#everyone's favorite incinerator

[amayradraws]

I more I draw Fire Man, the more kawaii he looks

[zoe-oneesama]

How do you not suffer like soul-crushing burn out and exhaustion from making so much content so quickly? Like that seems like something that would degrade the quality of your work over time and basically incinerate a person. How do you avoid that?

For Scarlet Lady specifically, I didn't even start publishing pages until I had the entire "Origins" episode drawn, lined, and "colored". Back then, I was posting two pages a week, so that bought me about a month to work on the next part. I self-imposed a rule that I needed to draw at least one new page for every page that was posted, so I was never less than 7 pages ahead.

At one point, I changed how I was planning chapters - in "Origins - Part 1", "Origins - Part 2", "Stormy Weather", and "Bubbler" were all made using my old method of "write a page when you think of a joke" method. When I got to "Lady Wifi", I started planning the whole chapter start to finish with an overall plot and then making the script with jokes after the general episode was planned, which overall sped up my work.

Soon I was full episodes ahead of what was being posted. I was able to increase posting to three times a week and it wouldn't bite into my headway.

When I hit "Volpina", my favorite episode to work on, I had so much fun that I was finishing two pages a day. And then it happened again in "Dark Cupid". And again and again and before I knew it, I was like half a season ahead of what was being posted.

When I went through bouts of burnout, I had plenty of headway to take a break. I know mine isn't a perfect model to replicate for everyone, and there's certainly pitfalls (like canon adding something that changes a joke I made two months ago, or new lore dropping, or not being able to immediately implement reader feedback where it's warranted), but for burnout, it worked for me.

[arting-block]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war. 

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were. 

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship. 

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison. 

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off. 

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply. 

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further. 

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. 

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks. 

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric. 

Tell him, tell him everything. 

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more. 

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above. 

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice��that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” 

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before. 

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room. 

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns. 

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words. 

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response. 

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: “How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair. 

He doesn’t love you. 

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing. 

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen. 

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry? 

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview. 

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing. 

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care. 

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord. 

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door. 

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place. 

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry. 

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to. 

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt. 

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it. 

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out. 

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory. 

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes. 

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything. 

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. 

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide. 

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face. 

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory. 

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart. 

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before…”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face. 

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave. 

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him. 

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you. 

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids. 

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever. 

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response. 

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. 

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile. 

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

[keets-writing-corner]

Love how Lucifer just manhandles Adam during their 'fight' despite everyone else getting their asses kicked. Plus him effortlessly destroying him when Charlie's in danger is really sweet.

gawd me too anon me too

that was everything me to me. like everything. It was built up so well too

we spent the whole season building up alastor as this massive powerhouse, eldritch, nobody messes with him. Only one who tried picking a fight with him (Vox) got utterly humiliated and everyone else was clearly outclassed. Except for Lucifer where Alastor merely just went with annoying instead of power challenging. Like we got vibes okay yeah makes sense that the King of Hell isn't intimidated by anyone, even if it's alastor, but Alastor got TWO wtf moments in Dad Beat Dad one with Husk and one with defending the hotel

other than that, it was pretty much, nobody messes with him cuz he will mess you up

and he fights Adam evenly sorta for a bit before Adam pulls out the "I'm an angel which is stronger than any demon" card and alastor gets his ass handed to him.

Like what a way to set up how strong ADAM is, having him beat Alastor. And then no one else in the hotel is as strong as Alastor was, so everyone's struggling. Charlie at least gets one good hit in but her inexperience kicks her in the ass and then Lucifer just shows up and

like hot DAMN that was just one hit! He broke Adam's mask, the force was enough to send him FLYING across the roof top, and bounce so hard against the billboard he BROKE THE SKYLIGHT

That was just a "HANDS OFF MY BABY" warning too, like LOOK at that face, that's not a "fight me" face it's a "if you touch my baby again, I will screw you so bad your bones will need therapy and you never recover"

Lucifer not even .2 seconds later, just upon seeing Charlie

and then yeah, Lucifer was NOT taking the fight with Adam serious at all, like the dude was taunting him, mocking him, dodging all of his attacks, just shapeshifting like Adam was a joke LIKE LOOK AT THIS

Lucifer isn't even scared, he's just "oh there's a wall there"

His FACE IM DYING he's legit like "wowwww you just tried shoving me into a wall? really? didn't have any other ideas? Soooooo original of you. I will mock you now"

HIS HANDS ARE BEHIND HIS BACK HE FOR REAL SAID HE COULD TAKE ADAM WITH BOTH HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK

rewatching rn for the screenshots, he's legit just shapeshifting for the fun of it. 70% of the time nothing has happened, he's just dodging adam and shapeshifting while doing it, like he doesn't need to be doing that this is 100% mockery.

And then the iconic

like omgggg this is soooo satisfying and amazing to watch. Like the set up of Adam being powerful was great, and then we just get this absolute trolling from Lucifer cuz he really doesn't care about Adam

And listen the trolling is great and all, but when Adam makes the mistake of not heeding Lucifer's warning of messing with his baby, and then does it a second time

RIP Adam just getting one shot-ed like that but hnnnnnggggg we got to see Lucifer fully pissed and it was GREAT

And somehow my favorite part wasn't even watching Lucifer go absolute ham on Adam, it was that even at his absolute most rage fueled moment, snarling like a beast where he was going to and fully intended on making good on his threat about messing with his baby

just one shoulder touch from Charlie and he's immediately chill. Like it's instantaneous, like how much do you love someone to be able to be absolutely livid, about to incinerate someone levels of rage only to immediately be "o oki! No more violence!" the second that person touches you???

Ugh I love them so much! Like everything about that fight, but especially how Lucifer can just go from absolutely the most dangerous person in one second and then OWO SOFT the next just by looking at Charlie

oops this post got long... IMSORRYYYYY other than "More than Anything" and the phonecall with charlie this is one of the scenes I replay the most, I love them so much

Characters going absolutely feral over loved ones is just aasdfadffalklkmafdjalsg 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ��� some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

[xoxochb]

it's me again, hehehehe 🙈

semaine de la mode - (jason grace + t.s. invisible string)

⋆·˚ ༘ * one single thread of gold tied me to you

warnings: soulmate au pairing: jason grace x fem! reader a/n: the ending is a tad rushed 😣

jason grace was a fucking disaster. the quest was thrown off track when you had been taken by some stupid monster. you had an attempt to hurt it by instead it took you in its hands, incinerating you almost instantly, the only thing left was gold ashes. where you went was a mystery to everyone on the argo ii except for the son of jupiter. he knew exactly where you were

he didn’t quite know why, however. he just knew. It was weird, when any of his others friends were apart for him, it was unknown where they could be. whenever you weren’t in the very blurry vision of jason grace he knew where exactly you were. even if it was just at night, if you were laying in bed he would know, if you walked past him he knew where you were going and it worried him

why were you so special? he loved you, yes- admittedly more than anyone else on the ship but you weren’t even dating. but of course you were special to him, jason held you so dear in his heart and if something bad were to happen to you he might have to be institutionalized or he’d never survive

did he only feel your parting because he was in love with you? because he sure as hell wasn’t in love with anyone else, you were the only thing occupying his mind. it might’ve been annoying to others but oh gods he loved you and nothing could ever make him hate the thought of you

jason grace couldn’t sleep. since you were taken, not even a minute of rest came to him. he spent his nights and days planning how to rescue you. even when his eyelids shut the vision of you tied up in gods know where was mortifying, enough to keep him going until you were safe in his arms once again

he spoke to his friends about the reoccurring visions of you in despair, they- of course- helped him find you. two weeks after your kidnapping the argo ii arrived at your keeping. it was a dark cave, most definitely monster-infested but he would rather risk his life than let you die. jason assured his occupants that he could handle finding you himself, percy begged to help but jason declined and entered the stygian cave

It was dark. It was very dark. jason had no clue where he was going but nonetheless he kept going, eager to see you again. he reached a two way path- right or left, right or left…

he went right. as stupid as it sounds jason picked right because it was your favorite direction (you had told him this one night when he couldn’t sleep, it was the middle of the night and it amazed you that he remembered it). the ground was wet. he knew this was a good sign because in his visions he had seen water behind you. just as he thought he was getting close something stops him

jason looks up from the ground. a very ugly cyclops stands before him. oh he nearly screams but the content face of the monster is highly disturbing enough to stop any sound coming from his mouth

“wedding guest” says the cyclops

jason contemplates answering because seriously- what kind of statement is that? he pulls out his sword incase what he’s about to say is not cyclops appropriate

“who’s wedding?”

the cyclops proudly puffs out his chest. “y/n and me”

oh no

“where is she?”

“are you a wedding guest?”

“I’m here to object”

“you will not”

jason is thankful for the darkness of the cave. he positions his sword towards the cyclops. “who says?”

“I do”

“yeah?”

the cyclops nods. three… two… one… jason slides his sword into the monsters abdomen. the cyclops does not like this, attempting to rip it out but jason makes sure that it will not, sliding it in further until it reaches the opposite side. the monster makes noises in pain and occasional curses, his hands stay tightly around whatever part of the weapon he could reach

he left the cyclops there and rushed away. yes, maybe he should’ve waited until it was dead but honestly when he was this close to finding you nothing else really mattered. nothing else ever mattered when you were in his presence

jason wasn’t entirely sure how he knew which way to go but before he knew it he reached your temporary jail. something happened when your eyes met. as cliché as it sounds electricity ran through your body. jason ran to you as fast as possible, struggling to untie the ropes tears escaped his eyes

“jason” you muster out. and who knew a simple word could enlighten such a reaction but he stopped everything and looked up at you. the position admitted a little sexual since he was kneeling before you, he stood up quickly with a reddened face

“I’m sorry, I- didn’t, oh gods”

“jason, please. there’s a dagger in my back pocket”

with both of you hysterically crying wasn’t helping the situation. he hurried- yet remained respectful slid the dagger out from your back pocket, using it to first untie your hands, the kneeling once again (with your permission, he wasn’t sure if this was comfortable for you) to untie your ankles. he throws the dagger to the side and you throw yourself into his arms, he crumbled at the sensation, taking in your scent

“I missed you, gods, I thought I’d never leave” you cry into jason’s shoulder

he strokes his fingers through your hair to calm you, although he wasn’t very calm himself. “It’s okay, I’m here”

your grip on his shirt so tight you’re sure your fingers would’ve been turning white. “I don’t want to leave you again”

“I won’t let you”

“do you promise?”

“I swear it”

[paradoxo8y]

AFK Jorney Headcanons

Merlin

The amnesia made their personality return to basic

Maybe adhd, starts a mission, forget about it, ends up with 3 half made quests

Hyperfocus on magic

Genderfluid, "Are you a boy or a girl?" - "I can conjure hamsters :D"

Merlin's favorite animal are hamsters, that's why they are their familiars

Completely oblivious to people flirting with them

Someone would need to kiss them and say "I love you" in their face for them to get it

Merlin's true appearance looks like a graveborn (based on @miss-anachronism graveborn Merlin post)

Before amnesia was less friendly and more strict with people

Used to be afraid of making friends and losing them to time

After, they forgot about the immortality and become less afraid

And the trophy of worst liar goes to...

Mirael

Loses control of hers pyromancy when under strong emotions

Still buries the objects she has incinerated, mostly hats

Had a crush on Merlin when she was a student, is not over it

More than once people have asked if she dyes her hair, "the answer is no, please stop asking"

In the depression stage of grief, even though Merlin isn't dead

Valen

Sees general Hogan as a father figure, he will not admit

His scar was from an accident when he was still a cadet, he slipped trying to catch a thief and fell face first

Will tell a different fight story to justify the scar

Everyone has a crush on him

He, Lorsan, Chippy, Hammy and Cassadee bet on who will conquer Merlin first

Valen and Hammie bet on general, Lorsan and Cassadee on Mirael, Chippy is winning with "Magister Merlin will help everyone in need"

General Hogan

Sees Valen as a son, will not tell him

Is in the acceptance phase after Merlin's amnesia

Meet Merlin when he was a cadet and they were investigating some mages on the region

Dolly

The only one that know how to do taxes

Lyca and Lorsan

They have the bunny equivalent to zoomies

Both also flop when relaxed

Cecia

She's dissabled, she can walk short distancies but need the plant chair to locomove for long periods

Her servent is like one of those helper dogs that fetch pens and closes doors

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Most of those were inspired by my impressions and ideas while playing the game, if you disagree be nice and leave your headcanons here, I would love to read and this fandom needs to be bigger <3)

(Sorry about the image quality, it's a picture os my computer screen, also, english not my first language, so let's hope it's readable)

[ckret2]

The "almost" is because I don't fully understand Bill's voluntary return to live full-time in a place of imprisonment and abuse, which seems disproportionately self-destructive no matter what he's getting out of it -- but I can accept that this is me not fully understanding a person with a very very different temperament from my own, as opposed to anything unrealistic or out of character. The final section clearly shows that he Has Plans, after all. -Something is Off anon

Yeah... I figure the guy who responds to "if you don't stop this party you'll destroy this universe you spent a trillion years trying to conquer" with "what if i ignore that and incinerate you" has a pretty wide self-destructive streak lmao.

But more importantly: it's 1/2 the fact that he Has Plans (plans that can only be completed with access to the portal—it took him this long to get one made, he's got no faith his cultists could make a second one), and 1/2 the fact that he's SO smug and self-assured that he thinks if he's persuaded Ford not to kill him, that means He's Won, everyone else just hasn't figured it out yet. Within a couple weeks he'll have his favorite pawn under his thumb again and he'll be able to do anything he wants.

Besides: he's now figured out a way to secretly move in and out of the shack whenever he wants! AND he figures he's in a position to renegotiate MUCH better conditions: maybe they're willing to lock up a prisoner they're executing ASAP, but they wouldn't do that to a guy they grudgingly kind of like, would they? (Especially now that they all know he's gotten out once and their own family members might be willing to help him do it again—so maybe they'd better keep him happy.)

He's the one pulling the strings now! All he's gotta do is keep THEM from realizing that the prisoner's running this prison!

... Or, in other words: yeah he did make a dumb decision lmfao—but part of him being so good at lying to himself is that sometimes he's unreasonably optimistic when he shouldn't be.

[messydoodlesyt]

From the stuff I’ve seen right now (I kinda started SMG4 on Puzzle Vision and hopping around oops) the Western Spaghetti as got to be my favorite. Like holy crap idk how Meggy even wears that beanie after what One Shot Wren did. Feel like she’d have a lot of trauma after the events of that, I mean she literally died so many times in a month, plus the weeks she and everyone else was stuck in the simulation for, and all this being done by someone she idolizes? If it were me I would’ve thrown that beanie to the incinerator. But I saw so,done list that while she’d probably struggle with the beanie at the beginning, she would still wear it, but this time with a different purpose? Idk the person explained it better. But have some trauma filled Meggy cuz Lordy this poor girl. And that’s not even including the stuff that happens after with Mr. Puzzles and apparently some stuff way before (again I started off with the puzzle vision arc not knowing what I was getting into, I wish I could’ve watched it all in order but atm all the stuff I watched was the lawyer arc onwards so like- 2022 to current times)

Meggy would absolutely have a hard time coping. I feel like she’d wake up afraid she was still in the simulation and that she never made it out. Oh the angst how I love it. But seriously so far western spaghetti is my favorite from the content 2022 and up.

[katyspersonal]

For the purpose to the ask meme because idr if I sent one already, but *clears throat*

Messmer

( @izunias-meme-hole )

Yeah..... you suuuure didn't ask anything else... -_-

(Ask from this ( x ) meme)

Favorite thing about them:

I am a little self-conscious when I use character's relation or relationship with another character as a favourite thing, but.. I just can't help it: the complexity and depth of his relationship with Marika made me really appreciate the character! It was the start that got me peer deeper into him, and I talk about it a lot!

He crashed / is responsible for crashing all her statues as a Goddess across the Shadow Realm, but kept one untouched, of her as a Mother, in his chamber. He asks her forgiveness before removing the seal, but he curses her upon death. He knew she was hurting and decided to "solve" her problem by offering to take upon Crusade for her, but he lives in hatred of abandoned child. He allows Miquella to go for it with trying to make a better world than she created, but he believes he knows what is better for her Order than she so he insists on still obliterating her "awaited Lord" (which is what he believes Tarnished is). She tried to heal him, she also fears all manners of fire and he could not be an exception. He hated his fire, he also was wishing to be feared by others as her weapon. She loved him, but Godwyn was manifestation of the world she always dreamed about - perfect, golden, uncursed...

There are things about them visible in the lore, and things that are fair to assume. But, in either case, this is insane how interesting it is! That being said.... no matter who I describe Messmer with, I go on the rant about conflicting feelings. Rellana and Queelign are similar. So, I suppose, I love this trait about him? He is not plain and not so easy to understand, maybe not even he understands himself fully!

Least favorite thing about them:

Honestly, while diving into the way he wages genocide against everyone spurn of her grace, including what he believes is a Lord she is waiting for, and seeing how he is the type to incinerate all traces of someone's culture and history since preserving specimen and ruins was the wish of his Knights.. he genuinely scared me. So did the fuckin Furance Golems. I have to remind myself that he is not even absolute about it (for example, Gaius, an Albinauric, is the leader of all his military forces), as well as how this mindset comes form Messmer himself being graceless. He is just a really convincing fascist. Granted, I also love this, because writing a villain who genuinely gives you sense not of lust but of dread is a very high skill!

Favorite line:

"O lightless creature... Embrace thine oblivion, as shall I." God, that sounded really intimate. He wants to take us down with him...

brOTP:

I suppose Gaius must be his best friend, all things considered! @val-of-the-north said if Moonrithyll is Rellana's braidsmaid, then Gaius would probably be the best man, too, and of course ride into the room on his boar! XD Honestly, very valid friendship, although I feel as though it developed a sad turn after there was no Radahn anymore. Without being united by caring about his reckless ass a lot, what left between them was being bound with feeling like abominations in Marika's perfect world. A lot of their conversations are bittersweet and nostalgic, but it is not like they're in the right conditions to develop happier topics and healthier things to bind over.

I can't not mention tho: his SNAKES!!! Absolutely the best creatures! They can feel his emotions like their own, without particularly becoming just part of his body. However, they can "betray" him a little, like hiss at someone irritating Messmer if Messmer himself tries to keep composure, or wrap someone close into embrace towards him if Messmer feels too shy to do so. They love him unconditionally, not believing in "healing" or "uncursing" him but living as natural counter-balance power to Base Serpent! Destruction is also part of life, it should just be kept in check, but it also can't be avoided forever! I jokingly call them Phobos and Deimos all the time XD Not their legit names ofc!

OTP:

Messmer x Rellana is canon, and a ship that I like, of course! I talked about my vision of the ship in this ( x ) post more! Granted, this post is from before I learned the 'bridesmaid' bit, but the VIBE still holds up! XD

To summarise, Rellana saw some higher meaning of returning to how things should be, believing that Fire and Sky must be together, be it stars or be it moon! She also knew that "not even brilliance of the moon could heal him", so... she knew of his serpentine nature, no less than Fire Knights, but stood by him unlike Andreas and Huv! Messmer values this a lot. They are contrasting! I see Rellana as energetic, a bit of 'smug but loveable asshole', that can also be a bit vulgar but becomes red like Messmer's cape if approached sentimentally and romantically! He is, of course, gloomy and full of self-loathing that can infect anyone else and requires a lot of patience to be close with, awkward with anything sexual but loving romantic gestures and not stingy with words of affection for those who deserve them!

I really like him and Queelign too, which I already wrote about here: ( x )! A lot of conflicting feelings on Messmer's side, as Queelign feels like reflection of the version of Messmer that he suppressed and killed in himself, but also the one he wishes he could live. He cherishes him a lot and wants to guard his "naivety" from anyone, even from himself, whereas for Queelign Messmer is like, one person he cares about beyond just his loyalty to Marika.

nOTP:

Not fully a nOTP, but something hard to work with! Messmer x Tarnished character would need loops for me to accept. Messmer is not someone who can be "fixed"; even if he has some sort of change of heart, he crossed events horizon with his war crimes and "ideology". So, it would need to be "I can join him" rather than "I can fix him"! The Tarnished character also must be someone not very morally sound themselves, to at least approach his level and lift up the weight of the fact that Messmer considers graceless people unworthy of existing! Something about the Tarnished that would made them unable to call Messmer out lest they are a huge hypocrite! Otherwise I'll feel like this:

Random headcanon:

I might revisit it later! But I think despite being 'lightless', Messmer is still a legit Demigod and as a child of Marika, has a Rune within Elden Ring associated with him! Basically, he could have claimed his shard, had he been still in the Lands Between!

It hit me that if both Godrick's and Morgott's runes are 'Anchor Runes', that could mean they then both use the central ring for their Runes, leaving the fourth, upper ring 'vacant'! Elden Ring already had the Rune that is now Marika's before Marika was even born, so it is possible that other stuff stored in Elden Ring could get "assigned" as well!

This is to say, I had a random headcanon that one of Messmer's Knights was able to escape with the purpose of finding a shard that was resigned to him by herself, to bring to him! She never told anyone, but believed that if Messmer had a shard, he'd be allowed to return in the Lands Between and to Marika, considering how dire things have gotten! However, whereas she succeeded, she loved it so much that she didn't want to let go of it.. so she never returned, jealously guarding it. From Messmer's perspective it just looked like betrayal, since he never knew where did she go. Again, might erase the idea later, but Vyke and Bernahl each had two shards that we never got to see, so might have been one of them as well?

Unpopular opinion:

He is not just "another boring Marika's marionette", he is a grown man that can make his own choices. 😔 He knew of his mother's trauma and festering wish for revenge, yet his response was to deliver Crusade for her sake, not like, to try to help her to heal and move on or something. Their relationship maybe were not so healthy, but he was not obligated to do all this. He had a choice. 😔

Song I associate with them:

Favorite picture of them:

I've made this stupid fucking ass meme before the DLC dropped:

I am super mad at how it somehow aged both like milk AND like wine fhdhfhsfd But you may have the brain damage from it again XDDD

[harleyxhoward]

Analyzing The Abilities of Characters From The Boys

-Le Finale-

🇺🇸Homelander🇺🇸

Thank you to everyone who sat by and waited for this grand finale, it truly means a lot to me! You’re the heroes, truly! I added Superman by Ivory Layne because I associate it with America’s #1 Supe, plus I wanted to plug one of my all time favorite 2010s throwbacks.

I think Homelander’s “Evil Superman” pitch is definitely the main draw of the franchise, but I wish he wasn’t always shackled to that identity. He acts as an introspective analysis of the true evil of corruption on a radical/political level. I mean, the man was birthed in a lab and raised on straight looping American nationalist propaganda. He was essentially being hypnotized by Vought to be an All-American boy, and yet he turned out exactly like America itself; overpowered, inescapable, and caked in far too much makeup.

Homelander/John’s wide range of abilities stems directly from the versatile torture methods Vought used on him in infancy in order to rig the results of the V and produce the most amount of abilities. For example, my assumption is they would drop him, along with other flying Supes, from high places, and if they managed to float for survival they would grow up to be able to fly at dazzling speeds. This is based on the number of trials he endured, such as the oven he would be placed in for hours on end. He’s now invulnerable, but he had to quite literally be forged through flame to be so.

In addition to his range of abilities, the episode of Diabolical that depicts Black Noir feeding him his lesson on optics makes his inability to swiftly dispose of those who show no fear all the more reasonable. When he’s viewed as the monster he’s always been seen as (the whole “you ripped out of your mother and beamed through the bodies of the doctors in the room while flying like a scene from the exorcist” thing) he’s incentivized to be what they expect of him, almost like how he was taught to be what the masses wanted from him. The careful crafting and hardwiring of a monster stays, even though he’s subverting Vought’s benevolent persona.

When a character shows indifference or truly just a lack of terror, he spares them, deeply yearning for genuine human connection with an individual who doesn’t recoil from his advance. Whether it was Madeline, Stormfront, or Maeve, they all proved themselves to be fierce women who he had difficulty letting go of. Madeline in particular managed to survive up until the exact moment she admitted her fear of him, to which he incinerated through her skull with his laser vision.

Even when analyzing how he spares Hughie, Butcher, Annie, or the rest of The Boys, Homelander has ample opportunities to fly over and murder them all. He could kill them all in broad daylight and get away with it, but whether he’s consciously aware of it or not, he fully needs humans on this planet who know the truth about him and refuse to be afraid. The alternative would be too boring, and as I could imagine, horrifying. He doesn’t want to be a king, we see into his psyche too frequently to know he hates himself. He truly hates what he sees in the mirror, and masks it with a veneer of egotism until he eventually breaks down again. He wants people unafraid to challenge him, otherwise he would have used one of his several powers to slaughter The Boys ages ago. You may call it plot armor, but I think John needs someone to go blow for blow with. Butcherlander

John never had the chance to be human. He was directed how to be a god, and given the power to match. While every part of me sees him as the monster he is, rape and murder included, I almost feel like killing him wouldn’t be the karmic serve fans think it would be. I agree with the sentiment that he should be stripped of his power and condemned to live an average human life without access to Compound V (I like to imagine they’ll just blow up Vought tower in the finale, but we’ll see). His scenes with Ryan almost make me believe that he wants to be human, but he can never do that as the supervillain he is today. Maybe if he could try out being a human, he wouldn’t have to try and escape his humanity.

[phoenix-king-ozai]

Honestly Ursa is just lucky Azulon didn't find out about those letters because he would incinerate Zuko, her and probably Azula just to be safe and beat Ozai's ass for being 'incompetent' enough to let his wife supposedly sneak out and get laid behind his back.

Yeah the comics make her moronic because she legit endangered everyone just to see if Ozai was reading her stuff.

Funny in a morbid way…

Ursa? Killed by her daddy-in-law! Zuko? Killed by his granddaddy! Azula? Killed by her granddaddy! Ozai? Ass beaten by his daddy! Iroh? Heartbroken and furious because of his daddy!

I affirmatively agree, that if Fire Lord Azulon found out and read about those letters then Zuko and Ursa definitely would be killed for treason if Ozai and Iroh had not stepped up in Ursa's defense. Fire Lord Azulon is extremely old and as Azula stated not as powerful as he used to be. Ozai most definitely would not let any harm come to his favorite child and daughter Azula. Probably would fight an Agni Kai in her defense. Ursa probably would have to beg Iroh and Ozai for protection for herself and Zuko. Ursa is extremely lucky that Ozai knows the truth that both Zuko and Azula are his children. Along with Ozai being willing to defend Azula at least and Iroh willing to defend Zuko.

To be frank and brutally honest. Ursa was extremely stupid for writing that the Fire Prince of the Fire Nation and fourth-in-line to the throne Zuko is an illegitimate bastard that she had with her lover Ikem during her marriage with Fire Prince Ozai and she is trying to pass him as Fire Lord Azulon's rightful grandson and Fire Prince Ozai’s rightful son. It would be very hard to convince Ozai to defend Ursa after she wrote some hateful, untrustworthy, unfaithful, and cruel lies about their child; claiming that he is another man’s son. If Ozai were to side with Azulon and probably the Fire Sages then Ursa and Zuko are roasted and toasted LITERALLY!

I am completely against and appalled by how the ATLA comic The Search made Ozai a completely inhuman monster and Ursa a complete moron. Ozai and Ursa are a heartless and idiotic himbo and bimbo couple in the comics, unfortunately…

[taylorexpandingthot]

Just saw Oppenheimer and I’m legitimately so impressed with the understanding of physics demonstrated in that movie.

My favorite example is the “near zero” probability the atomic bomb sets off a chain reaction that incinerates the atmosphere. Everyone else hears that and freaks out. But the physicists see this and are just like “oh yeah that’s fine, best case scenario honestly”

As a physics grad with a strong interest in the fields of atomic and nuclear physics, as well as their history, this movie was a treat :)

[doctorwhoisadhd]

[ID: reply from @seveneyesoup: "okay i'll bite what the hell is blaseball (i looked it up on wikipedia i have a general idea of if but it doesn't like, tell me what it was like following the game at all) /end ID]

this is such a good question that the answer gets its own entire post!!!!! im gonna try to distill it for u as best i can here goes

very much colored by what team u were a fan of if u were like me and in maincord. because a) teams had different cultures / lore / players / etc and b) they also had different stuff happen to them. however everyone did experience the same plot

it was something you could open any hour of the day :) like if i was bored at 3am i could just open blaseball (provided games were running)

you ALWAYS had questions. there were not answers for 75% of them. sometimes it was because the question was never designed to be answered in the first place. other times it was because we just LITERALLY did not know. also, out of the 25% of the questions we DID have answers for, 10 of those percents required you to make a spreadsheet to answer it, and 5 of those percents required you to seek out a specific guy who can answer it for u. the rest could mostly be answered by going into maincord and asking. but crucially the only way to determine which of these a question was was asking anyway.

it was basically like if fantasy football was both. an arg and massively multiplayer and also fucking insane. we were making choices having no idea what anything did and i cannot tell you how many monkeys paw situations there were. we were straight guessing up in that bitch

bits were everything in the discord. goku got incinerated once. there was a bee wedding. my team (the fridays) suckered the mods into giving us a second emoji once. bits got beaten like winnie hess after season 24 day 3 (a dead horse). it was incredible

so many fucking spreadsheets. awesome

THE FAN MUSIC SCENE WAS THE BEST THING EVER. like i think blaseball was probably the SINGLE best fan culture in terms of fan music ever created. it was really, really, really absurdly popular, moreso i would say than fanfic

loring players was so fun everyones ideas were so different and cool. most players were queer it was super fun. VERY VERY queer space and very awesome. it was fantastic in that regard

anything you could imagine probably happened in blaseball.

when in doubt, its a pun. or some kind of wordplay (chances were if u were theorizing, if it was a pun then you were at least close)

the discourse was so bad sometimes though (like. necromancy discourse sucked so bad. like please stop taking it so seriously necromancy is inherently funny!!! also oh GOD yorkcourse that was the WORST. basically ppl were mad that the fridays lored our favorite player as an 8 year old boy considering players die in this game)

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

__

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now. 

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.” 

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from— 

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs. 

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color. 

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

~~

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now. 

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least. 

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while. 

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here. 

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything. 

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch. 

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.” 

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this. 

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing. 

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable. 

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?) 

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments. 

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives. 

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features. 

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity. 

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here. 

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—” 

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.   

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it. 

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned? 

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

[rayneing-on-your-parade]

International Podcast Day!

I'm a little late, but today was busy with work and writing. So for podcast day here's my list of podcast recommendations (along with tumblr links if they have them so you can follow):

@slowly-unspooling:

(I am not above promoing my own show)

Description:

Slowly Unspooling is a serial fiction podcast that follows Kai and their journey to discover the secrets of some tapes that showed up one day. Tapes with their voice on them.

Kai will have to battle with themself and their family to unspool the mystery that has decided to involve them.

length: 10 episodes so far season 2 starting next week

Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality

(follow the creator for this and next @dom-guilfoyle

Description:

Hello, and welcome to the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. The Audio Tour Guide will be your window into the history of the museum and its exhibits today.

Please note, that if you notice your version of the Audio Tour Guide behaving oddly, kindly ensure that you dispose of your Audio Device in the nearest incinerator at the earliest convenience.

Personal Review: This story about finding your place in a world, is one of the best I have ever listened to or read. The narratives are weaved perfectly together and I will protect Guide with my life. Stay safe out there.

Length: 79 episodes, completed

Tales of the Low City

Description:

Deep beneath the soil of a dead world, there is life.

Tales From The Low City is a collection of tales from a strange, bleak, and beautiful world where all creatures great and small, ambitious and content, bipedal and tripedal and quadrupedal must come together and make something like "civilisation".

Personal Review: I just started this one after being on the patreon for a while, and I love it. The stories are so well written and as I wrote in an episode review: Dom's main talent has always laid in their ability to tell a story that everyone can relate to, but is more than a simple "i can relate" to some. This episode does just that.

Length: 10, incomplete

The Magnus Archives

Description: “Make your statement, face your fear.” A weekly horror fiction podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join Jonathan Sims as he explores the archive, but be warned, as he looks into its depths something starts to look back…

Personal Review: Honestly, i don't think I ever sat down to review this one, its so good. Jonathan Sims is one of my favorite authors and while each episode may not be your cup of tea, the whole show has something for everything.

Length: 200 episodes, complete

Liminal Apocalypse

Description: It's the end of the world... Or is it? Five people retreat into an underground doomsday bunker fearing nuclear fallout, and when they get there they start receiving radio transmissions from the outside. But the information they're receiving, just doesn't quite add up.

Personal Review: Short and heart wrenching, Liminal Apocalypse delivers a tale of hope and love defying odds no matter the outcome.

Length: 3 episodes, complete

@wanderersjournalpod

Description: Wanderer’s Journal is a fantasy fiction podcast about Marigold and Pluto, two people from different backgrounds, and their unlikely friendship formed through a magical journal that links them. Each of them finds a journal, learns that their voice is recorded into it, and can be both read and played back to the other. Unbeknownst to them, they become a part of an ancient mystery, and see the world from new angles.

Personal Review: Marigold and Pluto do not fail to entertain, the two of them, unlikely friends in different but similar situations is everything.

Length: 10 episodes, crowdfunding for s2 right now, find a link on their tumblr

Old Gods of Appalachia

Description: In the mountains of central Appalachia, blood runs as deep as these hollers and just as dark. Since before our kind knew these hills, hearts of unknowable hunger and madness have slumbered beneath them. These are the darkest mountains in the world. How dare we think we can break the skin of a god and dig out its heart without bringing forth blood and darkness? Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror-anthology podcast set in the shadows of an Alternate Appalachia, a place where digging too deep into the mines was just the first mistake.

Personal Review: The storylines weave together wonderfully and manage to, in a story about creatures and those more than human, touch on the human story.

Length: 70 episodes, New season 10/31/2024

The Sheridan Tapes

Description: In 2018, famed horror writer Anna Sheridan disappeared, leaving behind only a box of mysterious cassette tapes. Detective Sam Bailey is tasked with piecing together what happened to Anna Sheridan from the seemingly impossible encounters she recorded, but as the scattered pieces of the puzzle come together, Bailey discovers that the picture is even stranger – and more dangerous – than it seemed.

Personal Review: I haven't completed this one, but so far I love the story. Just when you think you have it figured out, no you don't.

Length: ~100 episodes (not entirely sure my rss feed won't show me), completed

@twigsandhearts

Description: A book that ties many together. Who picks up a copy? What powers do they serve? Between missing people and people missing, who will you trust? Twigs and Hearts Open at your own risk.

Personal Review: Each episode made me fall in love more. I am on team angel forever and always. (I have a problem). The story is told in such an interesting format that pleases my soul.

Length: 8 episodes so far, s2 tba

[deadzonedenizen]

Playing With Fire

It was a weird sight, as would any dream be.

Everyone in the Celestial Realm was scattered, enjoying their time in the Anti-Gravity Arcade. Wearing modern clothing, they were either playing with the games, raising their glass of heavenly wine in a toast, or roller skating on the dance floor.

Whatever it was, laughter and joy was in the air, only boosted as Gibby entertained a good chunk of them as she juggled torches for the crowd to watch. Wearing a jester outfit and on nothing but a unicycle, she paddled around the dance floor, gliding past the roller skaters with little difficulty.

The jester's giggles were contagious, infecting every celestial she paddled past. Leaving a trail of stardust, she lit up the room with her glow and her liveliness. She watched each celestial she passed by, all with such cheerful faces. Everything was going great, until time seemingly slowed down.

Gibby caught a glance of a still figure between the two celestials she passed by. A monkey demon, eyes eerily following her, their burns sending pangs of guilt down the jester. 

Time resumed back to its normal speed, and everything went back to its lively atmosphere. Distraught at what she saw, Gibby looked around for the monkey, not taking long to find out they were gone. Maybe she was seeing things?

Gibby shook her head, getting herself back to focus. Keep up the act, keep making them laugh, keep ignoring their burns. Keep ignoring their stares, keep ignoring their wounds, keep ignoring their presence. Cold droplets of sweat formed as Gibby faked her smile for as long as she could, breaking out of her trance as she heard someone call her name.

Right, her main performance. Gibby paddled up the platform where Bell was behind the DJ booth. Wearing Bong Water's shades and party clothes, he immediately lit up as he slung his arm around the gibbon.

"Gibby! How's the life of the porty doing?" his 'porty' self  greeted, taking his hands off the disks to catch one of the torches Gibby was juggling, the other two safe in her hands. "You need anything before the big gig, comrade?  Maybe some soda, or a snack?"

"N-No thanks." She stuttered, cheeks squished against Bell's. Her eyes glanced back at the crowd, the amount of burned monkey demons standing unnoticed by the others, growing in numbers. "I-I just might need some rest after this."

"You sure? You don't look so swell, Gibster." the odd fusion of Bell and one of MK's clones let go off her, pointing the torch at her carelessly. "I have a feeling it's not just rest. If anything, you look like someone who portied too much and got into snorting the wrong stardust."

"W-why would anyone snort stardust?" Gibby was perplexed, but quickly went back to what she was here for as the crowd started to chant her name. "Let's talk later. Time to give everyone a good show!"

Bell shrugged. "Suit yourself." he then played with the disks before grabbing the mic. "PORTY PEOPLE, MAKE SOME NOISE!" Disembodied air horns blew as everyone cheered, signaling him to keep going. "Who's ready to see your favorite jester do her grand fire trick?!"

Gibby couldn't tell if she was nervous at the crowd cheering at her, or the burned figures staring at her. She tried her best to shake it off, tossing one of the torches into the air and started juggling it with the other torch. The crowd let out oohs and aahs as Bell tossed the third torch at Gibby's direction, her successfully catching it. 

Now juggling three torches, she spun in her unicycle. Everything was finally going back to its cheery mood. At least, that was what she thought before time slowed down again. Seeing through the huge claw machine, she saw Rasmus in the Magpie Prince's clothes, wings hanging slack and face veiled by shadow. 

Hanging by nothing but rope binding his arms, his feet dangled above the incinerator in the claw machine. It all happened so fast. Gibby cried his name, banging against the glass. The torches fell, and the fire spread. People screamed, the monkey demons stared. It was too much, all too much!

Gibby grabbed the claw machine's joystick, doing her best to ignore the approaching figure. Trying and failing to win the immortal peach, she tried to aim for the container of immortal pills instead. Every failed attempt was being observed by the towering figure's third eye, his unfriendly dog beside him.

"Stop this." His voice commanded sternly, doing no effect as Gibby kept trying to win any items of immortality. Every failed attempt led to the prize falling into the incinerator, causing more flames to burst out.

"You're only making it worse." Gibby knew he was right, but was too stubborn to stop. If she could reverse this, if she could bring them back, then it will all be fine, right? She had to keep going, she had to keep playing the game. If she could win the prize and give them immortality-

The rope snapped.

"...-by?"

The prince fell.

"...ibby."

The glass shattered.

"GIBBY!"

Gibby jolted up, awoken to see Bell at the foot of their shared bed. His face read of worry, never seeing the gibbon squirm and cry so much in her sleep. Gibby wiped her tears off with her sleeve, not doing much to hide the redness in her eyes.

"...Nightmare?" Bell asked, patting his hand in a circular motion on Gibby's back, feeling her hiccup as she nodded in such a shaken manner. Glad she was awake, she jumped to hug him, snuggling to his chest until his body warmth calmed her down.

"T-thanks." She sniffled. "F-for waking me."

Combing through her mane, Bell nodded back. "No problem. Look, if you need some space, you can stay here, okay? No need to come along to watch me play." He assured her. It's been weeks since he took Alix's offer to play piano at the theater, and things have been going as expected.

Nothing much has happened there that would make Bell think about needing Gibby in case of a threat appearing. More demons are after him for harvesting, but it's not like he wouldn't be playing from backstage. Nonetheless, Gibby shook her head adamantly, hugging her friend tighter. "I'm coming. I promised to stick to your side, remember?"

Bell sighed, not really able to argue with her when it came to promises. "Alright, alright. Let's get ready. Pigsy and Tang said they might look around for any performances they can buy some tickets for, so how about we come in early? Sounds good?"

"Okay..." She voiced, muffled by Bell’s clothes. "By the way..." Finally peeling her face off of him, she had her normal peppy smile back.

"Have I ever told you how slow your heartbeat is?"

-Chapter 45: A Lantern's Glow