#fic explanation

[bishicat]

I think he actually really wanted to go :(

[dykedvonte]

I haven’t really talked about Jimmy’s hallucinated version of Polle but I do subscribe to the idea that that is the closest thing to Anya’s true thoughts and feelings along with the representation of the hypothetical baby.

Text color, the whole horse attraction and monsters based on pregnancy/female anatomy, it joking about calling Jimmy old man? It’s both Jimmy purposely trying to ignore Anya and what he did but also not being able to cause he knows, in the back of his mind it all links back to her. But the closet thing he can accept about it is that it fostered something that would be undoubtedly linked to him.

It’s not exactly Anya and it’s not exactly the child. It’s his manifestation of all the things he would’ve failed doing for it and have already failed to take responsibility for. He failed as a decent person, a captain and he would’ve failed as a father which are all things Anya would subtly acknowledge throughout the game in little ways.

It specifically being Polle, the mascot to the Pony Express is more likely a call back to how the pony express is used to mean things that were never going to make it or were rearing for an end. It’s all symbolic and it’s all in Jimmy’s head because he refuses to acknowledge the real person and events his subconscious is basing it on.

[alleiwentcrazy]

The point is, Steve can’t hear.

A person can get hit in the head only so many times before it takes effect and does permanent damage. Steve’s incessant claims that being in the front row when the fight breaks down does nothing to him, that he’s safe and alright as long as everyone else is, mean very little in the face of cold, evident facts.

His hearing isn’t intact. It takes him a while to adjust to this reality, but with the help of his friends, he eventually does. Thanks to Nancy’s fierce bullying of the government guys who come to Hawkins to assess the situation and cook up some half-assed excuse for everything that’s happened, Steve now has a small army of well-paid doctors that really seem to be eager to help. He also gets state-of-the-art hearing aids that, well—they work, but Steve’s range of possibilities is still quite narrow. Let a few people into the room, let them speak simultaneously and all he can hear is static, rustles and crackling.

But he’s pliant. He listens when Robin tells him they have to get in the car and hit the road to get to his appointment on time. He lets her help with inserting the aids properly on the days he’s just too impatient and too bugged about how they feel and look to even care if they help him hear. He’s not dismissing her enthusiasm when she starts learning sign language before he even gets a chance to discuss it as his option.

He’s doing a lot of things for her, even if they’re supposed to be important to him first. To be honest, these days it’s mostly doing things for Robin that keeps him going. He would have gone completely numb ages ago if it weren’t for her and her unique ways of picking up the severed pieces whenever he crumbles.

He’s also doing it for Dustin. If Robin is his twin sister, Dustin is the little brother he’s never had. And Dustin… It’s just been too rough on him. It’s been rough on everyone; how could it not be if the only thing they seem to be able to do is wait? Wait for the lab guys to figure out a way to end this. Wait for the panic to cease. Wait for Max to wake up.

Wait for the grief to pass.

They wait and wait, but it never stops—on the contrary, it brings fresh, equally unwanted feelings. They’re always there, lurking behind the corner like a kitten that wants to launch itself at an unsuspecting owner – only with them, there won’t be any playtime involved. Steve recognizes this feeling. It’s the same feeling he’d had in that Winnebago when he was dropping off Max, Lucas and Erica at Creel’s doorstep. An awful anticipation of doom waiting to happen.

He doesn’t like it. He’d like to find a way to do something about it, but he can’t seem to get to the core of it.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s hearing things when he really can’t be hearing them.

At first, Steve writes it off as him being paranoid. It happens only when he’s home by himself, so it’s the only logical explanation – he takes off his aids, he gets too attentive about his surroundings, right? He thinks he hears something, but it’s only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Especially because what he hears are mostly usual, non threatening things. The sound of water running in the bathroom (he goes inside, everything is dry and quiet). The sound of kitchen drawers being opened (he goes to the kitchen, the cabinets are exactly the way he left them). The sound of cutlery being dropped on the floor (but he hasn’t even taken anything out in the first place).

He even gets used to it. Things happen, his brain is weird. It’s confusing, sure, but hasn’t he seen worse things? He definitely has.

But it doesn’t keep him away from sleeping with his bat perched on the side of the bed. If he sleeps at all, if a sudden sound of breaking glass doesn’t keep him awake until his morning shift with Robin, when he can finally leave this goddamn house and take his mind off of things.

Steve tries to ignore it. He really tries, but the point is—Steve can’t hear things like running water in the bathroom when his aids are off. Hell, he only makes it out if he focuses on it when they’re in, so why the heck can he hear it so well? Why are the sounds multiplying?

It goes on for weeks. He avoids the topic for as long as possible, trying to shoo away the obvious similarities between his house and the house that made him hate spiders and cringe at fireplaces not too long ago.

It gets a little too real on just some random Tuesday, when his kitchen positively explodes with sounds the second he gets the hearing aids off. Cabinet doors slam left and right, mugs fall to the floor and shatter, forks and spoons seem to be getting thrown around like ragdolls—but Steve sees nothing. He hears it, he hears it so loudly it hurts, the cacophony of noises he’s never even heard before, but his eyes register no proof of it. He curls down on the floor, expecting sharp glass pieces to cut his skin, but nothing happens. Nothing’s here.

He still covers his head, tucked away in the furthest corner of the kitchen, waiting for it to just stop, to leave him alone—

Steve doesn’t know how long it takes, but when it’s finally done, his knees are shaky and his breathing is ragged. He snatches his aids and takes off, straight to Robin’s house. He doesn’t even lock the door, a thing his parents would kill him for if they knew.

It’s the first time he explains everything to her. It would be hard not to, because she sees right through him. His panicked, restless eyes are enough indication of things not being right.

“Maybe, uh—I think I’ve read something about hearing loss and auditory hallucinations? That they happen, sometimes, especially if the loss of hearing is sudden?” she says, already flipping through her notebook where she keeps all Steve-related stuff and pacing around the room with enough force to make a hole in the carpet.

Steve’s not convinced. “It seems pretty real to me,” he mumbles and frowns. “But that’s the point of it, right?”

Robin shrugs. He notices that she has a small set of wrinkles around her eyes. Steve looks at them for a second in total disbelief. They already have some worry wrinkles, and they’re not even well into their twenties.

He’s gonna lose all his precious hair in a span of months if this doesn’t stop.

*

They decide to bring it up during his next appointment, still hoping that it’ll maybe go away on its own. Robin tries to make him get a consult straight away (what if it is rabies after all, Steve, like a really really really weird, belated presentation of rabies?), but he waves it off. The option of hallucinations doesn’t soothe his nerves, but as long as it’s not a chiming clock, he can avoid confronting it for a while longer.

It doesn’t go away, though. Steve can’t quite pinpoint it, but it almost feels like—well, it obviously doesn’t feel like it’s real enough to be real. But there’s something that accompanies the sounds, the lack of evidence, the missing of this ominous feeling that Creel’s house inflicted on him.

The sounds—it feels like they bear a presence. Steve’s still scared and gets spooked by them whenever they happen, but he’s no longer truly afraid of them.

Some of them are even comforting. The sound of his pillow being fluffed up before he gets to bed, the sound of pen scratching on paper whenever he leaves his journal open on the desk, the whooshing sound of a lighter being opened and closed – they all make this eerie place his parents have left him a little less empty.

He rarely lets himself think about it that way. He may be a little kooky, but admitting that he’s lonely enough to find hallucinations comforting would be way too much to handle at the moment.

So Steve can’t hear, but he learns to accept the fact that, apparently, sometimes he can. He doesn’t know how it works—to be quite honest he doesn’t know a lot about experiencing hearing loss at all, despite now being hard of hearing himself—but it just makes its place in his life.

He thinks about it a lot, but he tries not to overthink it too hard. It just happens. Things fall to the floor in his house, curtains get torn, the fridge gets opened frequently. He just can’t see it. His mind hears it, but his eyes don’t get the memo. He lives for longer than a week. It’s probably a good sign; nothing’s going to make his bones snap in two now, probably. Hopefully.

Things change suddenly.

Steve tries to spend as much time with Dustin as possible. Between work, his appointments and Robin, Dustin, Max and the kids are his top priority. He doesn’t think he would be able to function if he let himself take a breath and step down from his piled up responsibilities that he chose to take on himself. They keep him together. They keep him going.

Besides, Mrs. Henderson gets really worried. Sometimes it’s just better for Dustin to stay with Steve, and Steve is more than happy to be with him, even though it seems that Dustin doesn’t really like his cold house either.

It’s one of Dustin’s quiet days. He gets them, sometimes—Steve knows that trying to get him to talk on one of those days is a lost cause, and his ears are killing him. He was in such a hurry this morning he didn’t take the time to put the aids in properly. Work was overflowing with people, too, so now his temples are throbbing from trying to pick up the chatter from the static. Seriously, how is it possible that people still spend so much time watching movies in the face of almost-apocalypse, Steve doesn’t know.

“Would you mind if I took my aids off for a while?”

“Go ahead,” Dustin mumbles, bending over his new book.

Something flips inside Steve’s chest. He knows it’s not supposed to be like that, it’s unlike Dustin to be so… not himself. But what can Steve do? He can’t make him talk. He can just wait, nothing else.

He gets up to leave his aids on the counter and pour himself some coffee. He should probably start making dinner soon, but he decides to take a few peaceful sips first.

It’s weird. To sit with Dustin Henderson, of all people, without a single word. Steve glances at him every once and again, but Dustin either ignores him or genuinely forgets that he’s there.

Steve’s so deep in his thoughts about Dustin, he doesn’t even look to the side when a sudden sound of kitchen chair toppling over cuts through the silence. His eyes are trained on the kid.

Who flinches. And frowns. Steve can swear that he fights the urge to look around.

Each and every chair Steve keeps in the kitchen is standing where he placed them in the morning after breakfast. Nothing real has happened. But Steve heard it. And, apparently, Dustin did too.

Steve’s brain is working overtime for the rest of the evening, and he desperately tries not to show any of it. He’s jumping into conclusions. It was an accident; dumb luck. It’s nothing. He’s working himself up, nonsensically.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s nothing. It was only one chair, one sound, but the feeling that accompanied it was strong. Too strong to be nothing.

He waits to drop Dustin off at home like he’s on pins and needles, fumbling with his fingers and keys and pacing around. Maybe it’s better that it’s one of Dustin’s quiet days, he mostly gets away with it, getting only a few side glances.

When gets back home, it’s late, but he’s buzzing with anticipation nonetheless. He can finally do something. He discards his aids haphazardly, not nearly as carefully as he should, and starts running around the house. The house his parents built is huge—but the kitchen turns out to be quite small when he’s finally done with arraying at least a dozen lamps there. He has to raid three of his father's garages to get enough extension cords.

When he turns them on all at once, he has to take a step back and shut his eyes, because it’s too much light.

Just the right thing he needs.

His heart is beating so fast he can almost feel it ramming against his ribs. That’s about how far he’d thought this plan through.

“Come on,” he says and clears his throat, trying to gauge how his voice may really sound now. He repeats himself, hoping that it’s louder this time.

Nothing happens for a while, but he knows he’s close. The feeling is here. The presence that hasn’t left him in months. It’s here.

Steve walks around the kitchen, moves the lamps a little, shakes some of them. His hands are clammy and it feels like he’s chewed through his cheek at this point, but he can wait. He’s waited for a long time. He can wait a while longer.

When the microwave beeps, he stops breathing for a second.

Until it beeps again. And again.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He doesn’t know if he speaks clearly or not, he doesn’t even care. “Come on, show me that it’s you. Come on, come on—”

The lamp furthest to the left starts blinking, slowly at first. Then the one next to it, then another one, and another one, like someone’s walking around and making them flicker one by one.

They’re blinking so much one of the bulbs goes out. Steve doesn’t hear it hiss, so he knows it went out here, now. He knows it’s real.

“Oh god,” his hand goes to his mouth. His eyes are weirdly itchy. “Oh god, is it really you, Eddie?”

The lamp directly in front of Steve goes wild. When he reaches out, it’s almost like he can touch the presence that’s here with him.

And it’s Eddie. Eddie’s here with him.

[lexosaurus]

Poll time! What's your personal headcanon for the proto-portal accident?

Do you believe that Jack and Maddie felt guilty or thought that Vlad was mad at them and that's why they never visited him in the hospital?

Or do you think that they actually did try to visit him, but weren't allowed in the hospital due to how contagious and unknown the ecto-acne disease was, and Vlad just didn't know about their attempts at visiting? Or they tried to visit but Vlad wouldn't let them in because he was mad at them at the time (and then got mad they didn't reach out later)?

[oh-snapperss]

creature comfort

“We won’t win today,” Cleo says, and Etho knows she’s right. Knows their time has been running out since the first secret was whispered to them in voices all too familiar, has known that this day was coming, has known that all this time, it’s not been a question of if–it’s been a question of when. 

They’re going to die today. Distantly, Etho wonders if the domesticity they’ve worked for will die with them, or if it will follow them back home. 

Will his home ever be a physical place again? Home is where the hearth is, where the warmth is, where the world is shut out and it’s just the three of them. 

Home is where Cleo is. 

“That’s alright,” Etho smiles instead of voicing all of that, wishing, of all things, that he didn’t still have that awful cough that Cleo had insisted he rest over for a few days. “We’ll be alright.” 

They’ll be dead–and what are the dead, if not alright? The dead don’t have coughs, or pain, or fear. They’re just dead. Etho thinks he might not mind it so much, this time. He’s finally learned to spend his time wisely, and he’s built a home no flaming arrow could ever take down. 

Just by the cow pen, there’s a stupid little porch Etho had built a while back. They’re nowhere near it now, but every night he and Cleo had watched the sunset, drank a final cup of tea, and turned in to sleep over gossip and giggles only they could draw from each other this time ‘round. Before, Bdubs had made him laugh like that–now, Etho wonders how long before there’s a sword at his throat. 

Even so, while Cleo laughs and watches him set Scar’s porch on fire, Etho hopes he might have the privilege of watching the sunset from the porch one last time. He’d survive the day, if only for another sunset with Cleo. 

BANG. 

Tango’s gone–Etho knows it in his heart. Surely he should feel an ache for him, should ask how he went. Instead, it’s easy to accept it. 

The wardens are fun. That’s all they are, now. Before, they had been terrors, then the answer to a desperate prayer he and Grian had made. The carnage of those terrifying beasts feel muted compared to before, but with the wind flying through his hair, the elated cries of Cleo in front of him, Etho can’t care. Not this time. They lead two clear to the middle of the server before they’ve decided to finish having their fun, and Cleo’s just stepping up some rocks when she says it. 

“You’re my favorite, you know that? You’ve always been my favorite.” 

He does know, he does know now. He’d guessed it that first sunset, when Cleo sat down with a giddy smile to recount their day. He’d thought it, when she’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders after his failures and rested her head on his shoulder without a word. He’d lived it, when she had shouted that she would kill him if he tried to kill her–but was reassured otherwise that night on the porch again, with the curse ebbing from his bones. 

Today, he knows it in the blatant rebellion against what’s supposed to be the end, the dread, the fear. 

“You’re mine too.” Etho grins back, and knows that they’ll see his smile even through the mask–knows they’ve come to recognize it in his tone and way his eyebrows scrunch together. . 

They wind up in the sky base with Grian–Grian, who hasn’t quite reached the same conclusion they have. Etho knows by the shadows under his eyes he won’t give up, that he’ll fight clear to the end. Once upon a season, Etho had been the same. 

Not this time. Never this time. 

Around ten minutes to sunset, Etho and Cleo set down their dripstone and bows, and sit on the edge of the cobblestone wall. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back to our base for it this time,” Etho jokes, nudging his shoulder into Cleo’s. Cleo laughs, a carefree thing, and wrinkles her nose. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for it any time, if we’re being honest.” She leans back, one hand half behind her to support her weight. 

“I know,” Etho says. He brings his leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. Behind them, cobblestone is placed–Grian, ever the survivor. “It was nice, though.” 

“It was nice!” Cleo beams. “Are you alright with this?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Etho hums. “‘s not so bad. Dying with a friend.” 

“It won’t be,” Cleo agrees. 

Because that’s just it, isn’t it? Etho’s never died like this–he’s died at the flames of an arrow shot while protecting his king, he’s died in fights after his allies were killed. Hell, he’s died hand in hand with a soulmate hellbent on killing him now–but he’d been in a frenzy then, a rage-induced thing meant to burn up the place that had never been a true home to them. 

He thinks he won’t mind dying with someone. 

The sun sets in brilliant hues of orange and pink, and they sit together, this final tradition not lost in the face of inevitability. Just as the first star twinkles, Grian comes over, hoisting them back to their feet. 

“They’re coming,” he says. 

It’s time. 

They shoot a few arrows, break some dripstone, all to no avail–but that’s alright, he’s got Cleo, and they’ve got him. 

But oh, the games are never kind, are they? Etho slips, his foot landing weird somehow–and he’s whistling through the air towards the ground at a speed too fast. It knocks the breath from his lungs when he lands–does he hit the clutch? Stars, he doesn’t actually know, because there’s arrows shot at him, shouts of glee from the hunters, and suddenly Etho’s not Etho, he’s just prey–and prey only know to do one thing. 

Run. 

Etho flies forward, dragging his sword out. There’s not many safe spaces left on the server–stars, Grian had even mentioned their base was but a crater in the hill. 

But the porch… the porch was intact. Supposedly. 

He enderpearls, and enderpearls again, and it’s still not enough. The screams behind him are closer, and closer, and then further–and oh, Etho knows it’s time. He’s dead, he’s gone, he’ll be but a wisp of the wind in a few minutes whether he likes it or not. 

And he won’t die by Cleo. 

Cleo, Cleo, Cleo. Oh, he’d not meant it to be like this. He’d meant to die with a smile, right by her side–just as they were meant to die by his. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the plan. A sob claws its way up his throat, the beginnings of the blind panic he’d never meant to feel tonight. He’s going to die, alone, without the comfort of his Cleo. 

Home. He wants to go home. 

Home is in the air, a hundred blocks above him. He’ll never make it–but he can make it back to the porch, the one place of peace. Now, he can feel the twinge of something broken in his ankles, probably from the fall–and the cuts, the bruises, the blood scent thick in his nose. He’s so tired. 

He wants to die at home, he wants to die at home. 

“Oh, he sounds like a wounded animal… let’s put him out of his misery.” A voice said. Cold fear grips Etho’s heart, and he stumbles forward–the porch is in sight!

Let him die at home. Let him die at home. 

A shadow fills his vision, and Etho’s not even had time to lift his shield before blinding pain fills his stomach, and it’s over. 

He’s not allowed that creature comfort of dying at home. 

[fumifooms]

Helki compilation

Helki is a prisoner-turned-servant. He’s a criminal canary and was implicitly one of Milsiril’s charges, and now that she’s retired he’s become her servant.

He must have gotten into Milsiril’s good graces, wether through attachment or convenience, which is a feat considering Milsiril’s a socially anxious recluse. Interesting since it’s not like he seems like the agreeable type, shifty upbeat delinquent style… We really don’t know much about him, not even what crimes he did, so there’s a lot of space for speculation on all grounds.

Edit: Shanghai QnA with Kui gave us a new juicy morsel of info!

Interesting… The original answer in japanese is: パッタドルと同じような杖を使っていました。今も同じものを支給されているのですが、すぐになくすのでもはや携帯していないようです。 That it’s written in japanese seems to say that there isn’t the same double translation issue there was last QnA, so if someone wants to look at the original phrasing and word choices it can be done. Perhaps Helki-Milsiril has a more protégé dynamic undertone than previously thought… "For various reasons", meaning circumstances that made it so the squad had to choose between saving him and saving their own skin, or like, "man this guy’s personality sucks we don’t really like him"? Likely to be a mix of several things, since ‘for various reasons’ implies the situation was either complex or they had multiple reasonings. In either case, the phrasing is very much that Milsiril couldn’t abandon him herself, and so a relationship sprung out of that. Another instance of outcasts seeking out and sticking with other outcasts in Dungeon Meshi. This could mean that it’s a bit less out of personal attachment and more out of a sense of duty on Milsiril’s side as well though.

Still edit: So then maybe him staying with Rin in that comic isn’t that much because of work ethics or that he cares for kids (or maybe he does because he feels kinship to them, alone and mistreated), but because he didn’t want to join the other canaries in that room chatting and laughing… Maybe the isolation was exacerbated because he became Milsiril’s favorite, teacher’s pet style, but I’d also be careful about assuming the others disproportionately dislike him, it could be that they just don’t really care for him. Why? Could be because of his personality, because he’s seen as shifty or unreliable or annoying, if an event, who knows who knows, but I like to think because of the Rin comic that he generally just tends to be a loner, that he’s "weird" in a neurodivergent vibe, he doesn’t conform to proper social behavior which in elven society seems especially alienating. He’s the only one with Rin to think of her sake, not only worth observing/caring for but also asks her to eat, but he does this with an offputting stare, not really emoting, and then well, the infamous alone with her staring munching covered in blood panel. He stands out. I’m a fan of the theory that it was a "Helki? Not that I dislike the guy but I’m not risking my skin for him" situation… Ok end edit back to older observations.

He seemed to be acting out of his own initiative in the Rin comic, he doesn’t look thrilled to be there in many post-canary comics but he also seems content enough. He restrains Milsiril in the Mithrun cleaning comic which is interesting to think of for their relationship.

It’s fun to notice how he’s the only one that didn’t get bored of looking after Rin, and then reports back about her condition… I’d say he was getting used to taking care of kids which would come with the job of serving Milsiril, but then, not enough for him to clean the blood off himself hah. In this way it’s interesting to think about his relationship to the idea of parenthood, he’s probably the closest thing to a father figure/male role model Kabru had growing up, without mentioning the other kids. I feel like he’d consider himself an older brother, cousin or uncle figure sooo much sooner than a father, but even then I do think it’s just his job and he’s not really invested or forming real relationships with any of them much.

It’s curious to note that he’s dressed in canary uniform presumably after having been pardoned and living with Milsiril? Which you can tell by the armor bits (the yellow strips of spider silk). In the Kabru training montage and the Rin comic specifically. It seems very implausible for him to have still been a canary while being a retired Milsiril’s servant and being with her all the time, and the cleaning with Mithrun comic (where he’s not in uniform) happens after Utaya so it could happen after Kabru was taken in but around the time of the Rin comic. So why uniform? It could be one of the best outfits he has, so it’d make sense to wear it around especially if you’re sparring or getting… Blood on you? Could just be because that's how Milsiril wants him to dress. But yeah we don't know when exactly Helki becoming Milsiril’s servant happened. We do see Mithrun’s charge Cithis be tasked with taking care of him, so a charge being given a servant-caretaker role doesn’t seem all that out of the ordinary, sometimes even prior to retiring.

Imo, if he doesn't work for Milsiril he goes back to jail/the canaries/has to try and get a job instead of just tending to her, so Helki is staying with Milsiril because she's the best option for him. He’s her milsiril's personal servant and does mostly dull tasks involved in that. He’s not particularly suited to the role but they’ve gotten used to each other to him so she took him with her, and he does prefer it to canary work so it works out decent for him. I think he’s used to reading her and managing her moods and he’s one of the rare social connection she has.

Under spoiler is stage 2 interpretation stuff, bigger speculation, in a reblog I’ll make soon I’ll go over my thoughts for stage 3 interpretation lol. Helsiril I’m coming for you

Translation of the canary hierachy chart used is by Thatsmimi, here

[the-stars-are-warring]

I have a particular type of issue when writing fic that I have a very hard time directly contradicting canon without an explanation and the consequence of that is that I'm like "I know Vader snapped Fox's neck in that one comic but it is technically possible to both survive a broken neck and survive a broken neck without paralysis though it will likely never give you full range of motion again." And thus the utterly absurd detail of my Fox lives headcanon is that Fox lives but also has Batman neck for the rest of his life.

[lanzhanlanzhan]

Sandu Shengshou 🪷

Me? Obsess about Jiang Cheng seven years later? It's more likely than you think. 🙇‍♀️

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

•{ This will be included in my next post and will be used in the future so might as will make it a post }•

•End-Motel•

What Is The End-Motel•It is a place that is a rest stop for those who like to move around

Can Humans Enter The End-Motel•They can but they can’t find it so we don’t have to worry about them getting in or out if you really what them.

When Did The End-Motel Show Up• It showed up when the owner did, No one knows his names so everyone just calls him “The Boss” or something similar he hasn’t corrected anyone let so we just call him that.

Where Can You Find The End-Motel•There is no one place to find the End-Motel but if you want to find the End-Motel just follow the dirt road that can be found in the tree line any tree line is fine.

Can You Be Hurt In The End-Motel•Most of the people there just stay to themselves just don’t knock on a door that isn’t yours.

How Can You Get A Room•In the front is a door inside is the front desk where you can find The Boss just ask for a room and he’ll give you a key, don’t lose the key.

Are Groups Allowed In The End-Motel•Yes but it is very rare for groups more then three

How Many Rooms Are There•There are as many as there needs to be for the guests

Pics of the Motel and the surrounding area

•{That’s about it, feel free to ask questions. hope you enjoy byeeee}•

[starfruitsomething]

I don't care if they never kissed- Johnlock could not be more canon.

[godsfavoritescientist]

An as-of-yet unnamed AU where instead of being Ford's muse, Bill appears to Fiddleford and convinces him to build the portal.

The conversation in the last 2 images continues under the cut:

Fiddleford relaxed all at once, giving Ford a too-wide smile. Then, he opened his eyes one eyelid at a time. “You’ve been a real good friend! And I have a lot of friends, so that’s saying something!” He let out a short laugh. “You wanna know what I’m working on? It’s something that’s gonna usher in an era of world peace! You might not believe it, but no one else would believe you if you told them you’ve just uncovered an ancient alien crash site, would they now? So be a pal and suspend your disbelief!”

Ford felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was something… something he couldn’t put his finger on… something that flashed in the corner of his eye…

Ford swallowed. “Okay. It’s religious project. But what is it?”

Fiddleford threw a casual arm around Ford. “I think it’ll be easier if I show you!”

~

They walked down a corridor lined wall to wall, floor to ceiling with computers running endless calculations. They bathed the whole room in flickering green light, as words scrolled rapidly across screen after screen after screen, their glowing surfaces reflecting in Fiddleford’s glasses as he walked ahead of Ford, with a confidently uncoordinated stride that made Ford wonder if he was drunk. Ford glanced at the screens, catching bits and pieces of words as Fiddleford rushed by in the black-and-green light. “Probability of Event 4.23A, Probability of Event 23.652C, Probability of Event 1.9C…” dozens of numbers that looked like coordinates… thousands of statistical probability equations being run over and over again…

Fiddleford punched in a seven-digit code on the front of a huge metal door at the end of the corridor. When he swung it open, it revealed a room that looked like something out of a movie, or a nightmare. He stood before a sea of gigantic red raising platforms that Fiddleford effortlessly jumped around on, inputting some kind of code based on the symbols on the squares, until the moving platforms went still.

They moved on into a simple, warmly-lit room with coat racks full of red robes lining the walls, and foam mats stacked in the corner with eyes embroidered on them.

And then, at last, they entered what appeared to be their destination. This room was gigantic, and frigidly cold. The walls and floors were all made of metal. And at the center of the room, a machine towered over them. It was part metal and part unfinished scaffolding. A huge upside-down triangle with a hole in the middle of it, like a great big maw.

Fiddleford gestured at it with a grin. “My magnum opus! A portal directly to god.”

[rain-after-thunder]

Disabled Aelwyn who uses crutches.

Aelwyn who can’t go back to school to finish her wizzard studies, who starts researching different ways to bend magic to her will.

Aelwyn, who has always had a knack for creating new spells, starting to tinker at her own crutches, weaving wards into the framework.

Aelwyn, for who good is not good enough, caves and asks Gorgug for help. Who finds a way to make her crutches extend, bend and move to support her arms, elbows, shoulders. Makes them connect to her back, her hips, down her legs .

They no longer look much like crutches anymore, it’s a thin, light framework that supports her entire body, that moves her exactly the way she wants, that allows her to stand with her back straight for more than 5 minutes for the first time in two years. The exoskeleton glows with abjurative runes and the outline of a powerfull ward is visible over her body, deflecting blows like steel armor.

New spells rest in her memory, mechanical and precise if nature in a way that the arcane inks in her spelbook can’t articulate. Spare the Dying, Resistance, Cure Wounds, Sanctuary.

Her joints still ache, she tires fast and even after all this time it is still hard to control the venom in her words, still hard to accept help and kindness without it feeling like a wool blanket on freshly flayed skin. But she has found something that is wholly hers, found something to be proud of that isn’t tinged with approval from her parents.

Aelwyn still can’t walk without support, but the frame folding her up is crafted by her own hands. Maybe everything will be allright.

[methoughtsphantom]

DP x DC

not me thinking about imaginary scenarios of ten year old Tim Drake in the ghost zone (pariah’s castle)

where Tim thinks it’s strangely soothing that despite being the only one whose steps connect to the ground, there’s not that eerie silence that befell drake manor

strange blob creatures chitter softly and nip at his hair and swooshes and wisps of wind betray the presence of an invisible ghost

which after following he realizes it’s almost like he’s trailing after the black dark shadow that is batman again

which gives him the idea that, maybe, just this one time, he can play the part of robin

that in mind Tim makes out a game of sneaking to the side of ghosts that look like they’re brooding and if they can spot him he loses

most just grunt in response (very in character) while others fuss over him and ask questions which Tim uses to infodump

he also politely asks the ghost that always asks him how he’s doing to instead say the word “report”

(the ghost looks at him weirdly but humors him and besides the answer would be the same anyways)

Tim also(!!)

gets on the case of why the walls lack tangibility when he is the one leaning on them (he doesn’t live down the time he wanted to look cool only to fall through the wall)

hyperfixates on how gravity works in the ghost zone because he couldn’t do a skateboard trick he has pulled off many many times and he’s salty about it

tries to figure out where they are getting human food from (cause it’s hot enough to be homemade but also there’s no kitchen —so how could it be) (also he wants coffee)

finds out the dude that often gives him a side eye when he finds that Tim knows how to do something (math homework), is next in line for the throne and yet doesn’t have a single “mingle and talk people up” bone in his body. (despite it his networking is a solid 7/10)

gets a ghost horse to adopt him what

discovers pretty quickly that there are rooms to which he can’t phase through (a.k.a. he’s not allowed entry) to which he begrudgingly backs off even though that stands in his way of doing a very thorough layout™ of the place (robin would)

sulks over the lack of extreme sports in the place

(Danny takes him to the Far Frozen where they go tire sliding in the snow and where tim learns how to use a skateboard skate and also that ghost ice cream is just as good as normal ice cream)

sulks again cuz he caught a common cold

also because there’s no sun or moon poor Timmy’s already screwed sleep schedule gets more messed up to the point no one knows when or where he will fall asleep

(ghosts find him in the most unhinged of places with a signature purple cloak draped over him every. single. time.)

overall, be a menace

see-> the time he threatened to build ghost weapons he’d somehow memorized the blueprints of cause Danny wouldn’t let him visit the radium girls factory but yes the renaissance period

see-> that time he went through the whole ghost energy and how to work with it book section in the library and half an hour later had a prototype of a star wars laser beam made

(note: bribing only works for hot chocolate, not for letting him keep cool-looking guns)

just tim having the time of his life

clockwork being no help at all (the ghost loves being a cryptid)

and danny trying not to get attached while he progressively gets more concerned over this chaos child he emotionally adopted as his little brother

(to fit canon cause i want it to this would just be until Danny finds the dimension little Timmy is from, then they can safely yeet the child back to the moment he first went missing)

anyways before anyone knows it’s been three months

[xxplastic-cubexx]

I have to weigh in 'cause while I am definitely a service-top Erik truther, I do agree with the previous anon who said he could be a sub/top. I think his control freak personality becomes too much at times and he needs to CHILL OUT and relax a little, and the best way Charles can help him do that is by taking control from him in bed and ordering him about, but with Erik still 'topping' it lends the illusion of control while stripping the actual responsibility of decision-making from him.

the council's come to a Rather Unanimous Conclusion oh wow that was easy

[5516-minutes]

hm fuck it. charlos feb 1 timeloop AU where charles does everything he can possibly do to stop lewis from announcing he's joining ferrari in 2025. tries talking to lewis, coercing him none of it works. over multiple loops charles learns all the politics involved and tries to use insider knowledge to change the outcome and it still isn't enough. he is so desperate to stop the heartbreak, to avoid shattering carlos' future at ferrari and what was going to be their future together that he runs himself ragged reliving the loop in days-- weeks-- over and over again-- and it's never enough

but eventually charles comes to understand, this is it. this loop of time is the last i'll see carlos before he will never look at me the same way again. everything will change from feb 1 onwards, everything that was and now won't ever be. so charles goes fuck it. and he restarts that time loop again but to live it for them. he visits carlos on his ski trip to the dolomites and has carlos visit him. they take pictures in that gorgeous infinity pool that will only exist in charles' memories. he texts carlos every day even though he can tell carlos is getting annoyed because they're supposed to be commited to pre-season training because this year is going to be THE year for them and ferrari and the tifosi and everyone who's believed in them for the past three. he even lies to carlos about how he thinks the contract talks are going so that carlos can believe, even for a little while, that his future at ferrari is secured; the loops where charles lies he always forces the reset just as carlos confronts him with the truth.

charles could loop their lives like this forever, if only to remain in denial that come feb 1 he's going to start losing his teammate until carlos finally leaves him for good at the end of the year. but living in a time loop has its physical and mental and emotional costs: charles is tired. bone deep exhaustion that neither he nor the makeup artists can hide for c2's first (last) ferrari photoshoot of the year. both of them know this is the beginning of the end but don't want to say it out loud.

but charles has had many, many chances to learn to live with it. so when carlos holds the camera and tells him to smile, he does.

[oh-snapperss]

<Join Game?>

Etho stares at the message on his communicator until his eyes are nearly blurry. No. No. No. No. If he thinks too hard, his very blood is in flames, burning away himself and Joel. If he thinks too hard, Joel’s triumphant scream pierces the air along with the axe buried in his chest. If he thinks too hard, the scars on his arms turn back to the flame they once were, setting his clothing alight as he screams in agony. 

But They want blood, and who is he to deny Them? Who is he to deny protection to those he couldn’t save before? (He knows he’ll betray them to live anyway.) 

<Ethoslab joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“They want blood… gladly,” Grian’s lips twist up into a sick grin. He’s far beyond caring, and has been since he scrubbed the blood of his lover from his fingernails under the desolate, unforgiving desert sun. 

“Grian?” 

The sick smile disappears as he’s faced with the ghost that has haunted him daily since the beginning. 

“Scar.” 

“One more time?” Scar wears his own tired grin, just as sick as Grian’s, and far more bitter. 

“One more time.” 

(Is this the last time?)

<Grian joined the game

<GoodtimeswithScar joined the game> 

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<Join Game?>

“Wh-now? Are you serious?” Jimmy drops the pile of wood he’d been carrying through the doorway of his empty town. “Right now?” 

There’s no response–there never is, and hasn’t been in months. All that’s left to keep him company are the tumbleweeds, blowing past him, and the mocking, empty vacation houses he’d invited the others to build in the hopes someone would come keep him company.

“Least I won’t be alone, if I go…” Somewhere, there’s laughter, a call from his rancher and respect he’d forgotten he could have. 

That’s all it takes. 

<SolidarityGaming joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“Oh, for goodness sake!” 

He tries to ignore the message for several hours, although it taunts him with every glance down to the communicator, seeing others log off Hermitcraft. Etho. Grian. Scar. Tango. Cleo. Ren. Impulse. 

No, no, not this time. He doesn’t want to go, not when he’s sure Impulse has a matching scar through his chest where Bdubs’ sword betrayed him twice-albeit, on accident the final time. Etho’s long gone–of course he’d go–and Cleo, for reasons well beyond him. Far more hours pass, before he breaks–

“...fine!” 

(He never really had a choice. He’s not proven himself beyond failing those he swore loyalty to, and he won’t rest until then.) 

<Bdoubleo100 joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

Sharp laughter fills the air, like electricity buzzing, and then-

<SmallishBeans joined the game>

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<Join Game?>

“No thanks, I’m good mate!” Mumbo shakes his head, already turning back to the flooring of his definitely full vault. 

(Although…) 

…

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<Join Game?> 

“Of course, of course..” Scott chuckles slowly, as if in on some joke that nobody else could ever understand. Like others… he’s far beyond caring, and has been since the lightning arched through the trees to take him despite his supposed victory. But first… he takes his time. Makes himself a drink, watches the sun set orange. After all… the next sunset could be red. 

As the sun dips below the horizon, he turns away. 

<Smajor1995 joined the game> 

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<Join Game?> 

It’s as if the fear and rage she’d felt for weeks before comes back in an instant, electrifying her. She’s typed her answer before she can even think twice about it, half blinded. Why? Why? Why did he do that? 

<PearlescentMoon joined the game>

“Hello, Scott,” she grins up at the rising sun, at the unmarred landscape around her. “Would you like to play a game?”