#first thing i've written in a while

[arighmaa-dataq]

Snuff Nightmare Comfort

"Mothman~ There's no need to feel down, I said Mothman~ Lift that man off the ground-" You're roused from sleep by the sound of your phone playing that song again. Which only meant that Seth was calling you. You groaned softly and slapped at your bedside table a couple times before finally grabbing your phone. Why was he calling you this late at night? You look at your phone, squinting at the bright light of your screen to see the picture of Seth dressed as a cryptid hunter from Halloween, and the text saying he was calling you. In the corner you look at the time, and it was only 2:30 in the morning. You sigh and finally answer, "... Hello?" you speak in your tired voice. "Uh, hey Sugar..." Seth spoke to you, in what you quickly picked up was a very scared tone, "I uh... sorry if I woke you I just needed to talk..." "Are you okay?" you ask, "You sound pretty freaked out..." "I-It's nothing, just a nightmare," Seth said. "This... doesn't sound like just a nightmare. Do you want me to come over?" you ask. "N-No, you don't need t-" "Either I'm coming over there or you come here," you quickly state, very clearly not giving him a third option. It'd been a while since you heard him this shaken up, this had to be serious. "I... is it okay if I come by you?" "Yes, you dumbass," you sigh, "I'll be waiting at the door, just come when you're ready." "Uh... Thanks, _________," he says, "I'll be there real soon." With a click, you set the phone down and get yourself to sit up, hearing a yawn coming from the other side of your bed. "What's up, Boo?" Alphonse asked in a very sleepy tone. "Seth's pretty freaked out... he won't exactly say what but he's coming over." "At 2:30 in the morning?..." Alphonse whined, "Shit... something happen?" "I think it's a nightmare..." You grab your robe and step into your slippers before heading out to the living room, quickly hearing Alphonse getting out of bed and following you. "Must've been some freaky shit," he commented. "What did he usually do when he had a nightmare?" you ask. "Eh... I mean when we were together he'd usually just try to act all tough and say it was nothing, kinda like how he tried to approach most shit..." "I don't think that's very healthy." "That's what I said but he insisted it was nothing... guess he's finally learning to open up." The two of you chatted for a while until finally you heard a knock at the door. Quickly you answered to see Seth standing there. "Hey Sugar," he says, "I hope I-" he froze suddenly when he saw Alphonse walk up behind you. "You okay, Seth?" Alphonse asked, his head tilting in confusion. "I... Sorry, I didn't know you were here too- I'm just gonna go," Seth turned around and tried to walk away, but was pulled back by you from his jacket. "Get in here idiot!" you say, "I'm not having you suddenly walk out after you came all this way!" "What happened?" Alphonse asked, "Boo said you had some kind of nightmare?" "It's nothing Alphonse, I just-" "It doesn't sound like nothing to me," you say, "Please, whatever it is I'm sure you can tell both of us?" Seth looked back at you, then to Alphonse, then you again, before finally sighing in defeat, "Okay I'll tell you..." ... "God damn," Alphonse said in shock once Seth had finished talking about the nightmare he had, "What kind of horror movies were you getting into to produce THAT?" "I don't know!" Seth said, "But it happened and I tried going back to sleep but I couldn't and..." "Hey, it's all good," you say, "You did the right thing coming to us." "But..." Seth was a little shaky, "When I saw you here Al, I just saw the nightmare and..." "Hey," Alphonse puts a hand on Seth's shoulder, "It's all good. We know you'd never do anything like that. That was just a fucked up nightmare, it never happened." "That's what I keep telling myself, but..." Seth looked down, tears in his eyes. "Hey. shhhhhh..." you pull him close, "Everything's okay..." You let him bury his face in your shoulder as he cried softly. "I'm so fucking stupid..." he said, "Getting all worked up over a bad dream like I'm a little kid... I'm a grown man, I shouldn't-" "Woah, Seth..." Alphonse gently rubs Seth's back with his hand, "Believe me, there is no shame in needing someone when you're all shaken up like this, no matter what reason it is... Hell, Boo here has barged in on me in the middle of the night a couple times cause of shit like this before." "True," you nod, "And I'm not going to let you just stew in these fears all by yourself... I've been there far too many times to count, and it's not fun..." "... Thanks..." Seth said once he finally calmed down, "Uh... one other thing... can I-" "Yes you can stay the night," Alphonse says with a chuckle, "I don't think __________ is gonna just let you leave at this rate." "Nope." Seth let out a little chuckle, "Thanks, Sugar... shit, what would I do without you guys..." "Come on," you say, guiding Seth to your room, "Off to bed..." The three of you quickly got under the covers together, Seth now in between you and Alphonse, snuggled into your chest with his arms around you while Alphonse spooned him from behind. You hummed softly and played with his hair for a while. "... I love you..." you hear Seth murmur after a bit, finally drifting to sleep. "Love you too, Seth," you say, giving him a kiss on the forehead as you and Al drift off with him.

[therentyoupay]

im completely feral over all your jelsa stories!!!!!! do you ever write established relationship jelsa or have any headcanons about what they would be like together in a serious relationship or marriage????

THANK YOU SO MUCH. 😭😭😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💕🙏 thank you thank you nonny for this super sweet ask and this really lovely question and all of your love and support!! 💕💕💕💕💕

i have... never actually written established!relationship (in any fandom), now that i'm thinking about it? that said, i guess i can come up with a quick list of some headcanons, maybe? 😂 i will have to think about this more, but for now, here's a quick drop:

elsa is an early riser; elsa helps jack create more sustainable sleeping patterns and habit formations 😂

when jack gets Impetuous Urges to Do Something Rash and Impractically Spontaneous, elsa will ground jack, reminding him to think before acting. (he occasionally Still Does It, anyway.) elsa knows what she signed up for, lol.

jack loves to play Harmless(!) Pranks, just to watch elsa’s reaction. (he is no longer allowed to sneak up on her after The Incident).

they also quibble over the definition of "harmless" and the specific logistical implications of that; for a while, jack was banned from further pranking, but then he got more creative at showing elsa that pranks could be wholesome and genuine, in which they could both be in on the joke. however, due to elsa's deeply-rooted Need to Excel and her (Not-so)Secret Competitive AF Streak, her retaliation in escalating the Cleverness Prank War quickly resulted in jack's prompt implementation of the Prank-Free Zones and Time Periods. (no, he was not scared.)

elsa, usually reserved, has learned to let her playful side show more often with jack. she might still pretend to be exasperated by his antics, but sometimes it's part of the game (or habit).

elsa sill struggles with opening up emotionally sometimes, but she progressively feels safe enough to share her innermost thoughts and fears. with time, she confides in him more about her worries. she still never likes the idea that jack sees her Imperfect Parts, but at least she can tolerate the discomfort (and, yes, take comfort in it) now

(jack loves elsa's Imperfect Parts, and jack admits that he is Weirdly Proud and Competitively Honored to be one of the only people, even including anna, who gets to see them. he also is strangely Comforted and Validated that elsa is, in fact, not perfect because for a while there, he was pretty freaked out and intimidated by how fancy she is.)

until he realized that no one ever let her actually be a Weirdo before, and once he realizes the Truth of Elsa Also Being a Secret (albeit perhaps more Subdued) Weirdo, the Universe Aligns.

jack listens to elsa's Big Conversations intently, activating varying levels of Serious Mode.

jack is getting better at recognizing the moments when elsa needs him to play and needs him to listen or Give His Opinion or any combination of those things.

jack learns that it's not always about Saying the Right Thing (which he is not very good at, anyway, or so our Serially Unreliable Narrator thinks), but rather being able to read elsa's mood and anticipate what she might need (even if she is not aware of it herself yet).

elsa is meticulous about planning and preparing for special occasions.

elsa likes traditions! jack likes tradition only because elsa likes them, lol, and hey, okay, these are more fun than he thought?? (who knew fun could be organized??!!?)

so he really wants to show (off to) her by pulling off Incredible Planning Feats in her honor, too (they do not go as smoothly, lol).

jack will often go out of his way to spontaneously create something meaningful, a moment or a gift or a gesture, that reminds elsa that he cares. he is big on words of affirmation, gift giving (but like, souvenirs that he collects on adventures like, "i saw this rock and it reminded me of your cousin olaf, we should put it on the window after we paint his face on it"), and acts of service, as well as physical touch and quality time. HE WANTS LOVE. he wants TO BE LOVED. he wants to prove that he is worthy of being loved.

(and elsa has to get him to Chill Out sometimes, remind him that he doesn't have to Do Things For Her/Anyone in order to be deserving of care; he is more than what he provides for other people.)

(jack gets its, and appreciates it, but also, the Urge to Provide and Protect is still strong, even after so much time, and sometimes Old Habits Die Hard.)

i get the sense that he'd be the type to he wake elsa up in the middle of the night to take her on a surprise adventure, or convince her to Do a Fun Thing without any preparation (/warning).

and she would Be Alarmed at the Lack of Plan (especially if/when jack Did Not Think This Through), but he also took precautions to ward off Concerns by pacifying her with tea, or reassurances that yes, he did call ahead to make sure the restaurant was open before they left the house, of course he did, he would never just leave home without double-checking beforehand (and frantically googles it two minutes later when he thinks she's not looking; she is, naturally, and even occasionally pretends not to be).

elsa approaches conflict with a desire to resolve things Calmly and Logically. she tries to understand jack’s perspective, even when she disagrees, and she’s careful with her words, not wanting to escalate the situation.

however, she can sometimes withdraw emotionally, fearing that she might say something hurtful if she’s too overwhelmed.

jack was initially (and, honestly, still is, even though he understands more now) hurt by her tendency to shut down when she Feels Too Much, and understands (although it's still hard) that elsa needs time to process her feelings and organize her thoughts.

jack also helps elsa actually Feel her Feelings, instead of just trying to intellectualize and analyze them. (she hates it, BUT sees the value. jack lives for these moments in which he realizes that he's actually contributing positively to her life and helping her in some way, rather than just being a burden or a nuisance, as was/is his fear.)

his initial reaction might be to push for a resolution quickly, but he’s also deeply afraid of Creating Distance between them, so after the first few fights, he really makes an effort to find the right balance between Pushing Hard Enough and Not Pushing Too hard, so that he doesn't drive a wedge between them as they work things out.

jack FEELS intensely, and can be so stubborn. he does not always have the most precise vocabulary or tools to describe his thoughts and feelings, or identify the root causes of what is actually going on inside him; sometimes elsa asks a lot of insightful and guiding questions that help jack come to the conclusions himself, and other times, she Puts Into Words the very thing that he had been thinking or feeling, but could not name, and it is very reassuring to have someone who understands him well enough to be able to do that.

after conflicts or arguments, they take time to Decompress and reassure one another (especially if at least one of them, if not both, was Overthinking again).

when they argue (and healthy couples do, remember!), it’s a dance of patience and understanding: elsa might need a moment to Collect Herself, and jack learns to give her that Space while also making it clear that he’s ready to talk whenever she is, and that he is going to try very hard to be Rational and Patient About It.

in the end, they both prioritize their relationship over any disagreement, always finding a way back to each other.

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the other.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[vgreysoncellars]

WIP Wednesday

work has been wiping the FLOOR with me but I am still squeaking out progress on the authentication Buck POV companion fic. so here's the beginning of that, which might make more sense if you've read authentication.

Unlike the first person Buck dragged to shore, the second surfer is still conscious when he makes it to her, but she's disoriented, yelling and fighting him as he tries to get a grip on her slippery rash guard. The rising wind is strengthening the current, which is carrying them further and further out with every second, and Buck struggles to keep both of their heads above water while not losing his hold on her. The tether on her ankle is still attached to her uselessly dragging surfboard, the line threatening to ensnare Buck's leg as he treads water. He wishes he had a knife, trauma scissors, anything he could use to cut it loose, but of course he's off-duty so he's out here in just board shorts with no gear and no backup, trying to pull an idiot out of a riptide.

"Hey, hey, I got you," Buck says, at least the tenth time he's said something like it, trying to sound calm and in control although he's spitting salt water.

"My brother," the surfer gasps. "My brother, he's--"

"I got him already," Buck says, reassuring. "I got him, it's OK. Come on, hold on to my arm," he says, but she doesn't seem to hear, too frantic, thrashing against him, tangling them in the surfboard's leash. The changing wind sweeps them sideways, out of the rip current but into the path of a white-capped wave, and Buck has just enough time to think, Oh, FUCK, and then, don't let her go, don't let her go, don't let her go don't let her go, and then they're both pulled down, the surfer's scream garbled underwater before it cuts off. Buck's got two hands on her and one leg wrapped up in the board leash and no chance to protect his head as the wave slams him face-first into the rocky sea floor. It's only from adrenaline dulling the pain and sheer stubbornness that he manages to keep his grip tight, his mouth closed, and his eyes open, thrashing his leg loose and kicking for the surface with all his strength, lungs burning.

She's stopped struggling by the time they break the surface, which is overall a bad sign, but at least Buck is finally able to grab her ankle and undo the board strap so he's not pulling that along too as he tows her to shore, her back against his chest. His head is throbbing, but over the sound of the waves and his panting breath he can hear sirens, close already and getting closer, a beautiful, heartening sound. The flashing lights of an LAFD rig blaze in his peripheral vision as he swims perpendicular to the shoreline, steering them into a weaker current before he can turn for the beach.

"Hey," he tries to yell, as he reaches the shallows and can get his feet under him, but maybe he did inhale some water after all, because his voice comes out in a hoarse wheeze. It's too quiet to get the attention of the knot of people up the beach, gathered around where Buck had left the first person he rescued, and the firefighters and paramedics are just pulling into the parking lot, too far away to help him yet. His whole body burns with exhaustion but he forces himself to keep going, pulling on some deep reserve to scoop the surfer into his arms and carry her the rest of the way out of the water, staggering as the surf drags at his ankles.

"Hey," he tries again, managing to get some breath behind it. "I need help over here," and now heads are turning his way, some of the bystanders at the other scene breaking off and coming towards him as he gives up on forward motion and drops to his knees on the sand.

As he lets himself fall, he sees Kevin staring at him from the crowd, looking stricken, eyes huge and face pale under his tan. But Kevin doesn't come towards him; he doesn't move at all, just keeps standing there, arms at his sides. Then Buck looks away to focus on what he needs to do: lay the patient down, tilt her head back, check her breathing, and then thank fucking god, she retches, coughing, and he helps her roll onto her side as water comes up. Two paramedics with med kits reach them, two firefighters with a backboard on their heels, one of the paramedics saying, "LAFD, we can take it from here," and then a firefighter asking him, "Sir, are you alright?"

Buck has a moment of disorientation to be addressed like a civilian, a split-second flash of his coma dream, and then remembers--right, he's just some guy in a swimsuit. "I'm a firefighter, I'm Evan Buckley from the 118," he says, and then launches into his briefing, scooting back to let the paramedics assess her--"I just pulled her out of the water right now; she was distressed but conscious when I got to her. We got taken under by a wave and she might have inhaled some water while we were down there, not sure, and she was semi-conscious after that."

"Did you know you're bleeding like hell, Buckley?" the firefighter asks him. Her nametag says Rao.

"What? Oh," Buck says, uselessly, touching his forehead where he smashed it on the rocks, fingers coming away red. Not all of the wetness on his face is saltwater, it turns out.

"Here," Rao says, holding a wad of gauze from the medkit up to his head. The paramedics and the other firefighter have the surfer on the backboard and are getting ready to move.

"Thanks," Buck says to Rao. He puts his hand on the gauze to hold it in place. "Listen, I'm fine, really, you know scalp wounds, they always bleed like crazy." He doesn't want her to feel obligated to stay with him when there are people here who actually need help.

"Uh-huh," she says, skeptically. "You take that knock on the head while you were underwater?" Although they don't look anything alike, her expression reminds him so strongly of Chim's this patient is an idiot face that he has a wave of what feels almost like deja vu. Or at least that's what he blames the sudden lurch of dizziness on.

"Um. Yes," Buck admits. He's glad he's sitting down. The adrenaline is leaving him, a tide going out, stripping him down to the detritus underneath, and his hands are starting to shake. Maybe not just his hands. Maybe his whole body. He clenches his teeth and puts more pressure on the wound on his forehead, grounding himself in the pain.

Further up the beach, he can see another team of firefighters and paramedics swiftly crossing the sand with a loaded-down backboard that Buck assumes is the other guy--the brother, Buck thinks. Buck spares a thought to hope he's OK and then mentally hands him off, trusting his colleagues and reminding himself he did all he could, even if that guy's lips were blue when Buck got him ashore.

"Alright," Rao says, and then she's waving over a couple other firefighters and talking into her radio, asking dispatch to send a third ambulance, and Buck thinks, Wait, for who? and then realizes. Right. It's for him.

"I'm really OK," Buck says, as two more firefighters come over, one carrying a medkit and the other pulling on gloves.

"Buckley from the 118," Rao says. "They call you Buck, right?" Buck nods. "Yeah, your reputation precedes you."

Buck squints up at her. "I'm not totally sure what that means."

"It means that, based on the stories I've heard about the 118, I'm pretty sure you would try to walk it off if a shark had taken half your leg," she says, and then, "Thanks," as one of the arriving firefighters hands her a fresh set of gauze. Buck tries to reach for it and gets a glare so fierce he sits back meekly, chastened, and lets her tape it down.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[problemswithbooks]

BNHA Ch. 429

So, I guess Toga is dead, and people are losing it.

I get why people liked her--she was actually queer, being pan/bisexual. She was representation for them and that's rare in shonen manga. But here's the thing--she was bad representation at best and insulting at worst. Nor do I think she was made queer because Hori really wanted to represent a queer girl. Himiko was always the author's poorly hidden fetish--she just was. She liked girls as much as boys because Hori wanted to draw a girl touching sexually on another girl. You can see this in how he draws her and Ochako in solo pics together.

I mean, people seem to understand this when it comes to Momo and her outfit being overly sexual or that both Himiko and Hagakure's Quirks either leave them naked or they have to be naked to use them. These are excuses to draw girls in a sexual manner. Himiko being into other girls is the same thing and that's the kindest interpretation.

Given how Himiko acts and her Quirk being heavily coded sexual desire, and therefore her use of it against someone unwilling being sexual assault, it could just being playing into harmful stereotypes of predatory gays.

As a queer person myself I just found Toga insulting. She was designed to be overly sexual and give the male author a female character that he could draw being suggestive with his other female characters. When he did flesh out her character, her backstory was eventually the trope/fear of straight people, that gay people will be so overcome with their lust that they end up sexually assaulting them.

In the end Ochako accepts this part of Toga and says she'll giver her blood forever, but as much as a lot of readers took that that as some deep lesbian confession, for me it really fell flat. Hori never really gave any of the main kids time to actually learn about their villain or show how that changed their minds toward them. Shoto only works because Touya is his brother (even though he admits he barely remembers him). But Ochako goes from not thinking of Toga at all pre-first war, to one thought about her during her speech, to suddenly caring about her so much she--given how Toga's quirk is coded, is willing to essentially fulfill Toga's kink for the rest of their lives.

It's weird and it comes out of nowhere. It's made even stranger because Toga doesn't actually change or show remorse for anything she did, which included personally hunting and murdering people before she joined the LOV. None of the death and destruction she is also partially responsible for is brought up either, something that Ochako was rightfully upset about during the first war when less people and property had been destroyed. Ochako just accepts everything about her suddenly and her past serious crimes are forgotten so they can cuddle and cry.

Am I shocked Toga died--a little. I didn't think Hori would have the guts to kill off a young girl character, especially one that he clearly got a lot of joy drawing in sexy poses. But at the same time, once he killed off Shigaraki and ended Touya's story with his slow death, I'm not surprised he went the same route with Toga.

This isn't Naruto--Hori isn't really kind to characters that do something wrong, especially if they don't try and change. Enji, Bakugo, Hawks, and Aoyama all sort of got punished for what they did. Enji is the worst off, being permanently crippled, missing an arm and burned everywhere. Bakugo's hand is damaged, his heart weaker, plus he feels bad that Izuku lost his Quirk so they can't compete the same way he wanted them to. Aoyama, despite doing way less wrong and even helping his class during the forest raid, still leaves school because he doesn't feel he earned being there yet. Hawks lost his Quirk and even though him running the HPSC could be seen as good for him, Hawks always wanted a break, but now he has one of the most time consuming and stressful jobs out there.

So, if this is what characters who actively did good things and even changed and fought to be better get, what would characters who never changed and never did anything positive for anyone but their friends/themselves get?

Before the last Arc started, when so many people said the LoV were 100% going to be redeemed I had doubts and always thought it wouldn't make sense with how the story presented redemption or treated other non-LoV villains in the past. That if the main LoV did get some happy ending where they were bffs with the main cast it would clash with how other characters had been treated.

That doesn't mean that I think how Shigaraki, Toga, and Touya ended up in the manga was well done. I think their endings fit far better then a last minute redemption would have, but at the same time you can feel how rushed everything has been since the end of the first war arc. Hori was done with this story months if not years ago, yet he was contractually obligated to finish it. Because of that I think he left out as much as possible. As much as I think he's written some pretty obsessive stuff, particularly towards women, I can't really fully blame him cutting corners or the story being shit at the end.

We know Manga authors, particularly those that work with Jump are treated like shit. That they suffer incredibly long hours at times not even getting to go home for days. We've gotten messages for Hori saying he's sick quite a few times. On top of that, weekly story telling is not a great way to tell a cohesive narrative. Ideas probably change week to week or at least month to month and you can't go back and change the last chapter no matter how much you need or want to. Then you remember he also gave a lot of ideas to the people who made the movies, which would also change his plans for how he wanted the main story to go.

The story is bad--it has been for a while, but I think a lot of people put their hopes on their favorite characters getting a happy ending, even when there were signs that probably wasn't going to be the case. I know how much it sucks when a character you love gets a shitty ending (Stain was my fav, but he got an absolute dogshit ending) but at least, knowing what I know about the industry I can't really blame Hori the way I see some other people doing. Criticize it, sure, but saying Hori hates his readers or is horrible writer isn't true. BNHA was popular for a reason--he's great with characters and the beginning of the story had some great pacing. We'll never know, but I wouldn't be surprised if BNHA could have been amazing if Hori had been treated better and the story hadn't needed a chapter every week.

If anything BNHA has taught me how much a story suffers when authors/artists are treated like crap and forced to work past burnout.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '24 ⸺ 「 1 / 31 * RED-LETTER DATE 」

“Hey Doc? I wanna ask you something.” 

Emmett doesn’t pop his head through the doorway to acknowledge his friend, too focused on topping off one of the mugs of hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows, but he does shout, “Of course, Marty,” into the air. “You know you don’t have to ask. Let me bring Verne his cup and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

Marty makes a vague noise that many years of friendship has taught Emmett means sure thing, Doc, and it takes him barely three minutes to drop off the hot chocolate to Verne, who smiled like it was Christmas morning when he saw the mountain of marshmallows floating at the top, and join Marty in the living room, carrying the tray with their own drinks. He passes one of them off to Marty who accepts with a smile and a nod and then takes a seat opposite him, fixing him with an expectant look.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Marty’s eyes immediately drift to the shelf, where Emmett and Clara’s small assortment of family photos sit, arranged in elegant wooden frames. In the centre is a black and white photo that has started to yellow around the edges, looking paradoxically fragile and yet able to withstand even the most rigorous tests of time, holding onto that frozen memory for all eternity. Emmett turns his head to follow Marty’s attention, his eyes alighting on the single photo he expects will be the topic of their conversation.

Ah. Out of all of them, there is only one Marty was never able to be present for.

For once, Emmett manages to look perfectly natural in a photograph, even dressed to the nines in a sharp suit. His smile stretches from ear-to-ear, making him look at least ten years younger, and though his face is angled away from the camera, his eyes are bright and alive, brimming with love and warmth. Marty could even imagine the photographer trying to get Emmett’s attention, demanding he look at him for the photo, only for every single word to go in one ear and straight out the other when Clara was standing beside him, smiling, the picture of radiance as she regards her husband with the same fond warmth. Her wedding dress was no more intricate than any of the outfits Marty had seen her wear during his few days in the Nineteenth Century, yet it seemed to be made for her and her alone, perfectly tailored and somehow able to put even the outfits of royalty to shame.

If Clara was the sun, Emmett was the moon that revolved around her. In that single moment, forever frozen in time, they were the only two people on Earth. 

“I had been wanting to ask for a while, but–”

“No, no, of course. You didn’t get the chance to see it, and I’m sorry for that, so I’d be happy to fill you in on the details.”

Marty curls his fingers around the warm mug, shuffling somewhat in his seat, and Emmett waits patiently, noting each one of Marty’s nervous habits as they arise. There are a hundred and one things Marty wants to say, Emmett can see them written across his body, written into every small movement, and, equal and opposite, there are a thousand things Emmett wants to say in return, things he makes an effort to hold back until Marty speaks first.

“I’m happy for you two, Doc–really, I am. Clara’s–well, Clara’s amazing. And I’ve never seen you so happy before. I was afraid that–” Marty shakes his head, his eyes focused on the photographs. “When I first saw the picture, I was…” He forces a laugh, but there’s no humour in it and Emmett would know that self-depreciatory tone anywhere. 

“It’s stupid, I know. I didn’t realise it at first, but I was jealous. Can you believe that, Doc? My best friend is happy, he’s got a family for Christ’s sake, and I was too busy at first being afraid that now you’re–you’re just gonna forget me because you’ve got Clara and the boys and the house and there wouldn’t be a place for me.”

Emmett’s eyes widen despite knowing the blow was coming and before he can open his mouth, allow the words that have been building up on his tongue to break free, Marty shakes his head and continues, reinforcing the wall and keeping the words at bay just a little longer.

“I know what you’re gonna say, Doc. I already said I know it’s stupid but I couldn’t help feeling that way. And I should have asked you about your wedding and everything a lot longer ago but I-I just couldn’t. And that’s fucking stupid, right? I want to know because I couldn’t be there for you and you’ve always been there for me.”

Marty’s words are a blade driven straight through his chest, each word twisting that razor-sharp blade a little more. He can’t help the pang of guilt he feels echoing in his ribcage, scraping against the bars of a prison he will not allow it to escape from, not now. This conversation was a long time coming–he’d almost expected it sooner rather than later, but he knew better than to push, knowing Marty would open up when he was ready–but no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the blow that hearing it put to words would strike.

The Time Machine’s destruction had not been an accident. Everything had been carefully orchestrated to prevent any further corruption of the timestream, to spare himself the temptation–the broken heart–of trying to go back against all rational, scientific thought.

Ultimately, Marty couldn’t stay in the Nineteenth Century, not if he wanted to live a normal life, not if he wanted to be happy. And he couldn’t allow Marty to become another unsolved disappearance, leaving the McFlys to wonder and agonise over their youngest son who vanished from the face of the Earth without a trace.

Emmett may not have planned to stay, but even he couldn’t predict Clara’s intervention. 

Life had to go on, even under extreme or difficult circumstances. There was only one choice available, then.

Still, Emmett doesn’t hesitate.

“Marty, I could never forget you. Whether we’re in the same time period or separated across the timestream, you will always be my best friend. And I will never stop caring about you. I know things have been busy lately, both for you and for me, what with your college courses and the boys’ schooling and Clara’s acclimation to the Twentieth Century and making the necessary repairs on the house–” Emmett stops himself before he runs off the entire list of seemingly infinitely-growing projects on his list. 

“The point is, nothing is going to change that. And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel neglected or unwanted at any point, because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Marty nods, finally pulling his eyes away from the photo to take a good long look at his best friend. 

“I know, Doc. God, I know. You must think I’m an asshole.” 

“You’re not an asshole. Far from it.”

Marty actually smiles at that, swirling his hot chocolate carefully in the cup. “So… You’ll still tell me about your wedding day?”

“Of course I will, Marty.” Emmett pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression working its way over his face. Then, he smiles, almost conspiratorially as he recalls something of particular note. “The minister certainly wasn’t pleased when we changed until death do us part to something a little more fitting–until the end of time—”

@bttfdoctober

[sisterdivinium]

Now is the time to place your bets on whether or not this hyper self-indulgent doctor superion Vampire the Masquerade AU fic will or won't get to 100 handwritten pages...

[squarebracket-trickster]

Maybe I could just [square bracket trick] these revisions and leave them for future me...

Future me is gonna be so mad hehe

[tennessoui]

Professor-can-fuck-me wedding ficlet? (◉‿◉)

so i realized after receiving this ask that i don't think i've ever actually written a obikin wedding ficlet for any of my aus or fics and i don't want my first wedding ficlet to be this au unfortunately, so no can do but here's 1.6k of wedding adjacent fic (bachelor party)

(1.6k)

“Hi Professor,” Rex greets the moment Obi-Wan opens the door.

And really, he appreciates the boy’s desire to show respect—even though he never even took Obi-Wan’s class—but this is hardly the time or place for such decorum.

“Rex,” Obi-Wan acknowledges, rubbing at his eye with the palm of his hand before blinking at him and then down to his watch. “Good god, man. It’s three in the morning, what are you doing here?”

Then another thought occurs to him. 

“Wait,” he says, “where’s Anakin?”

Rex throws a thumb over his shoulder. “My brothers are getting him out of the car right now. I decided to come up here and tell you first, to prepare you and such.”

Obi-Wan’s stomach drops; his heart rate speeds up. “Prepare me for what? What’s wrong with him?”

Are his palms sweaty? Is his voice high? His grip on the door tightens. Logically, he knows that Anakin’s friend would not bring Anakin home so casually if he were hurt. Logically, he understands that if Anakin were to be injured, Obi-Wan would receive a call from the hospital upon his check-in, or the police if he had died, or Rex in the teary moments after. His friends would not just—knock on Obi-Wan’s door at three in the morning and then dump Anakin’s corpse on his doorstep.

Logically Obi-Wan knows all of that. But he has never been a very logical man when it comes to Anakin Skywalker. If he were, they’d probably not be where they are right now anyway—living together after five months together, engaged after six, married around eight.

Hell, they wouldn’t be in a relationship at all most probably, given the fact that when they met, Anakin was Obi-Wan’s student. And when Anakin kissed him for the first time, Anakin was—well. He was still his student. And when Obi-Wan kissed him for the first time, Anakin was…perhaps ten seconds free from being his student.

So he’s never been logical about Anakin, not really. And while a part of him knows and understands that if something had seriously gone wrong on Anakin’s bachelor night, scant days before their wedding, the man would have enough tact to find a better way to break the news than whatever this is.

But he’s old and overly emotional and high-strung when it comes to his wayward fiancé. And so his pulse is hammering and his palms are sweaty. And he is waiting with baited breath for Rex Amidala to tell him what has happened to him.

Because—because if something has happened, then Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan does not know what he would do. Who he would become. How he would continue to—to continue, after, in a world after.

“He’s, well. He’s very—uh,” Rex rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “He’s—”

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin cries, much too loudly for the quiet stillness of their apartment’s hallway. “Obi-Wan, hi, baby!” 

Obi-Wan’s head snaps to look at his wayward fiancé, who is currently half dragging and half being dragged by a very reluctant looking Cody Fett and an entirely too entertained Jesse Fett. 

“Drunk,” Rex finishes. “He’s really, really drunk, Professor.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, stepping over the threshold of his door to catch Anakin the moment the other man decides to rip himself away from his handlers and fall into Obi-Wan’s arms. “Perhaps lead with that next time, Mr. Amidala.” 

Anakin rubs his face over the front of Obi-Wan’s sleepshirt. “So soft,” he mumbles, repeating the action. When his lips find the skin of Obi-Wan’s neck, he makes a quiet sound of happiness and presses a kiss there. Then he bites.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan decides. “I’ll take it from here, you three. Thank you for getting him home in one piece.”

“If he throws up, you have to tell us,” Jesse says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall opposite the door.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow arches up as he tries to imply with one syllable and a single movement that he is a forty-two year old man who does not have to tell these college-faced twats anything unless he wants to.

“Ani’s been giving me shit about throwing up over his shoes during my bachelor’s party since it happened,” Rex says. “Fair’s fair.”

“But I haven’t yet!” Anakin slurs, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck as he nuzzles farther into him. “And you put me in the car and then gave me shots and made it go really fast in circles and I haven’t yet!”

Obi-Wan gives Rex an incredulous look over Anakin’s head. The other man has the shame at least to look slightly sheepish.

“Good night, all,” Obi-Wan says, stepping as smoothly as he can back into his apartment. “We’ll see you at the wedding.”

If his fiancé survives the rest of the night and, presumably, the hangover to follow.

When the door closes, Anakin sags even more into Obi-Wan’s arms. “I missed you so much,” Anakin mumbles. His lips stay against the skin of his neck, and the feeling would be quite distracting if Obi-Wan wasn’t so reluctantly amused at the moment.

“You are very drunk,” he tells him, detaching himself enough to more easily walk and pull Anakin from the doorway through their apartment. “Bedtime for bachelors.”

“I missed you so much, so I thought maybe I could drink extra fast and then they’d let me come home early,” Anakin explains, eyes only partially held open.

“And how did that work out?” Obi-Wan asks, depositing Anakin onto their bed and kneeling on the floor to untie his boots.

“Mm,” Anakin says, flopping onto his back. He giggles for some reason unknown to those sober in the room, and wriggles his toes in an approximation of help. “Not good. They just bought me more.”

“Oh, my heart goes out for you, darling,” Obi-Wan murmurs, placing the first boot on the floor and tackling the second. “You must suffer so much because your friends are very nice and bought you drinks during your bachelor’s party.”

“Uh huh,” Anakin slurs. “Knew you’d understand. Hey–hey, did you miss me too?” Obi-Wan had had a very nice and quiet night, nursing a scotch by the fireplace and grading papers. He’d warmed up a leftover serving of a mince pie and served himself a piece of apple galette for dessert. And yet— “Yes, of course,” he says. “Though I am glad you had fun.”

“It was fun,” his fiancé agrees and then yawns. “Not as fun as the wedding’s gonna be though.” His fingers run to the buttons of his shirt and start tugging at them. Obi-Wan sighs, shifts, and stands to help him in this as well. “I can’t wait to marry you,” Anakin adds.

He looks so earnest and open, rosy cheeks and glassy eyes and shirt half-done. He’s going to be the world’s biggest pain in Obi-Wan’s ass tomorrow when the hangover really hits him. And Obi-Wan is going to take care of him through all of it. 

Practice for the rest of their lives. The wedding rehearsal he hadn’t known was on the docket. 

Still, his mouth turns up at the corner as he smiles, reaching out to brush aside Anakin’s hair. “I cannot wait to be married to you as well,” he murmurs.

Anakin closes his eyes and grins sleepily, drunkenly. “And I’ll get to be added to your insurance which is real good, cause I don’t have a job.”

“Brat,” Obi-Wan scolds, tugging at the end of his hair. “Is that the only reason you’re marrying me?”

“Yeah,” his fiancé says. “But it really helps that I’ve also been completely obsessed with you since, like, the second class of the year.”

Obi-Wan purses his lips, strangely touched. Sober, Anakin doesn’t always like to talk about the very beginnings of their relationship, as if he thinks should they discuss it enough, Obi-Wan may realize he’s made a terrible mistake in taking up with one of his undergraduate students. 

To be fair to him, it is a terrible mistake, and one that Obi-Wan is fully aware of already. And what Anakin probably doesn’t know is that no amount of discussion will sway Obi-Wan from the path he’s decided to walk.

“Only the second class?” he asks, settling onto the bed next to Anakin. “Should I be offended?” “I skipped the first one,” Anakin mutters, turning his face into his thigh and nudging at him until he begins to pet at Anakin’s hair. “Hooked up with a girl from my first period instead.”

Obi-Wan tugs rather rudely on his hair at this.

“But then, you were there during the second class,” Anakin says, though Obi-Wan thinks maybe the more accurate statement would be I was there during the second class, considering Obi-Wan had to be there. As he was the professor.

Obi-Wan hums and restarts his soothing petting.

“And that was it,” Anakin sighs, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s covered thigh. “You were it for me. And I’m really glad I’m it for you too or I would be really, really, really sad, and I’ve been really, really, really happy for ages now.”

“I’ve been happy too,” Obi-Wan confesses, shifting himself to lie down, facing Anakin. “I—”

He wants to say I thought about losing you today, for real and forever, and it hurt me inconceivably. Or, you mean so much to me that I missed you when you were away, and even though there was a fire in the fireplace, it felt cold all through our home. Or, it took me longer to love you, but I do and I do, and I do.

But when he looks down at Anakin’s expression, it’s to find that the man has managed to fall asleep between one breath and the next.

But, well. They have time for Obi-Wan’s I do’s later. In fact, they’ve put aside a whole day for it.

[weekend-whip]

Baaaack at it again with another @ninjago-valentine-exchange Entry, surprise! And we've got—gasp—LAVA?!? Never expected that one from me, huh? ;P

But, it feels good to do something a little different for a change! And I only hope you enjoy!

Words: 4.5k (a "short" fic) Pairing: Cole/Kai (Lavashipping) Summary: Kai and Cole cope with the same problem in opposite directions during one of the team's Date Nights.

[ranticore]

Had no oppprtunity to read stbh yet, but after reading everything that was on patreon an on this blog, I have to say I LOVE your writing and worldbuilding ideas and everything. in general. Really enjoyed reading the new harpy story/stories, great work!!!

:o thank you!!! and thank you as well for joining my patreon when it existed, that honestly means a whole lot to me and i love to hear it

and yeah haha stbh is one hell of a time investment lmao

[robinminustherichard]

I’ve been running from it all my lifetime

there’s nothing wrong with you, I’m searching for my right mind.

//

This happened, literally woke up I was headless

I woke up I was headless 

//

Imma make a deal with the bad wolf

so the bad wolf don’t bite no more 

(X)

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Points at you. 10 and/or 11 for starstruck?

Two starstruck asks,,,,,,joy of joys,,

Part of an ask game linked here.

#10. What's an au you have for them?

Since them meeting at all is technically an AU i have 3 different ways that they do meet up. There's the one where Juniper ends up with the agency/adjacent to and ends up working with Reggie (have written a fic with this). The next one is Juniper surviving but basically going stealth and living as normal of a life as he can and ending up meeting Reggie through chance (most recent fic I've written). And then there's my personal favourite where Reginald "You're lucky my tracking skills are still up to snuff" Crane keeping himself busy after Phoenix was MIA and finding Juniper still alive (fic I want to write but haven't started mainly because it may end up multi chapter).

In terms of more AU canon bending taking them and putting them in a completely unrelated situation...I have a guilty pleasure Warrior Cats AU for IEYTD in general. Both JJ and Reggie have perfect warrior cats suffixes in their names already (Juniper and Crane) so they're called Junipersong (charcoal bengal) and Craneflight (tabby Norwegian forest cat). It's very silly but the amount of scenes I have in my mind for it...good lord...

#11. How was their first kiss like?

Augh my friend Imp wrote an absolutely excellent fic about it (tragically in the realm of unfinished Google docs) and I'm shaking their hand about it so hard. Basically Juniper kissing Reggie but he like wasn't ready/fully expecting it and Juniper absolutely panicking because he thinks he's misread every interaction between them both since they got closer. The second one is much sweeter though,,

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

You get to choose:

Fav character/fav moment/fav ship in s4 of TWDG :]

Favorite character: Louis

Favorite ship: Clouis

Favorite moment: ep4 before the bridge scene, the whole reunion and group hug; Clementine, AJ, Louis, and Tenn walking together while Clem and Louis talk about him killing Dorian and he shares things about himself; the two of them talking about building a home together, it's so good

...I'm very predictable haha

Listen, I know what I like, and that's Louis. TFS really said "okay we're gonna write one of the best characters in TWDG for this game and make him so difficult to get to *actually* know unless the player makes an effort [which half of the players won't] and only then will they see the complexities woven throughout him" and I love that.