#any verse and any time

[ghstbrthr]

˖ ࣪⭑ In honour of Sam's blog turning one, consider this a starter call !

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[fnaf-movie-countdown]

I wonder if they’ll keep the withereds as a surprise for the audience and not show them properly in the full trailer (and leave that for simply showing the toys or puppet in full)

Probably not but it would be cool

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 4.2: Robin's Boy

A.N: Life is kinda sucky right now with job hunting, surviving at my current job, the strains that come with being a caregiver to a family member while maintaining a long distance relationship and just dealing with mental and emotional self-care. So here's this, super late and not beta-read but at least I wrote it.

As always, feel free to yell at/with me in the comments, tags and/or ask box.

Part 1 (Hop fucks up), Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce's Edition), Part 3 (One of Us), Part 4.1 (With a Capital 'P'), Part 5 (Man Of The Hour)

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies her dad loves without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her.

Seeing the declared dead Chief of Police step out of a sleek black, obviously-secret-government-bullshit car flanked by an agent she recognizes as one of Owens' lackeys from last July when they were making the rounds with Government funded medical care contingent on signing sketchy NDAs? Just par for the course at this point.

Steve's face when Eleven-Jane rushes into the not-dead Chief's arms and it turns into a whole 'Moment'? Said Chief's look of barely interested confusion followed by tired annoyance when Steve drags her in front of him, rambling about Starcourt and new additions to The Party and finally getting to meet 'My Hop'? Yeah, none of that surprises her either. She plays along for Steve, doesn't give Hopper any time to say anything that would take that happy smile off his face or get rid of the way he's practically glowing he's smiling bigger than she's ever seen directed at anyone other than the kids. Tries not to think about the way it makes something in her clench and crouch like a cat getting ready to pounce and bare fangs she didn't realize she had outside of a life and death situation. She introduces herself, maintains eye contact and drags Steve off as fast as she can to do something, anything, that will distract him from trying to catch up like the Byers clan is with the kids and assembled assorted monster fighters.

She's not surprised when she can't stop Steve from stepping up every time Hopper or Joyce or anyone with a badge says they need anything despite his own still healing wounds. She's not surprised when Hop takes it a step too far.

They're at the Hopper Cabin that is steadily becoming the Hopper-Byers Cottage when Hop tells his and Joyce's shared custody bald parasite that Steve is little more than an annoyance he puts up with for the free babysitting service and manual labor and cause he can go up against shit that would give anyone else nightmares while keeping the kids safe and mostly in-check. She's sitting with Eleven-Jane, sewing patches onto one of Hop's old army jackets, (the kid had seen Eddie's battle vest in Steve's car and it had reminded her of her sister Kali and she'd decided she wanted one of her own for the war ahead and then all of the other rugrats had decided they did too so she and Argyle had taken to giving sporadic sewing lessons whenever the kids had the materials to start their own battle attire) when Steve comes round the corner to the back of the property striding with purpose she rarely saw when he was around his kids.

She leaves her unfinished project on the stump she'd been using as a stool and chases after him. She shooes off curious and worried kids, promising to stick with him, keep the walkie close and on, make sure he was safe and didn't run afoul of any demo-beasts or trigger-happy government goons as he made his way to his car and then wherever else he was marching his happy ass.

She hates the fact that when they're both finally back at the little apartment that Owens' yes-men had acquired for Steve when Harrington Sr. decided to be an opportunist prick and kick Steve out for 'not taking care of the house' in the middle of the 'earthquake', that Steve hasn't shed a single tear. She hates that she's not surprised.

He doesn't say anything as he kicks off his Nikes and shuffles over to the 'second-hand' couch they'd gotten from Mrs. Henderson (Steve and Robin were both fully aware she'd just gotten it shortly before Spring break and was in no way in need of a new one so soon, but they both also knew better than to call her out on her kindness). He doesn't look up at her from his spot curled in amongst the throw pillows and blankets they'd been gifted by parents of various members of the party after Hopper and Owens' story that the two of them had saved the kids again from some freak incident like last year with Starcourt. She pulls out the thick quilt they had found in the latest donations bins when Hawkin's government supervised relief force started outsourcing for supplies and basic comforts. He stares at the wall where they'd hung an oversized corkboard dedicated to polaroids and photo booth strips and even some properly printed pictures of the little monster fighting family they'd put together.

She can't pull him out of this, no matter how much she may want to. There's some places his mind goes only Eleven-Jane would be able to reach and neither of them were going to put more on that girl's plate. So she puts on a Bruce Springsteen record she used to hate and curls up as close as she can to him through the quilt and pillows. Every now and then she gets up to get them both water, to grab some crackers to try and coax him into eating and to switch over to a new record or just flip the one on the player but she always comes back to her spot next to her Steve.

"Whatever he said to you, you know it's not true. Right? You're worth more than a dozen undead cops on a power trip." That gets an amused huff.

"Seriously Stevie, the kids adore you, I swear all the moms in Hawkins think you're the best thing since sliced bread and I don't know what I'd do without my personal chump. We're soulmates, remember? One of these days we're gonna mind meld like Spock and McCoy and we'll be unstoppable. I can't make it without my McCoy, Bones."

"I can't make it without you either, you hobgoblin. Thanks Bobby."

The next day is better. Steve is still a little quiet, a little droopy. But he's present and there's a simmering anger underneath his smile that Robin is proud to see him acknowledging but makes her worry about him as he ushers her into his car to drop her off on her rare lone shift at Family Video before he heads out to a quick 'consultation patrol' with some military special operatives to check out something weird by one of the new cracks.

No one had told any of the kids yet, about the cracks starting to spread out in smaller fissures like a slowly spreading infection. Hadn't thought it necessary with Steve and Nancy (both now legal adults and wasn't the government taking full advantage of that) there as a first line of communication while Joyce wrangled a restless Hop as he settles back in and heals and spars with Owens over payouts and government aide for the town and what the growing military presence was and wasn't allowed to do. With the parents occupied the kids had come together tighter than ever, focusing on their injured and recovering from the nightmare fuel that was their spring break. No one noticed.

She can't help the rant she falls into as they drive through checkpoints and past regular civilians being escorted through areas a little too close to a Gate for comfort. She goes on about how half of the soldiers act like Steve is just one of them and the other half treat him with the same cautious curiosity they do Eleven-Jane whenever she makes her way to the 'front lines' these days. She wants to get the weird boy-speak head nods too! Even Nancy gets them, especially when she's walking around with her sawed-off strapped to a jerry-rigged hip-holster. Robin has used Darlin' before, she's speed poured Molotov Cocktails to hand to soldier boys trying not to piss their pants as Steve and Nancy barked orders as they tried to down a demogorgon fresh from the Upside-Down. Where's her battlefield camaraderie?

It makes him laugh and shake his head fondly as he calls her crazy and weird with that soft smile on his face that makes her chest feel warm and fuzzy like her parents' hugs used to when she was 10 and crawled into their bed after having a nightmare. She doesn't tell him to be careful as they turn down onto Main street or to make sure he comes back in one piece as he rolls to a stop in front of the dark storefront. She starts on another tangent about him abandoning her to the drudgery of Capitalism as he gets to frolic in the woods with a bunch of burly men with their toys before he laughingly reaches over her to open her door to start pushing her out of the car. He smiles big and dopey as she practically spills onto the asphalt, still rambling away about neglectful soulmates and abuses of driving power with smatterings of claims that she'll take over his apartment if he dies and use his ashes as fertilizer for the plants he's taken to keeping on the fire-escape outside the living room window if he dares to leave her alone to babysit his hellions.

He shoots back a final, "Love you too Bobby!" before taking off towards where he's meeting the scientists and soldiers he's supposed to lead through Upside Down infected woods. As he leaves her standing on the sidewalk he doesn't make any sort of promise to be safe, to let the government goons just do their job, to make it back to her alive or in one piece. Not even to make it back to her. She plays with the locket she's taken to wearing that holds a curled up braid of hair shades darker than hers or anyone's in her family.

She doesn't watch his car to the end of the street like she might have before Spring Break, after their Starcourt 'adventure', instead she takes a deep breath and unlocks the dumb video store in this dumb town full of dumb people who don't know when to call it quits and just get the hell out of Dodge. She boots up the computer leaving it to warm up while she starts sorting through whatever mess the new shmucks Steve insisted they hire to cover what times the two of them couldn't because of the Arcade (which they had also gone and hired more staff for now that people weren't one tremor away from rioting in the streets) and Upside Down/ government related shenanigans they ended up getting dragged into.

The bell above the door jingles and she has to bite back a groan. "Welcome to Family Video, I literally just got here so you're gonna have to give me a minute before I can help you."

"Afraid we've only got movies round here, officer. You want any other medium of entertainment I'd suggest the arcade or the distribution yard." She won't turn to face him, not sure she can keep her cool if she does right now. Her hands move on muscle memory, shuffling papers into their proper piles and flipping open VHS cases to check if they need to be rewound. "Sorry, guess we'll have to catch up another time."

"I'm uh, I'm not here for a movie." She may have only heard his voice a couple of times and in passing but she didn't call her ears little geniuses for nothing. She forces her body to relax, lowering her shoulders the way Steve taught her to and keeping her voice light like Eddie walked her through, calling on his Theatre Kid skill set to teach the Party how to convincingly lie improvise when being questioned by people who really did not need to know just what was going on in good old Hawkins.

She can hear him sigh and can't help but picture his hand running over the fuzz on his head the way Steve runs his hands through his coif more and more nowadays in a way he never did before Nancy, before he got pulled into this bullshit and Hopper was rumored to be the one signing his paperwork and taking responsibility for him when his parents didn't show up after an almost week long stay at the hospital. "Look, I know you don't like me. And it has been brought to my attention just how much I fucking earned that. But I- I need your help here. To fix it."

There's not much that surprises Robin Buckley these days. She gets queasy at the sight of ground beef and meatloaf covered in ketchup, the big friendly dogs a few doors down at the O'Reilly place she used to pet and give snacks to on her way to and from school make her blood run cold, she can't watch the old Russian movies she and her dad used to stay up late watching together without having nightmares after and she's sleeping with a nightlight by her bed for the first time since she was six. But it takes a lot to surprise her. Jim Hopper might have just done it.

She doesn't stop moving, doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of throwing her off. She fiddles with the sharp little knife she has tucked up her shirt sleeve in the little sheath she and Steve put together between shuffling papers, taps at the button on her vest hiding the mic attached to the walkie talkie that never leaves her pocket these days. When she finally turns to look at him she's not surprised by the thinness of his frame or the way his eyes and cheeks still look a little sunken in. She sees the tired father worried for his kids and his people and his town, angry at the government for their involvment and their stupidity that she had come to expect. She is not expecting the remorse, the fear, she sees looking back at her. She wonders for a moment what he sees when he looks at her, at any of the teens and kids and young adults he's fought alongside trying to stop the end of the world.

"Fine. He'll be back from his patrol-" He looks mildly confused for a moment, meaning Joyce hadn't been passing along even the minimal information Nancy and Steve had been giving her to relay to Hop and the rest of the Party. That would have to be it's own discussion at some point probably. "-in about twenty minutes. You have fifteen. Now why should I help you?"

"You care about Harringt- Steve. You're close, the two of you have been basically Siamese Twins since Starcourt from what I hear. I- I realize that I made a mistake dumb enough shitting Mike Wheeler is making more sense than me, that I fucked up in a way I don't fucking know how to fix. And I am asking. Politely. For your help."

Honestly she's not sure she believes him. Honestly he's surprised her more times in the last five minutes than most anything or anyone else has in the last year. The man has a lot to unpack and the situation with Steve is just a drop in the man's pile of shit he's managed to bury himself under but maybe there's some hope yet.

She checks the watch on her wrist (an obscenely expensive piece Steve got from one of his parents' rich friends at a holiday party he was too young to remember on a leather band that he had outgrown and never got around to replacing) and looks back at Hop. Ten more minutes. "Why are you here?"

Hop groans in that growly sort of way that makes her think of her grandpa Dale, a great bear of a man who had given the best hugs with shoulders to put Jim Hopper to shame. The no-longer-chief runs his hand over his fuzz again, one hand propped on his hip as he shifts his weight to one side and she tamps down the flicker of biting anger at another example of the ways Steve had shaped himself after a man who never gave him the respect or care he deserved.

"I don't know how to fix what I fucked up. Steve's a good kid, I can admit that now. And he didn't deserve my bullshit just cause I couldn't get past old highschool biases. I wasn't there for him like I should have been- like I told him I would be when I signed those papers. But he's not the kid I thought he was, he's nothing like his folks or the other trust fund brats who think they run this shithole town. I don't know what I'm doing. I just know that kid deserves better than I've been doing."

She hums like she's mulling over his little speech to hide the way she's freaking out a little over what to say to all that. Even she doesn't know how she and Steve got to where they are beyond being tortured by Russians for information they didn't have then being drugged out of their minds while fighting inter-dimensional flesh monsters. But she doesn't think that would help Hop much in this situation.

But she thinks she believes him. At least for now.

"Alright, I'll help you with Steve." Hop sighs, his shoulders dropping as he seems to unclench slightly. Seriously, that much tension cannot be good for him after being in a Russian gulag for almost a year. "But not because I think you deserve it. You were right, Steve deserves better, but he wants you and Joyce and the kids to be in his life. Be a part of it. That is the only reason I will help you. He deserves a better dad than the one he's had and for some reason he thinks you're like super-dad."

"I- How the fuck did I not- What the hell?"

Robin shrugs, "The human brain is good at weeding out what it doesn't want to see. You didn't want to see Steve until you had to and that realization brought you to me. So. Ignorance is bliss and all that."

"So what do I do?"

She checks her watch again. "He'll be running late, especially if the fissure he's checking out is as bad as we think it is. So you have time to run back home, get Joyce to make extra of whatever monstrosity of a casserole she's trying to make this week and you get your rugrats to figure out a way to be the last drop off after Steve takes the brats to the arcade later instead of sleeping off whatever knocks he gets on patrol today. Then instead of letting him head home you make him come inside for dinner. Use the excuse of finding out he's been doing patrols if you have to. But you make him go inside and sit his ass down and eat something and you let him just- let him just be, Hop." She's running out of time but there is just so much she wants to get through to him. "Just make him feel like you see him."

"I- I'll try."

"Yeah, sure. Just-" She bites back the vitriol she wants to projectile vomit in his direction. "Just don't hurt him again. He's more than just a babysitter or front lines muscle. And I will make you wish you were back with the Russians if you make him forget that."

"I believe you."

"Good." The bell over the door jingles again and she looks past Hop to see a group of teenagers making their way to the comedies. "Now I have to get to work and you need to not be here by the time Steve comes to check on me. So talk to you later, Chief."

"Right. Thanks for your help, kid."

She shrugs him off as he turns to head out. The teens are watching him not-so-discreetly as they try to act like they're looking through the latest releases. She forgets that the man is as much a mystery as the heavy-duty military forces that have taken over their small town.

"Alright, folks. What are we looking for today?" She still technically has a job to do even if the kids keep their distance from her like they do the rest of the Party who at this point have all been seen either spending time with said heavy-duty military forces or chasing something into the dark of the forest wielding weapons smeared in monster blood, or both. It's going to be a long day.

Tag list (I think this is everyone?)(if your tag didn't work let me know cause they don't always work for me Idk why):

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @steveshairspray86 @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @wormapothacary @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @ellietheasexylibrarian @pukner @bookworm0690 @nightmareglitter @joekeerysmoles @salchica @lawrencebshoggoth @iheartjennaaa @child-of-cthulhu @anaibis @rocochen20 @katdeerly @samcoxramblings

[localechoes]

hate it when the basis of your relationship is your mutual performances and so you can never develop a genuine connection. happy fratricide friday and sibling rane saturday (i scheduled this for midnight). in other words i am going insane over this fic

[cannibal-pentecost]

[gorgfig]

never thought i would be without you

i wish you love

i wish you well

i wish you roses

while you can still smell them

[creative-robot]

I know The Founders Cut, generally, is the edited scrubbed over version of genloss from Showfall in-universe (as well as a not-8-hour-long-three-stream-binge-night whenever we want to watch it again) but something that struck me as odd and I haven’t seen anyone mention yet, is this warning

It shows up right at the junction where the third act starts, where it appears the Hero is breaking free of Showfall thanks to Hetch. But here’s the thing, while a LOT less than the previous acts the audience still played a significant role in this act, even when really only given two audience interaction choices. Which makes me wonder, how real is this warning, and who is it for? Obviously the audience involved knows what happens past this point, but the audience is also implied to be an integral part of the Social Experiments, which is part of why things start to tweak out when the Founder removes them in the Founder Cut as the Generation Loss generation loses.

My first thought, was that obviously this is another bait and switch, a way to draw the audiences attention, seeing something that’s secret, something that’s not “meant for them”, which is a tactic I could see Showfall using in universe to keep people’s attention and add an air of mystery to their shows.

But

Showfall is doing all their experiments and these shows with a LOT of help from their censors to show it off, displaying a fun silly show that is definitely not uber fucked up and that is 100% just slime don’t worry about it, it’s kid friendly if it’s green! And I don’t think they’d want to bet all their cards on this one experiment doing well enough to their audience to not question the sudden shift in tone that follows this warning. Which makes me wonder.

They did their test, they did their experiment, and the evidence of this last act? I think it was a one time run, they don’t want anyone seeing this, it isn’t for the audience. Act three is specifically to both test and play with their Hero, Hetch’s new lines add a level to this, never once does he call the Hero by their name, just refers to Ranboo as their Role, and he’s not exactly. Nice? About literally any of Ranboos concerns, which wouldn’t really seem conductive to making an audience trust him, especially with his monologue at the end. Ranboo has escaped before, possibly right before act 1 started, they tightened the security on his mask to be unremovably part of them, Hetch doesn’t like the Hero but they’re a fan favorite so he can’t just get rid of them.

Act three is the cumulation of Ranboo being punished for things they don’t remember, for daring to break free from Showfalls control, this is Hetch taking the Hero and essentially majorly fucking and manipulating them to take his frustration out on a fan favorite they can’t otherwise get rid of or give a smaller role like Slimecicle. which is exemplified by the fact that we now know Charlie most likely was never able to actually able to fully snap out of the control, that even in act three in panic and confusion there was at least still a part of him being influenced by Showfall.

So the first two acts are the usual show, they have their posters, they have Squiggles to introduce them, they have goofs and silliness and only a couple slip ups that’re quickly dealt with, the usual rose tinted curtains. Act three?

Do not watch the following material

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Through Time

In response to a prompt from @twinklingwatermellon: two friends see each other again for the first time in years and feel a sudden spark that wasn’t there before.

Though this stretch of shore in this point in history was as quiet as one could get, plenty of people got stranded here, tossed about by the currents of time. When the buoy alarm went off, Meg went out expecting to find another stranger. She didn’t expect to see a friend.

Calvin had been seventeen when she’d seen him last—a skinny, lanky, sandy-haired kid. Time had filled him out. His skin was darkened by the sun. He was bleeding from the shoulder. But his smile when he saw Meg was bright.

“Meg!” he cried, throwing his good arm around her shoulders and pulling her into an embrace. “How long has it been?”

It was a hard question to answer. In one sense, it had been nearly two-thousand years since they’d left 1994 Los Angeles—this monitoring outpost was situated in one of the most isolated and peaceful moments in Earth’s future. In another sense, it had been nearly half a lifetime, though it was hard to keep track when you didn’t stay in one time period.

“I’d say it’s been about twelve years since LA,” she said.

He pulled away, his brow furrowed. “That long?” he asked.

“Time flies,” Meg said with a shrug.

“Time flows,” he corrected, echoing the agent who’d educated them about the world of time travel. His eyes sparkled at the memory, and his smile made Meg’s heart skip a beat.

Time had been very kind to him.

She shook away the thought. They’d been friends, nothing more. They’d fallen onto different paths—Calvin traveling the currents of time, helping out across history, Meg staying in one place for months at a time, helping stranded travelers and fostering lost children.

So she turned the talk back to business. “We should take care of that shoulder.”

She brought him into her cottage, settled him onto a kitchen chair, and helped him to clean and bandage the shoulder.

He told her a bit about his current misadventure—he’d intended to wind up half a continent and half a millennium away, until a ripple in the Flow had sent him careening off-course.

As he wrapped up the story, he said, “Of course, I’m always glad to see you.”

The way he said it made it feel like no time had passed at all. And the way he squeezed her hand, the look in his eye—there was something almost intimate about it. Like he knew her, not just as the kid she’d been, but as the woman she was.

She escaped to the bathroom to gather her thoughts. She’d been alone for too long. She was reading way too much into a few gestures. They hadn’t seen each other in years; they’d both been through so much they might as well be strangers. There hadn’t been time to build any sort of relationship—and there wouldn’t be. He’d be on his way in a few hours and she’d go back to her ordinary (as far as this existence could be considered ordinary) life.

She returned to the kitchen to find Calvin pulling forks and spoons out of her silverware drawer, with a water glass already half-full on the table.

Nothing like making yourself at home.

She swallowed back sharp words—her job was hospitality—and opened the food preservation cupboard. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got gran-apples, some protein meals, half a loaf of seaweed bread—”

“The bread’s fine.”

She pulled out the loaf and placed it on the counter. “I’ll need to cut it.”

Without looking, Calvin reached to his left, opened a drawer, pulled out a bread knife and handed it to Meg.

Meg stood frozen.

Calvin hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t fumbled. Yes, he’d been rummaging through the drawers, but Meg had only been gone for a minute.

Meg had lived here for months and she still had to think about where she stored things. He knew.

It was a cliché in the time travel world—the guy who claimed to know your future self. Something that girls laughed about, and never believed. But Calvin hadn’t made any claims. He’d just shown up out of the blue, looking at her like she was someone special. Knowing his way around her kitchen.

With equal confidence, Calvin opened a cupboard to his right, pulled out a jar of saltberry spread, and placed it next to the loaf of bread.

Meg’s favorite—a food that hadn’t existed when they’d been kids together in the 1990s.

I’m always glad to see you.

Somehow, she managed to slice the bread without cutting herself. She applied the spread and served him his meal.

Calvin tried to act casual, even distant, but now that Meg had seen the truth, she could see a hundred other signs. He made jokes about things in the house she’d never told him about. He pulled out Meg’s favorite chair for her. He spoke in rhythms that matched her conversation and sense of humor. He was comfortable here—comfortable with her.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak her suspicions out loud—could barely say anything. But finally, he was fed and rested and started making motions toward the door.

And she found she couldn’t let him leave without knowing.

“Calvin?” she asked, her voice thin and strangled. “Have you been here before?”

He blushed. “Not before, chronologically. But, yes, I’ve been here.”

“You know me in the future.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “You still live here. We’re still good friends.”

“Are we…” The words rolled out before she could stop herself. “Are we...more?”

He met her eyes then, and there was so much depth to that look that it almost answered her question. “Do you think there could be?”

The man before her was so like—and so unlike—the boy that she’d known. That combination of familiar and strange was both comfortable and fascinatingly new.

“Yes,” she said.

He smiled. “Then let’s see what happens.”

She squeezed his hand. “I can’t wait.”

[ghetto-omega]

The people in my family are all huge stimmers and something I think is very omegaverse of us is when someone acknowledges their birthday is coming up one of us goes "IT'S ALMOST YOUR BIRTHDAY" in the most loud and obnoxious tone we possibly can, and then all throughout the house people start chiming in "IT'S ALMOST YOUR BIRTHDAY ?!?!! ITS ALMOST YOUR BIRTHDAY !!!!??" like those damn seagulls from Nemo until we descend into a giant howl that echoes across the entire house (entire neighborhood if we're outside)

[iwasbored777]

Miles and Gwen's dynamic in ATSV was funny to me cuz he was always trying to decide what to do how to behave around her how to keep respectful distance how not to make her uncomfortable and be a gentleman and she just kept touching him any time he was near she was so affectionate and that made him even more confused like "she hugged me she wrapped her arms around me but if I wrap my arms around her too would that be inappropriate?"

[mephistosfaust]

A/N: This rp is set in early 2010, a couple of months after Lud's Prussia returned from the dead to help the boi get his shit together. For further details on his glorious resurrection read here. This is my attempt to write from Prussia's POV as I imagine the character.

------

Night drags on—too long, even for a man like him. The kind of night that settles into your bones and reminds you you’ve been dead for too long.

Prussia stands under the scalding stream of the shower, water pounding against his back like distant artillery. He leans his forehead against the cold tiles, steam curling around his shoulders. It doesn't wash the feeling off. It never does. Not twenty years of silence. Not two decades in the dark, buried in treaties and textbooks, while his so-called little brother paraded around the world like the prodigal son of Europe.

Unity, Germany called it. That sweet little lie. One nation. One future. One flag. But Prussia knows better. He built that boy from broken kingdoms and blood—dragged him up by the collar and taught him how to walk like an empire. And how does the he repay him? By pissing on Prussia’s legacy as if he owns him nothing. When left unchecked, he still rules like this smug little priest-king presiding over a temple of dysfunction. Holy, Roman, and about as imperial as a broken vending machine.

Prussia had hoped a little tough love would fix the brat. Straighten his back. Remind him who made him. But Germany is rotten in places soap can’t reach. Same hubris, same old script. He burned the world twice, and now he's lighting the match a third time, convinced the smoke is someone else’s fault.

Prussia growls and shuts off the water. He steps out, water dripping from lean muscle and scars that no longer fade. He’s been putting on mass lately—not for vanity, but out of spite. Turns out dead men can get bored. And lifting iron feels good. Clean. Nothing like the dirty compromises of Brussels and Berlin. And with the way Germany is letting himself go—dark circles under his eyes, bad posture, apologetic handshakes—someone has to keep up appearances.

He stares into the mirror. Crimson eyes meet their reflection. A cold smirk curls on his lips—the kind that once sent battalions into retreat and made Austria drink himself to a stupor. He runs a towel over his hair and throws it over his shoulder.

As he heads down the stairs, bare feet on cold wood, he hears footsteps, coming from the living room area downstairs.

“Did you miss me so much you’re skipping work for—”

He stops mid-motion.

Not his brother.

A young woman stands in the living room. She’s holding a pile of documents—slightly wide-eyed, slightly stunned, definitely not prepared for this. Her eyes snap to him, and naturally, they stay there. Understandable. He does look damn good after all. His eyes flick from her to the slightly ajar door leading to his brother’s home office, then back to her.

She stammers something, but he’s already grinning. The kind of grin that looks like trouble in every time zone. He finishes walking down the stairs and enters the stage like a man who’s never had to say "please."

“Oh,” he says, drying his face slowly, giving her time to admire the full landscape of a formerly dead Prussian war god in all his glory. Only once her gaze has taken the full tour does he lazily wrap the towel around his hips—like a mercy. Or a tease.

“How thoughtful of him,” he drawls. “So what’s the setup here, hmm? You sneak into the boss’s office to steal state secrets, but he shows up early—naked, obviously. This is German porn, after all.” He gives her the once-over again, and that wolfish smile returns, settling like a blade at the corner of his mouth.

“I like my paperwork spread out,” he says, nodding toward the long table. “Why don’t you give me a little tour of all your assets in stock.” He walks past her toward the open kitchen, moving like he owns the place. Because in some way, he does. Europe just doesn’t know it yet.

He slides a capsule into the Nespresso machine. A hiss, a rumble, the sharp scent of caffeine.

This world is weaker. Softer. But Prussia?

He’s feeling alive.

[crimeronan]

you guys Know i'm not prone to softness in fiction but this exchange Did make my heart seize up. and i did immediately listen to it five more times.

oh god i am not immune to former enemies turned close friends who rib each other all the time but trust each other implicitly n unquestioningly with everything they are. Oh God .

[swaps55]

hi swaps! the most recent mezzo chapter got me thinking about what sam knows about alchera. how much of it does he remember, if anything? how much does he know about the details of the event---did someone sit him down and explain the crash and its aftermath or did he read a report? the thought of him, alone, reading a cold report detailing the destruction of his ship and life sounds awful :(((

This is a phenomenal question, and I am putting the answer under a cut for anyone who does not want to be spoiled, because it does come up, but it will be awhile.

He remembers nothing.

If you look back at points in Mezzo, you'll see that he asks others about it. He never volunteers his own memories, and deflects if he's asked. People assume he does remember, and he lets them.

The last thing he remembers is something I will keep to myself for now, so I can get yelled at about it later. But all he knows about what happened is what others have told him and what's in the report.

Keep on imagining him reading a cold report about the destruction of his ship and his life, because that's absolutely what happened.

He wasn't alone, though. EDI was there, even if he didn't realize it. <3

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

pray for me please

[zs-starwars]

So what do we think happened to that whole army marching back to Azimir? I'm assuming they disperse around Azir since they can't really make it back to Urithiru.

Also are Tashikk and Emul both mad that they don't get sun anymore? What will the refugee stream look like during the timeskip? Did any other member states cut ties from the Azish Empire, and if not do they get to be safe too?

Just speculating and things. Wish we had sentence or two in Adolin's last POV but he did have more pressing thing to worry about I guess.