#but I wrote this more solid then not

[redlegumes]

From Chapter 6

"I like him.” Steve fought to keep his voice from cracking as he said it, for the first time, for real, out loud. “Eddie. I like him a lot. I've been trying not to…”

Hopper was silent for a while. He gave Steve a very quick, pitying glance. "Well, we got two paths here then. One, you send him to us and try to get past whatever's brewing there.” He pointed to Steve’s chest, his tone sympathetic. “Or, two. You keep him with you, so you don't stress about him being somewhere else.” Steve nodded. I guess those are the options. “Either way, kid,” Hopper continued. “You're gonna have to sort your emotional shit. Y'know that? Figured you get that it’s a crap shoot.”

“Yeah. Too aware,” Steve mumbled, kicking the dirt.

Hopper's eyebrows raised and a small smile appeared over his grizzled features. “And really? Munson?”

“Just," Steve began, thinking he was about to be defensive over his crush. It's close proximity and hormones. It's not ‘real.’ I’m keeping it from getting ‘real.’ But as the words poured from his lips he realized he was getting defensive for an entirely different reason. "Hopper, if you knew him. He's really, honestly amazing. The kids love him, and he thinks he’s a failure, a coward, but couldn’t be farther from it. He’s like a million emotions, all genuine and teasing at the same time, all at surface, and I…” Steve gripped the bridge of his nose as Hopper eyed him, entirely amused. “Shit. I have got to get my head straight."

"Yeah?” Hopper shook his head and chuckled. “Sounds to me like you need to ask him out and get it over with." Hopper turned back to walk towards the cars.

Fuck we didn’t choose one or two and he’s… Ah. It’s a tactic… trying to force me to make a decision before we get back to the cabin. “It's not that simple. We're all wrapped up in each other's lives.” Steve threw his hands up frustratedly. “I can just get past it and then we can move forward.” He swallowed loudly. “As friends.”

“Sure. Sure. If you say so.” Hopper looked back over his shoulder at Steve. “So you are saying…" He waved a hand around in a tight circular motion.

Steve groaned. "Eddie will come home with me.” A small fear blossomed in his chest as they reached the beemer. “Hey, uh, Hop can you not-"

"-I'm not gonna tell anybody about your crush Harrington." He chuckled.

"Um, yeah.” Steve felt himself flush. “Thanks."

"It's fine. Just don't run yourself into the ground, and we'll keep working on the other stuff. Munson’s issue hasn’t been forgotten; it’s in the mix."

10 Ways To Avoid Falling In Love With Anyone

Read the rest on AO3

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[muffinlance]

I know you hate being asked. But I desperately need to know is there any plans for Fox younger and Kirin bone book 3? I’ve passed my copy around to a few friends and I’m starting to get hounded for more.

Sequels are in the works! Book two pre-order is coming shortly, and book three is fully outlined and currently being written (albeit slowly, because it is spring and I'm enjoying the lovely weather with my children. Was literally working on the next chapter all weekend, though!)

[garbagequeer]

i love spending a lot of time making something and then giving it away as a gift never to be seen again. be gone from me! im not being sarcastic or anything i always want that thing gone from my sight. not because i dont think it's good or beautiful or have negative feelings about it but also not because i think it has to be seen either. im just like. get outta here !

[loupy-mongoose]

hooooooly shit that banner

Thank you! :)

I actually made that for the original comic a couple years ago, and still think it's good enough to use today. I told you all, I was this close to making it public back then. XD

[consolecadet]

7 hours later, I have deposited my friend, less one organ, plus one cheese stick, one ginger ale, and one bottle of narcotics, back at his apartment and am now home at last

[silverlining-ships]

love letters at 11 minutes now....... silent screaming

[thirteenemeraldcats]

Roses for use whenever!

*kicks WIP pile under the bed* DON'T LOOK AT ME.

I haven't had access to any of my WIPs for over a week, so, what's a dumb-dumb to do? Start more!

Jamie whimpers again, the sound muffled from where his face is pressed tight against Roy’s abdomen, as the bus rocks slightly beneath them. Kenneth has been careful since Jamie first went down, cautiously easing the coach to a gentle brake rather than the somewhat haphazard way he usually approaches deceleration, but Kenneth's efforts and his Coaches’ careful hands still aren’t enough to protect Jamie right now. His player’s obvious distress raises a frantic sense of helplessness in Roy, and he has to tear his eyes away from the walnut-mist head he’s cradling in his lap. Instead he stares straight ahead, studying the uncharacteristically subdued Greyhounds scattered in front of him. Between their unfamiliar silence and the eerie glow of fluorescent red lights filtering in through the front window, cast from the traffic light that’s ceased their steady progress home, Roy doesn’t find the reassurance he was looking for. As that violent red glow changes to a vivid green and the bus again resumes it’s forward motion, Jamie doesn’t make any more noise. Roy wishes he could delude himself into thinking that means he isn’t in pain but his eyes have caught on the shaking of Jamie’s bloodless fingers where they’re curled into a claw, desperately digging into the meat of his side.  Jamie’s still hurting. Jamie’s trying to be quiet.

[godsfavoritescientist]

My current thoughts on gravity falls classpects:

Stanley - Thief of Time Stanford - Prince of Light Fiddleford - Mage of Rage Mabel - Page of Space Dipper - Knight of Mind Soos - Sylph of Blood Wendy - Rogue of Breath Bill - Lord of Hope

[ginalinettiofficial]

played the game ok boomer at my family party today, ended up explaining to a room of ~20 of my relatives what fanfiction is so they could understand the question, “in fanfiction, what does AU stand for?”. and then the card’s definition of “AU” was wrong so i also had to get into the concept of “canon”.

can u believe. in front of my whole family. a room full of people, aged 3 to 80. all staring at me intently as i explain the difference between an alternate universe and canon divergence. at one point my mom was like “daina i think we get it” and a cousin and two aunts were like “wait no we’re interested please continue” and i had to say to my own mother in front of god and my i am kenough sweatshirt “sorry but unlike you the rest of them DON’T have to listen to me talk about fanfiction on the regular”. my uncle is a retired judge. my one cousin worked for the federal government in a job that was so classified that for years he literally couldn’t legally tell us about ANYTHING he was working on. and today those men sat and patiently listened to me define “coffee shop AU”.

also, not one, not two, but THREE of the answers for the young folks, i knew solely because they were either plot points on stranger things or they were things i found out whilst reading stranger things fanfics. and then i was the only person in our age bracket (10 people, ranging from ages 9 to 42) that knew who anne rice was, and had to explain yet again that the reason i had this knowledge was because… fanfic.

it was surreal. also my aunt, aged 68, may or may not begin attempting to read fanfic now because, according to her, “there are so many stories where there are these small side characters and i’d just KILL to hear their backstory or like what was going through their minds during the main action!” i’m very happy for her. today was wild.

[flower-sniffing-friend]

Behold! The first fic I posted on ao3

Written for @dicktimweek prompt Day 4 - Only One of Them Knows They're Dating - which was too funny to me to not write

Featuring: DickTim (of course), Asexual Dick Grayson, Fluff, a little bit of angst in upcoming chapters but still mostly fluff, and Tim Drake who 100% know they're dating even if he forgot to tell that to Dick

[chaos-has-theories]

Nathalie had stopped turning on the lights when she went to the basement. She didn't really want to see it all in perfect clarity: the hedges with its caterpillars. The high arches of the butterfly window. The prowling daemon walking the circle of his invisible tether.

She was happy to just sit, and breathe. The lights of Emilie's coffin would blink on, and off, and on, and off, a comforting steadiness: She was still alive. Still here.

--

Solomon hadn't spoken to her for months after Tara had died, even after Nathalie's lungs had started to rasp at every breath, confining her to the garden for longer and longer stretches of time.

"I did it for her," Nathalie would whisper between bouts of coughing, her fingers too-tight in Duusuu's downs.

The daemon had looked at her, eyes blue and unreadable.

"She never asked you to," he said, and that had been that.

--

When the coughing had gotten worse, and Nathalie was starting to spend more nights downstairs than elsewhere, she started to push.

"I did it for Adrien," she pleaded, and Solomon just looked at her.

He was curled up on the coffin, as he was most nights. Now that he'd given up the ceaseless screaming and yowling Nathalie almost found herself missing it. She was glad that they didn't have to worry about waking Adrien anymore, but the silence was unsettling. Emilie had never been this quiet.

Solomon had never been this quiet.

Duusuu, at least, understood. "You saved her!", they'd say, pressing that long neck to Nathalie's cheek. "You wouldn't even be here anymore if she hadn't done it, milk-snout."

"And Tara would be."

Duusuu ducked their head. "She was willing to go."

Solomon bristled, his white fur like a scream in the dark. "It shouldn't be _done," he hissed.

Nathalie just sighed, running a soothing hand over Duusuu's neck, letting them hide their beak in her hair.

She was - she was so tired.

"How much of her are you really?"

As if he hadn't heard her question, Solomon tucked his tail around his paws and started smoothing down his fur.

Nathalie pushed. "How much of Emilie?"

Emilie would have never told Nathalie that severing herself had been a sin. Emilie had done it herself, after all.

"Everything," Solomon said.

In the dark, his blue eyes shone like waning moons.

"Everything," the sentidaemon repeated. "I'm everything that's left."

[parab0mb]

So, now that I finished the game (again) and the DLC chapters, I'm going to ramble about Crosscode C:

This game is really bizarre in the sense that, to be completely 100% honest, there isn't any particular part of the game that I think is all that mind-blowing. But all the individual elements (heh) of the game come together so well that the resulting product ends up being so much stronger and memorable than the sum of its parts.

Like, most indie games have one or several notable flaws or shortcomings (and understandably so) but this game is such an airtight experience that I can't help thinking about it and just being like "the how HECK is this game so GOOD?!"

...I am of course just getting started, I've got a wall of text of things I liked and thought were just "meh" under the 'keep reading' if you're interested (you've been warned (also spoilers obviously)):

The combat is definitely one of the strongest elements of the game and probably one of my personal favorites; its brutally difficult and sometimes feels like bullshit (and maybe there is one or two instances where it actually is just bullshit) but once you get the hang of it is really is flashy and satisfying and makes you feel badass to pull off. Plus its got the whole easy to learn, hard to master thing going on (like most of it is just charging SP and pressing the space bar, but knowing what moves to use and when def play into things).

I dunno how much of a hot take this is, but I really liked the puzzles in this game! I won't deny that they can sometimes drag on and interrupt the pacing of a temple, but personally I didn't mind. And just like the combat they're so well constructed that, while you'll spend minutes staring blankly reminded that you're a simple-minded creature and that the human mind wasn't made for this and you should be foraging for mushrooms in the woods and risking death over your next meal, they rarely feel impossible to solve without having to resort to a playthrough and are really satisfying to finally figure out (not to brag but there was exactly one puzzle in the game where I had to look up the solution and another where I did solve it on my own but then looked it up cause I thought I cheesed it by mistake). At first I wasn't a huge fan of how fast/precise you have to be for some puzzles on top of just finding out the solution in the first place, but after a while you kinda get used to it (and there is an option to slow things down which is really nice of the devs to include).

The story is... pretty alright. Yeah. I honestly don't have much to say about it. Bit of a slow pace, does the job, and has it's share of twists and emotional moments, but the narrative itself doesn't really do anything mind-blowing either so... you know. I definitely think it's the characters themselves that are memorable and prop up an otherwise average story. I mean every single one of them is just the hugest goober and even characters who initially seem forgettable or one-dimensional end up subverting your expectations and being super endearing/compelling/layered. Oh yeah, and Lea is a character that can only say like 10 words and SHE DESERVES THE WORLD I WOULD KILL FOR H-

Also, since the DLC is brand new to me I do wanna say that the ending was the tiniest bit underwhelming. Like you break into Vermillion Wasteland, fight a (surprisingly easy) boss, and that's... just it. Like 20 minutes top. I dunno, it feels like... something was missing. Still thoroughly enjoyed the entire thing and it is nice for the cast to get their happy ending (not quite as emotionally impactful as the base game's end imo, but still great and I'm glad they gave us more time with these dorks).

The platforming and navigating the overworld is tedious, which sucks a bit since that makes up a good chunk of the game. Idk man, having to scale different elevations of platforms is made frustrating by the fixed camera and the fact that the different "levels" of platforms aren't distinct from each other at all, so its easy to get duped by the perspective and jump to something you can't actually reach (yes you can use projectiles to check but it still isn't fun). Even without everything blending into each other visually, trying to find which obscure paths from four rooms ago will bring you to a chest just isn't all that enjoyable (some of the later maps like Sapphire Ridge were okay though, if only cause they started to have actually interesting puzzles to do). Basically they're just... there, between the actually fun stuff.

The trading system and farming for resources is confusing and kind of a chore. That's all I got.

Guess I'll touch on the art/music since I don't have too much to say about them. To be perfectly honest I'm not actually super crazy about the artstyle (blasphemy!), but I won't deny that the sprite-work and overall aesthetic are still super-well done, even if they aren't my personal taste (tl;dr I'm neutral on it). The soundtrack isn't something I'd put on my phone and listen to in the car, but like the art it's still well-made and perfectly suits the mood of/drives the emotional impact of the game, and there are still a handful of standout bangers (Lea's theme will live rent-free in my brain of course).

One last thing I'll say (that I mentioned before) is that as fun as this game is, it feels like a commitment to get through at times. Even when I first played it and had more free time, sometimes this game just felt "imposing" to pick back up after a break. Idk its hard to describe, but at least for me it was hard to play any other games alongside this (especially with my limited free time) which kinda sucked a bit.

To wrap things up, if I had to give the game an arbitrary number rating, I have to give Crosscode a 0/10 because its an indie game that doesn't have a fishing game (smh honestly how could they make such an obvious mistake 😔).

[miraclesnail]

kronus AU, title still pending

chapter 8, 9, 10, 11

First chapter, previous chapter, next chapter

8 SILENA

A walk. 

That was the lie Travis told them when he left this morning. But she and Bianca know better. A walk is the last thing Travis would be doing. He would be frantically scavenging for any sort of edible food that remains, for any medical supplies that have all run out a year ago, for a way out of this hellhole they made for themselves. And without her there to hold Travis back, he can cover 10 times more ground. 

Silena isn’t upset about being lied to. It’s more of a white lie than anything. A lie to spare her feelings. A lie to not make her feel so bad about being a deadweight. She’s fine with it. Not really. She has come to terms with it. Why can’t she do more? And she is over it. She is done with wallowing in self-pity. There are things she can’t do compared to her three companions and she is fine with that. 

So Travis lied to her about the walk. That’s fine. 

Scavenging is fine. 

But not shirt picking in their ruined camp. 

Not reversing all his scars. 

Not duplicating himself so Silena’s hearing one Travis and seeing another. 

Not go somewhere where she’s hearing Annabeth’s voice asking her for answers and demanding to know what she did and who is she who is she speaking to why aren’t you answering are you there hellohellohellohellohello

Bianca stares back at her, holding Travis’s limp body in her thin arms. Travis never fell for her charmspeak ever since Luke taught him how to resist it. So this can’t be Travis. This is just an imposter. It has to be. 

Bianca stares at her, uncertain and alarmed. “What’s wrong, Silena? Why is Travis asleep? Who are you talking to?”

Bianca stares at her with wide, seeking eyes that’s only ever directed at Travis. Silena hates it, hates this pressure that’s passed to her, hates how she immediately looks for Travis or someone else to pass it off too because she doesn’t know. 

Why was she made third in command? Who even needs a third in command in their four person group? Why does Bianca even bother looking at her for guidance? She’s just as lost and clueless. 

Silena bites back her fear and presses the phone against her chest, willing her voice to exude a fraction of confidence their leader always seems to carry. “Go take Travis back to the base. I’ll meet you in a bit.”

Bianca hesitates, Silena smiles wider and nods for her to go, Not-Travis snores away dead asleep, before Bianca nods and leaves with Travis. 

Silena waits to make sure Bianca is fully gone before pressing the phone back to her ear to hear Annabeth still demanding her to answer but now coupled with other voices. Clarisse’s. Percy’s. Will’s and Nico’s. A whole bunch more she can’t recognize. And they’re all saying each other’s name. Not dead then. Alive. They’re alive. It’s impossible. This is a trick. A hallucination. A side effect of always going to bed hungry and waking even hungrier.

Silena closes her eyes, gathers her thoughts, gathers her breath, wills her voice to be steady, fails, and starts choking up when she remembers the way things used to be. 

It’s not them. It can’t be them. There’s no way. Just pretend it’s not them.

And what she is sure is hours later, Silena finally says, “Hello?”

“Who is this?” Fake-Annabeth immediately demands. “What did you do to Travis?”

So Travis is there then. Silena brushes a strand of hair back behind her ears. Think this through, Silena. Confirm it's actually Travis. 

“Let's switch to video mode.”

“… how do I do that?”

Silena clutches the phone. So this isn’t Annabeth then. A god impersonating her? A hallucination? 

“I’ll turn it on. You just press the green button when it comes on the screen.”

“Okay.”

Silena brings the phone away and presses the button in between the phone and the stick figure, a symbol for a camcorder. She hits it. It rings once, twice, then the blank screen flashes white, before readjusting, and there in the middle, exactly as Silena remembers her from before her death, healthy and well, Annabeth Chase. 

Oh gods. 

It’s her. 

It’s really her. 

Annabeth squints, bringing her face close to the camera. “I can’t see you. It's too dark.”

Silena presses her back against the wall and sinks to her knees. 

“See who? Who are you talking to?” Perseus Jackson says, coming up behind Annabeth and squinting into the phone, also healthy with this liveliness in his sea-green eyes. 

Silena presses her face into the crook of her arm and wills her tears and grief and anger at the unfairness of it all back. They’re not real. I want them to be real. It’s a hallucination. I wish this was reality. This is a lie. But what if this whole ordeal had been a nightmare and she’s finally waking up now. 

Off-screen Silena hears a fist smacking against an open palm and Clarisse la Rue’s voice, with all its burly and growly hitches, strong without a hint of defeat. “I bet it’s Kronos’s punks.”

“Who are you?” Annabeth asks again. 

Or maybe she’s finally losing it. She’s nowhere near as strong as the rest of them. Maybe this is the start of her mental breakdown. 

“Hello?” Annabeth says, squinting. “S — … say something.”

“I…” Silena takes a deep breath and presses the heel of her hand into her eye. “I… want to see Travis.”

The camera is whirled around, obviously they had no idea they can just flip the cameras, to Travis on the ground. 

Silena chokes on her tears when she sees Will and… and… is that Connor? It has to be Connor because the one on the ground unconscious has to be Travis. It is Travis. That’s the clothing Travis had earlier this morning when he went outside. 

Make sure though. You have to make sure.

“Pull his turtleneck down,” Silena asks, watching Will and Connor squint at her. 

“Who is that?”

“She’s not saying.”

“Then why are we doing what she says?”

“You know, that’s a good question. Hey, tell us who you are—”

It’s a cacophony of voices, both recognizable and unrecognizable, but the only thing that matters is Will. Silena watches him do as she asks. There’s a furrow in his eyebrow when his fingers make contact with Travis’s skin. He hesitates and Silena wonders if he can feel how bad the wound is beneath the fabric. 

Then he tugs it down. 

Immediately Will stiffen. The talking in the background stops. Silena looks away as soon as she confirms the mess of badly sewn together skin, the bite not even a tiny bit healed in the year and a half since the incident. That’s definitely Travis. 

“Don’t heal him,” Silena warns when she notices Will’s hands glowing. “It will make everything worse.”

“What? Worse how!? This is obviously a life threatening injury. I'm surprised that Travis is even alive!”

“Just don’t,” Silena finishes, knowing the explanation isn’t enough but it's all she can muster right now.

“Tell us what’s going on. You said this is Travis, right? Then what happened to him to become like this.” Annabeth demands. 

The boy in their camp shirt Bianca rescued… Silena supposes that’s what Travis was like before all this. Did they switch the past and present self? Did Travis time travel to the past? Is that even possible? But that Travis looks too old so he can’t be… can he? What if she’s just misremembering? Or what if this is a trick? What if Athena or Hades is playing with them? Should she charmspeak them? Keep them frozen until Travis wakes up several hours from now? They were fighting earlier otherwise he wouldn’t have called her yelling so these people can’t be friends. 

But they aren’t attacking Travis now, are they? And it looks not a single person was hurt or dead, so Travis was holding back. So… they weren’t fighting? Is she assuming too much? Is Travis okay with these people and her acting now will ruin the peace? 

All these thoughts, all these choices, all these unknowns, and the only one who might know what's going on is asleep.  Silena can’t do this by herself. She needs Travis to tell her what’s next, the plan, the course of action. She doesn’t have enough information. But Travis is bound to know what’s going on. He always does and he always knows what to do. 

“Let’s wait for Travis to wake up.”

“Then wake him up. You put him to sleep, right?”

Silena shakes her head before realizing they can’t see her.  “No. He needs a minimum of an hour rest.”

“Why?”

Ah. They don’t know. She chews her cheeks. Should she tell them? Wouldn’t Travis already tell them if they were friends why? Would Travis want her to tell them? Knowing him, no. Never. He would rather die. 

“Why?” Annabeth asks again, not as patient this time and Silena blurts.

“He needs the rest, otherwise he gets cranky and a bit… short-tempered?” Is that the best word to use? Should she have used violent? Or maybe murderous? 

There’s this glint in Annabeth’s eyes. A hard look that Silena doesn’t like. A stare Annabeth only ever reserves for enemies. “So what I’m getting at here is that Travis is dangerous.”

Silena panics more. Everything she says is making it worse. “No! Travis isn’t dangerous. Trust me. If Travis wanted you dead, you all would be dead a thousand times over by now.”

9 WILL

Will stares at the wound. It’s from a bite rather than an injury from a tool. About 45 millimeters long and too deep to be survivable. The carotid artery was definitely bitten. Will can sense the damaged, inflamed tissues throbbing underneath the shabby stitches. The size and shearing along the edges doesn’t seem to indicate an animal did it, but something more humanoid. 

The pain must be unimaginable. It must be unbearable. 

But Will can fix this. He can make it better. And he should. He’s going to. 

But the mysterious girl with the weirdly familiar voice in a panicky voice is saying something about how the pain keeps Travis in check. 

“Don’t. Please, Will. It will make the situation worse. Travis is fine. He was functioning, wasn’t he? He doesn’t want help so please don’t.”

He never said his name. None of them ever said who they are but the girl knows them all. Annabeth. Percy. Clarisse. Nico. 

“He doesn’t want it healed,” the girl finally says. 

Will stares at the empty bottle of nectar he had tried to give earlier. 

“Can I at least dress the wound properly?” he tries compromising. 

“… ask him when he wakes up.”

Okay but what if he does anyway?

“Will, please don’t,” the girl pleads like she knows what he’s thinking, now he’s more certain than ever he knows this girl from somewhere. It’s familiar but he can’t place a face to this person. But her voice, it brings up memories. Of a four year long war, of Lee and Michael, of a dying pine tree, of funeral pyres. The name is on the tip of his tongue but he just can’t remember. 

But fine. 

Fine. 

He won’t. 

“Let’s put him back on the bed,” he tells Clarisse. “You get his legs. I got his head. Nico, you support the back.”

Should he also mention Travis is devastatingly light? He’s way too light for someone his height should be at. They lift him with ease and plop him down on the cushioned bed with care. Well, he and Nico with care. Clarisse more like tosses the legs onto the bed before stomping back to Annabeth still on the phone with Percy huddled beside her. Connor stands next to Annabeth, talking and rubbing his neck and oh yeah, Will is reminded that Travis was just minutes earlier strangling his brother.

Will pushes his way through the group, asking as he comes up, “You okay? Are you having trouble breathing and swallowing?” 

Connor shakes his head, then rubs his neck in a very unconvincing way. “No, Travis didn’t squeeze.”

“I still don’t believe this guy is ‘Travis’,” Clarisse spits. “Do you honestly think Travis can do that? Stab me, choke you, fight us off and actually kind of win? No. This is definitely an imposter.”

Will checks to make sure, brushing Connor’s hand away to feel for himself, and Connor’s right. No bruising. No red marks. It was nothing more than a light touch.

“Wait, wait, wait. Before we go into all that, we need to talk about that… that… vision, or memory, or whatever that was!” Leo stammers coming over to them, his hands pointing at who knows where. “We all saw it, right?! Right?”

“Yeah, so what?” Clarisse grunts. 

“I definitely do not remember anything like that happening,” Leo states. 

Piper nods beside Leo. “Me too.” 

 “So it was a fake vision. A tactic to distract us,” Clarisse dismisses. 

“But—”

“It’s just a trick,” Clarisse snaps, whirling to face the duo. “A ploy. A ruse. Something to help him escape. It doesn’t mean anything.”

But it’s all a mask. Underneath all the biting remarks, Clarisse is just scared and confused. 

“Uhhh, I don’t know if it means anything,” Connor starts, “But when Travis was on top of me and he had his hands around my throat, he smiled and—” 

Clarisse snorts. “So what? Travis laughs at the littlest things.” 

“—his eyes they, uh. They. They turned. Um. Okay, before I tell you guys, you all have to promise to believe me when I say Travis and I will never ever willingly join Kronos. Maybe if we were forced or brainwashed to do it but we will never out of our own choice join him. We’re 100% on the Gods side. Hashtag Team Olympians and all that.”

“Okay,” Annabeth says, calm as ever. “We got it. Go on.”

Connor rubs the back of his head, his eyes not meeting theirs as he finishes quietly. 

“When Travis was on top of me, he smiled and his eyes… his eyes, uh, they did something weird, like—“ Connor swallows. “His eyes turned gold. Like— like when Luke, when he was — When Luke was—”

“When Luke was possessed by Kronos.” 

10 ANNABETH

***Fix later

“Well, what do you have to say to that?” Annabeth asks the girl on the phone.

And Silena Beauregard coughs to clear her throat. “Um, yeah. About that. Umm. I don’t know what you want me to say. Travis will tell you if he feels like it when he wakes up.” 

This is Silena’s voice. Annabeth knows it's her because they had spent hours together Iris Messaging about her math homework. There’s no mistaking it. She is speaking to Silena.

But Silena has long since been dead, happily living in Elysium with Beckendorf so it can’t be her. Maybe the gods are playing a cruel joke on her. Maybe Hera didn’t like her redesigned palace in Olympus and this is her punishment. 

Annabeth keeps her opinions to herself as Silena continues to blabber about Travis needing to be tied to something sturdy. It makes him feel ‘better’ and ‘safe’. Clarisse complies maybe a bit too eagerly and definitely too roughly as she lurches his wrists together with a handcuff to a nightstand.

“Oh. No, you can’t use that. Travis will get out of those in seconds,” Silena tells them. “You have to use something with more, uh, complications. Like a magic self-tying rope or, um, like a high-grade mechanical lock. You know, the ones only Charlie can make.” 

Percy flinches. Clarisse stiffens, the both of them realizing the same time as her. 

Only one person calls Beckendorf by that name. 

“Charlie? Who’s Charlie?” Leo whispers to Piper and Calypso. 

“Beckendorf is dead,” Annabeth answers the same time Clarisse, voice thick with unhidden grief, says, “Silena?” 

Silena laughs, high-pitched and nervous. “Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me. But you guys still have his stuff around, right?” 

“He’s dead, Silena,” Annabeth continues, “And you’re supposed to be dead too.” 

“What? No. No. You’re getting it all wrong. You’re the dead one,” Silena fires back without pause. 

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You died in Manhattan. A drakon melted you,” Percy says, choking on his words, “You were impersonating Clarisse and led the Ares cabin into battle. You… saved us with what you did. You died saving us.”

“That’s not funny.” The bitterness in Silena’s voice is a surprise. “You really think I can do something as brave as that? Give me a break.”

“Silena—” Clarisse tries, but from the other line, there’s the sound of shoes scruffing tile and glass. 

“You know what? I’m done here. I’m waiting for Travis to wake up. See you all in an hour. None of you are allowed to touch him or hurt him until he’s awake.”

Annabeth barely has time to process the charmspeak before the call disconnects. 

11

The familiar burning, excruciating pain. 

That’s what he wakes up too. 

[oh good. You’re awake. I was getting tired of pretending I was still asleep.] is the first thing he hears. 

[We need to find a backup to the backup pill. I had a situation] is the next thing which is exactly what he doesn’t need. 

He mentally prepares for the worse. Everybody is gone. Bianca and Nico raised the dead. Perseus caused another storm. The gods are against them. It’s just him, this guy, and the titan now. He has nobody else. 

So when he opens his eyes to find the Big House intact and the sky still free of clouds with just the slightest hint of orange, not a single thing out of the ordinary, he’s confused. He’s on his side, his head on a soft pillow with a comforter over him. It’s… soft. It’s clean. It smells really, really good and feels even better. He wonders if he could somehow sneak one or two or maybe five comforters back with him to give to the others. He peaks over his shoulder to find the room bare. Nico and Will are beside the table, looking through his weapon. Conn— Leo, Calypso, and Piper, talking in a group beside the door. Just those six. 

Where’s the rest of them? He rests the palm of his hand against the wall silently and focuses. There’s… about 5 others in the conference room. Two in the attic. One in the basement on their way back up. That leaves about 6 unaccounted for, but if he had killed them, he doesn’t think they’ll leave him this unsupervised.

What are you talking about? Everything looks fine. 

[No. Will made me throw the pills up. I got it under control somewhat by calling Silena, but I’m sorry. The titan threw some memories around. They might ask about that. Then he was about to choke your brother but I—]  

What?!

He bolts upwards and kicks the comforter off him, drawing everybody’s attention. He hears the chairs scraping and weapons leaving their sheath as he bounds over to Connor. 

“Are you okay?” The words come out first before his stupid eyes kick in. Connor looks fine. Not even a bruise on his neck. And now everybody is staring at him with half having their weapons drawn. 

[— stopped him so he’s fine.]

Maybe he should have waited and finished listening.  

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Connor squeaks, stiff as a board. But a corner of his mouth twitches up into a crooked smile. “Uh, thanks for asking!”

His heart twists and turns and screams at the familiarity. 

Great. I'm glad, he tries to stay but it sticks to his throat. All he hears is his heart pounding and a voice in the back of his mind telling him this isn’t his brother, his own brother would never look at him like that, would never smile like that, would never act like that. And it’s all his fault. [No. It’s not. It was an accident.] 

A hand on his arm. A gentle voice, scolding and firm but caring. “Stop that. You’ll tear open the stitches.”

He peels his eyes back open to find Will beside him, softly but insistently tugging his hand away from where he was digging into his neck. 

“You saw,” he states emotionlessly, pulling his arm free and stepping back, the automatic, practically ingrained, fibbing starting right away, “It's not that bad. It doesn’t even hurt.”

Their collective faces tell him no one even remotely believed him. 

“I’m fine. I swear,” he lies, looking away from all their stares. It makes him uncomfortable. Their blatant concern. Their obvious worry. No bloodlust, no anger, no pain. It’s weird. It’s unnerving. It makes his heart twist and pang and want what will never come. 

“I’m fine,” he says again, weakly. 

“No. You’re not,” Will says, stepping up to him, eyes hard. “Not with that injury. Not after that stunt.”

“I—” Travis starts, but stops. What is he supposed to say? I know what it looks like, but I was not trying to kill myself. It was to make sure I don’t kill any of you. 

“Travis. It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. We won’t hurt you. Just—” Connor starts, sounding perfectly normal and reasonable, just like his old self. Like nothing bad ever happened. Like he could just pretend he’s alright and nothing is wrong, like the past two years were nothing more but a bad dream. 

If only. 

“Where’s my phone?” he asks instead because that’s safe. That’s a goal he can focus on. [Not here.] 

None of them have it. No reason to stay then. 

He starts backing towards the door, debating if he can get to it before the other six. But Will catches on and grabs his wrist to stop him. It takes all he has to not flinch. Last time Will caught him, he gave his leg a bad case of gas gangrene. [Will’s not dead here. Don’t lash out.] 

“You’re in no condition to be moving about,” Will scolds. 

“Stay here,” Piper persuades, voice gentle and his chest warms, aches with emotion that’s not his own. “Rest.”

He pushes back against the charmspeaking and shakes his wrist free, stepping back. Before any of them can come closer, he digs the heel of his shoe down into the floor and kicks up. The floor comes with his shoe, creating a makeshift wall that collides with the ceiling. Whoops. He was a bit too eager there. He looks behind him to make sure the floor isn’t stretched too thin. As great as this power is when it comes to remodeling, he can only work with what he has. Great news, the floor did not split in half. He’ll fix this when it’s all over. 

“What the hell?” he hears Leo say. 

Guess his counterpart here doesn’t have his home-remodeling ability. 

Weird. 

[I still think the ability belongs more with M—Athena’s children. They’re the architects.] Dad was the god of hospitality. And part of hospitality is making sure the house is cozy, so we are connected to architects in a way. [I guess, but wouldn’t I get the same power? My d—] 

A board creaks behind him. A hand hovers over his arm. He reacts out of instinct, out of reflex. He grabs the wrist of the hand and twists, sweeping his leg at the same time to knock the zombie down. He’s already pulling the arm taunt across his chest in an arm lock with the back of knees on the neck when he realizes it’s Nico and not an undead. 

“Whoops. Sorry,” he says, loosening his grip immediately and tries not to think about how close he was to snapping Nico’s neck. 

Nico glares at him on his back, obviously not pleased, twisting a hand around his joggers and shadow-traveling them back into the room. 

It’s not like he hadn’t shadow-travel before. Bianca has used it on them multiple times as a last resort kind of deal when the situation calls for it. Normally, he handles it fine. But this time? This time he is not handling it fine. He’s not handling it at all. 

But there’s no option here. Push past the nausea. Find the phone. 

“Nico?” Will says, alarmed, voice distant. (Blood and open holes and gushing wounds, pained and dying screams, a plea to end the misery, an apology for never being enough) [it’s not real you’re not there]

“I’m fine,” Nico grunts, getting out under him. “I think I surprised him and he retaliated. I’m not hurt, Will. Don’t worry.”

As soon as Nico is away, he takes the opportunity to dig a hand into the ground and lift the floor up like it’s a rug. He rolls through the open flap, pulls it shut behind him, and promptly falls ten feet to the basement floor. He lands hard on his hands and knees and fuck. He feels it hard into his bones as the pain reverberates through his whole body. 

[you okay?] Yeah. Fine. 

It’s not a moment later that Nico is there behind him again. And again he puts him in an armlock. 

Nico grunts, rolls some, but realizes there’s no way he’s getting out and tries to shadow travel again. Further this time. In a more twisty and convoluted route. Probably to disorient him. It’s working very well. He’s getting more nauseous by the minute. But he has been through worse. 

When Nico exits out of the tunnel, he retightens his grip and knees until they’re in lock again. He’s planning on ditching Nico immediately. Nico is already panting. He’s bound to give up after one or two rounds. But it’s light he sees it in the eyes, the way they’re defiant and determined. Nico isn’t going to give up until he’s way past his limits. 

“Look, I… I just —” He loosens his grip, lets Nico wriggle out beneath him, before pulling himself into a crossed-leg sitting position. “I just need to find my phone. I need to check back with Silena. They’re in danger and I got to see if they got out safely.” 

Nico glares, and he remembers Bianca glares the same way whenever he goes out by himself. They’re equally not terrifying anymore. 

“Then just say that. One of us would have escorted you.” Then Nico grabs him and shadows-travels again. 

Nico drops them off in front of Annabeth [great!] and Perseus, fuck no. Before anyone can get close, he plants his foot flat on the ground and kicks up with his heel. The wooden floor follows his foot and goes up like it’s made of putty, wood contorting and creaking and nearly snapping. But it doesn’t and it creates an effective blockade as it touches the ceiling.

He hears complaints from the other side, “Woah, what is this? What did Travis just do?” 

“What the fuck was that, Stoll? I literally plopped you right in front of her!”

“No. Not him. Not with Perseus there. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.” 

No Perseus. No Leo. No Piper. No Will. Not his brother. Preferably no one but this world’s Silena and Bianca. He wonders if he could somehow achieve that. 

“Well, tough luck.”

With a quick inhale and exhale, Nico drops them off at Annabeth and Perseus’s feet but much closer this time. 

This fucking sucks, he thinks as he kicks up the floor into another wall and Nico again gets ready to Shadow Travel. *****

xxxxx

He wakes up to the horrid and gloomy sound of rain. The bringer of sad campers. The tall tell of canceled activities. The start of endless complaints and whines from all ages. 

Travis hates the rain. 

It makes his job so much worse. 

Granted, it doesn’t rain much in Camp Half Blood. But the few times it did, it always meant horrible news. 

And it makes everything damp. And it smells so gross. And the stupid wet, clinging leaves. Oh gods the leaves and the raking and the constant raking. 

Plus the rain dripping onto his face is what wakes him up from his pleasant dream to this Hades hole. 

Travis hates the rain. 

But at least it gives him something to think about. Anything is better than thinking about his current situation. He’s currently crouching beside a broken, jarred door kept in place by only one hinge, peeking through the tiniest of openings, peeping like some kind of creep. The damp and soggy mattress he wakes up in with the thin, raggedy blanket is the only thing in the barren room. Nothing else. 

A drop of what he hopes is water falls from the ceiling, hitting him square in the eye and Travis grits his teeth and stifles a groan. 

Travis hates the rain. 

But more than that, he hates Kronos. 

And right outside the door, two dead people are talking to each other. About him. And what they’re going to do. To him. With a third voice, another girl’s, raspy and hoarse, barely audible, nothing more than a muffled murmur. No matter how much he shifts, Travis can’t see the third person. 

Should he still try to make a run? It’s risky though. What if he tries to escape and run directly into person 3? Then what will happen to his escape plan? Should he even escape? Didn’t Bianca save him from Michael who just left him as dinner for Lou Ellen? What is he saying, of course he should escape. Silena was a traitor! So Bianca must be too! But… Silena repented, even died for them… she’s good now. So why did she charmspeak him when he wasn’t doing anything in the first place? Why was she talking with Connor on the phone? Why was Connor screaming like that in the first place? Is he hurt? Is he in danger? 

What should he do? Connor, what should he do? Someone please tell him what to do. He’s never had to do this before. He has never been in a situation like this without his brother by his side or without Annabeth or Percy in the lead. He never had to make the calls. Someone made them and he followed their orders. That’s his role. That’s his position in this world of otherworldly beings. 

A NPC that stayed out of the limelight. A side-character that’s meant to have zero purpose. A random guy that’s just enjoying life and chilling out. 

But you’re here now and this is reality, so get it together and stop freaking out. 

Travis isn’t freaking out. He’s not scared. He’s been in worse situations. He’s been in far worse, far scarier situations. This is nothing! Nothing at all!

Travis clasps his trembling hands to his chest and gets his breathing under control. He still has his weapon with him. He’s fine. All his organs and limbs are still with him. He’s going to be fine. 

If they wanted him dead, he would already be dead. If they’re not dangerous then him running isn’t going to do anything. But if they are dangerous, then him running is a big brain, Annabeth-approved move! Right? Right?! That sounds reasonable. 

Travis looks around the room again, for another escape route, for anything to use as a weapon, but there’s nothing except for the sad mattress and the jarred door. 

And the broken, paneless window. 

Travis creeps to the window and looks down, the ground being nothing more than a sea of fog that the rain does nothing to penetrate through. To the left, there’s another window. And to the left of that window, there’s also another window. Perfect! He can sneak past Bianca, Silena, and the mysterious 3rd person. 

Okay then. 

Okay. 

He can do this. 

He can do this! 

Travis grips the window frame. It feels loose which did absolutely nothing to boost his confidence. He hops onto the sill, heart stopping as his feet skids against the wet frame. He doesn’t slip off though, doesn’t even lose his balance, but it’s a reminder that he should have invested in non-slip shoes. In fact, he vaguely remembers Annabeth lecturing him and Will about the grip on their shoes and how it’s ‘not appropriate’ and it ‘will end with you dead one day’ and ‘it will let you down at the worst time’. 

What amazing foresight Annabeth had. He really wished he heeded her warning all those years ago. 

With a deep breath, Travis leaps on top of the frame, hands gripping concrete slabs to steady himself. There’s nothing for his hands to grip to. His survival will depend solely on his shoes with their bad grip. How should he do this? Back against the wall so he can see just how far the fall is? Chest to the wall so his toes are the only thing supporting him? Eh. He can flip-flop the technique. There’s at least two windows to get past anyway. 

Travis scoots his foot further out, just a few centimeters past the window. There’s enough of a ledge just for his toes. His heels hang dangerously off to the sea of mist. WIth a deep breath and half-baked determination, Travis looks to his destination. About 15 feet to the left, there is another window. 15 feet. That's not too long. He can do this. He has to do this. 

He takes one step, hand moving along the smooth slab of concrete. And immediately, his hand slides, his foot slips, he’s falling, his life flashes before his eyes, he panics, he may have screamed, he definitely squeezes his eyes shut and prays. When he peeks them open, he’s still on the ledge. Oh. Haha, his mind was just playing tricks on him then!

That’s a sure sign that he shouldn’t be doing this. He scrambles back into the safety of the room, body shivering probably more from the adrenaline than the cold. Probably an equal amount. Probably more from the cold. Their camp shirt isn’t meant for the winter and rain. 

“I tried,” he says out loud to himself, stretching and shaking his limbs. “Oh well. Can’t say I didn’t try. Guess I’ll just wait here.” 

“Waiting. That’s your plan? That’s disappointing.” 

Someone speaks behind him. 

He turns and jumps back, hands going to his wrist out of instinct. 

It’s a girl in bronze armor with a bright orange shirt underneath, spoiled in dirt and dried blood. Her gray eyes bore into him, hair in the usual high ponytail, the stray blonde strands framing a stern, highly disappointed face.

“I thought you got better,” Annabeth Chase says, “I thought you were done with giving up.” 

Travis blinks and it’s — it’s weird, but this can’t be Annabeth. This person in front of him is like a whole head shorter than him. Last time he checked, he was taller than Annabeth by just 2 ½ inches. 

He can’t dwell on that, now when she’s charging towards him with a pair of knitting needles in each hand. Fast. She’s coming at him fast. One blink and she’s halfway there. Another and the needles are going for his neck. Travis panics and leans back to avoid the first swipe. 

He does not avoid the following kick to his stomach that sends him to his knees. It stuns him, makes him choke in pain. Annabeth shifts and he watches the needle, unnaturally sharpened to a point, come for the neck again. Move. You have to move. Move. Move. Move. 

He leans back again and grabs Annabeth’s wrist as it passes him and tries to shake it free from her. Immediately Annabeth twists her arm in some judo move that has him in a chokehold. It’s the way she moves her other arm that makes him think she’s going to snap his neck. Travis panics again and throws his head back, hard. Back of head smashing against a nose. Annabeth hisses and her grip loosen, Travis taking the opportunity to wiggle out and get some distance in this small room. 

He would have bolted out the door, because at least Bianca and Silena haven’t tried to kill him. But this scary, murderous Annnabeth is standing between him and the door. Did she positioned herself like that on purpose? 

Annabeth fixes her nose back into place without a flinch and rolls a shoulder before she’s coming to him again.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” Annabeth demands, making another swipe that he ducks from and it’s then Travis notices the blemish on Annabeth’s neck. A bruise that covers the entire back of her neck, an ugly purple stain on her tanned skin.

“Why are you just running away?” Annabeth pressures, scowling, pointing a knitting needle at him. “Running won’t solve your problems. You know that.” 

Why isn’t he fighting back? Why is he just running away? What is he doing? Why can’t he talk? Why is he just standing here just staring? Oh. Because he’s scared. He’s stricken with fear. His mind is blank, numb. Nothing is processing except —

“Me?! Why are you—” it comes out too much like a shrill shriek and he clenches his fist, clears his throat, tries again and chokes on the first syllable at the sudden swipe of a needle and attempted chokehold. He dodges it and scrambles to the other side of the room. As far away as he can from her and tries again, calmer this time, just slightly less shrill-y. “Why are you doing this? A-aren’t we friends?”

“We are friends.” Annabeth cracks her neck, gray eyes abnormally bright in the dim room. They shine with killing intent, a cold cruelty he never saw before in her. “That’s why part of the contest has a pain grading. Don’t worry. I will end you as painlessly as possible, as quickly as I can. I’ll show him I can do it better than he ever can. Put up a fight though. I don’t want this to be an easy win.”

[wundrousarts]

Morrigan's Dream

In Chapter 29 of Hollowpox, Morrigan wakes up from a dream:

Morrigan woke the next morning with a start, her heart racing. She’d been dreaming of something strange and awful—broken glass and plumes of black smoke and a distant cry in the dark. Two button-black eyes shining at her from the shadows. A snatch of song she couldn’t quite remember. A feeling of something precious, slipping through her fingers.

There are two prevailing theories on what this dream could mean.

It's related to what happened with Morrigan's mom

It's related to the Courage Square Massacre

I think there's equal evidence for both, I'm going to tackle this from the Courage Square angle and then the mom angle, because why not. Both are very plausible.

Let's take it step by step.

Possible meaning if it's related to the Courage Square Massacre:

broken glass and plumes of black smoke and a distant cry in the dark

Whatever this is, this is clearly a scene of destruction. The broken glass bit is pretty straightforward. The black smoke could be from fires, or it could be from some Squall creations, like the Hunt of Smoke and Shadow or his "army of monsters." The distant cry is also fairly self-explanatory, and could be people crying out as they're killed, or outrage at the betrayal.

Two button-black eyes shining at her from the shadows.

Squall. That's it. Who else has been explicitly stated to have the same "button-black eyes" eyes as Morrigan?

A snatch of song she couldn’t quite remember.

This could be a Wunder-summoning song. From who, is the question– by Squall, or someone opposing him?

A feeling of something precious, slipping through her fingers.

Life and it fading (or also possibly Wunder as well, but also in the context of dying).

Possible meaning if it's related to Mog's mom:

broken glass and plumes of black smoke and a distant cry in the dark

Again, a scene of destruction, with the same possibilities as mentioned above.

Two button-black eyes shining at her from the shadows.

Still likely to be Squall's eyes because of the "shining from the shadows" bit, but I do wonder if Mog gets her eyes from her mom, or if the black eyes are a uniquely Wundersmith thing.

A snatch of song she couldn’t quite remember.

The classic trope of a mother singing a lullaby that the child barely remembers. Maybe, if Squall is here, this is connected to how he recognizes Mog's Nocturne song? (I think that's at least partially due to it sounding like his song, but that's a theory for another post.)

A feeling of something precious, slipping through her fingers.

Mog losing her mom or her mom losing Mog. Or, again, just an abstract way to talk about death/life leaving someone.

Surrounding context in Hollowpox

I think it's interesting to note when in the story this moment takes place. It takes place immediately after people are chanting at Mog once they've found out that she's a Wundersmith, and immediately before Mog wakes up with her Inferno imprint. I feel like, regardless, it's related to her being a Wundersmith.

So, perhaps it's a memory of the Courage Square Massacre, passed down from those who came before her? If this is the route, perhaps she'll uncover more to the moment as she masters more Arts.

Or perhaps it's a memory of what happened to Mog's mom? If this is the route, perhaps it's an early manifestation of Mog's powers. Additionally, though, it raises the question: was Squall there, and if so, why?

[rotworld]

I just found your writing on ao3 and nearly died of happiness from your fulgrim fics. Would you ever write for sanguinius? I think you'd write a dark, possessive sanguinius so perfectly 🖤🖤 but even if not, thank you for sharing your amazing writing, and I'm so looking forward to the daemon fulgrim continuation

honestly i hadn’t planned on writing any of the loyalist primarchs but just giving him a quick perusal, sanguinius definitely has potential. i think i could take him to some terrible places lol