycled from Sisko’s anger at Picard.

Now the DS9 example is pushing it a little far as the melodrama goes--Sisko’s being blatantly disrespectful, but still, he acknowledges the tension between them, Picard feels awkward, then they move on to official business and try to ignore the past. They actually get more heated about current events: Sisko’s reassignment and his possible departure from Starfleet.

In Picard, the character in Sisko’s shoes is far more unprofessional and emotional (we’ve given the excuse that he’s on painkillers, but you’d think that they’d have pain meds that would leave people entirely rational in the future--he certainly acts rational enough for the remainder of the episode). In front of his demoralized crew, he goes on a lengthy tirade about how much he hates Picard and all I could think by the end is that this is a guy who’s lost all respect of the people under his command. He’s more pissed off at Picard thirty years after the fact than Sisko was just a couple years after his wife died!

-They’re also doing... what I think is a dead name metaphor where the captain, because he’s a jerk, refers to Seven as Annika Hansen instead of Seven, since he hates Borg? But all it does is make it seem odd that Seven is still going by Seven long after she’s reclaimed her humanity and even joined Starfleet, given that the Borg are the ultimate evil of this universe. It’d be like if someone left a Neo-Nazi organization and decried everything they stood for, but still insisted on being referred to by their SS rank or something. What a weirdo!

-Wait, Seven joined Starfleet in Season 2, which was last year... and this year, she’s already first officer of an entire ship? Shouldn’t she still be in the Academy? And you thought it was silly when Kirk became captain of the flagship at the end of Star Trek 09!

-Raffi is awful, as usual, always either acting like a crackhead or ‘acting’ like a crackhead. She’s Space Jack Bauer now, so every scene she’s in is acted like she’s on the verge of tears, about to fly into a homicidal rage, or both. She has a scene with Special Guest Character The Audience Cares About Worf (’member Worf? I MEMBER!) where they’re both interrogating a bad guy and Worf is trying to build a rapport with the guy and Raffi is threatening to cut his dick off and shit. Raffi’s method works, because why should Star Trek be about communication and diplomacy working out when violence and aggression fails??

-My least favorite moment, though, is this bit where Riker is in command and Picard is giving him advice. Riker decides to listen to his advice, it goes to shit, and Riker turns to Picard and literally goes “You’ve just killed us all!”

You’d think a veteran starship commander would take some responsibility for his own actions instead of going “He told me to do it!” like a fucking little kid.