#because i think that realization (if she can reach it idk if that's within her power or not) would solve some things painful tho it may be

[as-dreamers-do]

when Ame and Eursulon see Suvi having her breakdown and Ame's response is "Suvi!" and Eursulon's is "Sky!" 10/10 subtle character moment no notes all respect

[evieelyzabethh]

I love so much how you write ekko and I was thinking a scenario about the parallel universe thing (ep 7)

What if ekko and reader were dating and met thanks to the firelights but then the whole thing with the hexcore happened and got teletrasported in the other universe finding out that he was dating powder instead and he never got to meet reader and maybe he see her in the street of piltover looking different and all

Idk just thinking about how he will react

Ekko knows something is off immediately. Things just feel differently in his chest. Maybe it's being pushed into a parallel universe, but he's convinced that if you were with him, it wouldn't feel so different. It feels like the same soul, but a different body. His hair is different, his clothes are different, who he's with is different. As soon as he looks over and sees that blue hair, he's on guard, even more so when he realizes the change in relationship. He's dating...Powder?

Honestly, that's how he knows he's not where he should be, because he's not with you. And he does feel a bit bad not allowing himself to appreciate what's around him more, but Ekko is very aware with give and take. The Firelights don't exist here, his community never existed, his friends, Scar, everything he poured years of his life into aren't here, but they aren't here because they weren't needed. The people of Zaun can breathe. Vi is dead, but this is the first time since they were children that he's seen Powder. Even better, the first time he's seen her, and she hasn't looked gaunt. Hextech seems to be foreign here, and shimmer doesn't even exist. It's nice, he can admit that, but it's not home.

To him, it's almost like some utopic, drug induced hallucination. His head feels heavy (definitely an after effect of messing with the Arcane), his tongue is dry, his heart is pounding in his chest as he looks around him, convinced that Powder can hear it trying to beat out of his ribcage. Despite it looking pretty, it feels like a bad trip. He stumbles out, leaving Powder to chase after him until he disappears into the now unfamiliar streets. His feet fly in front of him, only barely managing to catch him and propel him further, too dazed to notice the concerned onlookers debating on if they should offer him help.

It's strange being known. No longer known within his found family for what he's created for them, but rather who he's become with his previously dead one. Claggor grew out of his baby fat, Silco and Vander grew closer than before, Mylo grew a god-awful mustache. He's an inventor here. It's almost haunting, the idea that he could've been using his talents for lighthearted fun. The idea that there exists a place that is not in dire need of saving. The fact that there even exists a place where those he's mourned and been changed by, live happily. For a second, he wonders if this is what Jinx felt like, constantly seeing faces despite knowing they weren't there.

He's hyperventilating, back pressed against a harsh brick wall, overstimulated by the way his jacket now seems to constrict him tight and tighter, feeling like a needle is going back through the already pierced flesh of his ear. He could be convinced there are millions of tiny rocks in his shoes as the more he shakes the harder they prick into the soles of his feet. He feels like his very soul is being pricked and prodded at. He feels like he's going insane

But he feels you before he sees you. His breathing slows, the hole in his chest seems to close, his lungs seem to fall back into a rhythm. He breathes you in before he reaches for the hand you have reached out to him. You look different here, like someone who he would never meet in this body, but of course his wandering soul found his way to you. You looked warmer, you fill out your clothes more, you might be a bit taller. Its wonderous what clean air and constant access to food can do for a person.

"Are you okay?" He leaps into your arms, nearly throwing you back and certainly catching you by surprise. Unsure of what to do, you hold the unfamiliar boy, stroking his back awkwardly until he slips from under your arms. He looks familiar but in a surreal way. You can't say for sure if you've seen him physically, but he very well could be the mystery man you see in your dreams sometimes, though much firmer.

"I am now." and you really don't know how to react other than to just smile and nod your head. As he watches you disappear into the crowd, the ground beneath him finally feels solid. If anything, he's more determined than he was before to find his way back home. This place is almost saccharine, too sweet, too bright, too much. It's not his world for a reason; his world wouldn't be complete without you in it.

[chvoswxtch]

hi um so this is like my first time making a request, like ever. I’m not even sure if this is where I’m supposed to put a request. So I’m really nervous but this idea has been in my head for weeks and I need it to be brought to life? Idk but can I request Matt Murdock with a sort of shy reader? Where he tells her about his abilities and daredevil and everything (established relationship) and she doesn’t really care as long as he’s safe but she has something in her mind and he notices and keeps asking and basically she has a question about his senses, specifically his taste and idk if you know but Matt can canonically know ALL of the ingredients of anything just from a taste and she basically wants to make him taste a bunch of stuff and tell her the ingredients of it so she can make them? I know this is probably WAY too specific so feel free to completely ignore this, I just wanted to get it out.

hi my darling!

so I actually read this request right before going to the grocery store, and while I was looking through produce, it made me think about how matt would absolutely know which produce was the freshest and which ones to avoid. I kinda mixed that in with your idea about being able to tell exactly what ingredients were in something, and I hope this is close to what you were looking for! <3

warnings: tooth rotting fluff and matt being a lil shit word count: 1.3k

lemons.

“Not that one.”

You hand instantly stilled over a lemon that your fingertips had already grazed over. Glancing at Matt over your shoulder, a crease formed between your brows while you looked back down at it.

“What do you mean? This one is perfect-”

“It’s not ripe enough.”

“But…it’s so yellow, like sunshine yellow.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s lips when he felt the way your own pursed into a bit of a confused pout. It was something you always did when you were intensely focused on something, and he found it endearing. Reaching his hand out, he used the pad of his thumb to smooth away the furrow that had creased in the middle of your forehead, and his soft smile curled up into a light smirk catching the flush of heat that immediately coursed through the tops of your cheeks.

“Well, I’m sure it’s a very pretty lemon, but it doesn’t taste ripe.”

Ever since Matt had told you the truth about his vigilante identity and his abilities, you’d had countless questions. You wouldn’t voice them at first, almost as if you were afraid to cross some invisible boundary that Matt might have, but he knew you, and he knew how to dismantle that shy exterior of yours. From the moment the two of you first met, you had been overly polite and accommodating about his disability, but not in a way that made him uncomfortable. You didn’t walk on eggshells around him or call any extra attention to his blindness. In fact, the way you interacted with him was so seamless, it was almost like it came second nature.

If you guys were grabbing coffee with Karen and Foggy, you would automatically place the raw sugar packets within his reach because you knew he preferred it to the artificial sweeteners. If the four of you went to check out a new lunch spot, you always called ahead to check if they had a menu in braille and made sure Matt was given one. There were so many little things you did to make him feel included and normal. It was part of why he fell so hard for you.

You never asked about the origin of his blindness, and even after he opened up and told you about his accident, you were reserved with your questions. He could tell you were curious, and he wanted you to ask. He wanted you to know things about him. You were a bit of a wallflower, and Matt could always feel you silently observing him, but he wanted you to understand him. He quickly realized he would have to flat out grant you permission to be nosey, and so he did.

Out of everyone he had revealed his Daredevil secret to, you had taken it the best. He didn’t know if he would ever get over the surprise of just how well you handled it. You didn’t get angry or yell at him. You didn’t call him a liar or a traitor, or ask him if he was faking his blindness; all reactions he expected. You just sat there in pure confusion, and you were silent for so long, Matt was panicked that he’d sent you into a state of shock. When it finally settled in that it wasn’t a joke, your brows knit together, and Matt could feel the way your face contorted into an expression of irritation when you flat out asked him if he was crazy. The memory of that night never failed to make him smile.

“Um…well, I mean…not in the traditional sense-”

“Matthew, what the hell are you thinking running around on rooftops, going after guys with guns and knives with…sticks? How do you even do that?”

“They’re batons, actually. Look it’s hard to explain, but I have heightened senses that help me-”

“Are those super senses going to keep you out of prison? Because that’s where you’re going if you get caught. What was the point of going hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt for law school if you were just going to wind up a prison cell for doing backflips off buildings in your underwear?”

“Heightened senses. And it’s not underwear. Underwear is comfortable.”

There hadn’t been a hint of anger in your voice. Annoyance, sure, but mainly concern. All you wanted was for Matt to be safe, and he did his best to assure you that he would be. Matt went into as much detail as he could to help you understand his abilities, and the more comfortable you got with asking him things, the more you learned.

Like how he could tell exactly what ingredients were in the lemon bread at the cafe down the street from your apartment that you loved so much, which was currently the reason behind your little trip to the store at the moment. All it took was one bite of the bread, and he knew exactly how to replicate it.

Apparently he could also tell when lemons were at their peak.

Reaching into the pile of lemons, Matt grasped the one that was in perfect condition to him and held it out towards you. Taking the lemon in your hand, you gave it a light squeeze, noticing that it was firm to the touch but easily gave into the gentle force of your fingers testing its density. 

“Feel the rind.”

Following Matt’s instructions, you brushed your thumb along the bright yellow rind. It was smooth to the touch, and somewhat glossy as it nearly reflected the brightness of the overhead lighting in the grocery store. 

“It’s shiny.”

Matt chuckled at your response and lightly nodded his chin in your direction.

“What else?”

“It’s smooth.”

“It’s perfectly ripe. The zest on this one is the freshest. It has the most flavor, and the right amount of juice.”

Arching one of your brows, you stared up at Matt curiously while still faintly squeezing the lemon in your hand.

“You can tell how much juice is in this just by touching it?”

A grin stretched across Matt’s lips, showcasing his dazzling teeth and causing indents to appear in his cheeks. His thick brows rose slightly above the rim of his crimson glasses.

“Are you doubting me, sweetheart?”

“No I’m just…still trying to figure out how you do…what you do.”

A bashful twinge of heat coated your cheeks once again, and Matt thought it was adorable that you diverted your attention back to the lemon shyly to avoid his gaze even though he couldn’t see your reaction. He reached out to tenderly brush his knuckles along the warmth in your cheeks while he smiled in your direction. 

“I’ll try to do better at explaining. Now c’mon, we have more ingredients to get. You know, I think this bread is gonna turn out so well, the one at the cafe might not meet your standards anymore.”

The confidence in Matt’s voice caught your attention, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. Sometimes you forgot that your boyfriend was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen that everyone was so afraid of. If only they knew that he spent his Saturdays sniffing out ingredients at the grocery store like a bloodhound to help his girlfriend recreate the recipe for her favorite lemon bread.

“You know, if you didn’t love law so much, you could’ve made out like a bandit in a baking competition.”

“Oh I would’ve won with my sob story of being a blind little Catholic orphan alone.”

“Matthew!”

Matt snickered at the disbelief in your tone, but he could also detect the way the edges of your lips twitched, like you weren’t sure if you should laugh at that or not. Snaking his arm around your waist, he pressed a light kiss to your forehead and gently nudged you in the direction towards the spice aisle.

“Come on, we need flour.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover  @avengerstower-houseplant @mars-rants-a-lot @topperthornton @hailey-murdock @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[solarissttee]

CUPID’S CHOKEHOLD .ᐟ

summary ; lancelot x cupid!reader headcannons.

request ; “ hii, i was wondering if you could do lancelot x cupid! reader headcanons? she was like adopted by meliodas and elizabeth when she was an infant and stuff so shes like a holy knight (or one of four, which makes five) she is like the knight of hatred/love if you get what i mean??? idk if this makes any sense but its my first request as you can tell. it would a lot if you could do this since its been on my mind. however, no rush and just taker caree. ” — anon

pairing ; lancelot / black fem cupid!reader

tags ; fluff, mutual pining, the reader is a bit of an airhead, elizabeth and meliodas are her adoptive parents.

notes ; dinner is served!

catalogue

lancelot with a cupid!reader who he always found quite… odd while growing up, choosing to steer clear of her during their childhood.

growing up into their teenage years, he found her less of a weirdo and more of an airhead. he found that she’d often space out, thinking of who knows what and always stood the risk of getting herself hurt because of it.

with her clumsiness and the knack she has for spacing out in the worst situations, lancelot just accepted his fate and decided to have an eye out on her, tailing her from behind at a good distance without her knowing to avoid her getting herself hurt or into trouble.

he’d watch in amusement whenever she’d help someone with relationship problems or even help budding relationships bloom. her passion for helping people find their other halves or help a relationship flourish is something he found slightly intrusive but didn’t say anything about it. at the end of the day, she was helping people and they seemed happy, so just kept his mouth shut about his opinions.

soon enough, the liones siblings and lancelot slowly hung out less and less as they all became increasingly busy with their training as knights of the prophecy.

when lancelot and tristan were assigned to go find the last two knights of the apocalypse, she secretly tagged along with lancelot, although the fairy was already aware of her presence; he could hear her thoughts from a mile away.

despite his original weariness of her, lancelot didn’t seem to mind having her around as much as he thought he would. she turned out to be really good company; he hated to admit it, but she was funny, he almost tried to persuade her into becoming a comedian rather than continuing on as a knight.

when they eventually managed to find cute lil’ percival, it was like she had cloned herself and split her brain cell, because those two were birds of a feather; optimistic and stupid as fuck. but they were cuties so he’d give them a pass.

during their time together, lancelot, albeit reluctant to come to terms with it, found that she was starting to grow on him. he’d find himself always listening to whatever thing she was rambling on about, making sure she’s alright during or after a battle with chaos knights, and making sure that she doesn’t walk into another tree like she did last time. he also found himself becoming a little more protective of her than usual. he knows that she can protect herself, but seeing her hurt kind of angers him in a way; a way that he can’t describe.

as someone who deals with love and everything in the sense of the word, the cupid!reader already knows the telltale signs of a crush, no matter what type of person they might be. she couldn’t help but feel giddy when she noticed some of the signs in lancelot’s recent behaviour towards her; having liked him for the longest time.

by the time they and the percival platoon reached liones, there was a significant change in the relationship between lancelot and the cupid!reader; the both of them being easily mistaken as lovers. this change in their relationship didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the royal family or the tristan platoon. and at the realization that something might be going on between the two, a spark of protectiveness was lit within the king and prince.

during the showdown with arthur pendragon, she had sustained some serious damage whilst trying to evacuate the citizens, which further fueled lancelot’s hostility towards the king of chaos.

after getting healed and put on bed rest, lancelot made sure to stick by her side, not wanting to take his eyes off her for a minute. it was bad enough that percy had lost slight control when he and the rest of the platoon almost got taken out by isolde and co. he still needs to get back at that bastard chion for all the ruckus he’d caused.

“you know that i’m perfectly fine now, right? you don’t need to follow me around like this, lance.”

while you don’t mind the attention you’re getting from lancelot, it is getting increasingly hard to mask how flustered you're becoming. you wish that he could tone it down just a bit so that your heart doesn’t burst out of your chest.

“i’m not taking any more chances with you. you’re always getting hurt in one way or another, you damn klutz,” he grumbled, lightly flicking your forehead and snickering when your lips curl into a pout.

“hey! that’s mean—“

“watch it!” lancelot’s arm shoots out to grab your waist, pulling you into his side to prevent you from walking straight into one of the cracks in the middle of the road, curtsey of arthur’s attack earlier. he raises an eyebrow, looking down at you with a ‘see what i mean?’ expression.

“you should pay better attention to your surroundings, princess. i’m not always going to be by your side to protect you,” he gives your waist a light squeeze, not letting go.

“yeah, yeah..” you mumble, trying to suppress your thoughts that had begun to run laps in your head from how close he was.

lancelot chuckled slightly as you tried (and failed) to hide your thoughts from him; one of them did pique his interest, however. “you think i smell nice, princess?”

you feel yourself die inside a little as your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. damn it, damn it, damn it.

at your embarrassment, he lets out a louder laugh. “you never fail to amuse me, princess. but i must say, thank you for the compliment.”

“quit it. you’re being a jerk, lance...”

“you know you love me, princess. i know you do,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. you pause, your body going rigid as you try to process what he’d just done.

“did... did you just...” you stammer, unable to finish your sentence as your brain short circuits.

“kiss you? yeah, i did. you want another one?” he teased, leaning down so that your faces are inches away from each other.

“i—i..”

“your call, princess. i won’t kiss you unless you tell me to,” he murmured.

unable to form proper words, you nod. lancelot contemplates on teasing you some more, but decides against it for now. he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand caressing your waist as he does. you kiss for a few seconds before pulling away from each other, both of you a little red faced.

“c’mon, let’s go see percy and the others.”

[nburkhardt]

There’s something off about Steve and Dustin can’t place it.

Ever since they got back from the upside down, Steve seems more… not better but more, relaxed? Comfortable? He doesn’t know exactly, just something different.

It’s not like Dustin has never seen Steve relaxed, he’s been over at his house sitting next to his cat and listening to his mom explain how to make the perfect fettuccine dish. Steve is already comfortable around him to be bitchy to him, calling out Dustin’s shit immediately.

This? This is different.

Steve is on the grass laying down, arms behind his head and legs crossed. He looks like he could be asleep but Dustin watches as Steve shakes his foot and sees his mouth twitch at whatever Eddie’s whispering in his ear next to him. Robin laughing on Steve’s other side, her feet resting on Steve’s legs.

Dustin can tell there’s a difference between how Steve is acting now versus how Steve is normally relaxed.

Something is different and he needs to know what it is and how he can make sure his best friend big brother is always this… whatever it is. He deserves it.

“Are you trying to explode them? Isn’t that El’s thing?”

He startles and looks over at Nancy, she’s standing there with silent judgment; Dustin has seen that look on Mike many times, even if he knows both Wheel isn’t afraid to voice their judgment either.

Looking back at the trio, Robin now laying down with her head on Steve’s stomach and Eddie mirroring Steve.

“No,” he answers and looks back at Nancy to find her now looking curiously at the trio, “Just wondering what’s up with Steve”

Nancy snaps her attention back to him and opens her mouth before closing it again, looking at the trio; looking at Steve. “He’s comfortable-”

“Yeah I know that, I want to know what’s up with this other- whatever it is.” He snaps, crossing his arms, “that’s more- he’s been like this since we all got back.”

She nods, quickly looking over again before sitting next to him, “I think, he’s safe.”

“Of course he’s safe! We defeated Vecna!” He doesn’t snap, but it’s bitchy and Nancy rolls her eyes at him, before looking back at the trio.

“I mean, he feels safer now. As in, he’s not on guard all the time. He can lay there with his eyes closed, with no weapon or walkie within reach. He’s not only comfortable and safe, he’s- Steve’s happy” Nancy explains and looks at him, going to cross her arms before letting them fall again, “with the upside down behind us, all of us are okay and here- so Steve’s happy and safe”

It makes him blink, dropping his own arms before looking back at Steve. He’s got to be asleep now, with the way his foot isn’t moving now and how Eddie and Robin are also not moving.

“You’ve never actually seen him like this have you?”

He goes to nod, only to realize that, no; no he hasn’t.

Sure, Steve looked relaxed sitting on his couch but now that Dustin’s thinking about it, Steve was twitchy. That he had a leg bouncing and how he picked the one spot that has view of every part of the room. He knows that Steve keeps the nail bat in his car, that it goes inside with him at home and work.

And now that it’s in his head, Dustin can see all the ways Steve was and how Steve is now.

Steve is content and for the first time in years, he is safe.

~

Uh. This wasn’t supposed to go like this? I was going to make this a thing involving Eddie’s necklace but this came out instead 🤷‍♀️

for me there’s a major difference between content and comfortable. Like, you can be comfortable but still on the edge you know what I mean??? But when you’re content… it’s just better?? Idk what trying to say. ANYWAY!!! This is Dustin wanting Steve like this always and hoping to like bottle it up lol.

Also this takes place after spring break, they defeated Vecna. Like a few months after. It’s also pre-steddie, because of course it is.

Taglist (if you want to be added let me know!)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @strangersteddierthings

[livwritesstuff]

uh so i was feeling like writing something angsty and ever since i wrote this a little bit ago i can’t stop thinking about the idea of what the upside down coming back decades later would look like, however it’s a bummer and not the vibe i want for my steddie!dads verse so consider this an au for an au or whatever idk

It’s a normal, average, mundane, regular Wednesday when Dustin calls.

They don’t talk as much as they used to, but that’s adult life, Steve supposes. 

They both have entire lives now, spouses and children and jobs that consume pretty much every waking hour. The near-1000 miles that separates Steve and Eddie in Massachusetts from Dustin in Indiana doesn’t help things either, and seeing as how Dustin had long-since inherited the Hawkins Lab research from Owens when he retired back in the mid-2000s, that won’t be changing any time soon.

Steve is home when Dustin calls, and between counseling clients, so when the phone rings and lights up with his name, Steve picks it up with a grin.

“Hey man, what’s goin’ on!”

Nothing but silence comes through Dustin’s end for a while – such a long time that Steve checks to make sure that the call didn’t drop or his phone didn’t die or something (and neither had happened, so it’s definitely a Dustin thing).

“Dustin?” he asks, “You there?”

Silence, still.

Then –

“Steve.”

Dustin sounds…not normal, and Steve feels the grin slide off his face.

“What?”

“Steve,” he chokes, “It’s…it’s back.”

Steve feels his heart stop for a second, feels it like all the blood in his veins came to an abrupt halt for just a moment.

“The Upside Down,” Dustin continues, “It…all of…it’s back.”

He sounds like he’s underwater, or maybe Steve’s the one sinking beneath the surface, just like he’d done forty years ago when he’d taken Dustin’s place on that boat and got dragged into hell through the depths of Lover’s Lake.

Steve hangs up the phone, his hands shaking.

His knees feel shaky too, like they can’t support his weight anymore despite doing so for nearly sixty years.

They’ve been giving him problems lately – his knees. Nothing too crazy; he can still go on his runs and putter around the yard and all that. It’s just a part of aging, he supposes, and he hadn’t minded aging before – liked it, even. Liked his greying hair and the crow’s feet around his eyes and his achy knees, because there’d been a period of time many years ago when he wasn’t sure he’d make it long enough to experience that inevitability of life.

Right this second though, he hates it, hates the way it makes him realize he’s not as nimble as he used to be, the way his reaction time isn’t the same anymore, because he knows that’s what had gotten him through those horrible years back in the mid-eighties.

He lowers himself down, and as his ass hits the tile floor of the bathroom – his daughters’ bathroom, the one they’ve shared practically their whole lives, the one Moe lost her first tooth in, the one Robbie pierced her own ears in, the one Hazel will be getting ready for prom in soon – Dustin calls him again.Steve doesn’t pick up, too busy kicking himself for not considering sooner the possibility of this sooner, for not having a plan ready to execute to keep their daughters safe the way no adult had done for him.

He can feel an old instinct – the urge to gather his loved ones close – starting to kick in, his mind starting to race as he catalogs the people who make up his small corner of the world. 

Hazel is easy – she’s at the high school just down the road. He can have her back home, back within arm’s reach, in a matter of minutes.

Robin and Nancy are next closest, still living in Boston after all these years. Steve would wager a guess that they’ll be hearing from Dustin soon if they haven’t already, and then they’ll probably head Steve and Eddie’s way, and then they’ll all regroup. 

They’ll figure out what their next moves are.

Moe and Robbie are trickier with both of them living in New York City and likely unwilling to leave their school and their jobs and their friends without any warning whatsoever. Moe is getting more and more reasonable the older she gets, so Steve may have to start with her and hope that Robbie follows.

Moe is twenty-two now. 

Moe is older than both of her dads had been when Eddie had nearly died, when Steve had carried him out of hell and made sure he didn’t. All three of their daughters – even seventeen-year-old Hazel – are older than Steve had been when he got sucked into that horrible mess, and they’re still so damn young. 

With two decades of parenting under his belt, he finds it kind of unbelievable that anybody had looked at his sixteen-year-old face and seen anything but a child, nevermind actually asked him to do the things that he’d done.

Dustin calls him two more times before he gives up. Only a moment later, Steve hears Eddie’s phone ring downstairs, and then he hears Eddie’s jovial tone as he answers the call. 

He goes quiet real quick after that.

Just as Steve is deciding who to call first – Hazel’s school or Moe – his phone vibrates, two quick buzzes that can only indicate a text from Robin.

He opens it.

did dustin call you?

Steve lets out a heavy breath because, fuck, it’s real.

Yeah, he texts back, then adds –

This fucking sucks

40 years

As Steve watches the bubbles of Robin’s incoming response, he can vaguely hear Eddie’s ascent of the stairs, still on the phone with Dustin. 

The bubbles disappear.

“Fuck you, Dustin,” he hears Eddie snarl, “This is on you.” There’s silence for a while, and Eddie seems to pause in the hallway just in front of their bedroom door. Then, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him…I know…later, man. Love you. Be safe.”

Steve looks down at his phone to see that Robin is still typing, only for the bubbles to disappear again a second later.

Finally –

nance is going back

i’m going with her

Steve could throw up.

He almost does, he’s pretty sure, although he’s not positive because he might be having an out of body experience, or maybe he’s dissociating, or maybe it’s a fucking PTSD flashback or something. He doesn’t know.

He should know, or so his handful of psych degrees would suggest, and he probably would know if it was happening to someone else, but then again, he’s always worn blinders when it comes to himself.

That was true about him when all this shit started in 1983, and it’s still true now, almost forty years later.

Forty fucking years.

He doesn’t look up when Eddie comes into the bathroom, joining him on the floor with his back against the bathtub.

“Dustin took offense to you hanging up on him,” he says, and Steve can hear the way he’s forcing humor into his tone.

As if any of this shit is funny.

“Erica and the kids left with Claudia,” Eddie continues, answering a question Steve probably would’ve gotten around to asking Dustin himself if it weren’t for the whole hanging up on him thing, “Erica went kicking and screaming, obviously. I offered up our house, but they’re still deciding where they want to camp out. And everyone has agreed not to say a word to Jim and Joyce.”

Yeah, that makes sense, seeing as they’re both in their eighties and perpetually acting like they’re thirty years younger – at a minimum.

Not that Steve would know anything about that.

Definitely not.

“He said he’s one-hundred percent positive that it’s all still contained to Hawkins, so…” Eddie pauses, “We don’t have to, like, track down the girls or anything. Just make sure they don’t go anywhere near Indiana.”

And that, at least, is an actual relief.

“Robin’s going back,” Steve tells him, because there’s no point waiting to address that particular issue in this whole fucking mess.

The so I’m going too is implied, because that has never needed to be said when it came to Steve and Robin.

The way Eddie’s face changes evades Steve’s ability to describe. It makes him regret saying anything – that’s for fucking sure. Makes him wish he’d just snuck away in the dead of night.

“C’mon man, we’ve picked up a whole fuckin’ litter over the years,” Eddie says, and he’s still forcing humor into his tone, “You can’t leave me to fend off the masses alone – the years have made me weak-willed, I’ll surrender immediately.”

Steve manages a snort, but he still looks down at the floor all the same.

Eddie doesn’t say anything else for a while, but his hand wraps around Steve’s ankle as if there was enough brute strength in the one appendage to keep him rooted to the bathroom floor.

(Strangely enough, it feels like there might be).

“Steve,” Eddie finally says, his voice stiff and hard in a way Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, “We are way too old for this shit – Robin and Nance too.”

Eddie pauses.

“Steve,” he says again, “I know how important Robin is. I know, but our children would be fucking devastated if anything happened to you. Don’t think they wouldn’t – and something would most certainly happen to you.”

“Eddie.” 

He’s still avoiding his husband’s eyes.

“Steve,” he pleads, something desperate in his voice, “We talked about this. Remember? Last spring, when we watched that stupid zombie show with Hazel? And there was the episode with the old gay guys? We talked about this. You told me not to let you go if this shit came back.”

Steve makes no response. Ed lets out a heavy breath, looking to the ceiling.

They have this conversation every now and then – one of those conversations that always teeters on the edge of an argument – in which Eddie insists that Steve could be fine if their relationship ended in a way that Eddie himself would not. It’s a conversation that Steve hates, because he hates the idea that Eddie – his husband of twenty years and the love of his whole entire life – could still be thinking so low of himself, that there’s any part of him that doesn’t think Steve would be fucking wrecked by losing him.

Still, it had always been a hypothetical. It had never been real.

Suddenly, Steve feels claustrophobic sitting on the floor of his daughters’ bathroom. He gets to his feet and, as he heads for the door, Eddie scrambles up after him.

Halfway down the hall, Eddie lunges for him and catches his arm, wheeling him back around to face him.

“Steve,” Eddie says one more time. 

Then, because he apparently has no words ready to follow with, he stops.

“Steve,” Eddie starts again, “Please. You’re everything. I love the girls and I love our life, but Christ, Steve, you’re my entire world. You changed everything for me. You showed me how life could be worth living, and you keep showing me, and I’m not ready to let go of you yet – not even fucking close. Please don’t let this be the way we leave each other.”

Steve finally lets himself look at Eddie’s face, the face he’d fallen in love with decades ago, the face he’s still in love with decades later. He looks at his big eyes and the hint of grey at his hairline and his crows feet and the scarring that creeps up his neck from underneath the collar of his shirt (it’s a shirt he’s had for ages – since before even Moe was born by the looks of it, but so is the rest of his half of their closet).

And he finds himself nodding.

Eddie’s exhale is all desperate relief as he tugs Steve into his arms and wraps them around his shoulders. Steve immediately reciprocates the hug, pulling him in even closer, surprised to feel tears pin-pricking his eyes

“I love you so much, Steve,” Eddie tells him, gripping the back of his t-shirt so tight he feels the collar pulling taut against his throat, “I don’t say that to you enough.”

“You say it all the time,” Steve replies with a wet laugh.

“Not enough,” he shakes his head, and Steve decides there’s no point in arguing.

A minute goes by.

“Fuck,” Steve half-laughs, half-chokes as he lifts his head to meet Eddie’s eyes, “This fucking sucks.”

“I know,” he says. 

Again, he reels Steve in, and again, Steve lets him, holding onto his husband like a lifeline, like they’re standing somewhere far more perilous than the carpeted floor of their upstairs hallway.

“I know,” Eddie repeats, “And we’ll…we’ll talk about it but for now, just – can I just hold you for a bit, okay?”

Steve nods again.

“Okay.”

read the extended version on AO3 (i.e. feat. added “flashbacks” so it fits the formatting of the rest of the series)

[libra-stellium]

Natal Saturn Retrograde - Personal Observation

I'm currently reading Uranus: Freedom from the Known by Jeffrey Wolf Green! I'm on page 4 and I already have thoughts lol

Some things he said about having Saturn retrograde in the chart

A retrograde archetype is simply the need to withdraw, to retreat, to rebel from the status quo expectation of how that planetary behavior is meant to manifest from a societal point of view. This necessary rejection of the status quo via the retrograde principle accelerates the natural evolutionary pace. Because when you are withdrawing from the status quo you are arriving at your own unique and individual expression, essential individuality, of whatever planet or function is retrograde.

This is interesting bc I have Mercury, Saturn, Neptune and Uranus retrograde in my chart loll I do spend like 80% of my time thinking about my own behavior and other people's behavior and societal reasons for them. Definitely more than the people around me so I can see how that would accelerate evolution. I'm big on learning from other's mistakes lmao I also don't believe a lot of the same things as the people around me which can make me more withdrawn at times bc I know I'm the odd one in the room lol

Could we deduce that the Saturn retrograde person is going to be intrinsically oriented to rejecting, rebelling, withdrawing from, and questioning such social imprinting? The individual would come to define her or his own natural authority (Saturn), customs, regulations, norms, taboos, and ways of integrating into the culture that he or she is born into. When Saturn is retrograde the door is open and pointing to Uranus.

I wrote before how with Saturn 1H I basically raised myself when it came to my values and principles lol guess saturn retrograde played a part in that too! Idk when exactly it was to know what transit I was going through but within like the 2019-2021 time period I had a meltdown about my non existent kids feeling left out culturally bc I don't intend on abusing them omggg and like a lot of the Haitian comedy shit is about how the parents treat their kids so badly! I got over it lol bc obviously there are many other cultural aspects that are unrelated to that but it's funny how that was such a distressing thing for me! I'm also the odd one out of my catholic/christian family bc i'm pretty anti religion lol

The very nature of the individual's consciousness is intrinsically different.

All of this is screaming you're a weirdo to me lmfao but trueeee I always find myself in positions where I say something to people around me and they're like huh...never thought about it like that before

There is more of a sense of distance or detachment from the immediacy of one's family and culture, a sense that there is more to reality (Saturn) than is being focused upon by the family or culture.

I'm def the estranged family member lol the only person in my family that I talk to regularly is my aunt and she also lives in my building so! I come from a family that was very idek like the types to act like everyone gets along and are all happy together and having parties and dinners but then I realized that not only do they not know a lot about each other, they don't even like each other! Right now my aunt is trying to force this family dinner of just her and I with her brother that she talks to only when she reaches out (he doesn't ever remember her birthday after 62yrs) and my godmother's brother bc he just got divorced lol her thing is all "we don't act like a family!" and I'm like girl if I wasn't related with these people I wouldn't even be acquaintances with them lmao

Commonly, the Saturn retrograde is going to have a problem with one or both parents. In certain family situations this can be a problem and can create emotional distance from the offspring to such a parent. And, from an evolutionary point of view, necessarily so.

Yeah I don't talk to either of my parents lol no contact with my mother bc she's a narc and I just don't have a relationship with my father like he wasn't really around when I was younger but then I "met" him around 14ish and things were okayish but it wasn't real bc it was just my mother forcing things bc she wanted access to him again lol now he's just a follower on IG who likes my stories sometimes and we don't talk lmfao but I do see how stifled I was before getting away from my mother. There's a lot of mental blocks I had put in place just to deal with her and now I don't have them and it's sad bc now I see the same pattens between some of my other friends and their mothers but they're still in the "that's just how my mom is but we have a great relationship as long as i'm not [insert long list of conditions]" and I'm just like yikes!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm also currently in my saturn return along with most of my friends and only one other friend has saturn retrograde and I feel like we're the only two on our saturn return journey who are idek on a straight course? Like we hit an obstacle we work through it and move forward with the lesson but it seems like the others are stuck on a hamster wheel like they have to get the same obstacle over and over and they still aren't getting it and when I talk to them they sound like they're about to take a step forward like yeah they can't live like this anymore they're gonna do this instead but then nothing happens nothing changes and we're back to the same issue omg idk if that's a thing or if it's just an observation of my friends and I lol

Bc of how mercury rx happens I had this idea that saturn rx would work the same way as in slowing me down and keeping me stuck in cycles longer than others but reading about how saturn rx acts more like uranus it does make more sense for me lol a lot of my growth starts by surprise and it triggers like a very quick spiral where I start connecting all the dots and then I'm like whoa....like when I first realized my mom was a narc I wasn't even looking for it lol I was looking for ways to implement better boundaries to help our relationship lmfaooo then i was basically spiraling for 6months every time she did something I was like omg that's literally a tactic and then I went no contact by literally blurting it out over the phone bc I got frustrated lol I shocked myself!

Wild stuff!

[katamaridamacyonline]

tell me all of your ace attorney headcanons

to make it easier, maybe for maya fey specifically! I feel like you probably have a lot of thoughts on her

HI sorry for ignoring this ask for 12 days im gonna do it now (very very long post like holy shit how did i even type this much)

okay so for maya i have. a lot of hcs. basic stuff first she it trans (she/her), lesbian, poly, fat, and mixed black+japanese. actually there's a bit more to the fat headcanon cause i think she gains weight as she gets older, sort of as a "weight gain to represent healing" type of thing. i think around aa1 timeframe she's closer to her canon design but as she reaches more into adulthood she gains weight over time and is happier that way (part of this is because gaining weight is usually a good thing for transfems on estrogen)

okay anyways here's the part where i rant about trans maya stuff. actually i should probably talk about trans mia first cause theyre both trans in my hc and her transition actually plays an important part in maya's experience. basically mia was the first trans kurain spirit medium, before her it wasnt known that a trans woman could be a medium, but that all changed after mia realized she was a girl. for a while (months? years? not sure) mia thought that she would never be able to channel and just accepted the fact that she could be a woman but she wouldnt be able to channel, but eventually eh found that her realization of being a girl actually awakened significant spiritual power within her.

so anyways, onto maya, similar to mia she realized she was a girl when she was young, some time after misty left but while mia was still around. when mia came out, misty was very accepting in letting her transition, but with them under morgan's care they were both worried things wouldnt go as well. fortunately, mia would not let anything stop her sister from transitioning. i'm not completely sure if i think morgan would try to stop maya from transitioning or not (like yeah she's evil but idk if i see her as transphobic lol???) but if she did try to stop her mia would fight back no matter what.

anyways, maya transitions, but unfortunately things end up harder for her than mia, as maya isn't able to channel spirits. while she shows some signs of having spiritual powers, she's not anywhere close to as powerful as mia or any of the cis mediums in the family. this is deeply painful for maya and becomes a horrible source of dysphoria. how she sees it, if she can't channel spirits, she'll never really be a woman. in reality, this dysphoria is entirely false, plenty of cis women in the fey clan don't have spiritual powers (even morgan!). mia comforts her by telling her this, that she will always be a girl even if she can't channel spirits. this helps maya a lot, but it still isn't enough to fully rid her of her irrational dysphoria. it's all very hard for her, and i think morgan would definitely make everything worse for her, likely reminding her of her inability to channel for no reason other than to hurt her and make her feel inferior. but mia's positive influence helps her make it through everything, even if she does struggle a lot.

anyways, aa1 happens, and she's finally preformed her first channeling. but there's still a ton of doubt in her mind. despite now knowing she CAN channel, she's still struggling with this same dysphoria. probably thinking along the lines of. 'the only was i can channel is if i'm an urgent situation. If i was a real woman, i could channel at any moment, but i can't. I'm still just a man and nothing more." this all culminates with her inferiority complex in Turnabout Goodbyes. I actually really like reading into Maya's struggle in turnabout goodbyes as a representation of dysphoria, because the way she's hurt by not being able to channel mia is heartbreaking. hell, she literally says some genuinely suicidal things after the taser scene.

ultimately, I think maya finally begins to move past this dysphoria not because she learns to channel better, but because she finally, fully accepts mia's words to her, and i think Phoenix is really the person to finally help her out of it. sometime after turnabout goodbyes, maya opens up to phoenix about how hard this all is to her. tells him about how hard it is to feel like her womanhood is entirely dependent on a skill she struggles to grasp. phoenix would choose this as the time to finally come out to her that he too is trans, and would try his best to comfort maya, telling her how he's always seen her as a girl, how she should never doubt who she is just because she's not as skilled as her sister or mother. i think phoenix would feel some sense of guilt at this point, as he would feel like he played a part in maya's dysphoria since he was always hoping maya could channel mia again. with this, he would feel very motivated to help her through everything, both because of this guilt and just because he's now very committed to protecting maya. this of course wouldn't immediately fix everything for maya, but phoenix's continued support as they spend their days together would end up pushing her into learning to finally accept everything. over time, she's finally able to accept that no matter how strong or weak her spiritual abilities are, she'll always be a girl no matter what. of course, eventually she does become a very successful medium, but that takes much more time, and gradually freeing herself from her painful dysphoria helps her make it there.

okay wow i typed a lot what the fuck i was gonna write some stuff about other characters but this post is so long uhhhhhh apollo athena juniper trucy ema katherine sebastian adrian jinxie penny and a bunch of other ones i forgot to mention are trans women lol

[dandylovesturtles]

@theplacewhereidumpmyinterests I can't talk about most of them because they're part of an AU verse I want to keep secret until I have the first fic that's part of it written, and idk when that will be (by summer?? HOPEFULLY??), but I guess I can talk about the other one because idk if/when I will write a fic for him (I'd like to but like I am only human)

"more AUs Dandy?" LISTEN all I do is sit around and think about "what if"s, okay?

ok so this started as me being like, hm, we see Lou Jitsu with a rotating door of women, so many he doesn't seem to remember all their names, so it's not totally out there to think he might have gotten one of them pregnant, right?

and thus Marcus (middle name Kyle) was born! literally!

so the story for this is, Lou Jitsu had a fling with a woman in the early 90s, pre-Big Mama. they were both in agreement that the whole thing was casual and it didn't last very long, but oopsie-daisy about six weeks after their last night together she finds out she's pregnant.

she debates what to do for a bit, because, as established, Lou Jitsu is kinda a fuckboi and she doesn't really want a relationship with him. But once she decides she's definitely keeping the baby she feels like she can't just not tell him, right? so she tries!

...unfortunately he's dating Big Mama by that point and she interferes to make sure that Lou Jitsu never meets with the woman and never finds out, because she knows this would get in the way of her plans.

she takes never hearing back from LJ as a sign he just isn't interested in the kid and resolves to single-motherhood. which she is the best at, btw.

she's still considering trying to introduce Marcus to his dad at some point, but unfortunately her kid isn't even 5 before Lou Jitsu suddenly goes missing, with his teary fiancée telling a sob story to the cops. assuming, same as everyone else, that he's dead, she lets the whole thing go, though she does tell Marcus who his dad is once he's old enough to understand everything.

Marcus goes through periods of being obsessed with Lou Jitsu, watching all his movies and consuming every piece of media about him that he can find, and periods where he can't stand to even hear the name. it's up and down. from his perspective, LJ abandoned him and his mom, but he's also dead, so it's not like he can have closure on this ever, right? so it's just a thing he has to deal with on his own.

but he's fine! he's alright. he gets through high school, then college, then accepted into vet school just fine.

then... his mom gets sick and dies.

yeah, that's a hard blow.

but he's alright! he has a few buddies from college he still sees now and then, and he's started his zoo vet residency at the Bronx Zoo (with a particularly special interest in reptiles), so lots of new people to meet that way! he's doing great! he's not lonely at all!

(a few months ago, he was suddenly woken up by a surge of something, like dozens of voices were crying out to him for help, tugging him toward something, saying his family needs him...

yeah, no idea what that was about. he doesn't have any family anymore.)

then the sky opens up and aliens come out.

Marcus is at work, because of course aliens would attack at the beginning of his shift. he spends the day ushering survivors into safe zones within the zoo, using his medical knowledge to handle first aid, and just trying to stay sane as the whole world turns upside down.

and then just as suddenly as it all started... it stops.

in the aftermath, everyone around him is just trying to get home, desperately calling their loved ones and praying for the best. Marcus starts trying to figure out how he's going to get home, because the trains definitely aren't running, and as he looks as his phone for a spark of inspiration, he realizes... no one has tried to call him. his coworkers' phones have been going off all day, whenever they can get signal, as loved ones try to reach them, but... he doesn't have anyone trying to reach him. and as he sits there he realizes he doesn't know who he should be calling, either.

so. that's pretty depressing.

and as he's sitting there, thinking about his life and what led him here, in a now empty vet clinic outside the bronx zoo... he hears a noise. and then, voices.

ah great. looters.

at first, Marcus tries to call 911 - but obviously the call center is swamped. so he decides to take care of the problem himself, going to see who's there and get rid of them...

wait, who is he kidding? he's definitely not paid enough to confront potentially armed looters! he's going to get out of here.

but just as he starts to leave, he hears the voices again - coming from one of the surgery rooms this time. and they're talking about IVs... scalpels... anesthesia...

suddenly he realizes that these aren't looters - they're here to try and treat somebody.

and like hell is he going to let some idiot kill someone trying to do DIY surgery.

so he turns back around and bursts into the room... on two humans, a rat that counts as giant even for New York, and four very big, very injured turtles.

one of whom immediately points a gun in his face. to be fair, that's what he thought would happen.

"Donnie!" yells the biggest one, and, oh, they can talk. huh.

"Relax, it's just a tranquilizer!"

"Donatello!" that's the rat. there's a sound like a whip cracking and the one with the gun makes a startled noise and drops it.

now the rat is in front of him. he's looking up at Marcus imploringly. "Do you work here?" he asks.

"Y-yeah. I'm a vet."

the rat bows very politely. "my sons are seriously hurt, and I don't have the supplies to help them at home. I understand it is a lot to ask, but... we must use your supplies. please, if you could just look the other way."

Marcus looks around at the turtles, especially the one on the table, the one worst off. he looks mangled. he won't live long if he isn't properly treated.

a rat, two humans who look like teenagers, and the turtles. who the rat called "sons". now that he's noticing, they're all pretty short, other than the big one. are they also teenagers?

"...Are any of you doctors?" he asks. the littlest one starts to raise a hand, but the girl grabs it and forces it back down.

everyone else has left by now. he's the only doctor here.

alright. guess he's doing this.

"...okay, everyone make some room. let me get sterilized, and I'll see what we're working with here."

and that's how the son Lou Jitsu didn't know he had becomes primary care doctor to his teenage mutant ninja half-brothers. ^^

(and then a bunch of other stuff happens)

[monpalace]

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, (linked universe) time/reader.

content .. it's only natural you search for your nephew after he enters the lost woods on a dare. you can't have a problem with the hand dealt to you when the beast who gives you shelter is so kind.

warnings .. no beta, we die like the promise i made to finish this before the summer after my junior year ended (i started this in april, it's august). i didn't know where i was going with this after a certain point and i think that's obvious. reader uses she/her pronouns. large, legal age gap (reader is in her 30's - 40's, time is a few hundred years old). less of a fic and more snippets, but it's almost 7.5k+ words. i don't think i explicitly say which link it is, so i guess it's ambiguous? nephew is named because this would be a pain to write otherwise.

notes .. prompted (not inspired!!) by beauty and the beast, but also the batb fanfic i found after my friend showed my an nsfw ao3 tag account on twitter. beelzebub / lord of the flies from fear and hunger was a huge inspo for link / time's physical description but there is leeway for how he can be envisioned. he's still large as shit though lmao. the layout of the manor was this, only because i wouldn't be able to write this without knowing.

supposedly there's gonna be a second part. supposedly.

idk. i might hate this enough to just. not.

The Lost Woods wasn't as intimidating as everyone talked it up to be.

Yes, it felt like the trees moved when you turned your back to them, and, granted, there were a few mobs of monsters that could get the jump on you if you weren't paying attention, but you had managed to get away with a few scrapes the few times it had happened.

The only thing to keep you company was the howling winds that grew in intensity and your own thoughts that were sprawling into whatever corners they could reach, but that was fine. You'd gratefully take decades-old gossip from the next town over instead of the creeping paranoia of what was behind you.

Of course, you would willingly go through this, that, and whatever else one thousand times over if it meant finding your nephew— and to keep yourself from reprimanding yourself from reprimanding the teens that had dared him out into the woods, but that was another thing.

Along your investigation, you'd found a broken trail of breadcrumbs that led to nothing when you followed them. They were torn pieces of fabric from his clothes, just big enough to be noticeable but small enough to keep himself protected from the elements.

(You'll forever be thankful that a younger your drilled the idea into his head.)

You'd long since discovered calling his name was useless. The only thing you've managed to do was draw the attention of a few wandering stalfos dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

The ones that had managed to find weapons were always the most painful to deal with.

If your determination weren't so established, you would've lost your sanity within the first day.

Food and water were no issue, you were smart enough to pack more than a week's worth of both. There were non-perishable options and several choices for your nephew when you found him; he'd no doubt have his fair share of cravings after being lost for so long.

(Three days was an eternity to you.)

Just before the sun had reached its crest in the sky, you'd realized that there were more empty clearings than trees. Wildlife had become scarce as well.

Where deers and wolves previously ran abundant, birds and squirrels that ran from the smallest of noises replaced them.

The wind had calmed, at least. It no longer wanted to push and shove you in whatever direction it pleased or steal the bag full of items you brought along. You didn't have to hug your sweater to your chest in fear of it being ripped from your arms either.

Instead, it was still.

Admittedly, the clearing gives you more paranoia than anything else.

When your mind starts to wander to places you'd rather it not reach, you begin to hum a quiet tune to yourself— your nephew's favorite— and allow it to ground you.

You were here for a reason. You wouldn't leave until you found him. You'll be fine until you find him, and you'll find some way to live in the forest that refuses to let its inhabitants go peacefully.

It's hours later when you hear the first sound of life (or suspended death) that doesn't feel like a threat— though, in hindsight, you should've been smarter and more suspicious of it when you first heard it.

A high-pitched instrument repeats each croon you let out, eventually taking over and silencing you. You follow the tune without much of a thought. If it were some sort of elaborate trap to lure you in, you couldn't be mad at yourself if you fell for it.

Clusters of trees become less and less as you follow the instrument and its recreation of your nephew's song. You call his name and are met with nothing but the music (from an ocarina, you quickly recognize) growing louder as time passes.

To say you're shocked when a large and, admittedly, well-kept manor enters your field of view would be an understatement. It's covered in vines, invasive arrowroots, and spreading flowers, but looks lived in if the smoldering smoke slowly dissipating in the afternoon air was anything to go by.

You couldn't begin to imagine who lived inside before the woods took it over (or what lived in it now). The architecture says it predates the Hero split in four, but you doubted the inhabitants of the floating sky built something so elaborate when they returned to the surface.

Your eyes jump past the crumbling pillars and dilapidated statues to the half-glass double doors that seemed to open on their own.

The music was coming from inside the manor now.

Steeling your nerves and squaring your shoulders, your hand grips tight on the strap of your satchel as you walk up the stone stairs covered in moss. You have to hold onto the guardrail installed next to it just as tight. Looking down, you find the carvings of it sorely separating it from the older antiquity of the manor.

Taking in smaller details (for future escapes or weapons against whatever lived inside, you'd figure out later), you find that the small pools of water that came from the sides of the manor and ran and fell alongside the stairs you climbed held small clumps of straw-colored fur. Some caused the surrounding water to turn into a pink hue that reminded you of fairies you've seen in childrens' books.

(Your hand reaches into the satchel to make sure you brought all of your nephew's well-loved books as well as a novel or two for yourself.)

(You did, thankfully.)

There's a smell filled with musk that permeates the air the closer you get to the manor, thick with amber and ginger and it reminds you of the times you come across a pack of wolves during your childhood.

Upon entering the manor, you find it was strongest in the wing of the manor to your right. It took over almost the entirety of your senses, but it wasn't an unwelcome or overwhelming sensation. If you paid close enough attention, you could sense the homely feeling underneath the ferality of it.

You prayed you'd be able to tell when the beast returned; if it was gone in the first place.

You take close note of how the foyer wasn't truly a foyer with how it was filled with windows rather than walls that led to a courtyard and how the only way to enter the wings of the manor was the winded stairs that connected via the terrace.

You don't fail to notice how the wing coated in the musky scent is coated entirely in shadows despite all the sources of light.

You couldn't decide if you were thankful or filled with loathing at the idea of what roamed on that side of the manor.

It's a struggle to turn your eyes away from the darkened wing of the manor, but you do manage when the music picks up once more from the left wing. It's significantly brighter and doesn't fill you with a sense of dread as the right one does.

Trap be damned, your nephew was here, you knew it— you felt it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find that you're inside a parlor room that leads to three other pathways. One was a library, another was a dining room, and the last was a small hallway.

In any other situation, you'd explore some more. The supposed beast that possibly lived in the manor kept everything in better shape than what you'd expect— or hopefully it was the forest spirits that lived throughout the forest.

Hopefully, those same spirits kept your nephew safe.

You have to close your eyes to better determine where the music is coming from, the only thing you can hear beside it and your own breathing being the manor settling. Your ears guide you inside the hall and you find it branches into a corridor, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

Common sense seems to leave you when you spot the back of your nephew's head. Your breath quickens as you watch him clap along with the ocarina, you force your eyes to keep their clarity when you hear him hum each note just as you remember.

"''ire," you call in a weaker voice than you intended or thought you had. The nickname he claimed he hated so much tumbled from your lips so easily as you rushed inside the room, one arm rushing to remove your satchel while the other reached out to almost check if he was real.

The Lost Woods were known for their tricks, after all.

When he turns to face you, he's scrambling over himself in the bed. You're able to see how he limps on his right ankle and knee, how the entirety of his limbs were wrapped in bandage wrap as though done by a child. There was no blood, so you hold off on checking him over.

(The bandages were stained, thankfully not with blood. It was mostly dust and grime.)

(You'd have to sanitize whatever was wrong.)

You meet him more than halfway when you catch the way he winces and hisses with each movement.

"Auntie— Auntie— Titi!" His voice is airy as he speaks, emotion causing his words to come out as chokes. His arms reciprocated the tight hug you had on him, forcibly keeping his arms from trembling due to either nerves or injuries. "Titi, Titi, Titi!"

The way he says the word makes him sound like some chittering bug. If you listened hard enough, you could tell how his teeth clattered together, but you couldn't decipher if it was from a chill or emotion.

All you wanted to do was keep his head against the crook of your shoulder and neck while you pressed kisses to the crown of his head and kept him as close to you as you could, but you knew better.

Pulling away, you reach back for the satchel that you previously discarded. "What's wrong? What happened?" You force your voice to even out when you speak, hands already reaching for his arms after you sit the bag against your hip.

He shakes his head, but you've known him long enough to know there was something wrong. "They're from when I first went in the forest," he answers, voice quivering. "It's all healed. I think."

He doesn't push your hands away or pull his arms back when you skillfully unravel the bandages, carefully pulling and prodding the scars that littered the skin, and he was telling the truth despite the coloring.

"Did you forage like I taught you? Why are most of them green?"

"The spirits."

"The spirits?"

"And the soldier." He looks over your shoulder as though searching for their figures. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

Your eyes squint as one of your hands rubs over the strange texture of the scar, the other reaching for the antiseptic and clean fabric in your bag. "Are these spirits children or small trees with masks?"

You'd heard of both in legend. No one's ever seen them.

You're not sure which you'd rather watch over your nephew.

His eyes drift to his side before peering back over your shoulder once again. His brows furrow as he thinks of how to answer, head tilting as his pupils dilate.

"Both," he answers, "and ones that look like scarecrows. I asked them to bring you."

You force your gaze to keep itself on your nephew. You wouldn't let it wander to spirits you couldn't even see. "The ocarina?" You instead ask another question jumping around your mind, sucking your tongue in appreciation when he nods. "Smart boy."

An airy laugh leaves him, his face lighting up with a smile. "Learned from the best," he snorts.

You risk pressing kisses to the apples of his cheeks and forehead at his flattery, hands cupping themselves on the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

A younger him would push you away without a second thought, whining on about how you were embarrassing him in front of his friends.

He lets you do so now regardless of the spirits that surround you both.

"What've you been eating?" Your hands drop to his biceps when you pull away. They weren't thin like you'd expect them to be after three days in the forest; they were fatter than they had been before he left. "Who's been feeding you?"

His answer of "the Soldier," is quicker than you would've liked. "He goes out and hunts. He always brings back meat. I think it's deer.. it tastes.. bland."

"He.. cooks it, right?"

Another laugh wracks through your nephew's body. He knows you're only being cautious, but he can't help it.

"All the way through," he hums, flexing his arms when they start feeling stiff. "I think I don't like it because it's not your cooking."

He knows what your response is going to be before he finishes speaking, years of having lived under your guidance making him attuned to the smallest of your movements.

When your expression shifts from being relieved to disappointment with a twitch of your eye, he can tell you're not pleased with his statement.

Dousing the fabric in the antiseptic, you take his arm in your hand and begin wiping it down. "Don't be rude." Your voice takes on a less-than-pleased rasp, speaking lowly as if you knew the Soldier was near; but you still apologize when the sting sets in. "Have you thanked him?"

(You're sure you would continue to speak quietly regardless of the context of the conversation. You didn't want to risk "the Soldier," doing anything unfavorable.)

(Your nephew's words of praise did little to ease your stressed heart.)

"I never know when he's here. He drops the food off while I'm asleep. He brings books and carvings too." He watches as you wrap his arm in another roll of (cleaner) bandages, undoing the old one on his other arm while you prepare another piece of fabric. "The Spirits say I'm the most excitement he's had in a while, so he doesn't mind."

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse from speaking so quietly. You tap his throat to tell him to relax.

"They say he's nice," he continues, doing as told. Tapping the fingers of his now free hand against your shin, he tries to recall what all they've told him.

"I think they said he used to live in another part of the woods when he was a kid?—" His eyes glance back over your shoulder, suddenly becoming sure of himself. "— Ah. They did. They said he left and came back when he was older."

You raise a brow but don't speak your question.

Your nephew takes hold of your retreating hands in both of his.

A clatter and snippy huff outside the bedroom door rouses you from your light sleep.

Nearing a week into your stay at the manor, you'd think you'd be more accustomed to the noise, but you aren't.

You carefully remove your nephew's head from your arm, using even more caution when trying to remove the conjoined weight of several spirits from your legs as you slip out of the bed.

It's hard, but you manage to do so without waking any of them— you hope.

(You still couldn't see any of the Spirits, but over time you could feel when they crowded around you and when the wind moved as they rushed past you.)

The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

You hear the sound of claws scratching against the floor on the other side of the door.

Pressing the crown of your head against the door, you tap your fingers along the handle to give the Soldier a warning and wait a few moments.

If you listened hard enough, you swear you could hear him scurrying into one of the other rooms before he shut the door behind him.

It reminded you of a dog.

Smiling to yourself, you're careful opening the door, keeping your head to it and your eyes on the floor. You turn to the other side of it to close it, waiting for the click of the lockset to speak.

"Are you decent?"

His confused "huh," sounds more akin to a gasp than any other noise.

You rap your fingers against the handle again. "Can I look up?"

"Oh—" he sounds choked. "Yeah— Yes. Yes. You can. Sorry."

"Thank you," you hum, leaning down to pick up the tray of food. It consisted of almost entirely meat with a few vegetables you figure are exclusive to the woods. "For both the food and taking care of my nephew."

There was a thumping noise behind the door, the frequency of it was like a tail beating excitedly.

The Soldier lets out a croaking noise and you know his mouth started moving before his mind was able to catch up. "No, I should thank you for looking for him— and for telling him not to use his name."

You let out an airy laugh. "It's common knowledge where I'm from. I wouldn't be a good parental figure if I didn't."

Another noise leaves the Soldier as you fix yourself to open the door. You can't discern what this one means. "I don't know when they started calling me the Soldier, but it's not— uhm.. A favorite.. of mine."

"Oh?"

"Soldier," he sounds more confident in himself and you don't have the heart to tell him you heard him the first time, "it's a nickname. I don't know where the kids got it, but I don't like it."

Readjusting the tray to rest against your hip and forearm rather than in both your hands, you hum curiously. "So what should we be calling you?"

He pauses longer than you'd think it'd take to remember your own name, but you wait.

"Link."

"Link?"

"Yes."

"Like in a chain?"

".. Yes."

You nod even though you're sure he can't see you. "I'll be sure to tell 'ire."

"Thank you." There's more thumping from behind the door.

"And thank you."

There's another noise from Link you struggle to understand, but you figure it's because he starves for conversation. "I heard what your nephew said about the food, too. I'll try to find something to flavor it with next time I'm out."

"Thank you," you repeat. Your eyes curve with your smile. "He'll greatly appreciate it."

Link raps his fingers against the door in response, but he doesn't say anything. You take that as your queue to reenter the bedroom.

"How come your side of the house is always dark?"

You gently pinch your nephew's elbow and he swats your hand away, leaning impossibly close to the door that separates him and Link.

There are a few moments of silence from the man that 'ire filled with bated breath. Link takes an audible, steadying breath before knocking what you think is his nail against the door.

"I wouldn't want to scare you both off."

It was an answer you expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

"Boo," your nephew groans. You're sure Link could hear the pout in his voice if the quiet chuckle he lets out was anything to go by. "You can't be worse than what I've seen out there."

There's genuine intrigue in the noise Link lets out. "Oh? What exactly have you seen then?"

Pure excitement fills your nephew's expression when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. His fingers tap against the floor restlessly, tongue already listing off whatever monsters he's encountered (read: come up with) in his twelve years of life.

"— but their teeth are the worst! They're poisonous and there isn't a cure for it!"

You have no clue as to what creature he was talking of now. There were at least fifteen of them who injected poison through their teeth, eight of which had no cure.

(You don't have to strain as hard to see the Spirits as you did two weeks ago. The shadows and light shift around then as they move to sit around your nephew, seemingly hooked on your nephew's every word.)

(You remember when he would crowd himself around you similarly whenever you would tell him a story.)

You close the book that sat in your lap more for decoration than entertainment at that point and place a hand over your heart.

"I drew a lot of them too! My aunt brought them with her!" He pushes himself through the motions of standing up before immediately stopping and returning to his seat in front of the door. "I'll show them to you if you eat dinner with us!"

There are a few stammering noises from the other side of the door and yet you can't bring yourself to apologize for your nephew's bargaining.

Your own curiosity was quickly starting to get the better of you against your wishes.

The noise he had made several nights before makes itself heard again. His claws (you discovered those a few nights ago) scratch against the wooden flooring as he moves to sit against the other wall rather than the door, his voice moving with him.

"I don't want to— I wouldn't want— want to disturb you— either of you." His words are muffled by the door and his growing quietness, a  regretful lilt stuck in his throat. "But thank you for the offer."

If he truly didn't want to join you and your nephew (and the spirits) for dinner, he was terrible at showing it.

"I know I wouldn't mind," you hum, standing to put away the book. A loud thumping makes the floor vibrate and 'ire has to stifle a laugh. "I wouldn't mind picking up a pot and pan again either."

"No!" Link quickly apologizes for his tone after realizing his outburst. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be a good host if I made you do that."

"Are you scared I'll poison you?"

Your nephew's voice drops to a whisper he swears you won't be able to hear. "She can't. She's the best cook ever."

You're not sure how the two correlate, but you'd take thew compliment.

"She won't?" Link's voice drops to entertain your nephew despite his earlier convictions. It takes on a playful direction, fur rubbing against the wood-tiled floors in excitement (based on prior interactions). "You've never gotten sick? Not once?"

'ire begins to shake his head but quickly stops. "Only from eating too much— which you will do, by the way. Best cook around," he reiterates.

Link chuckles, tapping his fingers against the floor restlessly. It takes him a moment to come up with something to say and neither of you push him to hurry.

You were both too hooked on his every word to do so anyway.

"I'll.." He's shy for all the attention. You wonder when the last time he got so much focus on him outside of the spirits. ".. I'll be sure to think about your offer. Why don't you tell me about a few of your monsters so I have more of an incentive?"

Your nephew jumps on the opportunity while you think over the plethora of recipes in your mind.

It wasn't rare for one of the imps to accompany you outside when you went foraging.

You never strayed too far from the manor— the last time you had been dragged outside of the area you had designated for yourself (and your nephew) by the children, Link had to come and rescue to lot of you before the sun had gotten too low.

Suffice to say, it was a rather humbling experience.

Kneeling, squatting, or sitting on the ground had never been easy on your knees or back, but the grass below you had felt as though it were a pillow hailing from the Heavens itself.

Your body works on picking herbs from the ground before placing them in your bag repurposed for your (new) everyday tasks while your mind wanders elsewhere.

You're humming to yourself when a twig snapping breaks your focus.

It was a nice reminder that the imps hadn't, in fact, accompanied you that day.

Your head lifts to survey the surrounding woods. Your entire body was still, mimicking a deer caught on a hunting trip.

There was nothing immediately in your line of sight that could be seen as a threat, but you had lived a long enough life to know that wasn't enough reason to let your guard down.

You're slow to rise to your feet and your ears are strained as you listen for whatever had made the noise.

"I'm sorry!"

You can feel your body relax when you hear Link's voice call out from behind a tree. You sink back to your knees without much thought, clutching the fabric of your top to calm your battering heart.

You weren't sure what you were going to do if it were an actual danger anyway.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continues. His arms move and you can see one drop against the side of a tree while the other tightens around the corpse of an animal. "You were so still, I wasn't sure if you were okay."

A quiet, breathless noise leaves you. You're not sure if he could hear it, but you can see his shoulders relax when you do. "You're— You're fine! I just.. didn't know that you'd be out and about at this time."

When the hand not occupied with that week's dinner (barely) lifts to grab ahold of a tree branch, you're shocked to just now find out how tall he is.

"It's not your fault. I didn't know you were out here," he grunts while gently tugging at the branch. "Are you alone?"

Your eyes drop to the flora that surrounds you to not feel so invasive. Your fingers rub against the blades of grass idly when a restless feeling overtakes you. "A few of the kids said they'd join me later, but I'm not too sure when that's supposed to be." A short, genuine laugh leaves you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot."

Link lets out his own, quiet laughter that you can only clue together when you see the entire tree shake in your peripheral. "I wouldn't take it to heart. They say they'll join me in hunting all the time but never do."

"Have you ever given them a stern talking to? I've heard that usually works with spirits."

"They barely listen to me as is. I think you'd have more luck than me."

"Is that an offer?"

"Are you headed home now?"

A strange vice tightens around your heart at his wording while you look through your bag. "Mhm," you hum, standing now that your legs aren't like that of a newborn. "You'll have to remind me of the way, though."

"I can guide you," he hums in reply. "You just can't look back."

Turning your back to him, you're surprised you don't jump when a sharp claw gives a ghostly touch to the center of your back.

You're shocked that you disregard the urge to check over your shoulder every step back to the manor.

You were no stranger to 'ire's night terrors.

They'd gotten better over the past few years as he aged, but all that progress had been undone during the near month you'd been in the forest.

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip out, you ignore the prickly and uncomfortable feeling that comes with keeping your lulling head up so you can watch him.

You'd done it a thousand times before and would do it one thousand and one more if it meant he felt better.

You don't miss how his grip on your arm tightens when you start humming his favorite song. Your hand trails up to his hairline, nails (claws?) tracing the paint on his face that refused to fade.

You'd spent so long trying to scrub them and the green marks off, you hadn't even realized his skin had started to pale into a sickly grey in patches while darkening into (what looked like) a necrotic black in others.

You didn't even want to think about the changes that had started coming to your body.

You were, however, thankful you weren't thinning into a stalfos.

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think."

"How'd you know?"

"I have a young nephew. You learn quickly."

A brief laugh leaves Link from behind the cracked door. Though you didn't face him, you could see the way his eyes illuminated the wall in front of you, even managed to catch on some of 'ire's face.

It was a pretty blue color.

You don't comment on it.

"What's wrong?" Your voice has a deep rasp to it, your hand continuing to stroke your nephew's face even after he begins to calm down.

He'd slowly begun dropping more and more barriers (physical and mental) when it came to communicating with you both, having taken up shadows in their stead. He had gotten more confident in conversation as well, stammering and stuttering less the longer your nephew forced him to talk.

It makes you wonder how long it'd take for him to finally make true on those dinner plans.

"I heard him," Link hums just as quietly, the glow of his eyes moving to instead look over the sleeping spirits that crowded themselves around the space not occupied on the bed. "I was worried. Do you want help with them?"

A soft laugh leaves you when one of the imps buries their head onto your calf as though it were a pillow. "They've been like this since we first got here. 'ire," you press a kiss to his forehead when he rouses, waiting for him to settle before speaking again, "says they like to cling."

"You don't mind?"

"He's not too far off from them nowadays."

"Does he miss anything?"

Laying on your back, you being 'ire's head to rest against your shoulder. Your gaze is finally able to see how he'd take up all of the doorway (and then some) through the crack of the door.

You'd be shocked he hadn't flinched away if it hadn't been for the way his hand reached out to clasp it.

The tips of his fingers reached well past the frame of the door, his claws further, and you could only imagine just how much space he was taking up in the small hallway.

You were confident he could fit five or six of you in his hand without trying.

Your eyes jump back to the three (possibly four?) eyes before he can become self-conscious.

"Almost everything," you answer after pulling yourself from your thoughts. "His clothes, his dolls.. He could go without his friends, though."

His eyes jump from your face to the window as he huffs out a nervous laugh. It makes you wonder if he knows something you don't, but you don't push. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"And yourself," he clarifies, "what do you miss?"

You're silent.

What exactly did you miss?

The feeling of your village's grass between your toes after the rain, the baker's treats that no other could replicate, being a part of such a tight-knit community, the sun after a particularly muggy morning—

There wasn't any need to be a sap.

"I'm not sure," you finally say after a long period of silence. You hadn't realized your eyes had left Link, yet when you force your gaze back to him, he holds it without issue. "I struggled with becoming attached to things unlike 'ire."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time someone said something like that."

"You have visitors like us often?"

"More than you'd think."

"And what's become of them?"

The glow of his eyes drops to the sleeping spirits that litter before looking to the window again and you quickly understand.

The hum that leaves your throat is more lackluster than you intended it to be, but given how quickly the topic had changed, you give yourself the grace.

"Well," you start after clearing your throat, "what's something that you miss?"

The manor creaks when Link leans against a wall and his confidence in the movement tells you more than you'd expected.

You don't think you'd ever have the same amount of trust he held in it.

There's a playful tone in his voice when he speaks, one of his hands raised to scratch against his chin. "You'd have to promise not to be dramatic when I say."

"Is it my fault you use such outdated terms thousands of years behind my time?"

Link turns away to stifle his laughter, shrouding the room in darkness and forcing your eyes to strain with it.

"I can't say I've had the easiest experience understanding you or your nephew's sayings," he hums, drowning you in the light of his eye when he turns back, "the kids have to keep filling me in."

"Shame, and here I thought you'd been closer to my age. Have you been leading me on this entire time?"

Link's claws knock against the wall, his tail wagging against the floor while he huffs his amusement. "Have I? When I don't even know your name?"

If the weight of 'ire wasn't on your shoulder, you're sure you would've had a physical reaction of some sort.

"It'd do you good to not forget it," he hums, the movement of his tail slowing until it stops entirely. "Titi and Auntie, as much as I hate to say it, won't do much good."

Another lackluster noise leaves you as the arm trapped underneath your nephew lifts to rub your thumb during his forehead. "How fun."

"The kids are too attached to do anything now." The door slowly creaks open before stopping. It shuts so there's only a crack instead. "You'll be fine to share your name now."

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"I haven't asked a lot," you huff before taking a softer tone, eyes rolling closed. "What is it that you miss?"

Link quietly snorts, muffling it by pressing his face to the door. He takes a steadying breath before saying a quiet, "a lot, I suppose. I can't name just a few things." A low noise leaves him, it's similar to a growl. "My friends? Playing music as well— my hands aren't good for much but skewering these days. My horse, Epona, too. She was the prettiest mare."

"Is she red with a white mane?"

"You saw the kids' drawings?"

"I've seen her before, I think— or maybe it was a hallucination?" The hand stroking 'ire's forehead stops as you scrounge your memories. "When I saw her outside the forest, I knew it was real. Another fated hero was mounting her."

You'd like to think yourself a master of figuring out what each noise he makes is meant to mean, but the one Link lets out once you finish speaking is short and of a higher pitch than normal.

When he begins to stammer over his words as he had when you first interacted with him, it feels like years' worth of progress has been undone.

"I— uhm— You— I don't— err— Thank—"

His tail thumps three times before he knocks his head against the door with a heavy groan. He lets out a quiet "Hylia, be damned," you couldn't help but think he hoped you wouldn't hear to go along with his frustration.

"It's been a long night," you finally prompt. "You'd best get some shut-eye before 'ire bombards you with more from his imagination, yeah?"

"Yeah," Link answers in a weak voice. "Yeah," he repeats to himself more than anything, "of course. Good night," he steps away from the door. "Sleep well."

"Same for you."

The night Link finally takes you and 'ire up on your offer for dinner, your nephew and the spirits had taken to floating around the east wing's dining room to prepare it for such a grand event.

"Titi, titi!" One of the Kokiri exclaims, tugging at the fabric of your skirt (that Link had made out of a spare bedsheet). Her voice had a strange echo to it— all of them, really— and had given you migraines up until you'd finally become accustomed to it. "'ire says that you'll make your world-famous pudding! Will you? Will you?"

You ignore her exaggeration in favor of forcing yourself to wrench your eyes away unless you wanted her puppy dog face to work on you. "Should I? I.. I can't say any of you have been acting well enough to deserve it.."

Even in your peripheral, it's not hard to miss the absolutely crushed look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip wobbling like she was about to cry despite your joking tone.

"But why—y," she whines, dragging the last syllable on while hiccuping on her breath as she went on. You know the tears pooling in her eyes are just as fake as your rejection of her request— but you know just as well who'll win the battle at the end of the day.

"I—" hiccup. "Want—" hiccup. "Cake—" hiccup.

You raise a brow. "Pudding or cake, sweetheart? I can't make both."

The girl begins to climb your back while you return to sautéing the vegetables, arms wrapping around your neck so she can press her cheek against yours. "Cake! No, pudding! No! Cake! No—"

"I'll tell you what," you interrupt, taking the pan from over the open flame once the food is charred to your liking. Your skin thanks you when you step away and douse the fire, the arid air leaving through the open window. "Why don't you ask a few of the others which they want then we can try and get Link to bake it after dinner?"

The girl jumps off your back with stars practically filling her eyes. She cries out for several names while she runs off, hands clapping excitedly as she shouts out the change in plans.

You're left in peace until your nephew enters with his journals clutched between his arms, bouncing between his feet while he watches you finish plating each food item on dishes you could only dream of owning where you're from.

"D'you think he'll come?" 'ire's voice is low, almost as though scared Link will hear. You know he does if the night of his nightmares a few months ago were anything to go by— but he didn't need to know that.

"He'd better," you answer in an equally low tone. "I didn't spend so long slaving away at this just for him not to."

"Is that a threat?"

The plates in your hands aren't spared by the flinch that wracks through your body. Your reflexes are quick to catch them before any of the food can hit the floor.

'ire, on the other hand, has no issue with voicing his shock in the form of a scream, scurrying from the doorway while dropping his journals. He jumps behind you, hands clutching the fabric of your skirt while he hides himself behind your hip.

"Well?"

Placing a hand over your racing heart after putting the plates down, your other hand comes down to rest on 'ire's head. "It's rude to sneak up on people, you know."

The blond fur of his chest rustles with his laughter. It was difficult to see much else other than that, what with the way he hid himself behind the wall connecting the kitchen to the pantry.

You hadn't even heard his footsteps or creaking floorboards when he first approached. Had he been there the entire time and 'ire hadn't seen him, or had he only walked in after 'ire entered?

You wondered if he was naturally quiet or if he just learned which floorboards were loose.

"Is it sneaking when you were expecting me?" Link's voice is lighter than it usually is, a slight tremble could even be heard if you focused on it enough. He rocks on his feet and briefly leans forward, a less organic-looking side profile coming into view before leaving right after. "If I knew I would be this unwelcomed, I—"

"That's a joke, right?" 'ire stomps away from your side while he speaks, stepping over his discarded compilations of works to stare up at Link with wide eyes. Your nephew ignores the way Link's hands raise to cover his face and how he backs away as soon as he pivots in his foot to face him. "You're not actually gonna pansy out, right?"

Your feet lead you to the two before you can have much of a thought. "Zaire," you say in a terse voice, taking hold of his shoulder and bringing him against your front so you can stop him from interrogating the poor man. "Don't be rude."                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Whatever argument he has dies on his tongue when he takes a good, long look at Link. His mouth gaped open like a fish, one of his fingers lifting so he could push it into the fur of his stomach, watching the skin beneath sink with the force of it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Woah."

If you had any less sense of dignity, you'd let yourself have the same reaction.

"Don't be rude," you reiterate, pushing Zaire's hand down until it finally reaches its rightful place at his side.

"No," Link breathes into his palms, clearing his voice to try and rid it of the anxiety (and, possibly, humiliation). "He's— he's fine. This wouldn't be the first time someone responded like that. I'd be more concerned if he did any other way."

Zaire shrugs your hands from your shoulders, stepping until he is toe-to-claw with Link. "Then why are you hiding your face? It can't be that bad," he says, tugging at the fur of Link's elbows, rubbing them between his fingers so he could better be accustomed to the texture.

Spreading his fingers enough so you both could see the four holes in the inorganic material, Link lets out another heavy breath. "I'm self-conscious," he can tell the answer doesn't please Zaire and continues speaking, "It's been.. too long.. since I've shown anyone either of my faces."

"A mask is.." Your voice falters off when you finally find the words to speak, losing them again when you fail to find a proper way to articulate your thoughts.

"It's mostly you and the kids, no?" You try again when you figure out a way to better word it. "Is a mask not.. Is it.. necessary?"

When the blue light that emits from his eyes lifts to look at you, an unidentifiable emotion shoots through you. He holds your gaze for a few, silent moments before turning his head and dropping his hands.

"It's like a second skin," he simply offers.

"Sad," Zaire sighs, backing away and turning until he stood in the center of the kitchen. "Can you still eat with it? Like I said, Auntie is the best cook in all the realms and you have to taste it to believe it."

Curse your nephew's skill of lightening a mood.

Rather than let his insecurities keep him from looking at either of you for the duration of the night, Link looks down at Zaire with a playful jolt of his shoulders. "It's not fused with my face."

Zaire's eyes curl into crescents while he grabs two of the plates from the counter. "Good!" His tail (a terrifying new addition when he first started changing) wraps around the third dish, walking himself past the two of you in the pantry so he could place each one on the dining table. "You'll love this then! Auntie," you don't miss the way he adds your name causally, "always makes this on a big day!"

Link repeats your name under his breath before doing the same with Zaire's. He lets out a thoughtful nod as each one rolls off his tongue, one pair of eyes looking at you while the other continues to follow your nephew.

He wrings his hands together when he catches the way you examined him oh-so-carefully, arms crossed with your head tilted.

"It's nice," he gulps as though every inch of nervousness had reentered his body. "It's a nice name. I like it. It suits you."

You don't know if you were teasing him prior, but you decide to do so now.

"I'd hope so." You pat a hand against his arm as you walk into the kitchen, ignoring the oily feel of his fur. You ignore the feeling of him watching and instead focus on searching through the cupboards for the drink you had foraged around to make just days before. "I could say the exact same for you, thankfully."

"Now, why don't you have a seat so I can play host this time?"

[iwanthermidnightz]

Evermore as an almost-coming-out song is so freaking devastating. “Staring out an open window, catching my death / And I couldn’t be sure, I had a feeling so peculiar / That this pain would be forevermore” (the “open window” being the opportunity to come out and “the pain” realizing she may never get a chance to, after SB2gate). Then “I replay the tape but all it does it pause / on the very moment all was lost” (either Kissgate or SB2). Plus “Is there a line that we can just go cross?” Idk… listening to the song with this interpretation is so sad. What do you think?

evermore (the song) is so underrated. and it is devastating because of the emotion it encapsulates and the implications of that. I wouldn’t subscribe it to a certain day or event, rather the years and years of this perilous journey… the triumphs and severe sense of loss — whether it be people, herself, the life she imagines, yet is somehow just out of reach for her.

the replaying moments/going back and forth/tracing steps/the would’ve could’ve should’ve/writing letters only to get scared and burn them — it’s very specific.

just read the bridge line by line… you can feel the desperation, the hurt, the yearning, the glimmers of light [someone lit from within] that keeps her holding on while she works through inner turmoil, and all the hard things life throws at them.

and somehow

hell was the journey but it brought me heaven / this pain wouldn't be for evermore

[let-me-be-an-egg-toast]

hell yeah CW Flash oc

This was born out of the question "What if the Flash couldn't just slap a power-dampener on a villain" and goddamn idk how it led to here but anyways 😼

Btw cw: mentions of body horror (LMAO HOW DID WE GET HERE)

i haven't given them a name because YK lore reasons

they are actually the living amalgamation of three people - who are all horrible in their own ways btw

dr. narco shelley, mary stein-bolt, and frankie liming

They are actually supposed to represent the aspects of the dark triad: Psychopathy, Machiavellianism, and Narcissism

they all got their powers unintentionally from the bus accident orchestrated by Clifford DeVoe (the thinker) (oh yes mm the thinker the thinking man the man who thinks the big brain)/JJJJ

Dr. Narco Shelley is a clinical psychopath who knows the difference between right and wrong yet still built a drug criminal empire after running away from home

"why the hell did your parents name ya narco? like what - did they count on ya selling narcotics?" "probably."

he's also the one who would make a drug that would dampen a metahuman's powers which some did flock to the black markets to get because honestly methinks a normal person turned metahuman might not always necessarily like their powers

yes ofc these drugs are not the best and causes addiction and other effects on the user

Shelley has the powers of increasing the heat in a space and sometimes he uses it to burn people from the inside alive (for a moment as a threat) and he uses it sometimes to warm himself in cold weather

Mary is the CEO of an energy company which is under fire by many people for corruption

Mary often manipulates her way through events leading to some people being framed, blacklisted, and outcasted

She once had her regrets but those treads died off a long long time ago

She can affect electrical currents and yes she even uses this sometimes to affect electrical signals in the brain, almost causing strokes and other brain damage

Frankie is a selfish nobody who has ruined all his relationships before (constantly making promises he can't keep) and is trying to actively suppress his metahuman powers of turning into liquid to keep his job and status

ofc he became an addict on Shelley's drugs

He was Mary's top employee before he got replaced leading him to get worse

anyways one night Shelley reaches out to Mary blackmailing her

he says he knows that Mary's employee (Frankie) is involved in his organization and has done some shit that Shelley just can't let slide yk

and they meet up in a small abandoned warehouse both planning to kill each other (which is why there's no guards) but suddenly Frankie shows up all drunk and causes chaos

suddenly something happens (still thinking of this) and it causes their bodies to merge

Everyone is unstable and horrified and trying to break free from each other but it's just putting them all in pain

no one knows what part of their mind is their own and it's just chaos throughout

Frankie desperately tries to turn into water to escape but Mary uses her powers causing the trio to all be electrocuted

Anyways after some more screaming and being-trapped-inside-your-own-body-w-2-others feelings they try regaining stability

or more accurately Shelley, since the other two are still writhing within

Shelley takes charge and the two simply follow because they're just so lost, and Shelley decides to use the new powers to his advantage while still doing his business

Frankie's water power is the very thing keeping their shape stable and it is active at all times

Anyways Mary starts calming down and ruckus starts again, until she reluctantly agrees to have her company secretly work with Shelley

frankie is just too scared and lost to fight back

Anyways they all start getting used to the not so fun body merging and Mary and Shelley take turns controlling the body to try balancing and regaining their respective lives back

frankie meanwhile is tucked away in the back of the mind realizing just how much of a nobody he is and how no one is coming to find him

mary feels a LITTLE TEENSY very smol bit of sympathy but Shelley is just straight up "get used to it"

their paths don't cross with team flash until latter starts trying to find Shelley to question him and arrest him for his crimes

And the sheer surprise on their faces when Shelley is now a they/them forced poly

This shit so disturbing not even Cisco can commit to the tradition of naming them

Barry tries to put on the power dampening cuffs until Cisco stops him realizing that Frankie's power is the very thing keeping them stable

And they get away

No this is not a found family this is a group of 3 horrible people forcefully stuck together literally and I'm still trying to find an ending for them

Btw side note Shelley feels the synapses of Mary and Frankie's emotions going in the brain and he gets a little interested in the new feeling but never admits it

I wanted to try writing a clinical psychopath villain who isn't stabby stabby go murder and so far I think I did okay

Also their powers is a spin on the fire-electric-water trio

Did you get your socks blown off? I sure hope you did - because honestly I had fun with this

[moonfurthetemmie]

ahem

i had a sudden burst of Idea and did. this.

some inspiration is taken from a friend who wrote a terrifying little bit about two particularly powerful spirits fusing. i don't know if i'm allowed to disclose which ones, because i don't think the one's creator has said anything about him outside of The Discord Server(TM), but. yes

(i'm mostly kidding about the 'idk if i can tell you who it was' bit; it is admittedly an excuse to not brain more words because i am Tired and spat this out in a couple of hours so i've used up my alloted braincell time for toight)

this is...one of many possible ways that one of my new fucked up little shits could've happened

Sophism

There was quite the crowd in the town square. Enough that they hardly needed anything more than hoods to cover their heads. Hushed murmuring and gasps of horror told them that, whatever was going on, it wasn’t good.

Nightmare could sense someone ahead of the crowd. Or…many someones? There was so much positivity and negativity that he couldn’t tell, no matter how hard he tried to focus on them.

They could hear yelling ahead. Angry yelling, for sure, though one was far more emotional than the other. The voices were familiar, but they couldn’t place them. They’d come here to have some fun, but it seemed that everyone in town was here. It would be hard to grab anyone without someone noticing. Even if that hadn’t been the case, the three were far too curious about what everyone was watching, now.

As they pushed through the crowd, the feeling that something was terribly wrong grew and grew.

Cross could swear she knew the least angry-sounding voice. Even as she racked her brain to figure out where she knew it from, the mere sound of it made her blood boil. It was getting clearer as they reached the front, though.

Error had noticed several odd noises that they couldn’t hear from the back of the crowd. As they got closer, she only became more confused. One sounded like woosh-ing sound effects put on sword swings in a video game. Another, much less frequent, was the sound of wood cracking; occasionally accompanied by a dull thunk.

The closer he got, the more obvious it was to Nightmare that there were two people in front of the crowd. Both furious, one far more hateful than the other. The hateful one had so many negative emotions, it was almost impossible to tell what any of the others were. But the other, aside from their fury, seemed perfectly content with…whatever was happening.

A few rows behind the front of the crowd, the two’s emotions suddenly become much, much stronger. Almost suffocating.

He realized who it was, as his very soul started to burn from how close he was.

Cross and Error, upon coming within range of the auras, realized what was happening only a split second after him. Against their better judgment, they continued pushing forward; almost shoving people out of the way now. 

They made it to the front just in time to watch a man with black hair use thick, slimy black tentacles slam his opponent, a man with orange-gold wings, into a tree. The force made the trunk crack and splinter, and yet the winged man stood. The black tendrils, made of pure negative magic, burned, dried out, and crumbled from touching such a concentrated source of positivity. But the winged man’s skin had begun to melt on contact. 

“...Oh, god.” Nightmare breathed. “It’s them.”

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?” Obsidian snarled. He pulled his tentacles back, but clearly had no intentions of retreating. His shirt had been torn open, somehow. Or perhaps he just never bothered to button it in the first place.

“Neither do you, it would seem.” It had been a very, very long time since Nightmare had seen Dream angry. He suspected Obsidian’s aura of negativity had a part to play in that. He seemed to have lost his jacket somewhere, and had rolled up the sleeves of his nice dress shirt.

Obsidian’s hands crackled with electricity. “I’ve never been beaten in a fight, and I’m sure as hell not going to let the first time be to an overgrown chicken with a god complex!” 

Dream fluffed up his wings and readied his sword. Christ, when was the last time Nightmare had seen that thing in use? 

“Why do his arms look like that?” Cross whispered hoarsely. “And his wings! Holy shit, did Obsidian do that?”

Nightmare and Error had thought that it was sweat dripping from Dream’s arms. To their horror, they realized that it was his own skin. His wings, which were always shedding to begin with, was now dropping feathers in globs.

“Obsidian’s covered in burns, too,” Error pointed out. That, at least, the trio had noticed. Awful patches of sizzling skin, anywhere Dream had hit or touched him. There were several hand prints, some clearer than others, on Obsidian’s arms and chest. “I guess corruption can fuck with radiance just as much as radiance can fuck it up.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Dream hissed, which made the trio–and the rest of the crowd–step back. “I will not let you terrorize my multiverse as you do yours.”

“Bold words coming from a bastard who can’t even be bothered to do his own dirty work,” Obsidian sneered. “When was the last time you even used that thing?”

Dream’s eyes tightened. As he launched himself into the air, and the effects of his aura weakened with the distance, Nightmare wondered how much pain Dream was in. How long had this fight been going? And how long could Dream keep it up? 

Like a hawk after a hare, Dream dove for Obsidian, aiming right for his head.

At the same time, Obsidian sent a bolt of indigo lightning powerful enough to cause thunder at Dream.

There was a wet shink! sound that the three friends were very familiar with as Obsidian yelled in pain.

He had tried to wait until the last second to dodge, but Dream had still skewered him through the stomach. Dream’s entire body seemed to be melting, now; the lightning clearly hadn’t missed its mark, either.

Obsidian’s eyes burned with a fury stronger than any single person should’ve been capable of. Before Dream could react, Obsidian grabbed Dream’s arm and wrapped his tentacles around the radiant’s neck. 

“You think you’re so clever?” Obsidian snarled. Steam rose from his hand and tendrils. “I’m dragging you down to hell with me, you son of a bitch!”

Dream, gasping for air, let go of his sword and tried to ascend, to pull himself out of Obsidian’s grasp, but Obsidian yanked on his arm and he fell to his knees. The crowd started to panic. Yells of alarm and calls to get help, but most of them seemed as frozen as the Meme Squad was.

Nightmare couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How could Dream have let this arrogant bastard kill him? Was this a nightmare? Was this how they were going to die?

For a split second, Dream caught Nightmare’s gaze. His eyes widened. Nightmare sensed surprise and a twinge of guilt before Obsidian grabbed Dream’s shoulder and pushed him to the ground.

Horrible burns were spreading all across Obsidian’s body. Dream was melting faster than ice cream in a microwave. 

Am I going to melt, too? Or am I just going to drop dead? Christ, I hope I just drop dead. Nightmare’s heart pounded in his chest. He felt sick. Was it starting? Was he dying? Or was it just fear?

As Dream and Obsidian’s bodies stilled, Cross and Error enveloped Nightmare in a hug. 

They didn’t say anything; they didn’t know what they would say. But they didn’t need to say anything. Nightmare gripped their arms, and the three of them closed their eyes.

…But nothing happened, except for the crowd’s murmuring going silent.

Nightmare realized that the crowd’s silence wasn’t from grief. And, at the same time, that Dream and Obsidian’s auras hadn’t faded.

In fact, they almost seemed to be…

Nightmare’s eyes snapped open.

The steam that had come from the contact of two so violently opposing magics, rather than dissipating, had coalesced into a cloud of fog around the bodies. It became thicker, and thicker, and Nightmare could see both of them start to change.

Obsidian’s skin flaked off like ash, but rather than sinew and muscle there was only a black, iridescent sludge. Dream’s skin melted off entirely, revealing a ball of orange-yellow light.

“Guys.”

Error and Cross hardly heard Nightmare’s horrified whisper, but they looked up in time to see the pure radiance and corruption begin to move before the fog completely obscured them.

“Wh…What the hell was that?” Someone in the crowd said, their voice shaking. 

“Maybe…maybe that’s just what happens when spirits like them die?” Someone else said, though they didn’t sound very sure.

“No.” Nightmare’s voice was hoarse. He didn’t even notice the crowd’s terror at his presence; his eyes were fixed on the cloud before them, and the auras within. “They’re…They’re not dead. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but they’re not dead.”

“What do you mean they’re not dead?” Someone demanded. “You saw that too, didn’t you? They don’t even have bodies anymore!”

Nightmare grip on his friends’ arms tightened. “No. If me or Dream dies, the other one dies, too. But I’m still here. And their auras haven’t faded. It…It almost feels like they’re-”

A strangled gasp came from the fog. Everyone jumped back, except for Nightmare, who’s horror and terror had frozen him in place.

“...Fusing.”

The fog quickly faded. Standing where Dream and Obsidian’s bodies had been was an odd man with brown hair, and wings of orange light with indigo feathers. His eyes were mostly white, but those in the front of the crowd could see the hints of orange in one, and indigo in another.

The man looked like he’d just woken up from a nightmare. His hands shook. His eyes were wide with fear and confusion. He slowly looked down at his own hands.

“Oh, god.” Nightmare’s voice was weak. “They did.”

“That- that can happen?!” Cross whispered, loudly. 

“Fucking apparently!”

“I think this is our cue to leave,” Error said. Despite the casual tone she used, her hands trembled as she made a portal. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Cross and Nightmare followed her through it. 

Before it closed behind them, they heard a familiar-yet-not voice; confused and scared.

“Why…?”

[zukkaoru]

13; Solovet x Ripred.

solovet & ripred + becoming unbecoming by leanna firestone you can read their dynamic however you want idk what even is going on here dfhgjhkj

georgia peaches, farthest reaches student turns into the teacher always scared of something becoming unbecoming

“He’s going to cause you problems, you know,” Ripred comments idly. He is, by all accounts, not supposed to be here—lounging within the limits of Regalia, gnawing on a bone. But Solovet won’t waste her breath reminding him of that. 

She doesn’t even stop as she passes him by. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Where do I need to strengthen security?”

Ripred just laughs. He follows after her, as she knew he would, because he wouldn’t bother coming all the way here if it weren’t something he deemed important.

“I’m talking about the Warrior, obviously. If you can even manage to get him back here, he’s not going to be workable in the way you think.”

“Then I will make him workable,” Solovet says simply. He is the Warrior; he will learn to be who he needs to in order to fulfill his roles in the prophecies that carry his name or he will die. Once he realizes that, there will be no need to wrestle with him.

“You’re just scared of the truth,” Ripred taunts. Empty threats, as per usual. Solovet knows better than to take most of what he says to heart. He tosses his bone aside carelessly, apparently done with it. Solovet rolls her eyes. “You don’t want to admit that your whole rule-with-an-iron fist thing cost you your son, and may very well cost you the Warrior too.”

Solovet pauses.

Ripred takes the opportunity to dart around in front of her, beady eyes boring into her as he finishes with, “It’s unbecoming of a leader to have such figures fight back against you. Surely you’re aware of this. Your son was one thing—he left, and now that’s all been nicely buried. But the Warrior…” his nose twitches. His face splits in a sly grin. “You can’t get rid of him so easily. Can you?”

Solovet scoffs. Even if she were concerned about Gregor’s obedience, she certainly would not let Ripred see as much. She shoves him aside. “Get out of the city before I have you killed.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Ripred calls after her.

But he stops following, which means he’s said all he came here to say.

[pinkrelish]

Prev anon here! You’ve done a great job in keeping reader non specific. I think part of the reason it resonates is because you’ve done a great job at keeping her relatable to so many people, which is not an easy feat. And I know this is a tricky topic(but an important one) but I do see the effort you put it and it’s def appreciated.

And you SHOULD rb all the amazing fan art that’s been made!! Every single one has been so so lovely!! And it’s lovely that people are inspired to make such art. It’s certainly not in your control how others want to depict anyone.

On that note, Idk where the line is in “we’re all just individuals making things!” And “wow somehow so much of the fanart within the fandom is white-centric” there is no easy answer, and it’s not one persons issue to shoulder or even address, but there’s certainly an awareness that can be had around it.

thank you for coming back! i realized after reading over my last response that i talked a lot about myself, and my fic, because i wasn't sure how to react to TYP specifically spawning this larger conversation, and didn't mean to put the sole focus on myself.

i've only contributed to one fandom before this and it was OC heavy, so the idea of people drawing reader inserts—who should be written as vague—is new to me. i've seen three other pieces of fanart for other writer's RI stories, and in two of them the skin tone was left blank and the head was cut off so no hair style could be depicted, and in the third it was chosen to be a white RI.

and even though i haven't been in a fandom as large as this, media in general leans, favors, and worships skinny white women as the ideal, and it's sadly not surprising when i scroll past header after header on fics that exemplify this. do i think writers do this maliciously? no. that's why i reach out in private with the intent to educate. do i also think poc have made RI art, written RI stories, and don't get as much engagement, and have received racist anons saying their art is not inclusive, and made to feel unwelcomed? absolutely. not even a question.

not too long ago when a big blog was pointed out for having an extremely white-coded fic, their response was to double down, call the poc trying to educate them "aggressive", and ultimately ignore them, and acted obtuse about the issue when all they asked for, at minimum, was for the fic to having a warning at the top.

and how many stories on here *don't* have warnings, but have multiple word choices indicating how pale the reader is? ....many. again, i'd wager most white writers aren't even conscious of these decisions until pointed out, but, yeah, poc have spoken up in the eddie munson x reader tag many times about getting part way through a story only to read something white-coded, and get thrown out of the immersion.

i'm not sure how to address the fanart with TYP specifically, and artists choosing to insert themselves, or representing themselves by choosing a skin tone close to their own to give miss mouse, other than to say i hope i'm making this blog a comfortable space for anyone to contribute art if they feel inspired and have the time, and know that i will defend anyone's interpretation because, in essence, she exists as a vehicle to tell a story about eddie finding love. i would love to see more representation for her so everyone can picture themselves in the story.

i'm clearly not an eloquent speaker, but i wanted to answer this with the audience i have, and as you said in the ask, bring awareness to an issue that exists in all fandoms, and is much larger than my story or fanart for my story, and is more about poc not feeling comfortable contributing, or even existing, in fandom spaces.

[postsforposting]

all the weird time in go s2, e1-3

I am working off a 2k display, so if someone else has a 4k and wants to take a look at these timestamps to get a better reading, or has better photo editing skills, have at it. Almost all the time the "hour" hand is at the wrong spot, ie at 650 it should be nearly on the 7, not directly on the 6. I will say when it's correct. Timestamps means "this is where in the show it happens", also shown with "t[number]".

Rewrote some of this after reading this post about the clock hands being backward: what ought to be the hour hand is the minute hand on the big clock next to Az's desk, and I grabbed some time pictures I missed. I'm putting this in chronological order within each episode rather than show order. I did try to include both ways to read the clock, reversed and "not reversed". I think using the short hand as mintues most of the time makes sense.

I will edit this as more stuff comes to light, ie we get more shots of time stuff or realize things.

Jim showing up seems to mess with time, even before the hiding miracle--though idk if the hiding miracle can reach back through time to change things? Delete the memory of him being there? That would be consistent with how "deleting time" works, ie jumping it forward.

Episode 1

1. Crowley meeting Shax in the alley at timestamp 19:27 in s2e1: an hour discrepancy between his phone and his watch. Watch has normal/correct hour hand placement. The watch says it's 11:35am and the phone 10:35, aka six hours prior to the scene where Az meets Jim. Crowley hasn't learned anything about Gabriel or the book of life at the time we see this discrepancy except that "something is up", and in all later scenes the hour hand of the clocks is incorrectly placed/time is "fake". This missing hour is something different than the rest of them? Crowley either doesn't notice the missing time, or he already knows what it is. He has an analogue watch, presumably he knows how to read time, and would know when his hour hand is not behaving correctly/doing fake things.

Was Gabriel doing something on earth for an hour? That the hiding miracle deleted from everyone's memories? That wouldn't desync the clocks though, and should not affect our heroes who can still recognize him. I did try to look at Gabriel's eyes in the elevator in e6, they did look purple still, so I think he didn't remove his memory until after he got to earth--but that doesn't make sense with how Saraqael says she "can't find his memory anywhere", implying he already took it out in the elevator. I do not think they waited an hour for him to "clear out his desk". I tried to run the symbols on the angel security cam footage through Google translate, but no dice.

2. Az gets Maggie's note about the rent, we see a tiny clock behind Az at timestamp 8:18. One hand is just before 12, the other seems to be on the 4? We can see where the 9 and the 8 are, so it looks like the other hand should be on the 4, not the 3. It's easier to see if you watch this in the show, you can see the clock face appear and it looks more clear if you watch from about 8:16-19. This clock says either just before 4pm or it's 11:20am, because that looks like the short hand near the 12. I don't know if this clock should be read backwards like the big clock should. (Edit: this clock is the big one by his desk, we're seeing it through a gap in the bookshelves, it's not sitting in the bookshelf.)

2.5. We can see Maggie's watch when he goes to forgive her rent, after getting her note. seems like it says 11:25-27, t1008. Crucially, this is supposedly less than 21min before Jim shows up.

3. t1441, Jim knocks. When Az gets up to answer, we see this on the clock next to his desk, behind him, it's definitely 4:20 no matter what weirdness the hands are doing. It is now 5 hours later???

4. Time seems to stand still while Az talks to Jim for the first time, as the clock never moves from 4:25 (520 not reversed), but the long hand ought to be further along if that's the real time. Time is not stopped as you can see people moving outside the window. t16:32-19:26,

and picking up again timestamp 20:18 after he gets the box, it is 4:30 (620 not reversed),

Crowley says he'll see Az in two minutes, and then Nina starts to close down because it's nearly 5:00 (7pm not reversed), which makes sense.

5. t26:51, meeting Jim with the feather duster. The hands are either both on the 5 or one's on the 4 and one on the 5. It was already 430pm, so surely it's not 425 again, it must be 525? Either it's been an hour when Crowley said "two minutes" or we've gone backward in time. As we see in the apology and miracle scene though, clocks get weird around jim, so we very well could have gone back in time. They have a fight and Crowley does his lightning, etc.

6. stolen from the "hands on the clock are reversed" post, timestamp 38:47, time is 2102 aka 9:02. this is when crowley releases nina and maggie from being locked in the cafe.

7. the apology scene. If we say Nina closes at 5pm(maybe 7?)....time is just fucky in this scene, idk man. Time seems to run fine, around 9pm, except when Jim shows up. Did he do something to himself before he went to earth? But if so, he would have screwed up time when first talking to Az too. When did he alter himself, though, if Saraqael couldn't find his memory? Did whatever or whoever was involved in the Big Miracle also reach back through time to change things?

If changing your identity means you never existed, maybe did Gabriel invent time, hence him removing his memory....removed him from reality, so now time is fucky? What would be the point of going through all this though just for that though???? Did the damn fly have miracle powers and perform a miracle at some point??? If so then why didn't it register as his memory when Saraqael was looking? If he could hide simply by being on earth, there would be no point to putting himself in the fly.

Episode 2

1. It appears to be 10:40am in the scene where Jim is singing, where Az gets the Clue right before the angels show up in e2 at timestamp 6:05. It seems that the hour hand is correct, between the 10 and 11? IF we don't read it backward, then the hands are not correctly positioned and it's 652am.

However, the clock when the angels are in the shop appears to say something in the realm of 845 or 945? t1348

But while we're talking to the angels, we see the clock again at a very different time, what appears to be 954am, t1422.

But at t1516, it looks like a different time? Short hand on the 8, long on the 10, so 10:40 again (or 750am, not reversed).

There does not seem to be a hand directly on either the 55 or the 9, they seem closer to the 8 and the 50. I don't know if there's even a hand anywhere but the 8/9 though.

2. The angels leave, Az and Crowley go to the pub, then go back to talk to Jim. Time stays at 4:29, t2058; (620 not reversed, but the hands would be in a really bad placement).

After the Job flashback at t4016, the clock now says 630 regardless of weirdness.

It looks like there are two short hands, no long one? Why?? Timestamp 4016. The double hands stay in every shot, pretty obviously, until we leave the scene. Crowley also leaves, and either it's only been ten minutes or it's been two hours and ten. If it's only been ten minutes, that's not something he usually does. Az goes to get Crowley to ask for the car, and his watch says....

Definitely not 630. This is at timestamp 4324. No clue if his watch should be read backward, but in the first episode it was read normally and its hands were correctly positioned.

Episode 3

1. Timestamp 2:30, Muriel shows up. Clock seems to say 10:50, regardless of weirdness. I think this is directly after the previous scene of asking Crowley for the car. It should not be four hours later.

2. Whlie Az is out Cluing, in the bookshop the time says 3:30 at timestamp 1638, and it appears that the long hand is in the correct position between the 3 and 4. It's 617 if we don't reverse it, and the hands would be in the wrong position.

When Az uses the guy's phone in the graveyard at t3451, it says 1750 aka 550. Obviously something is wrong because it can't be way later in the bookshop than it is where Az is. There are not multiple timezones between London and Scotland. This is confirmed at t3511, where we see Crowley answer the phone in the shop, and the clock says 525. It's blurry here but at t3624 we see a moving shot of the clock behind Crowley's head, and it does say 525 clearly (regardless of weirdness). There's another shot of the graveyard phone at t3639 but I can't read the time off it.

It cannot be 525 in the shop and 550 on a phone. That's half an hour of time missing. Notably here, Nina's shop is still open, so either her closing times are not consistent or there was a whole lot more time missing in ep1 to make it later than the clock said it was.