#another time travel fic

[workingchemistry]

“It matters not to me what form you take.” Thor soothes, echoing the words he spoke centuries earlier when Loki hesitantly explained that he was not always a prince but that did not necessarily mean he was Asgard’s princess either. “Whether you are my brother, my sister, my sibling, or a glorious snake, you are still my kin to protect above all else in Asgard.”

“And what do you propose I am, if not Asgardian?”

Fear grips tight to Thor’s heart but he does not falter. “Loki, you are Jotun.”

[collophora]

Last line challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like.)

Sorry I took my time to answer xo Thanks for tagging me @just-here-with-my-thoughts <3 <3 <3

Actually I can't show much cause all my wips are for fanzines or commissions but!

I can show you a hint of what I'm actually doing for @devinsisland apocalyptic AU zine hehe

Very sketchy 'cause some of theses were just ideas exploration I ended up throwing (they'll be cleaned and posted on social for bonus later probably)

Also follow the zine here: https://www.instagram.com/aftermathzine https://x.com/AFTERMATHzine

(not me changing a tag into a promo post xD)

I don't really know who to tag, always scared of bothering, so I'm gonna try hhhh @lightspringrain (I'm the worst, I'm tagging while you're on break so Hm, no pressure) @wrenkenstein (hello I love your art and your whole vibe apparently we're mutuals so *flies away*) @clownery-and-fuckery @electrikworm

@scarletv0id (Please ignore if you don't wanna) And mutual who see this post but I'm too shy to tag!

[punkshort]

because i have no self control and i'm super excited, i felt like sharing a tiny piece of what i've written so far for the first part of in another life:

You stopped dead in your tracks when you stepped into your apartment, door wide open behind you, two pizza boxes balancing in one hand as you stared blankly at the massive man standing with his back to you in the middle of the living room. He was dressed in some strange type of robe that fell just above his knee and his head was bent, looking at something on your coffee table. When you cleared your throat, he swung around and defensively placed a hand at his waist. That was when you noticed the massive and very real looking sword at his side and your blood ran cold. "D-Danny!" you yelled, your eyes glued to the stranger's hand. As if he finally sensed your fear, he dropped his arm and straightened up. "Apologies-" "Danny!" you yelled again, louder this time. "Yeah? Hey! Sorry," Danny said, hurrying into the room with Lizard following on his heels. "Oh, pizza? Sweet," Lizard said, reaching for the boxes and brushing past you as if an armed man wasn't standing in the middle of your home. "Who the hell is this?!" you exclaimed, pointing towards the stranger while glaring at your brother. "I told you already, he's a friend who's crashing on the couch for a few days," he replied, following Lizard into the kitchen, pizza the only concern at that point. "My lady," the man began again, "please allow me to explain." "My lady?" you repeated with a scowl. "I thought you guys stopped playing Dungeons and Dragons after high school." "That's not -" Danny shook his head with a mouthful of pizza, "this is General Acacius." "General?" you said quizzically, raising an eyebrow first at Danny, then towards the large man in your living room. "Be serious, Danny." "He is!" "I promise, what he says is true," the general chimed in, taking a step closer and stretching out his hand. You sighed and dropped your things onto your table. "I'm too tired for this, it's been a long week." The general frowned, hand still outstretched. "Daniel, please explain to your mistress she is not to challenge men above her lover's ranking." You balked and gagged. "Lover?!" "Mistress?" Danny said at the same with a similar look of disgust. "Gross, dude, she's my sister." Something in the general's face shifted when he learned you were siblings and he looked at you with renewed interest. "Ah, so you do not belong to another?"

[kg-clark-inthedark]

Another short fan comic I made for @uncontrol-freak’s dh fic, Abyssal. This one’s for chapter 16! I was given a few chapters to choose from when I said I wanted to draw more for the fic, and I couldn’t pass up a dramatic Void scene :)

If you like corvosider, dark themes, and fics with regular updates that keep you on your toes, then I highly recommend checking this story out (and leaving nice comments while you’re at it)

[stormsthatrage]

AU Concept where the Winter War was a thousand times worse.

At the end of it all, Ichigo rips the Hogyoku out of Aizen's chest and uses the power to send himself back in time. As soon as he arrives in the past (the past, back when Kisuke was still a captain and the Visored weren't Visored and none of all that tragedy had happened yet), Ichigo kills Aizen. He doesn't beat around the bush, doesn't wait for the perfect moment, doesn't try to be sneaky.

After all, why would he? Ichigo is powerful enough to attack straight-out, the tragedy he is trying to prevent is so immense that it truly feels too risky to wait, and he's broken enough that he doesn't care what will happen to him -- an apparent Ryoka -- after killing a Gotei 13 vice-captain for seemingly no reason.

What happens to him is this:

Ichigo is found, kneeling beside Aizen's cooling corpse. Ichigo has Aizen's blood spattered up to his elbows -- it wasn't a clean kill, nor a quick one.

Ichigo lets himself be taken into Gotei 13 custody. (Again, he no longer cares what happens to himself.) He is spared execution for two reasons. First, they need to know who he is and how he did it. It is a scary thing, for a Ryoka to be powerful enough to murder a vice-captain. Second, the Shiba Clan has used their influence to petition for clemency, at least for a time. It is obvious that Ichigo must be a Shiba, and Kaien is desperate to find out where Ichigo came from, who his parents are, and how one of his own family managed to fall through the cracks like this. (Kaien sees it a bit as a personal failure -- what happened, that someone who is clearly his cousin went unclaimed for so long, and became so lost as to murder a vice-captain?)

Cue a series of interrogations (there's no actual torture, it's just verbal questioning, thanks again to that Shiba protection) where Captain Urahara tries to figure out who, exactly, this powerful Ryoka is.

Ichigo -- who is broken in so many ways -- sees how much happier this younger version of Kisuke is, and decides not to reveal anything. Ichigo isn't exactly thinking straight at this point, and he sees no future for himself. So, naturally, he decides that it's best not to spread the suffering around, that it's best to keep the horrors and burdens to himself, and so he keeps his mouth shut about all the important things.

Meanwhile, in the background, Aizen's web of illusions are starting to unravel. Slowly, members of the Gotei 13 wake up. Shinigami begin to realize how far the morals of their institutions have fallen. People realize how much weaker the Court Guard has gotten over the years.

And then people start remembering specific moments where Aizen ensnared them, or made them forget something, or influenced them to take an action they never, not in a million years, would have voluntarily done.

They realize that the Ryoka murderer saved them from an incredible catastrophe.

Ichigo's sentence is mostly lifted, but thanks to Central 46 influence, he's still in a parole-type situation. (Kaien could only do so much. Even with proof that Ichigo had saved them, the Central 46 is still uneasy that Ichigo was able to kill Aizen.)

Ichigo's interrogations continue. It's just that instead of questioning Ichigo in a cold cell in order to find answers in order to protect the Court Guard, Urahara starts subtly prying for answers over, for example, a cup of tea in the Shiba family gardens -- so that he can better understand Ichigo's situation and more effectively help the idiot. Because it's clear Ichigo has saved them all, but it's also clear that Ichigo only knew they needed saving because Aizen had, at some point, broken him.

When enough of Aizen's illusions have unraveled, Operation Help-Ichigo becomes a group effort among the Captains and the Shiba family. (Of course, Kisuke was the first person on the operation, and he's not giving up his lead role, not even now, when everyone else has finally gotten on the same page.)

Cue the bonding with Ichigo. Kaien, Shinji, Kyoraku, everyone, they're all trying to help him.

Ichigo, of course, thinks this is all part of the interrogation routine. He thinks they're trying to manipulate him into opening up, and then once he talks, they'll throw him into a cell to rot for the rest of eternity. It takes a while for people to notice this miscommunication, and even longer for Ichigo to believe them when they try to rectify it.

Thanks that happen at some point:

Someone realizes that Ichigo is actually really, really young. This revelation has all the expected consequences.

Kaien holds it together in the moment, when he realizes that Ichigo thinks his attempts to bring him into the family are just a prolonged interrogation method. But once he's alone with Miyako, he cries his heart out.

Kisuke uses a specific onmitsukido technique to trick information out of Ichigo, but Ichigo knows Kisuke too well to fall for it. Even if Ichigo can't tell exactly what Kisuke is doing, he can recognize Kisuke's "I'm up to something" body-language.

Shinji and the other Visord start noticing a strange connection with Ichigo. (Pack is permanent. Turns out, that holds true both forwards and backwards temporally...)

Ichigo, in his state of emotional numbness, frequently says or does things that betray a high-level of familiarity with people he has no reason to be extremely familiar with. It's through this sort of slip-up that the time travel is eventually discovered.

[obikinwhore]

Obiwan fighting Vader to protect AOTC Anakin who accidentally time traveled to OWK time. Vader was going to kill the boy because how dare he. How dare THEY.

Vader caught them. He caught the softness in Obiwan's eyes, the kiss that admittedly Anakin gave Obiwan but Obiwan didn’t deflect. It’s not fucking fair. Why is Obiwan protecting him? Why did he let the brat kiss him. Vader wanted that. Couldn't ever find a way to do it. Obiwan never let him but when that brat told him that he kissed his master, that he won’t forsake Obiwan like Vader did.

That Anakin will stay with him and marry him and consummate their love and together they will defeat Vader. No… Vader will kill Skywalker. Will kill that part of himself again or maybe use the brat as a hostage. To keep Obiwan at his rightful place beside Vader.

OG Tweet

[azu1as]

You are amazing! Amazing! And I'm a greedy person, so I propose: Older! Time traveler! Baek Cheon and Tang Bo compete for Cheong Myeong's affection. CM is oblivious and CMun is in hell reserved for protective older brothers. Those perverted bastards! How dare they lust after his precious, naive and innocent sajae?! He'll break their heads!

You're so sweet to me 🥺🫶 thank you so much!!!!

also I ADORE TIME TRAVEL AUs sm you have no idea how giddy I got when I saw this ask WAHAHAHA

»—————————–✄

"Oh? He's pretty handsome..."

Tang Bo almost spills the alcohol he was pouring into his cup. His eyes immediately snap towards Chung Myung's face as he slowly lowers the bottle back on the table.

This guy slouched in front of him wasn't someone who gave compliments that easily. It took months of nudging and stubborn insistence for Chung Myung to finally admit that Tang Bo was 'passable-looking, sure, whatever'—a compliment that had to be drawn out tooth and nail but one that Tang Bo won through hard work and effort.

So, surely, he must have misheard Chung Myung's muttering.

"Did you say something, hyung-nim?" Tang Bo asks, smile twitching stiffly at the way Chung Myung's gaze remained locked on something—someone—behind Tang Bo as he took a long sip from his own cup.

"That man behind you," Chung Myung replies, pointing at the subject of their conversation with his mouth non-too-discretely. "He looks like a traveling prince or something."

Tang Bo doesn't know what minute expression passed through his face, but Chung Myung catches it well enough and raises a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I'm serious." Chung Myung insists, not realizing that Tang Bo is irritated for a completely different reason. "He really does look like some well-off to-do guy."

Tang Bo huffs and turns around without any subtlety whatsoever, determined to see what 'this prince guy' looked like to have managed to snag his hyung's attention so easily.

Tang Bo lets out an indignant noise. Okay, he'll admit it. The guy was abnormally handsome. He had well-defined androgynous facial features and an equally well-defined body, Tang Bo thinks, as his gaze locks onto the man's thick and muscled arms.

There might have been merit in Chung Myung's comment about this guy probably being a prince of sorts. If he was, Tang Bo would hedge a guess that he was a runaway one.

The man wore faded, plain white robes without any discernable insignia marking him from a sect or family. He had a similarly white headband strapped across his forehead with dark bangs framing an unblemished face.

If he was trying to disguise himself or hide his identity, he was doing a terrible job at it. Despite the simplicity of his outfit, his presence alone (and face) demanded attention.

"Told you." Chung Myung cheekily says, laughing at Tang Bo's disgruntled expression.

Even Tang Bo could admit that the man looks like he stepped out of one of the many heroic epics that common folk often passed around through books and verbal tales. How unfair.

Grumbling lightly, Tang Bo turns back to their table and throws back his cup of alcohol. "Bet he's just some rich runaway brat."

"Eh? Probably. But—ah, huh?"

A shadow falls over Tang Bo and he watches as Chung Myung's surprised face ends up trained above Tang Bo's head.

"Hello." The man greets them with his deep voice.

Ugh, Tang Bo grimaces as he pulls back his chair away from the man's shadow. Even his voice sounded handsome if that were even possible.

But Tang Bo was the gentleman between him and his hyung, so he replies, faking politeness, "Can we help you? My companion and I are in the middle of a meal together, you see."

Tang Bo tenses, immediately on guard when he sees the man's eyes sharpen as it turns towards him, clearly recognizing the dismissive tone Tang Bo used.

Other than an indecipherable flash in his eyes, the man's face (which felt more punch-able by the second, if you asked Tang Bo) remained unchanged.

The disruptor kept his gentle smile and Tang Bo was certain that he chose to stand where he did because of the way the lightbulb illuminated his face from above.

"It's alright, I can wait."

If Tang Bo had any less self-control, he would have already grabbed the man by the lapels of his faded robes and tossed him out of the establishment himself.

Who the hell was this man to have the audacity to look at his Chung Myung with such a warm gaze as he said that?

"Ha. Ha." Tang Bo grits out, a vein in his jaw ticking.

He doesn't care if this man looks like the textbook and fairytale version of a heroic warrior. His shamelessness should cancel out that stupid-looking face of his...!

Tang Bo feels a part of his soul leave at the unfairness of it all when Chung Myung shifts in his seat in involuntary self-consciousness.

Normal people wouldn't have noticed that—hell, not even Chung Myung himself probably realized!—but Tang Bo knew his hyung. They've spent too much time together to not not know each other's body language.

So why?

Why the hell did Tang Bo just spot a smirk on the man's face, huh?!?!

Chung Myung's eyes waver momentarily for reasons Tang Bo couldn't pick out, but Chung Myung hesitantly (why, hyung?!) opens his mouth and asks, "Have we...met before?"

Tang Bo's eyes nearly bulge out of his skull at the flirtatious-sounding sentence.

He knows Chung Myung doesn't realize it, but his hyung was personally handing over a signed warrant to this man, allowing him permission to take as many shameless liberties as he wanted.

In times like this, Tang Bo wishes his hyung wasn't as socially oblivious as he was.

He knows it's a futile hope to wish that the man missed the opening. But he seemed to recognize that Chung Myung was asking the question with pure face value.

Nonetheless, Tang Bo wishes he hadn't suggested this very detour for some alcohol because then they wouldn't have encountered this tall man in front of them.

The stupid, headband-wearing man hums as he fiddles lightly with the pink tassel on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

His gaze goes a bit distant as if recalling a far-off memory, and when he blinks back to reality, he lets out a deep, vibrating chuckle and locks eyes with Chung Myung.

"You were unforgettable."

Tang Bo's lips tremble. Why did it sound as if this man was insinuating something? His words felt like a romantic confession as well as a pointed barb directed at Tang Bo.

Chung Myung coughs lightly at the odd compliment thrown at him and throws back in one go the remaining alcohol in their shared bottle. He chuckles awkwardly before motioning at the man to sit down on the other side of the table.

Tang Bo doesn't think Chung Myung realizes it, but a light pink flush is spread over his cheeks.

And Tang Bo, unconsciously crushing the cup of alcohol in his hand, knew that it wasn't because of the alcohol.

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part Four

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

"Steve! Steve get up!" Robin's voice jolts him awake before she even reaches his cot to shake him.

"Wha?" is all the noise Steve manages to make in his sleep haze. His body is already sat up and swinging his legs off the cot before he even opens his eyes to see Robin.

"We have to go. Now," Robin grabs his wrist and tugs until he stands. She reaches past him to grab his mask from where it must have fallen off the cot while he slept as well as his boots which he barely remembers even untying. He's still wearing his jacket, he realizes. He was really out of it last night it seems.

"What's happening?"

"There's a Storm moving in," Robin says, shoving his mask into his arms before grabbing his elbow to get him walking. He goes without struggle.

"Okay? Can I put my boots on at least?"

"Put the mask on. You can put on your boots in the truck."

He obeys, masking up as she drags him out of the high school and towards one of the box trucks they'd just unloaded yesterday. She manhandles him into the back, climbing in after him. Hopper appears to close the door with just a nod at Robin and him before it shuts and latches.

Robin's flashlight flicks on and she tosses his boots to him.

"What happened?" he asks as he pulls them on.

"Wayne radioed."

He freezes in the middle of lacing up the first boot, his whole body feeling suddenly cold. "What happened?"

"They missed the check in."

"Robin," he hisses as fear climbs his spine.

"That's all we know, Steve," Robin whispers and it's the worst response she could give. Not with what she said but with how she says it. Quietly, gently, like Steve's a spooked animal that might attack at any moment. "It might just be a blown tire, or they ran out of gas. We won't know until we find them, and we have to do that before the Storm gets here."

He doesn't respond, focusing on tying his boots instead. It could be fine. It really could. It wouldn't be the first time a check in was missed due to a blown tire. But all the other times didn't have Dustin onboard, didn't have Eddie and Lucas. Didn't have people he'd lost- but. No? Lost? He's never lost them; he doesn't understand why a horrible grieving feeling washes over him.

Eddie, Dustin and Lucas often go out together to fix up the old Cerebro or to build new ones, just a little bit further than last time. Trying to extend the range little by little. Steve knows Cerebro used to reach Suzie in Utah, but the Storms drop the range so much. Whatever is in the air from the Upside Down has fucked everything in ways no one really could plan for.

"They have to be okay, Robbie," Steve finally whispers. It still echoes around them in the empty of box. "I can't- I can't lose him."

"You won't," Robin says, fierce and so sure. It's not a promise she can actually make, they both know that, but it's Robin saying it, so he's going to believe it.

More silence, the truck bouncing them around not too gently for several minutes before Steve asks, "who is driving?"

"Hop. El's in the passenger seat."

El's not a magical fix-all, but having her along decreases Steve's stress significantly. "Well, fuck, why didn't you lead with that."

Robin clicks her flashlight off, dropping them into complete darkness. "What would be the fun of that?"

-

The truck comes to a sudden stop, judging by how Robin and he are thrown around by it. He hears Robin mutter a quiet 'fuck' before the loading door unlatched with a loud scrape and opens almost violently. No one is waiting them, so Steve must assume El's used her power to free them.

He doesn't like what that implies for what they've found.

Steve scrambles out of the truck and rounds it on the passenger side. El's door is left hanging open. It takes him a few more steps to register the wreckage of another box truck off the road and on its side. One of the doors from the back is torn off, laying several yards away, and random bits of machinery are strewn about. There's a large inward dent almost perfectly centered between the front and back.

"Where are they?" he hears Hopper ask, and that's when Steve realizes he stopped moving because Hopper sounds far away still. He's frozen, staring at the wreckage, the large dent in the side of the truck that tells the story of a hard impact. They didn't crash on accident; something forced them off the road. Judging by the lack of large object, he can only assume it was some Upside Down horror, new or old he doesn't know.

"Steve," Robin comes into his view, getting close enough to prevent him from seeing most of the wrecked truck. "Come on."

He follows her on instinct, because he'd follow her anywhere.

The Storm rumbles above them.

El turned on her heel and began marching in the opposite direction of the wrecked truck. "This way. There is a building. Dustin is there."

Steve doesn't even have a weapon. Robin dragged him directly from bed to the back of the truck and he's still wearing the same clothes he's had on for almost a month now because when you're trying to survive the apocalypse, a change of clothing never feels worth the space it'll take up in your bag.

El leads the way, more soldier than woman and it hurts Steve's heart a bit. Another regret in a long list of them- but less than there used to be?

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a shake, trying to clear the thoughts. What is wrong with him? Dustin, Lucas, and Eddie might be in serious trouble and he's, what, imagining regrets he doesn't actually have? Trying to process the grief of something he's never lost?

When he opens his eyes, El is looking at him, head tilted slightly to the side. He cannot see much of her face beyond her eyes because of the mask. She squints at him, as if that will help her see him better before she turns, continues to lead them towards what Steve can see if a barn in the distance.

El pushes the barn door open with her mind, calling out, "Dustin! It is me!"

"Oh fucking- thank fuck," Dustin says before he comes into view. "Is that thing still out there?"

"We didn't see anything," Hopper answers.

"That's a relief to hear," Lucas' voice joins them from somewhere but he doesn't appear in view.

Not being able to see Lucas kicks Steve back into gear. "Where are you?"

Dustin extracts himself from the hug he was sharing with El (since when do they hug so intimately? He's only seen El like this with Mike- but no, wait, Mike and Will have been together for years now and-) "This way. His leg's broken."

"Fuck, just his leg?" Steve asks, following Dustin back in the direction he came from. There they find Lucas, sitting up against the wall. His leg's not visibly broken, it's not jutting out at an odd angle or anything, so that's good. Or, well, better than it could have been.

Dustin says, "Yeah. Oh! Oh, you must've seen the wreck coming up the road. We weren't in the truck when that thing barreled into it. Bathroom break, actually-"

"Wait. Where's Eddie?" Robin interrupts.

"What. He's not with you?" Dustin answers, and Steve feels like he's been doused in ice water suddenly. "He left to head back, get help. He said he'd stay on the road!"

"We didn't see anyone on the road," Hopper says. "El?"

"I am on it," El says, eyes closing.

Steve thinks his heart has stopped. Eddie has to be fine, he has to be. Steve went through so much to make sure he was okay; he changed the goddamn past to resurrect him and- pain shoots through Steve with such a force he audibly grunts in pain and sways sideways, using the barn wall to keep himself upright.

"Steve!" Robin whisper-shouts.

His mind feels foggy, and his vision is blurry when he tries to look towards Robin. He- he- what was he thinking? It's like his thoughts are just gone, ripped from him as if they were water poured over his hands. He could feel them but instead of cupping his hands to catch the water, it's like he can't do anything but make a fist.

What was he just thinking? Where did his thoughts go?

"-feel terrible. I should have made sure he was good to go before dragging him out the door," Robin is saying when Steve's head stops pounding.

He wants to assure her that he's fine, but if he's being honest, he's not sure that he is. He blinks a few times, his vision clearing, before he looks at the group. Hopper is splinting Lucas's break, Robin and Dustin are in conversation off to the side, and El is by the door, unmoving. He shoves off the wall and heads over to her.

She turns her head to look at him. "He is hiding in the wreckage. Go. We will be there once Lucas can be moved."

He doesn't like that she says it quietly, for his ears only. A found party member should be something shared with everyone, so why is she telling only him? "El-"

"Go. I- Just go, Steve. We will be right behind you," El commands, and Steve obeys.

He doesn't start off at a dead sprint, but he gets to one pretty quick. He's thinking of what scenario could have caused Eddie to return to the wrecked truck, rather than the barn or keep going back towards Hawkins but all he can imagine is whatever was big enough to toss the truck off the road trying to do the same to Eddie.

Why didn't they check the truck when they stopped? How had El not known Eddie was- oh, Steve realizes. She wasn't looking for the group. She was looking for Dustin. When had that- since when were they close?

Red lightning streaks across the sky, a dangerous rumble following.

Shit, focus Harrington, Steve thinks as he comes up on the site of the wreck. He blows past their own truck, scrambling down the embankment and the short distance to the truck. "Eddie! Eddie!"

He's not sure what kind of noise Eddie makes but it's enough of a sound for Steve to find him. He's leaning against the side (roof?) of the truck, head lolled forward and kind of curled in on himself. For a moment there Steve's afraid Eddie's dead, but then he hears a wheezing sort-of whine. It propels him forward to drop in front of Eddie.

"Eddie," Steve whispers, hands reaching out to tip Eddie's face up and it's only then that the reality of it all sinks in. He shouldn't have been able to hear Eddie's breathing with a mask, but he sees Eddie doesn't have a mask on. And it wouldn't be the end of the world -they've been in the upside down without masks before- but the Red Storm is lethal. "Eddie, Eddie, where's your mask?"

Eddie blinks open his eyes and squints at him. Steve takes a quick inventory of him. His arms are wrapped around himself, and Steve can see that there's a deep gash on his thigh. Demogorgon claw probably, ripping right through his jeans and into the meat of his leg. When he speaks, it comes out soft and pained. "Who-?"

"Hey, it's me. It's Steve. Where's your mask? I'll go grab it real quick."

"Broke. Lost. Should be 'nother in the truck," Eddie mumbles through his squished cheeks that Steve wasn't even fully aware of cupping. He blinks a few times before his eyes widen and he says, "Dustin, Lucas are they-"

"Fine. They're fine. Hopper, El, and Robin are with them. Just got to splint Lucas' leg and the-" Thunder rumbles dangerously, a deep thing Steve feels in his chest. "Fuck, where are you hurt?"

"Hurt? Hurt, hurt," Eddie repeats a few times like he's puzzling out the words. "My fuckin' leg. Think I twisted my ankle at some point. Stomach," he drops his hands then, so show Steve the three cuts across his torso, too. They aren't nearly as deep at the wound on his thigh, thankfully.

More rumbling. The Storm's here and Eddie's- Eddie's doesn't have- Steve looks around, ignoring for now Eddie's inquisitive noise. He stands quickly and rounds the truck. It's filled with radio bits and bobs but there'll be room for him and Eddie to be out of the toxic rain.

Steve works quickly, throwing everything out of the truck as quickly as possible, sweeping things to one side so he can drag Eddie as far into the back as possible to avoid the rain. He wants, more than anything, to get Eddie to the truck they arrived in, but he knows he won't be able to get Eddie up the embankment alone, not without the risk of falling back down the incline and hurting them both.

As it stands, he has to drag Eddie around the truck and into the box trailer. Eddie's injuries are survivable, but he can't put any pressure on the leg with the gash. He settles Eddie against the back wall laying down. He hadn't thought too much about positioning, so it ends up Eddie's got to lay facing away from the doors in order to not lay on his wounded leg. Steve's shed his jacket, balling it up so Eddie can use it as pillow, then his shirt goes next, used to create a barrier between Eddie's leg wound and the soon to be extra toxic air. It's not great, but it'll help.

"Got nothing for your stomach wounds," Steve laments.

"Let's just zip my jacket and hope that helps," Eddie says, so Steve does. Eddie doesn't even try to fight him off as he zips him in like a child.

Now that Eddie and he are, somewhat, safe from the storm, he starts rooting around for that other mask Eddie said was in the truck. At least, he's hoping he meant this part of the truck and not the cab.

Plink.

Shit, fuck, he throws things around with abandon now, and quickly finds the other mask. It's smashed and cracked, probably from the weight of the whatever was bouncing around back here when the truck left the road.

Fuck.

Plink. Plink plink plinkplinkplink.

The rain falls, and Steve rips his mask off, rushing to Eddie to get it on him. "Here, here, I found the other mask, just lift you head- yeah, okay. Okay. You'll be okay."

Eddie pulls in a deep breath once the mask is secured, and Steve realizes just how shallowly Eddie'd been breathing before. "Fuck. Deep breaths hurt, man."

"Keep doing it anyway," Steve orders, turning his back to Eddie to watch the doorway and to prevent Eddie from being able to see he gave up his mask. He knows Eddie'll try and make him take it back but- but Eddie's injured, and they've no way to patch his wounds, and he's already breathed who knows how much shit air already. Steve knows he's more likely to survive breathing the toxic air left in the wake of the almost black rain falling from the sky than Eddie would be.

"Hey Steve. If this- if I don't-"

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," Steve's words are harsh but his voice comes out choked. "You're gonna be fine." Steve twists just enough to feel around for Eddie's hand, holding it tightly when he finds it.

"But if I'm not-"

"You're going to. You're gonna be fine so- so once you're back to Hawkins, and given clean bills of health, you can say whatever it is then."

"Steve."

Steve draws in a shaky breath that burns his lungs; not from the held back tears but from the storm. He should have ripped a part of his shirt off to use as a filter. It wouldn't- the difference might not have mattered, but his lungs wouldn't burn as much. "You'll be fine. You'll be okay. That's- that's," he stops talking because it hurts.

"... Why won't you say we. Why isn't it we'll be fine."

Steve looks over to where he'd left the broken mask. He can't lie. Eddie knows him too well for that anymore, but saying the truth out loud will hurt them both, and Steve doesn't- if he's going to- No regrets. Steve doesn't want to die with regrets. "I should have asked you out years ago."

Eddie squeezes his hand so hard it hurts. "Steve."

"I couldn't- couldn't be that selfish, I kept telling myself. Said I'd-" Steve stops because the pain makes him want to cough, so he does for a bit before he can continue, "said I'd do it once we ended the apocalypse. But that was- I was just scared. Scared you'd say no. More scared you'd say yes. I'm sorry."

"Steve. Steve, take the mask," Eddie says, and Steve can feel him trying to roll over. Hears him hiss in pain, so Steve moves faster. Lays down next to him, snakes his arms around him to hold him in place as he shoves his nose into Eddie's hair, burrowing in until he feels his nose hit the back Eddie's neck. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath then, breaths in the scent of him.

"I would have made you dinner on our first date. Let you pick a movie-"

"You don't get to do this to me! You don't-"

"-even though I think you have terrible taste in movies-"

"Stop. Stop talking. Don't-"

"-Maybe even raided the arcade for some silly stuffed animal to give you-"

"I don't- I want that. I want that, so stop talking! Stop- b-breath as little as possible!"

"'m sorry. 'm being selfish," Steve says, even as it hurts. Because it might be his regrets he's confessing, but making Eddie listen to things Steve won't be able to give him is selfish. Steve's not the one who will have to live with the knowledge.

His lungs burn. All of his insides kind of feel itchy now. He nuzzles at Eddie and places a kiss where he can reach, even as Eddie sobs in his grasp.

One last chance, Steve. I am sorry.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss

[shima-draws]

Question for no particular reason if someone, not me, hypothetically wrote a fix it fic where Izuku goes back in time to save a young Tenko, would you, the audience, prefer that to take place BEFORE Tenko kills his entire family with Decay or AFTER

[sleeps-au-bag]

au idea where it's third semester but akira (or ren, if you prefer) and akechi only manage to get sumi to wake up from the false reality and the three of them face maruki alone. and maruki's losing. he's so obsessed with trying to "make them see the light" that he's losing control over the false reality.

he makes the desperate attempt at sending them back in time but still within the false reality to make them see his vision. he attempts to erase their memories of these past few years and make false ones for the false past.

it fails. kind of.

he did send them back in time, but they're in the true reality now. unfortunately, they now have the personalities of their past selves.

akira is now loud, fiercely loyal, and has a bit of a mean streak.

sumi is a bit more confident, happier, and outgoing.

akechi is now reserved, anxious, and even more of a people pleaser.

at least they find out they all apparently went to the same school for a year.

did i mention that it's 2009? in a certain port city?

[morganmnemonic]

Sketch of a comic for my Magnus archives au. This idea occurred to me and I felt like the funniest man alive

[atlantablack]

Babylon lovers hangin' lifetimes on a vine

Bilbo/Thorin | 6,787 | T+

It goes like this – Bilbo falls asleep near the shores of the undying lands and then, for some unknown reason, he wakes up, once again fifty years old, and well, he doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

Or: Thorin just wanted a half-decent burglar, the company just wanted a decent meal, and Bilbo's finally having to deal with all that grief he's been putting off for decades.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56894980

[rainybyday]

How did my Warring State era time travel au became a plotical war, cus, like, my main point of conflic what preventing the future like any good time travel ever. And yet I have:

Political war with Senju and Uchiha (and maybe Hatake)

Actual war

The Elders of those two clans (Hatakes will have a diff system) might do a coup because their clan leaders inaction of what they deemed the approperat action for bastard children

The Daimyo will get involved because the issuse of teh Senju and Uchiha are bleeding to another clan that is known to have civilians in their clan from differnet lands, so if Hatake's are involed, so will Daimyo (So THE political war)

Trying not to make a butterfly effect

The inner conflic with Team Seven and their relationships with each other

Creating Konoha without fucking it up

Zetsu

The list is growing as I write, which, is both sad and fantastic because of what each plot point will bring to this au

[celestialseawitch-ff]

[aromatixx]

little shitpost i did for my fic

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“Riddle, did you hear about the new war refugees?”

Tom sat comfortably in a fine leather chair by the fireplace. Its top back boasted a swooping curved wood carving of snakes at play, the detail work all done in delicate silver filigree. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very comfortable chair at all, as ostentatious as it was and no doubt older than Headmaster Dippet himself—but Tom would not be seen as picky of all things. His image of imperturbable Head Boy was undoubtedly always at stake.

Glancing up from his book, a spelt hidden copy of Dark Curses; The Uncounterable, Tom deigned Abraxas with his already drifting attention. “You’ll have to be more specific, Abraxas. There have been, after all, nearly sixty or so of them.”

Abraxas never huffed, but this was a near thing, “Yes, yes. Well, all those other ones aren’t worth our time. These refugees have just sorted Slytherin.”

Ah, that was interesting. The children sent here from Grindelwald’s warpath have all been the same in some way. They have come injured almost beyond repair, some still recovering in the medi-wing. They have come devastated by their loss, newly orphaned and longing for their homes. They have come angry, lashing out and vicious, headstrong to a fault— Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs through and through.

It was almost a surprise none had so far come with any ambition or cunning loud enough to sway the hat to their esteemed house. Surely the rumours of Slytherin House and their darker leanings could not have reached every new ear.

It almost had the makings of a conspiracy. Or it had, before these new students.

“More than one?” Tom asked.

Abraxas crossed his arms and raised his chin, pleased to have Tom’s attention. He loved gossiping, a terrible and useful habit that Tom often happily exploited. “Three of them,” he leaned in closer, “and they all claim to be siblings. But it’s absolutely absurd; they look nothing close to related. The only thing they share in common is their surname.”

Tom thought it odd that they would feel the need to lie about something so simple. “When did they arrive?”

“This morning. I passed by Slughorn, who could not help himself from sharing with Avery and me his absolute delight at having new Slytherins to take under his wing.” Abraxas frowned, “Though that was ages ago. It is strange he’s yet to introduce them to you.” He continued muttering, and Tom’s attention returned to his book, “You’re his favourite, Head Boy and all. You’d make the best impression….”

Tom hummed, noncommittal. It wouldn’t do to look anything more than humble, though he doubted Abraxas would notice. “I’m sure we will meet them soon. Lunch starts in an hour.”

— —

And meet, they did.

New students used to be all the rage. Tittering and giggling and whispering abound. Some stares of sympathy, pity. New students used to be an unnecessary building of energy that would last over the course of several days until it inevitably died off. So Tom was grateful when the shiny lustre of sad little children arriving in droves finally pittered into solemn, if curious, acceptance. Not an unusual occurrence by any means.

These three students appear to have brought that ridiculous energy back.

They entered the Great Hall late, and Tom assumed this was reason one of a long list that triggered the excitement. Slughorn and Dippet were decidedly absent, and when they arrived, it was with the new Slytherins in tow. This wouldn’t have caused any fuss if it hadn’t been for Slughorn’s naturally boisterous voice and Dippet’s worried frown at whatever inane things he was spouting. Their conversation drew attention like moths to a flame.

“And this is the Great Hall! Truly a marvel, is it not?” Slughorn proclaimed with large, outstretched hands. Displaying the hall like a muggle magic trick. Disgusting.

Reason two revealed itself in the new students’ reactions. It was customary to feel some sense of awe when seeing the Great Hall for the first time. Tom certainly remembers his. How the night shone brighter than he’d ever known it capable of away from the smog of London. How magic made even the stars that much more attainable.

But one of the students had simply stopped. He was half a head shorter than the other boy and about level with the girl, with dark hair and glasses. Tom couldn’t see much else that distinguished him from any other classmate, but there was a way he held himself that was so different from the other students that had come and toured the castle. He looked upon the duller grey sky of today’s dreary rainstorm with something that wasn’t quiet wonder or amazement. His siblings certainly didn’t share his interest, hardly glancing at the ceiling at all, finding the food much more appealing.

No, Tom was sure he wasn’t taking in the majesty of the hall’s fine spellwork; if anything, he seemed so incredibly relieved.

His siblings’ reactions to his pause, when they finally noticed he’d stopped at the doors and they’d gone on without him, Tom assumed caused reason three for the excitement. They rushed to him with a startled “Harry!” and grabbed his arms, gripping him hard enough to pull him out of his trance. His head bounced rapidly between the two, a lanky ginger and a girl with hair so poofy Tom thought her part puffskein, obviously bewildered.

The girl had gone so far as to cradle his face, her palm pressed to the flat of his cheek. Tom couldn’t make out the words from here, but the students lunching were suddenly less inclined to make much noise, the sound dropping to a polite chatter. Everyone wanted to eavesdrop, it seemed.

This led to reason four: these… siblings… they were really very, very close.

And suddenly the excitement knew no peace.

“Merlin,” Emmett Parkinson scoffed, “what are they? Lovers? I thought you said they were family, Malfoy?”

Abraxas dragged his attention away from their display to respond indignant, “That’s what I was told!”

“He’d also said they were triplets,” Cygnus Black chimed in, revulsion evident across his features. “Those mudbloods seem to have carried a nasty muggle trait here with them,” he smirked, “careful. It could be catching.”

Muted laughter carried its way through the seventh and some sixth-year Slytherins. It was rich of Cygnus to throw such blatant accusations of incest around, but Tom could admit that if they kept this up, the Evans would be torn apart within the day. Such softness was frowned upon in their house.

Slughorn and Dippet brought them to the staff table and quickly introduced them to the Professors. “These three bright minds are Harry, Ronald, and Hermione Evans! Our newest seventh-years! I’ve been told we can expect great things from them,” Slughorn said. He puffed up like he always did when he boasted about his Slytherin students. However, it was rare to see him boast about students he hardly knew.

Then the most curious thing happened.

Slughorn turned toward the Slytherin table, eyes searching until they fell upon Tom and ambled over. This wasn’t surprising; Tom expected to meet them as Abraxas had said and expected Slughorn to introduce them to him first. Abraxas was not wrong about Slughorn favouring Tom over others.

“And this is our very own Head Boy, Tom Riddle! Tom is an exceptional young lad. He’ll be invaluable during your time here regarding any questions or concerns you might have— a vital resource!” Slughorn chortled and patted Tom’s shoulder.

What surprised Tom, and what was wholly unexpected, was the blatant hostility after they were introduced.

Hermione Evans was a plain girl with a deep complexion, made plainer by her pinched brows and tilted head as though Tom were a very disagreeable book but one she just needed to get through to argue its faults fully. Finally, after a long moment of staring, she gave a little nod that seemed more toward herself than him and said, “Hello.”

“Merlin,” started Ronald Evans, broken from whatever trance had consumed him by the girl’s voice. He was decidedly the odd one out of the trio, with his tall frame rivalling Tom’s height and his bright hair and pale, freckled face. Seeing them all up close made it even more apparent how impossible their claims of being triplets were. Surely if they were triplets, they’d be a medical marvel. “I promise we won’t go to you for shite.”

Tom’s brows raised. Hermione Evans hissed out a berating “Ronald” and whipped around to stare at him aghast. She hit his arm when he simply shrugged unapologetically.

Tom ignored them in favour of casting his attention to the final Evans, Harry. Hermione Evans and Harry shared more in common. They shared wild hair and sun-kissed skin and height. Yet their differences were aplenty. Harry’s hair was darker, and his eyes were brighter— a vivid green that Tom couldn’t seem to place but knew was undoubtedly familiar— and he had a long jagged scar that cut down his forehead and through his brow. It marred his face with a dull unhealed red.

Harry did not look at Tom, refused to, and kept his head held high and sight straight ahead to the wall opposite. Such an intense focus.

When it became clear Tom wouldn’t receive much of a greeting from Harry either, he spoke. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Tom smiled charmingly. It was the kind he pulled out on rare occasions when he knew people were looking down on him for his name and, ultimately, blood status. Though, he didn’t think that to be the problem at the moment. “If you do find yourselves needing assistance, I would be happy to lend a hand.”

“Very good!” Slughorn continued, oblivious or simply ignoring the odd tension. “I’ll be sure to get you your timetables by tomorrow morning, students! For now, enjoy the rest of your day!”

And then they were alone with all of Slytherin House paying very close attention.

Tom opened his mouth, readying himself to invite the trio to sit with him during lunch. If anyone could pick information out efficiently, it would be his knights, but Hermione Evans beat him to it, “Thank you. We would stay, but we have a meeting.”

She hooked her arms through her… brothers’ and stole them away. She dragged them back up the hall and through the doors, clamouring to get out as though the devil were on their tail. How very odd.

What meeting could they possibly have on their first day here?

Druella Rosier scoffed. “Mannerless, who could have guessed?”

“Evans certainly isn’t a wizarding name,” Emmett frowned, “and how are we meant to put up with more siblings? The Blacks are already ridiculous enough. Someone says ‘Black’ once, and five heads turn!”

“Come now, Emmett,” Alphard Black twisted around his brother and smirked. He pointed his fork at Emmett, careless even as it barely grazed Cygnus’s nose, who leant back unamused. “If anything, you could consider us practice. But judging by the look of them,” Alphard sat back and straightened out, “I doubt they’d even answer you if you called.”

The rest of the Slytherins bickered among themselves, content to poke their fun and gossip. Tom held his tongue; he kept a careful ear and tuned out when uninterested. The Evans seemed odd but nothing special. Tom could care less about their decorum or lack thereof as long as they didn’t make any trouble for their house.

— —

Tom spoke too soon.

They had vanished for the remainder of the day. No one had seen hide nor hair of all three Evans since their grand entrance during lunch. Tom was confident they’d gotten lost. But as he settled into his chair by the fireplace once more for the evening, enjoying the last moments of the night before his prefect rounds, they finally arrived.

Harry was in low murmured talks with Ronald, their heads bent close together, while Hermione Evans had her full attention on a tome in her hands. Following behind her in the air was a stack of five or six more. Had that been where they were? The library?

Walburga Black tutted from her perch on the leather chesterfield opposite, “They haven’t even introduced themselves and have hardly been here some hours, yet have already riffled through the library shamelessly?”

Tom was more bemused than offended. How they remembered their way to the library after Slughorn’s (most likely brief) tour was a more pressing mystery. But given how Hermione Evans flipped through pages of a book like a windstorm, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she had a photographic memory.

And as absorbed in her text as she was, and without her brothers’ careful guidance while distracted as they were, she walked right into Waylen Mulciber. Who, Tom supposed, in her defence, anticipated her blunder. He had watched her wander deeper into the room with a vicious grin and hadn’t been inclined to move out of the way. Instead, Waylen stood there, arms crossed, wand already out, and took her minor collision with dramatics only rivalled by Abraxas himself.

“Watch yourself, mudblood!” Waylen shoved her back, and Tom’s brows arched as her brothers sprung into gear. Ronald caught her before she fell to the floor, and Harry Evans cast a quick spell to keep her trailing books up as they’d begun to fall when she did. The students still left in the common room took to the scene like the play it was, smiles sharp as they kept a close eye on the performance.

“What a joke,” Waylen continued, “to have tainted—“ his mouth pressed shut into a fine line. He panicked and reached up with both his hands to touch his throat and face, wand delicately balanced, and panicked more when his wand was ripped from his hold.

Harry Evans seemed to have taken Waylen’s starting rant as a cue to silence him and his shock as a cue to disarm him. Tom was nearly impressed at the speed of his casting, blindsiding one of the better duelling students, but it was hardly a fair fight. And Mulciber was an idiot on a good day.

“Harry, wait-stop. It’s all right; he doesn’t matter,” Hermione Evans said, holding a vice grip on Ronald’s arm, reaching out a hesitant hand to Harry’s wrist. His eyes were locked on Waylen’s, a severe frown pulling at his face, but when he turned his gaze to Hermione, they softened.

There was something about that look. It was certainly chastised, very apologetic, but also stern. A sureness that almost radiated. A loud he deserved it echoing throughout the common room.

But it relented. Harry Evans sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens. When he spoke, Tom noted his voice as quiet, clear, and nearly casually authoritative. “Here. Fetch,” he said and tossed Waylen’s wand across the room. It stopped just beside Tom on the floor, a roll away from the burning fireplace. Tom did not doubt that was artfully intentional, and he felt the amusement of it all curling his lips. “If I ever hear you say that word again, I’ll do more than embarrass you.”

The silence lingered. Or it did until Ronald whistled something low and encouraging, its sound causing Harry and Hermione Evans to look at him bewildered. Then, when he gave Harry a pleased grin and a thumbs-up, the tension popped like apparition.

Harry snorted loud and unattractive. His hand slapped across his face in a poor attempt to conceal his onslaught of… giggles. Hermione shook her head in awe, a growing smile tugging at her lips, and kept a firm hold on Ronald’s arm as she grabbed at the sleeve of Harry’s robes and once again dragged them out and away from their fellow Slytherins. In a commendable show of magic, the tomes still hovering beside Harry kept stable and unwavering, following them out even as Harry Evans’s laughter became near uncontrollable. The sound of it echoed down the hall until the common room door slid shut.

The overall reaction to their escape was mutiny.

Loud screeches of how dare they and someone go stop them and does anyone know the counter for Mulciber rang out across the room amongst the murmured contemplation. When Tom looked over at Walburga and took stock of her appalled face, he was tempted to laugh too.

What a fascinating final year at Hogwarts it was turning out to be.