#but apparently he's in prison????

[kiryuing]

[akanemnon]

It could get worse and it DID get worse

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[happypeachsludgeflower]

So, in PIDW, there was obviously wife plots that could bring back the dead (mushroom body being one of them), and since we know Airplane is a hack that reuses concepts over and over, there’s probably multiple wife plots that could work, so like, where’s the PIDW fics where Liu Qingge somehow comes back to life, memories of Shen Jiu trying to save him intact, and goes to hunt the asshole down so he can repay his life debt, and along the way accidentally clears Shen Jiu’s name of all his crimes and now everyone is convinced Shen Qingqiu is a saint.

[ultra-raging-ghost]

Do u think before he ate pacs leg and started riots and shit cellbit was initially known as the crazy guy in prison because he claimed to know the grim reaper personally and was fresh off a battlefield at like 15 and then pac y Mike met bad on quesadilla island and they were like "oh" and then guaxinim and jv met bad in purgatory 2 and they were like "oh" because i think thatd be really funny

[bleue-flora]

Ok, I recently wrote an essay [here] talking about the definition and duties of civil engineering as well as the ethics because of the brain rot @swordfright gave me with calling Dream Sam’s ultimate engineering project. So, because I actually am a civil engineer I took it upon myself to design the title and summary of quantities sheets just like I do at work for roads but with Dream as the project instead. And in honor of angst day sponsored by @sixteenth-day-event, I figured I’d share it because I feel like it kinda works for the prison of the mind prompt.

“Sam’s “ultimate engineering project” he deemed too damaged like a bumpy road or crumbling building that wasn’t worthy of patching and filling in the cracks or reinforcing, that’s too eroded to be fixed and preserved. So, Sam strived to tear him down to the bedrock so he could remake, remold, and reengineer Dream according to his design for the common safety, public health and well-fair.”

{These are very similar to the actual sheets I make day to day, which I shall not share for the sake of doxing my location, but yea pretty much everything has a significance. Some of it doesn’t necessarily make sense but that was because I was more so taking inventory of what we see in lore (so you know I counted ;) lol)}

[vaguely-concerned]

during the last solas regret memory, when you choose the sad option (he loved her and blamed her) and rook says: "when the other gods struck her down, he destroyed the elven empire to avenge her," they seem to be looking right at lucanis. (who is also the next person to speak and seems to be meeting their gaze during that). there are some times when the staging of a scene makes me feel slightly unfairly rewarded for being a lucanis romancer haha. (or rather unfairly rewarded for having the kind of unhinged brain I do while being a lucanis romancer, maybe.) guess who pretty consistently gets to sit at rook's right hand in most of the scenes where everyone is at the dinner table too :) just little lucanis privileges

[neon-ufo]

Pridak 🦈

[bg3smash-or-pass]

[thanatologie]

anyone that says emmrich never actually faces his fear isn't actually paying attention. hear me out, okay, i've talked before (so many times) about how i think for emmrich his fear of death is less actual thanaphobia and more...his fear of being alone. of living alone, of spending eternity alone - especially in a culture and a society that places emphasis on lovers being buried together; he's terrified of it. and a romanced emmrich is so terrified of his relationship with rook - and how he feels - that he's willing to try to end it on the eve of a battle one or both of them might not come back from, because he's worried it might not be the big damn love story he's been aching for his whole goddamn life.

and guess what! rook doesn't come back.

he spends almost a month making that damn dagger - and like the rest of the crew - trying to find rook to pull them out of the fade prison because he's lost them. he's lost them right after realizing his fear's gotten the better of him and he's staring down the barrel of eternity without them. he was already trying to backpedal the whole thing before solas pulled his switcheroo and you know rook telling him they'll talk about it at home was like...a constant refrain in his head that whole almost month they were lost.

(which raises a good point with the mortal vs lich path in this respect, because a mortal emmrich was ready to tear open the fade to get rook back, imagine how many lines a lich emmrich might cross, especially given his line about never letting them be parted in this or any other world again. i have thoughts about how emmrich doesn't come back wrong from that, no, but he definitely comes back changed, he's...off. i've seen speculation that lich emmrich isn't emmrich - which i don't buy - or isn't entirely emmrich - which is a little more interesting and there may be some truth to the latter, or it could be he thinks he's indestructible at that point and gets really reckless and less measured but that is another argument for another time.)

and basically the point i'm leading up to here is...you can complain all you want that he never uses the l word before the final battle, but even with harding pointing out he's gotten a little spacey and distracted and mopey with a relationship on the burner, and all the other pet names he uses so damn liberally (dearest, darling, flame of my heart), he's still holding a lot of stuff back. he's still holding himself back, quite a bit, until that moment when he finally (finally) tells rook he loves them. he never calls rook my love until after the fade prison in the mortal path, and it's just the once, as far as i can actually remember. and it's because of all of that shit above.

(lich emmrich does it earlier, because that this may be my last chance to say it comes a hell of a lot sooner, and he uses my love liberally after that point.)

this is intentional on his part. this man has skirted around using the word love so much ("very fond of you" my ass) that rook totally has the option to call him out on it and it's like a record scratch.

he's, i think, terrified of loving something that can die? and he's terrified of being alone. and ultimately a romanced mortal emmrich has to face both of those things, one after the other, between manfred and the fade prison. and i think, going forward, it's not going to be completely gone - in fact for a hot minute after everything it's probably exacerbated to a large degree and he's probably extra...like that for a while - but it makes him confront those things head on in...very blunt ways. here's a reminder of what losing someone you love deeply to death feels like. here's what losing someone you've given your heart to for safekeeping feels like. it's kind of disingenuous to claim his fears are left untouched, when he's given a one-two knock out punch and is left having to deal with the fallout of that.

eta: and none of this actually touches on the fact that it's him that tells rook to grab the dagger before they go poof, so he's siting with that constant weight on his chest, too, but we'll dig into that at a later time because it's cold and my fingers are starting to get stiff.

[apicelladonna]

(Ferte in noctem animam meam) Grindeldore one shot, post HBP.

Dumbledore’s steps were slow, each one a battle against the searing pain that coursed through his withered body. The blackened, necrotic flesh of his right hand, throbbed like Greek fire kissed it. He felt the corruption spreading further now, creeping up his his upper torso and nearing the place where he thought his heart would be.

The gates of Nurmengard loomed before him, a once-proud fortress now decayed in the shadow of its former master. He stepped through it, the scent of rot heavy in the air. Dead Aurors and house-elves littered the courtyard, victims of the final assault of the dark lord's quest for answers.

The war had turned, its tides sweeping away what little hope had once flickered. Now, that hope rested on the shoulders of the young. All of them carrying the burden of a world too heavy for a hopeful future.

Each step up the spiral staircase was torture. His breath rattled in his chest, and his vision blurred with pain. But still, he climbed. He knew what awaited him at the top. He knew why he had come.

The door to the tower was ajar. Tom had been here.

He paused for a moment, his weary mind spinning through the possibilities. Tom Riddle had sought out the only other dark wizard who had once held the Elder Wand.

Gellert.

He had come for answers, but he would have found none. Albus knew this because he knew Gellert Grindelwald better than anyone alive.

In his arrogance, his pride, his twisted sense of loyalty, Gellert would never have divulged the truth. Not to Tom. Not to anyone.

And now Albus no longer held the wand. Its allegiance had shifted—first to Draco Malfoy, and who knows where after. Perhaps Voldemort had realized this. Perhaps that was why he had left Gellert like this.

Dumbledore stepped through the doorway into the tower room.

Gellert lay crumpled on the cold stone floor, his thin prison robes hanging limply over his wasted frame. His once-vibrant eyes, those piercing mismatched eyes Albus had known so well, were vacant now, staring at nothing.

He was a hollow shell, a body left to rot where it had fallen. Tom Riddle had not even afforded him the dignity of a final word, a final glance.

Albus took a shaking breath, his heart breaking in a way it hadn't in decades. Gellert. The boy he had loved. The man who had turned into his greatest enemy. And now this—just another casualty of a war that had stretched over lifetimes.

With every ounce of strength he had left, Dumbledore knelt beside him. Pain shot through his body, but he ignored it, his focus solely on Gellert. Gently, he took the rigid, lifeless body in his arms, lifting him so that Gellert could sit upright against the stone wall. The old wizard’s hands shook as he closed Gellert’s eyes, those once-bright eyes that had seen so much of the world’s wonder and darkness alike.

There were no words. What could he say? No eulogy would ever be enough for the complicated, tragic life of Gellert Grindelwald. He had been a visionary and a tyrant, a lover and a monster. And now, he was gone.

No one would come to mourn him. No one would check on the man who had once threatened the very fabric of the magical world. In the midst of another wizarding war, with Voldemort's shadow creeping ever closer, Gellert Grindelwald was just another body, forgotten in the chaos.

And Albus—Albus would soon be another as well.

He leaned back against the cold stone wall, his cursed hand resting limply in his lap. The pain was unbearable now, the curse nearly overtaking his entire body.

But for this moment, there was peace. There, in the silence of the highest tower, with the dead all around, he could rest.

Beside the man he had once loved. Beside his heart.

Beside Gellert.

The world could wait a little longer as Albus closed his eyes, resting on the other wizard's shoulder.

[sneaky-snake-907]

TBOB spoilers (low effort doodle):

Why's everybody so worried about Bill? He's fine!

I, for one, think we should let him re-enter society.

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | an appropriate staring distance

While at the beach, you take a moment to appreciate your handsome boyfriend while he's taking a nap—and also when he's not.

1.2k, fluff + established relationship, reader is mc, series: none

NAVY BLUE STICKS OUT TO you the moment you open your eyes.

Your aching shoulder protests your decision to stay as you are, on your side, facing a still sleeping Clarence. Like this, he looks much younger—you're reminded of the time you had to force him to take a nap. Like this, he's simply the cute guy you managed to score not one but multiple dates with, just Clarence, instead of the incredibly smart and wonderful and kind Student Council President.

You glance at the circular table set between your two beach chairs, taking note of his glasses resting primly upon its surface. With him often having to juggle two different kinds of glasses, you'd offered to put them in your bag so that he could pack lighter. Or, as light as he can.

Right now, it's awkwardly squished behind you, miraculously still on the chair only because it's too big to fall out the gap under the armrest.

Filling in the blanks comes as easily to you as the smile on your face when you get to see your boyfriend, nearly the same one on your face right now—and the expression that goes with it is so endlessly fond that you find yourself with the urge to hit something.

Simply put, your boyfriend is a handsome man—the most handsome one, of all the men your keen eyes have gazed upon. And gazed, they certainly have. But even if they didn't have to pick, then they would gaze at only Clarence for the rest of their life..

You almost giggle at the thought, but think against it at the last minute.

But pressing your lips firmly into a thin line has the opposite effect on your budding smile. You imagine you look rather strange to anyone who passes by—what with your mockery of a wide smile and the silent scream building up in your throat, paired with the quiet thumping of your feet against the legrest.

If you were in a more private space, you would resort to kicking instead.

A proper squish to your still warm cheeks as you begin to sit up helps ease up the passion swirling chaotically across your body. You exhale, then allow your hands to slide off your face. One side of it bears the consequences of your actions more than the other.

With a one last longing at the sleeping Clarence, you start to dig through your bag for the only thing in your arsenal that could substitute for a sketchbook.

There are a few miscellaneous promotion emails waiting for you on the lockscreen. A message from Cael asking about dinner tomorrow too. Somewhere between them, there's a notice about the weather, with the temperature from an almost hour ago listed uselessly.

You swipe past them all and hurriedly slip into the camera app.

The hand holding your phone steadies itself against the armrest as you swing your legs over the edge of your chair. A thumb hovers over the capture button, vigilantly awaiting your command. The fingers of your other hand, meanwhile, busy themselves with zooming in on the captivating scenery.

With each pinch, the focus grows ever narrow—until all that remains is Clarence and nothing else.

At one point, you try to zoom into the mole under his eye, but it doesn't make for a very compelling photo. After a few attempts, quite a few of which involve staring at your screen for prolonged periods of time, you reluctantly give up.

Your pout is soon covered up by your phone. When its front camera presses against your upper lip, your gaze is free to wander back to the sleeping beauty beside you once more.

A healing effect, exclusive to him, takes hold of you instantaneously.

Eyes brimming with fondness narrow slightly. You slide off your beach chair, hands on your bent knees as you take a closer look. You can make out the shadows cast by his long lashes and the drool dribbling past his chin.

He's perfect.

You're content to stay there until your knees begin to ache, reminding you insistently that this isn't a very comfortable position to be in. As a compromise of some kind, you adjust your arms atop the nearby armrest.

It really would be better if you'd brought your sketchbook along—but, you think, remembering his workaholic tendencies, would he even bother to take a nap then?

You scrunch your nose up at the thought.

In that moment, Clarence seems sense to your presence. When you look back at him, you're greeted with the sight of confusion in his now opened, but still drowsy gaze. He blinks, and it earns him an amused grin from you.

"Morning," you say, though it's well into afternoon.

That seems to wake him up. His cheeks flush a warm pink, and he hurriedly wipes away the drool on his face, as though you haven't already committed the sight to your memory.

Clearing his throat, he responds in kind, careful to sit up in such a way that he avoids looking at you.

"You don't have to be so close...I can see you just fine."

You laugh, not unkindly. "What if I'm the one who's having trouble?"

For a moment, when he turns back to look at you, he looks alarmed. Then, his shoulders relax to the tune of a sigh, his groggy mind apparently having caught onto the fact that you were joking.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for his glasses. But as with the issue of walking into a cave without a flashlight, even if you vaguely recall where your destination is, there's no guarantee you'll actually reach it.

"Give me a second," you mutter, your annoyance making your tone a bit too sharp.

You follow your words up with an apology. His glasses held are carefully by the frames as your sheepish gaze connects with his faintly amused one. Clarence reaches out, getting as far as grasping the slanted tips of the frame before the two of you reach a mutual agreement.

"Well." His cheeks return to being a rosy hue. He coughs politely. "If you would."

Cute. Biting your lip giddily, you shake his grip off. A quick once-over of your surroundings before you stand up shows that no one seems to be paying attention to you. And unless your friends and acquaintences have come to together to unlock the secrets of invisibility, no one you know seems to be present either.

Leaning over, you line his glasses up against his face, the tips of his frame brushing against his cheek. It takes only a moment to slot them into place—and you have enough experience with doing so that they don't snag against his ears.

It takes only a moment longer to give him an innocent peck on the lips.

"There," you murmur, not entirely satisfied with the kiss.

His Adam's apple bobs. Clarence adjusts his glasses with an awkward look that suggests he has some kind of solution to your dilemma. You, of course, beat him to the punch.

"Why—" Your voice cracks a little. "—don't we go find a different spot?"

He smiles, narrowed eyes watching you fondly. "I was about to suggest the same thing."

[nejackdaw]

(reads my own fic) woah. I'm so good at my job

[cometcanine]

More Outer Wilds goobers

[mini-uzzy]

RAAAAHHH RAAAAHHHHHH!!!

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Honestly for all the "am I pushing this too far? should I pull back?" moments I have working on Thralls' outline, I am often reminded that this is actually a pretty charitable interpretation of what may have happened between OoT and TP....