#halfway out of the dark

[pearlofthewoods]

Oh also Chapter 2 has been out for a few days now as well!! Same warnings as last chapter apply, bear in mind the mental health tags and keep yourselves safe my loves xx

Here's a little excerpt for you:

Ron was sitting on the edge of his bed, fighting with a pair of Charlie’s old Quidditch boots, which were at least half a size too small for his feet. In fact, Harry noticed, Ron was wearing entirely a mix of Charlie and Bill’s old Gryffindor uniform.  Perks of having brothers, Harry supposed.  Ron glanced up at him, looking surprised and a little more pleased than was necessary at the smirk which still lingered on Harry’s face. “What’s so funny?” He asked, pausing to watch as Harry ducked through the small doorway and began rummaging through his suitcase. “Your sister,” said Harry drily as he emerged carrying his pile of Gryffindor Quidditch leathers.  “Yeah a right hoot that one.” Ron retorted, before his grin widened wickedly and he chucked the offending shoe at Harry’s head. Harry swerved out of the way as his seeker’s reflexes kicked in. The shoe bounced harmlessly off the wall and onto the floor in front of them.  He gaped at Ron indignantly. “Bloody hell, Ron!” he said in disbelief, “What the fuck was that for?” Ron just bent over, picked up the shoe and pointed it at Harry, his eyebrow raised comically, “Language, Harry James Potter,” he mocked in his most stern Mrs Weasley voice. “Come on, Harry,” Ron chuckled, unable to contain his laughter at Harry’s expression. “She’s my baby sister, I gotta look out for her, don’t I?”  He looked meaningfully at Harry, who, now thoroughly disgruntled, grabbed his goggles from the bottom of his trunk and slapped them on top of his pile of clothes. “I don’t know what you’re implying Ronald,” said Harry scornfully, “But anycase, Ginny can kick my arse any day of the week, she hardly needs you protecting her.” “Oh I know,” Ron intoned pointedly. Harry flushed, and feeling mutinous, stormed across the landing into the bathroom. He closed the door abruptly against Ron’s snorting laughter, still taking care not to slam it behind him.  Despite his embarrassment, he didn’t fight back the image that unfurled itself in his mind, warm and inviting. He and Ginny, a few years into the future, bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Harry leaning out from the stands of a Quidditch pitch, fist punching the air while she ran towards him, triumphant.   Her whole body was splattered in mud, from her dark green uniform to her long red ponytail, but neither of them minded when she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him jubilantly, only pulling away when they were both out of breath, fingers lingering on his skin. Her brown eyes radiant with joy, she hugged him wildly one last time before running back to her cheering teammates, who tackled her to the ground in celebration just as the image began to fade away. Harry shook out his Quidditch leathers hard, hoping to simultaneously break the warm fuzzy feeling that had blossomed in his chest. Ginny had a boyfriend for goodness sake, he told himself sternly and tried to ignore the hint of a familiar floral in the air that his hormone riddled-mind must have conjured up. He never noticed the tiny perfume bottle Charlie had bought for Ginny three Christmases ago perched neatly on top of the bathroom cabinet.

[iamamythologicalcreature]

"On every world, wherever people are, in the deepest part of the winter, at the exact mid-point, everybody stops and turns and hugs. As if to say, "Well done. Well done, everyone! We're halfway out of the dark."

And so I say to all of you, no matter what your holiday of choice is: Congrats. We've made it this far. We're halfway out of the dark.

[enbycrip]

[plasmagrrl]

My Light Returns

[intyalote]

fun little dr who parallel is eleven painting clara in bells of st john when he’s busy secluding himself (by choice) and staring at her face while pondering the “mystery of the impossible girl who died twice” -> twelve trapped (against his will) in heaven sent sitting in that chair not facing clara’s portrait saying “the day you lose someone isn’t the worst. at least you have something to do. it’s all the days they stay dead” trying to escape his grief for her as a person just an ordinary human being who died.

[kindnessisstillhere]

Yule

I've heard the rants a million times,

Could quote my mother by rote,

And still I don't see the fuss

In a festival changing its name.

People do it everyday,

Sports and towns and franchises too,

So why be so constantly annoyed?

It was yule, it is million names,

It's a celebration in the winter,

I'm not clinging to one word.

Merry Winter, and Congratulations

We're halfway out the dark.

[amaranthsynthesis]

First morning wake up after the nautiloid crash and there are still many questions to be answered. Not by Ballard, though! He doesn't know shit or remember fuck all! My man has the lowest possible intelligence stat without incurring a negative, and also there's holes in his brain.

Had the thought a ways back about the notes you find from Kressa in the Illithid Colony re: the dark urge strangling her with his own intestines. I'm not sure how he was healed from her experiments, if they scarred or how long the marks might last, but my policy is not to turn down shit about durge that's funny/deeply upsetting so here we are. This is the first time I've drawn Gale I think and I love him.

Also:

[finzphoenix]

A grungy little ink piece for the start of september ^w^🎃🖤🤍

[kalivasquezart]

a change in you

part 1 // part 2 // [part 3]

[trensu]

have another snippet of stasis in darkness! just 'cuz i'm bored tbh, and kinda stuck on all my wips i'm currently working on.

The seventh night:

“Has he spoken to you yet?”

“How could he when you’re here yammering my ear off every night?”

“He’s a god, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for him to shut me up.”

“Even gods have their limits.”

“Oh, har har. The warrior’s got jokes. You didn’t answer my question.”

“...not yet,” Steve said stiffly. 

“It’s been how long now? A week?” The man hummed in a falsely thoughtful manner. “Maybe he’s just not that into you, man. Maybe he’s letting you down easy.”

At his words, Steve involuntarily curled his shoulders inward, slightly, ever so slightly, in defense. He'd been wondering that same thing earlier that day. Steve had toiled hours in the sun to fix up the shrine; to make it welcoming; to encourage a divine visit. 

He had stopped wearing his armor to free up more time to work. Putting it on and taking it off took too long, and he didn't have to maintain it as much if he wasn't wearing it regularly. He stuck to only his chainmail. He'd kept his shield stored away, too, so it wouldn't get in the way while he worked. Though, he made sure to keep his sword nearby.

He’d taken his knife and traced over the etchings of stars in the alcove that served as a backdrop to the statue. His knife had been ruined but it didn't matter. The Lord of Night would probably want the stars of his dark sky with him, he reasoned, and these had worn so thin. Sadly, it was the only detail he could bring out of all the stone. The statue’s face was so crumbled that Steve couldn’t even begin to guess what it had originally looked like.

He had discovered that the vines he chose to keep were moonflowers. They had blossomed every night since he’d removed the other more invasive plants. He'd draped them carefully so they lay across the statue's shoulders, wrapped lovingly around its torso and clung to its waist before the ends of the vines trailed off at the knees. 

The strange man might have made himself a nuisance during his visits but he never stayed the whole night. Steve had been able to get a few hours of makeshift prayers at the shrine every night. He’d done all this, yet dawn broke every day without a single sign that the Lord of Night had been listening.

“Warrior?”

Steve broke out of his reverie. He refused to look at the man. He had to clear his throat roughly before he could speak.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been rejected by someone I love." Steve tried not to dwell on his father's perpetual scowl and his mother's infinite disinterest. "I’m pretty used to my devotion being one sided by now.”

“That’s a bummer,” the man said. His sympathy was meant to be teasing, Steve could tell, but it came out surprisingly sincere. “Good thing you have a whole pantheon! Strong guy like you? Any god would take you to be their warrior in a heartbeat.”

“What are you talking about? No, I’m nowhere near done with his shrine,” Steve said determinedly. “I know a silversmith and a stone mason who’d give me a hand, and Dustin and Robin have been dying to come up here to bring him offerings. The only reason they didn’t come with me is because I had to do the pilgrimage on my own if I wanted a shot at earning his blessing.”

The man spluttered.

“Are you insane? A god rejects you and you’d come back? What kind of stupid–were you dropped on your head as a child?

“A couple times, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Have you checked? You should go to one of the gods of medicine. Owens, maybe. Have him take a look at your head,” the man huffed in frustration. "For stars' sake, why would you want to come back?"

He ignored the insult to his intelligence. For stars' sake. Steve murmured the words to himself, letting them settle in his mouth to get a feel for them. He'd never heard of that one before. He liked how it rolled off the tongue, natural as anything. 

The man waited for his response. Steve took a moment to try to sort out his words. He kept his head bowed towards the shrine as he ruminated.

“People barely remember my god,” Steve finally said. “And when they do, they remember him as something he’s not. Even if he doesn’t believe I’m worthy of carrying his crest, he shouldn't be forgotten.” 

The man said nothing. Steve took a shuddering breath before the quiet could take over. 

“Having someone forget you is…it’s very lonely. Which is the worst feeling. I…I guess I don’t want him to be lonely anymore.”

The silence that followed his statement stretched long enough that Steve started falling into that meditative state he’d learned during his many nights at the shrine. It helped dull the twisted up, unsteady sensation that lingered from the man’s prodding at his every self-doubt and fear.

“He hasn’t rejected you yet, though,” the man broke Steve's musings awkwardly.

“He hasn’t reached out to me either. It’s fine. I’ll keep coming either way.”

Another silence. It was around the time the man usually left Steve to his worship. He didn't hear retreating footsteps. Instead, the man cleared his throat, and when Steve looked up at him, the man turned his face away, shrouding it in gloom.

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t contacted you yet.”

“Nervous? No way.”

“He sounds like a godly weirdo,” the man said. “Maybe he’s never had a holy warrior before and doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s the good kind of weirdo! And there’s no way he’s not had a warrior carry his symbol. He must’ve had loads back in the day. I probably don’t meet his standards,” Steve smiled lopsidedly, playing off his insecurity.

“I’m serious!” the man exclaimed. “It’s possible! Some gods never get warriors. Some never want them at all!

“Look, even if I was the first to offer to be his, he’d know he didn’t have to be nervous,” Steve insisted. "I’ve never served a god before either! I wasn’t sure I could have faith at all until I learned about him. So like, if he’s new to it then so am I, and we’d figure it out together.”

“...you really mean that, don’t you? You’d let him make it up on the fly if he took you on.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugged.

“You’d keep coming back even if he rejected you?”

“Yep.”

“But why? That’s so stupid. Nobody would do that!” The man sounded frustrated.

“I’m not really known for my smarts,” Steve said matter-of-factly. “Robin and Dustin had to translate the only book we found about the Lord of Night because I definitely wouldn't have been able to. It was a tiny book but it still took them ages to do because the language doesn’t really exist anymore. So they told me it’s possible it’s not accurate. It felt true, though, to me. 

“There was this quote, I can’t recite it word for word, but…it was something about how monsters don’t always look monstrous, and the monstrous aren’t always things to be feared.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” the man protested. Steve shook his head.

“No, it’s true! Like, I know I’ve got a pretty face and really great hair,” he smirked when he heard the man scoff, “but I was such a fucking asshole when I was younger. I went around hurting people on purpose, tearing them down for no reason other than I was hurting too, and that’s the shittiest reason to hurt anyone. I had to get some sense knocked into me by the people I call friends now. 

“My friends are the greatest people I know, and I’m really lucky to have them, but to everyone else? My friends are losers. They’re rejects because they don’t act right or they don’t look right; they talk too much or too loudly. People treat them like shit because they're different. 

“And after I noticed that, I started seeing it more even if I don’t always pick up on it. And I still mess up sometimes. I'm not a god, I can't change the world but…in the stories Robin and Dustin translated, the Lord of Night helped people like my friends because it was always the weak and rejected that try to hide themselves in the dark. I want to help those people find him again so they know they’ve got someone holy in their corner. They should know someone loves them enough to protect them.”

Steve didn’t really know where all those words came from; he wasn’t a wordsmith like Robin and Dustin. He always had a hard time verbalizing his thoughts, and he usually messed up the words. Nonetheless, these words had almost burned to be said. 

When the speech that flowed from him finally reached a natural end, he felt…lighter, cleaner. He felt like his shield and sword when they were polished to a shine. But when he turned to see his audience’s reaction, the man had gone. Steve felt strangely dejected instead.

–

The eighth night:

“Hey, it’s me again. My supplies are low and I don’t know what your thoughts about hunting on your land are so I’d rather not…I don’t want you to think I’m disrespecting you. I might have to leave soon to get more supplies,” Steve swallowed nervously. “Which isn’t an ult..ultimate…? No, damn, what is it called? I’m not trying to force you to talk to me before then, is what I mean. Not–not that I could! With you being a god.” 

Steve scoffed at his own blundering. He should’ve had Robin help him make speech notes. Cards with conversation starters. Something! He took a deep breath and tried again.

"But I'm coming back, I promise. I meant what I said about fixing up your shrine. I’ll commission a new plaque and I’ll talk to the stonemason about replacing your plinth. I don’t know a lot about sculpture, but I’ll get you the strongest type of stone and get something nice carved on it. Your flowers? Or cats? Cats are cute. Maybe your bats would be better…?” Steve trailed off.

It was quiet save for the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The full moon illuminated the area more than ever before. The shrine must have really been a beautiful sight back in its heyday. The thought of it sent a pang of longing through his soul.

The hour came that the strange man usually showed up. Steve steeled himself for another round of questions, another jab at his faith. The hour went by with Steve alone in the clearing. Steve frowned.

“Do you think he’s okay?” 

Steve’s question went unanswered.

After another hour without seeing his stranger, Steve had finally convinced himself to round the perimeter for a quick check in case the man was nearby or in need of assistance. When he found nothing, he checked again in case he missed something. 

Still nothing. Uneasily, Steve gave up his search and returned to the shrine. He knelt before it again, head bowed. He cleared his throat.

“Lord of Night, I don’t know his name, and I know he’s been rude–annoying–but could you please watch over the man? Please keep him safe from harm for as long as the stars shine tonight. Thank you.”

He received no response, but Steve had faith. He knew he was heard. He knew his god wouldn’t let an innocent come to harm if he could prevent it.

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you’d like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[pearlofthewoods]

Oh god now I’ve seen this deleted scene I feel so vindicated in the themes of my fic like wow so maybe I was picking up on something. This clip feels so important to me I wish they’d kept it in.

[joscribbles]

happy winter solstice everyone!

[small-spark-of-light]

i wanted to paint a scene i like from the fanfic heres the blorbs

rafe is about to get Jumpscared XD

[plasmagrrl]

Halfway Out of the Dark

[intyalote]

I know the “canon” thing behind door 11 in the god complex was the crack but To Me it was actually the veiled corpse. it works far better for s6′s arc than the crack, a plot point which has more symbolic ties to amy than the doctor and doesn’t even come up again until over a season later. the whole Thing in 6b is the doctor running away from dying at lake silencio until he finally accepts it - at the end of this very episode! and that corpse is the embodiment of his fear of death! that's the entire reason it was in the confession dial to begin with!

[siena-sevenwits]

“If you live in the dark a long time and the sun comes out, you do not cross into it whistling. There's an initial uprush of relief at first, then-for me, anyway- a profound dislocation. My old assumptions about how the world works are buried, yet my new ones aren't yet operational.There's been a death of sorts, but without a few days in hell, no resurrection is possible.” - Mary Karr

This isn’t how you die. Not the Eternal, Lockwood & Co.