#he works with ice as infrequently as he can

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Thoughts on rivalling lawyers Sterek AU? Like, state assigned defense attorney Stiles (the free "you have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you" kind) and expensive law firm, hired by the richest of the rich, prosecutor attorney Derek and they keep ending up on opposite sides of some of the same cases?

The true enemies to lovers, the common person vs rich dude.

Derek is from a family of lawyers, and from the time he could speak he knew he wanted to be just like his mother, who started her own firm. Raised rich. Each member of his family is very competitive, each with their own rich S.O. Derek is currently dating (tw) Kate from the agent family 🤢

Stiles on the other hand, came from a single parent household. On a cops salary. He saw the inside of the judicial system. At first he wanted to be a cop like his father, but once he saw an innocent man go to jail, he changed his mind.

Derek had been a lawyer for five years (i know nothing about lawyers) before stiles joined the scene. And from then on they become very competitive rivals. Derek makes fun of stiles for helping criminals get off, when his father is a cop. Stiles makes fun of Derek for being a “paid whore” and that the criminals that Derek gets off are far worse than the ones stiles does.

This all comes to head when they are at a bar together and have a one night stand. Stiles cannot believe that he was someone’s mistress. Derek on the other hand is reeling in shock, as he’s never had such a connection with Kate or any passed girlfriends.

Derek tries to forget. He goes home and fucks Kate through the night. He feels nothing, nothing compared to Stiles. He knew that him and Kate weren’t soulmates but the fact that there was no feeling anymore made him forget his attraction. He breaks up with Kate the next morning. It’s horrible, they’re both screaming at each other and so on. It’s the whole “I only dated you for your money and for your families name”. Derek although has little to no feelings for Kate, is devastated at the news that someone was only with him for the money. He looks at the people surrounding him, friends and such and starts cutting out his fake friends. He realizes that Stiles was a little correct about his lifestyle, so instead of trying to forget, he seeks Stiles out at every opportunity.

Stiles on the other hand tries so hard to stay away from Derek.

It doesn’t really work.

They continue being forced to work against each other. This lead to Derek fucking Stiles in the bathroom of a courthouse, a blowjob, and three hurried handjobs. Not in that order. This leads to infrequent dates and such. Their relationship becomes hot and cold, sometimes it’s sweet and other times it’s straight up toxic.

Unfortunately, these boys could not communicate healthily at all. Then comes a bid client for Derek and his families firm. After this one big case that Derek loses to stiles, he gets pissed. He lost his family the client, and on their date that night he takes it out on stiles, saying “it’s ironic that you called me a paid whore, when you come when I call” or something along those lines. Stiles breaks up with him immediately and tells Derek that he can’t believe he was thinking of making their relationship official, especially if that’s all Derek thought of him.

Derek is shocked completely at watching stiles cry, even worse at losing the chance to call stiles his. He tries to apologize but stiles won’t hear it and leaves. Derek is still in shock and doesn’t react until the gets home and sees the coffee that stiles bought in his apartment. He breaks down at the thought of losing someone who truly cared about him, at losing stiles.

He send stiles gifts as a way to apologize, but each on gets sent back. He can barely catch of glimpse of stiles outside of work. When they are in court stiles is down right ice, there’s no more banter.

And once again a big company client, a medicine brand hires the hale law firm. Stiles represents the people suing for damages. This time unfortunately, stiles loses. He goes down to a bar to down out his sorrow, and Derek finds him. He tries to apologize, tell him that he changed. Stiles gets pissed. He laughs, something dark and cruel not believing a single word he says . And then stiles lays into him, telling him that all he wanted to do was help people. Those companies that Derek represents would barely feel the pay out, but those people today had their lives ruined.

He tells Derek that he could never be with a man who sees no problem with that. Derek is falling apart, his sister try and console him. Kate comes back and tries to get him to sleep with her again. He tells her off. But to everyone else it looked liked they left together.

It’s as if the universe hates Derek as, Stiles and Derek don’t even interact as they no longer have cases that go up against each other. It takes a month and a half until Derek sees stiles again. At Allison and Scott’s wedding.

Derek sees stiles dancing with someone else. Stiles tells him that he has no right to be after getting back with Kate. Cue the angry confessions!!!

“BECAUSE IM IN LOVE WITH YOU”

They get back together, this times talking it very slowly, glacier slow. Allowing them to really get to know each other rather than relying on the intimacy of sex to base their relationship on. When they finally do have sex again, it’s six months into the relationship and is much more soft than before They dally madly and deeply in love with each other. And together they start a firm with each other later on.

The end ✨✨

Honestly I had no idea where I was going with this, but I hoped you liked it.



[emeritusemeritus]

All about the girl [Eddie Munson x Reader]

Title: All about the girl.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader {Established relationship}

Timeline: Set after 1984 for the music I’ve referenced. No mention of Stranger Things canon or Vecna.

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend’s family for the first time was never easy but luckily for you, Wayne’s a little tipsy.

Warnings: Drinking. Brief mentions of Eddie’s deadbeat dad, alcoholism. Just a funny little drabble. Reader is mentioned to have D cup breasts but it can be replaced by anything you want. I love Eddie’s awkwardness. Inspired by a Reddit post I saw that instantly gave me Eddie feels.

I will reference Judas Priest every chance I can in Eddie fics, they are the ultimate metal gods and I stand by that.

Wayne Munson was nothing like his deadbeat older brother Al. He was a self proclaimed gruff, grumbling hick but he was responsible, loyal and patient. The only thing he shared with his brother was his taste for alcohol, which started from an early age and had developed the older he got, though the younger Munson brother didn't depend on it nor did he act like a fool under the influence. Wayne had a healthy relationship with alcohol, as opposed to his brother. Responsible, loyal and patient.

Wayne likes a nice ice cold can of beer after a long shift at the plant, sometimes more when he has a rare day off the following day. It never fazed him to drink his well earned beer at the same time as he eats his breakfast, it was a natural consequence of joining the night shift.

Eddie had only seen his uncle drunk a handful of times in his life, never really seeing a stark difference in the man's general demeanour. Sure he was a little more talkative, more prone to droning on about stories of his youth or laying out a full summary of one of his favourite westerns, but he was largely unchanged.

Upon entering the trailer midday on a Wednesday, Eddie pauses, throwing down his worn black backpack beside the door near the two seater table and looked up in surprise when he sees his uncle Wayne sat in his trusted armchair, surrounded by empty cans of beer. An old western is playing on the screen, the telltale noises of horses clopping on dirt and a few too many fake gunshot noises being the obvious key.

"You're back early son," Wayne mumbles, his eyes flicking quickly up to the younger man before falling back to the screen as he takes another swig of his beer. Eddie nods, trying to think of an excuse to his truancy, mumbling something eventually along the lines of free study period, hoping that Wayne wouldn't probe any further. He doesn't. He sits resolute in his chair, hardly moving as his eyes focus on the movie, the only movement being his hand raising the can to his lips as he takes infrequent sips.

Eddie slinks off to his room and focuses on the task at hand, instantly piling up dirty clothes from the floor and around the room, making space as he tidies. He tidies up his desk and the array of stuff on top of his dressers, thrusting some things back into the top drawers that struggle to close due to the age of the cheap wood and all the crap stuffed inside them.

He moves around the amps that litter his room, actually creating a bit of floor space and a walkway as he gathers up records and tapes that have been strewn over the floor, a vague memory appearing of knocking them over a few days prior in his haste to gather his D&D stuff in time for Hellfire.

He even makes the bed. Airing out the blankets and sheets as he goes, trying to make the room just that little bit more presentable.

When he finally stops and takes a step back, looking around at his obvious hard work, he's impressed and a little proud of himself. He turns, noticing the assortment of dirty clothes he'd piled up in the corner and scoops them up in his arms, kicks open the door and walks out towards the washer dryer in the kitchenette of the trailer, dumping the clothes on top of the laundry basket that permanently sits atop the dryer, overflowing as per usual.

Wayne suddenly walks out from behind where Eddie is stood, appearing from the bathroom as he zips back up his old, worn jeans, wiping his freshly washed hands on his denim clad thighs. He whistles low as he shoots a look into the bedroom, seeing that his nephew had cleared up for once.

"If I didn't know any better son, I'd say you had a lady coming round 'ere," Wayne teases gently, looking upon his nephew to see his reaction. He sees Eddie freeze, his eyes widening as he looks like a deer in headlights, causing Wayne's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "Good for you son," he mumbles, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he walks past him to take a seat back down in his trusty armchair. Eddie follows wordlessly, sensing that his uncle isn't done, holding back from asking further questions.

"What's her name? What's she do? What's her bra size?" Wayne asks seriously, cracking open a fresh beer and taking a large swig. Eddie's mouth falls open at his uncle's surprising questions, spluttering and stammering his way through a mumbled reply, only causing Wayne to chuckle at the boy's flustered reaction. Eddie has turned beet red, shuffling in his place as he pushes down thoughts of her breasts, briefly trying to gage what size she would be before mentally he shakes out the thought.

"M'only messing son," he chuckles before frowning as he turns his attention back to the Western on the TV. "You're in my way boy," he grumbles, his voice holding just a smidge of humour as he waves Eddie out of the way.

"Her name's y/n," Eddie says quietly as he steps aside, no longer being an obstruction to his uncle's movie, choosing not to answer the other questions out of embarrassment. Wayne simply nods with a knowing smile tugging at his lips, enjoying busting his nephew’s chops just a little.

It’s a little past six when Eddie’s van steers wildly onto your street, his music turning down only slightly to a moderately appropriate volume as he parks up outside of your house. You rush out, pausing very briefly to kiss your momma on the way before you hop up into the van, greeting your new boyfriend with a sweet and passionate kiss.

“Look I,” Eddie says sheepishly as he pulls out of your street, keeping his eyes on the road. “Wayne’s a little, buzzed, shall we say. Just ignore him if he tries to be funny.” You look at Eddie, even though he’s not directly facing you and give a little questioning frown which he seems to instinctively notice. “He um, he knows you’re coming, caught me cleaning up a little. Guess he thought it was funny to rag on me a little for it.”

“Wait. You cleaned?” You asked, completely ignoring the point of the conversation as you pretend to be overwhelmingly surprised as Eddie’s actions. He shoots you a deadpan glare at your words but you simply smile back at him with a shit eating grin.

“What did he say?”

“Er,” Eddie noticeably pales as he pauses for a moment, hesitant to reply. “He was just winding me up, he asked your name, what you do… your bra size.”

You couldn’t help but burst with laughter at his words, imagining Eddie’s face turning beet red at the words. You wheeze with laughter as Eddie looks on in confusion.

“I’m sorry, that’s great,” you laugh, running your hands over your thighs. “That’s exactly how I’m going to introduce myself to everyone I meet now.”

“Like hell you are,” Eddie says possessively, though the slight smile on his face tells you that he did find it a little humorous now the mortification had gone.

“I don’t know, sounds like a good way to get to know someone to me,” you tease with a smirk, reaching for the volume button on the control to turn up the music just as Metallica’s Creeping Death came on, wanting to hear the distinctive guitar riff a little better. The conversation fell flat as your favourite part of the song came on, the insane guitar solo followed by the ‘die by my hand’ bridge.

Eddie was smiling and chuckling at your obvious excitement as you joined in with the ‘die!’ Chants, your fist in the air as you instinctively headbang to the breakdown in the song, continuing right up until the fade out. He openly laughs as you mimic your air guitar during the last harmonic power chord progression at the end. When the song is over, you both share a wicked smile before a little freak out when Judas Priest’s ‘love bites’ comes on right after, the deep foreboding chimes making your eyes widen significantly in sheer delight. They were undisputedly your favourite band and this track was one of your favourites from defenders of the faith.

Eddie chuckles again, eyes flicking between you and the road and smiles warmly to himself, proud of the fact he’d created this mixtape with you in mind, eternally grateful that you shared his love for metal.

It’s going dark as you pull up to Eddie’s trailer and knowing that Wayne would be home had you feeling suddenly a little nervous. You’d been round to Eddie’s trailer before a few times but Wayne had never been home before, having left for work before you arrived.

“You good princess?” Eddie asks, throwing the van into park and turning to you, sensing your slight nervousness. You smile and nod, trying to hide your slight nervous tension and unbuckle yourself, stepping out of the van to stand facing the trailer, seeing the lamp light pouring out of the windows in the evening darkness.

“All good,” you nod, following him up the steps to the trailer as he busts open the door and gestures for you to step into his home with a flamboyant gesture of his arms and a slight bow, making him look like the strangest, and hottest, doorman you’d ever seen.

“Uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, grabbing his uncle’s attention as he prepares to introduce you both, his voice not hiding his anxiety. The older man stands and moves to you with a slight but pleasant smile on his face. Feeling your confidence coming back, you step forward slightly and extend your hand to him.

“Hi Mr Munson, I’m y/n, I work in retail 3 days a week whilst I’m at school and I’m a D cup,” you say with a deadpan expression.

Wayne instantly bursts with laughter, his face lighting up and shoulders shaking with his laughter, the slight tension in the room instantly falling away. You don’t look at Eddie but you can tell that his shocked expression was suddenly eased as he watches you and Wayne shake hands, seeing his uncle’s expression becoming infinitely more pleasant.

Wayne offers you a seat on the sofa and calls out to Eddie to get a few drinks in as he takes a seat in his armchair, reaching for the television remote to turn off the western that was still playing on the screen.

Eddie goes to the kitchen to grab drinks for everyone and watches on from over the counter to see his girlfriend and uncle getting along like a house on fire. Even he is surprised to see Wayne be so open and warm towards his girl, watching as they chuckle and he’s certain he can hear Wayne giggle once, a noise he’d never heard fall from the man’s lips.

Seeing you so at home in his trailer, getting along so well with his father figure has him feeling a certain way, a warmth spreading in his gut. He was in love.

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[baphometed]

"The trick is that I'm always busy. The curse of having a night domain. However, I can make some time for you tonight." All she was doing was sitting on her couch eating some s'mores ice cream in her jammies. Totally super busy. "You want some tea?"

❝  so  am  i,  but  i'm  still  here.    ❞  well,  he  was  today.  he  was  infrequent  and  random  with  his  visits.  it  was  like  an  omen  of  bad  luck  if  he  was  around  most  people,  except  neff.  the  bright  side  was,  they  were  both  night  based  entities  and  he  did  his  best  work  when  it  was  dark.

once  he  started  the  wash,  having  stripped  down  to  his  boxers  (for  once),  he  wandered  to  where  she  was  on  the  couch  and  took  a  sip  of  her  tea  to  decide  if  he  wanted  some  of  it.  ❝  lavender?  you  stressed?    ❞   or  was  it  for  sleep?  it  could  go  either  way  with  her.  she  liked  to  put  on  a  brave  face  but  he  knew  better.  especially  with  october  approaching.  he  takes  another  sip  of  the  tea,  this  time  taking  a  little  more,  almost  nearly  finishing  the  glass  save  a  sip  left  and  planted  himself  down  on  the  couch  beside  her  to  stretch  out.

❝        that bitch Origa  still  given’  you  radio  silence  on  what  you  gotta  do,  or  somethin’?         ❞

⛧ @cosmicdreamt ( cont.)

[cuubism]

For the wip ask game, I'd love to hear about Deja Vu, I just read the first three chapters and I thought they were really good 😁

aw thank you!! I really enjoy that one still even though it takes me so so long to write it

I even have all the chapters planned out, it's just an intense and emotionally draining fic to write so it takes me FOREVER

from chapter 5, which takes place in 1699. some light spoilers for chapter 4, but tbh you can probably predict how that whole situation with Eleanor is going to go down in the end XD

--

For ten years, it has been nighttime in the Dreaming. For ten years, no sun has fallen through the stained glass of Dream’s throne room, no morning light has risen, no sunset has marked the passing of time. No stars manage to glimmer through the heavy clouds, no moonlight on this night between lunar cycles, the beginning and end. Only the darkness of a winter night, somewhere far north where the sun is not expected for months, and life must adapt to its absence. Life in the Dreaming continues. Plants still grow, as little in the Dreaming follows strict earthly laws. Days are marked by instinct rather than sun. It does not rain, for Dream does not have the energy for such a marked expression of loss, not since that first, catastrophic thunderstorm that had nearly rent the palace in two, so many years ago now. It does not rain, but it sometimes snows. On those nights, he will step out into the palace courtyard, wading through cold and ice he does not need to feel, watching the meager light bounce and multiply off the snow. Albedo. Yes, the only brightness he feels is reflected, now, from other sources. Dream does not feel; Dream works. When he doesn’t work, which is infrequent, he paces the palace ramparts—it has ramparts, now, as if waiting for an imagined future battle—trying to fortify the empty place in his chest lest it keep expanding. Ten years ago, Dream had met with Hob Gadling at their scheduled meeting time. He almost hadn’t gone. It had felt… wrong, to go to Hob when he had fled. To come to Hob as himself, when the person Hob knew truly, loved truly was Eleanor, a disaster that Dream had pulled him into, a loss that Dream had put him through. More than that, Dream had not been certain he could trust his own reaction were he to encounter again the man who had once been his husband. (No, not his husband. Eleanor’s husband.) But gone he had. He told himself it was merely to keep their agreement, because Hob did not deserve to be left in the cold. But in his heart of hearts Dream simply had to see him. He had not looked at Hob’s dreams since their horrendous parting. He had not looked at anything. He had gone. He had found a Hob who was ruined.

[honey-katsu]

take her to the moon for me - ao3

Part 1 of 2

Part 2 here

Summary:

Aizawa and a few of his students were given a job from the Hero Commission: stop the yakuza group known as the Bulls from selling any more quirk enhancement drugs. It should have been simple. Sneak in, destroy the drugs, and get out before anyone notices.

But of course, things never go as planned.

Warning (for all parts): violence, major character death, grief/mourning, panic attack/flashbacks

note before we begin: i am chickenKatsu on ao3. I do not give anyone the right to repost my work to another platform unless I’m asked then properly credited. Please support me on ao3 if you like it!

This raid had gone terribly awry. Aizawa and a few of his students–Kaminari, Asui, Shinso, Yaoyorozu, Kirishima, Midoriya, Uraraka, Todoroki, Bakugou, and Tokoyami,–were given a job from the Hero Commission: stop the yakuza group known as the Bulls from selling any more quirk enhancement drugs. It should have been simple. Sneak in, destroy the drugs, and get out before anyone notices. 

When they got to the warehouses they were supposed to destroy, Midoriya had discovered a hidden entrance. It led to a complex underground network of tunnels. From what he could tell, Midoriya assumed these tunnels connected almost every warehouse in the prefecture, making their simple mission impossible. Aizawa and his students were about to leave and report back to the Commission when they were ambushed by yakuza lackeys, forcing them deep into the unknown labyrinth.

Which brought them to their current situation. Battered, bruised, and running on dwindling adrenaline, lost in the Bulls’ tunnels, and facing off against everyone they came across. 

Aizawa’s eyes were extremely dry from overuse, despite the fact that he tried to use his quirk infrequently. Asui’s skin and tongue were also too dry, seeing as her frog quirk required her to always stay moist. Kaminari  had already reached his limit even though he tried to conserve his energy like Midoriya suggested. Todoroki, Kirishima, and Tokoyami were just tired from how long they had been fighting; their quirks placed great strain on their bodies. Shinso’s voice was hoarse and pretty much unusable. Uraraka had thrown up at least 3 times now and seemed like she might do it again soon. Bakugou’s arms were on fire, muscles strained from so many explosions. Midoriya had broken his bones again, but he wasn't the only one; almost everyone had a broken bone or had sustained a major injury somewhere.

And Yaoyorozu… She was a lifesaver. She looked like she was ready to drop at any second, but she was the only reason they had lasted this long. Since they had been down in the yakuza's tunnels, Yaoyorozu had been making support items to ease everyone’s pain: medicine for Uraraka’s stomach, lozenges for Shinso’s strained throat, painkillers for Bakugou’s sore arms, eye drops for Aizawa, and emergency medical supplies for everyone’s injuries. She also created a bucket for Todoroki so he can melt his ice for Asui’s use. Along with the constant outflow of support items, Yaoyorozu also continued to try and make contact with the Hero Commission. After a while, she quit trying, assuming a jamming quirk or how far they were underground was interfering with communications.

The group traveled as quietly as they could, their aching bodies weighing them down like lead. At last, they felt a breeze, the smell of a forest drifting on the faint wind.

However, none of them noticed the villain waiting around the corner. A humongous fist shot out from behind the wall and grabbed the nearest hero. Tokoyami slammed against the wall, cracking it on impact. Dazed, he slid down the wall as the villain removed his hand and stepped into the hall. 

He was a giant, barely fitting in the cramped tunnels. He was as tall as a tower yet had to slouch in the tunnels. Short, white hair covered his muscular body. His sharp horns shone in the dim underground lighting. His cow-like face curved up in a smile. “Master said there were bugs causin’ trouble. Think I found them,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.

Before Aizawa could stop them, Midoriya and Bakugou rushed forward, launching attack after powerful attack. But each kick or explosion irritated their target, unfazed by their efforts.

“Damn flies,” he muttered, squashing Bakugou with the wave of a giant hand. The other caught Midoriya. The reckless kid struggled and squirmed in his grasp like a worm. The villain threw him down on Bakugou, who was just starting to get back up, knocking them to the ground.

Asui quickly lept into action, snatching the two out from under the villain and back to the group. Yaoyorozu and Uraraka immediately assessed their injuries. Tokoyami had started to get back up. He was ready to fight again until he saw the state of his teammates. Their most powerful close-combat fighters were down or unable to fight, leaving him, Todoroki, and Aizawa to face off against the giant.

Kirishima growled and positioned himself between the villain and his classmates, activating his quirk with what little energy he had left. Kaminari hung to the back with Todoroki, ready to protect their friends. It was ill-advised to use their quirks now. Kaminari was too close to his limit and didn't want to electrocute anyone. Todoroki would fight if he absolutely had to. Flames would only fill the hall with smoke, and Yaoyorozu didn't have enough energy left to create masks for everyone. Ice would freeze everyone except him. Or the villain could break it, deadly icicles ready to pierce anyone in their path. Plus, their opponent blocked their only way out.

“I am the Chianina, strongest of the Bulls,” the large villain growled, beating his chest proudly. “Challenge me if you dare!” 

“What now, Aizawa-sensei?” whispered Tokoyami as he carefully rejoined the group. 

Aizawa studied the villain before them. He was sturdy and undoubtedly had the strength to pummel them into dust. His animal-based mutant quirk gave him an advantage in close combat, which wasn’t good for them. Close-combat wasn’t an option, and their only long-range fighters couldn’t utilize their abilities in this enclosed, cramped space. 

“Protect your classmates and escape as soon as you can,” Aizawa said quickly. “I’ll give you an opening.”

“But Sensei--”

Before Tokoyami could protest, Aizawa rushed forward. He nimbly dodged his opponent’s swings, darting around him. He whipped out a knife and sliced his legs, torso, and any other area he could reach. Any time the Chianina tried to attack his students, Aizawa would use his capture weapon to stop him.

Soon, the villain got annoyed. With a roar, he swung. This punch was much faster and stronger than before, so Aizawa didn't have time to avoid the attack. The Chianina’s fist rammed into Aizawa’s face. Pain exploded from his nose and his goggles shattered. 

With a small growl, Aizawa charged again, completely ignoring the pain. Since his quirk wouldn't help against a mutant, he put all his energy into fighting the giant in front of him. However, his attacks weren't as successful as before. The villain had already learned his attack pattern, and Aizawa was easily overpowered. Effortlessly, the Chianina ripped his capture weapon with a swing of his massive horns. He barreled into Aizawa and choke slammed him, pinning him down. The force knocked the knives out of Aizawa’s grasp.

The Chianina laughed triumphantly. “Got you know, little fly.”

“Aizawa-sensei!” cried Midoriya. Before he or any other student of Class 2-A could rush over to help, Aizawa activated his quirk with a glare that said, Move and you’re expelled. He met each and every one of his students’ eyes as his vision began to blur.

Midoriya was barely able to hold back his anger. Uraraka tried to stifle her sobs. Yaoyorozu cried in Todoroki’s arms as he gave a slight nod to his teacher, determination and regret ablaze in his eyes. Kirishima held back a raging Bakugou, struggling to contain his own tears. Kaminari was too shocked to move, squeezing Shinso’s hand as if he were his life line. Shinso trembled, his lips pressed in a grimace of fear and understanding. Asui did her best to keep Tokoyami calm as he grappled with Dark Shadow and his emotions, terrified of what was to come. 

The sound of stampeding footsteps echoed through the halls. The villain smiled, pushing harder on Aizawa. A strangled noise escaped Aizawa’s throat. He clawed at the huge hands around his neck in a futile attempt to free himself.

The giant villain roared with laughter. “You can’t save him now, little heroes. My buddies are coming for me, and they’ll enjoy killing you boys. But not before we have our fun with the girls!” He roared with disgusting  laughter

 “Go!” Aizawa grunted, the wind escaping his lungs and not returning. “Don’t… get caught!”

For a moment, none of his students moved. Todoroki was the first to take action, scooping up Yaoyorozu and sprinting. The second to hop into action was Asui. Taking Tokoyami by the hand, she wrapped her tongue around Kaminari and Shinso and dragged them to the exit. Kirishima effortlessly carried Bakugou, who had stilled at his teacher’s demand, over his shoulder. Uraraka was next, alleviating Asui’s burden by nullifying the gravity of those she carried. She pulled at Midoriya, but he wouldn’t budge. Tears streamed down his freckled cheeks, a mix of emotions swirling in his mind, plans and calculations running through his brain. 

That Problem Child, stubborn as ever. Aizawa glared harder at him. Midoriya flinched a little, eyes fixed on his teacher.

Leave. I’ll catch up, I promise, Aizawa’s gaze said.

That finally got Midoriya to allow himself to be led away by Uraraka. “We’ll be waiting, Aizawa-sensei,” Izuku called, “so make sure you come back, too!”

The villain’s reinforcements arrived just as Class 2-A’s footsteps disappeared. Aizawa couldn’t focus on what was happening anymore. His oxygen-deprived body was numb, yet burned and screamed for air.  Nothing he could do would save him. Both he and his students knew that, yet he was glad they had still listened to him. 

Now that they were safe, Aizawa stopped trying. Every action tired him like he had gone 72 hours with no sleep and no coffee. Instead, he just laid there beneath the villain’s grasp. He couldn’t see anything anymore.

Aizawa could vaguely hear the villains mocking him, but he didn't care. Tears pricked at his eyes, cascading down his cheeks, full of lost warmth and fresh regret. But he couldn’t feel the Chianina’s grip on his throat. He couldn’t feel his aching bones. He couldn’t feel anything but burning desire to win this fight, to leave, to go back to his family.

There was so much he still wanted to do before he died. He wanted to open a cafe with Hizashi when they retired. He wanted to adopt Eri soon, so she could be surrounded by love and cats for the rest of her life. He wanted to help his Problem Child learn how to love himself more. He wanted to do the same for so many of his students... There was still so much he had left to teach his class, still so much he wanted to tell them. But now, Aizawa had run out of time.

Sorry, kids. I don’t think I’m getting out of this. But I’m glad it was me, not you...

----------

Hizashi was worried. It had been hours since Aizawa and a few students of 2-A had left for their mission. He didn't know the details, but he knew 12 fucking hours was way too long. No one had been able to contact them, not even the Hero Commission. Hizashi and the rest of Class 2-A—Iida, Jiro, Koda, Soji, Hagakure, Ashido, Ojiro, Sero, Aoyama, and Sato—had gathered in the dorms. They found little solace in each others’ presence, fretting over their classmates’ and teacher’s safety.

Suddenly, the doors burst open, the missing students stumbling through. Immediately, Hizashi knew something was wrong. His students were beaten, bruised, and absolutely broken. They barely made it through the door before they collapsed into each other’s arms. They were all gasping for air, fatigued and weeping. Even Todoroki and Bakugou were shamelessly crying. Their worried classmates rushed to their sides, relieved they were back.

“We were so worried! No one could contact you for hours!”

“Oh my god, why didn't you guys go to the hospital? Look at you!”

“Thank god you’re back! Where were you?”

“Hey… are you okay?”

Hizashi quickly counted everyone. Kaminari, Asui, Shinso, Yaoyorozu, Kirishima, Midoriya, Uraraka, Todoroki, Bakugou, and Tokoyami—good, everyone returned. They were safe within the walls of UA… but where was Shota? Where was his husband?

Hizashi didn't want to press the students, seeing as they were exhausted physically and emotionally. But panic began to rise in his chest. Every second that passed when his husband didn't walk through the door filled him with dread. He studied the little heroes, noting every scratch and bandaged wound. Their injuries were serious but not fatal, and Hizashi wondered why Shota hadn’t made them go directly to the hospital.

Midoriya abruptly stood and made his way over to Hizashi, careful not to step on his sobbing teammates. A few watched with concern as he met Hizashi’s eyes with a grim expression on his tear-stained face.

“Present Mic-sensei,” he said quietly. “Aizawa-sensei…”

He struggled to bring himself to speak, but the tears came back in full force. Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed it’s contents to Hizashi.

Shota’s goggles. A few small pieces of it, anyway. 

Hizashi forgot to breathe. He stared at the yellow pieces, cradling them as if they were a fragile child. His husband’s goggles… his husband was okay, right? I mean, this isn't the first time his goggles have been smashed, rationalized Hizashi. Granted, the last time they were broken had been when Oboro...

Died.

“Mic-sensei.” Midoriya’s voice sounded light years away, chattering a mile a minute. “We got trapped in a labyrinth of tunnels that the yakuza used to secretly transport quirk-enhancing drugs and we tried to contact the Commission but communications were jammed so we just had to look for an exit. Then we finally found one and we thought we were finally going to get out of there. We let our guard down. I let my guard down. And we didn't notice a giant villain waiting to ambush us. He was so strong and we were so tired and he had a bull mutant quirk that made him really, really strong. He called himself the Chianina. Aizawa-sensei was forced to confront him to save us but the villain was stronger and we escaped and waited for him but he never caught up like he promised and I—” Midoriya cut himself off, barely able to form coherent words. He took a deep, shaky breath, fighting back another wave of sobs and steeling himself. Sad eyes met unbelieving ones as Hizashi tried his best to hold it together. 

“I’m sorry, Mic-sensei. He’s gone.”

[jakesuit0]

Memory of a Memory Review

Finn and Jake rush to help Marceline at the calling of a wizard. It’s sweet that Finn and Jake run faster when they find out it’s their friend in peril. Finn and Jake show a lot of care for Marcy in this one. We’re at the point where they view Marceline as one of the most important people in their lives. This is really the last episode where Finn and Jake’s relationship with Marceline feels ever-evolving, this is basically the status quo of their dynamic for the rest of the series. The “wizard” knowing to turn to Finn and Jake, implies that Ash has done his research on the current state of Marcy’s life, and has probably been spying on her. Claiming he’s her spirit animal is absurd but funny. It’s an obvious hint that he’s lying, but it’s easy to believe that it could be true in this weird world.

Ash claims he can’t be the one to help Marcy because he has no arms. It’s a funny excuse that works to add more suspicion. Finn and Jake enter Marceline’s memories to erase a sleeping spell. It’s an exciting premise on the face of it, given we still know almost nothing of her backstory. We start at an early point in Marceline’s life, and move mostly in chronological order throughout. We see a destroyed city, our first brief look at the world five or so years after the mushroom bomb dropped. It also serves as confirmation that Marceline lived through the apocalypse. She looks two or three years older than in the “Simon & Marcy” flashbacks, but maybe two years younger then when Simon abandons her. Her age, and possession of Hambo, places it between “Simon & Marcy” and the second flashback in “Everything Stays”. So, where the fuck is Simon? She’s running around all by herself. There’s a couple possible hand waves. Simon could be behind a tree taking a shit. He was at a period of his life where he had less control over the crown, so maybe he flew off on a crown-induced escapade, or purposefully distanced himself when he knew he was going to have an episode. He could also be searching for ways to summon Hunson Abadeer. It’s not exactly canon-shattering, but it's definitely a bit of a continuity error. The crew had some idea that there’s a deeper connection between Ice King and Marceline, as evidenced by hints in “Holly Jolly Secrets” and “Marceline’s Closet” this season, but this scene is clearly a result of them not really having the Simon and Marcy backstory planned yet. The most striking disconnect is little Marcy calling Hambo her “only friend”. In “Betty”, Marceline instead refers to Simon as her only friend during that period of her life. Marceline sews Hambo’s button eye back on, like Simon how sews a button back on Marcy’s overalls in “Simon Petrikov”. Simon must have taught her how to sew in the interceding years. She tells Hambo she’s hurting him because she loves him. This might be a coping mechanism she picked up on from Elise and/or Simon.

Finn and Jake pass by Marceline picking her nose, showing for the first time how gross she can be while by herself. Next we get to see the infamous fry eating incident, and they even got Martin Olson back for this short cameo. Marcy looks a few years older than in “Marcy & Hunson’s” flashback. I don’t think Marcy was with Hunson this whole time, it wouldn’t make sense for them to be on Earth together for a few years. This must have been one of Hunson’s infrequent awkward visits, possibly the first time they saw each other since their reunion in the previously mentioned episode. She may have even gotten the bass axe during this visit. It’s cool seeing Adventure Time already building on its pre established backstory, and they continue this trend in the next memory. Ash helps Marcy move into the treehouse, referencing “Evicted!”.

Next, probably a couple years later, we see Marceline clearly feeling checked out of her relationship. Ash comes home, revealing he sold Hambo to a witch (Maja) to get a new wand. Marceline dumps Ash, and Olivia Olson’s voice acting here is incredible, especially the “it’s over you psycho!”. Marceline dated Ash during a time when her self-esteem was at its lowest, feeling like a monster that didn’t deserve any better. Ash was probably a rebound after her relationship with Bubblegum, probably starting a relationship with him within a few decades of her breakup with PB. Ash and Marceline’s relationship is very uncomfortable to watch. The “Mar Mar” pet name makes me queasy. Ash still somehow manages to have one funny line, saying he didn’t ruin “all” of her life to defend himself. The episode just gives us tiny glimpses into a few parts of Marceline’s life. Later episodes make this up, but it would have been nice to get just another couple memories in this one. It’s funny in hindsight how we skip over all the biggest parts of Marceline’s past (Elise, Simon, the vampires, PB). If this was a later season episode, Simon and Bonnie definitely would have made appearances. 

Finn and Jake jump into the memory core, which has an unbelievably cool design, with white silhouettes over the black background. Each of the memory balls has a corresponding symbol, and I’ll do my best guess to analyze the meaning behind many of them:

-A portal to the Nightosphere: a memory involving Hunson, possibly the events of “It Came From the Nightosphere” -A roll of yarn: the first memory Finn and Jake entered of Marceline sewing Hambo

-A weight: working out after her break up with PB or Ash

-Marceline’s high heels from “Evicted!” and “Henchman”

-A tree: the memory of Marceline moving into the treehouse

-A wolf: her dog Schwabl 

-A snowman: Simon and the ice crown

-The shovel and/or grave: the death of Elise

-A hand: no idea, maybe meeting the tribe of humans in “Everything Stays”?

Finn and Jake return to the physical world, and Ash reveals he had Finn and Jake erase the memory of their breakup. Her memories of moving on from the breakup must have been altered by this too. Ash intends on bringing her back to his place. This is basically just a metaphor for date rape drugging and has to be the most traumatic thing Marceline has experienced in the present timeline of the series. Another sign of abuse is Ash’s negging, with the “that’s a relief” to Marcy saying she’s going to freshen up. 

Jake tracks Ash and Marcy down with his rarely used super-scent. Jake bashing the shed to get Ash’s attention, only to find it's the house of a defenseless goblin, is the funniest joke of the episode. Finn runs in to tell Marceline the truth. Marcy says that Ash doesn’t like her hanging out with “mere mortals”. In addition to showcasing another red flag, controlling who she sees, it provides more context to the time of their relationship. It’s the second Marceline episode in a row where bad people from her past are shown to reinforce Marcy’s past ambivalence to the lives of mortals. She was probably part of the ghost gang from “Heat Signature” shortly before or after her breakup with Ash, more company that reinforced her low self-esteem. 

Finn brings Marceline into his own memories, set inside his childhood home with Joshua and Margaret. We can see Jermaine in one of the pictures. There’s other dogs too, presumably from Joshua and Margaret’s extended family (maybe the grandmother mentioned in “Ignition Point” is one of them). Marceline sees baby Finn perform the “Buff Baby” dance. It’s second only to “Bacon Pancakes” in terms of viral sensation. It’s funny and cute, but a bit overrated. It also shows how young Finn was when he became obsessed with fighting evil. Finn looks a few years older than the flashback in “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain”, but a couple years younger than in “BMO”. Finn showing Marceline his memory of seeing her memory is such a clever solution, foreshadowed by the cleverly named title of the episode. She immediately seems to believe Finn, even before seeing the memory. This shows the trust she’s gained for Finn over the series, and that she has always known that Ash is a terrible person capable of evil. She has a muted reaction to this, but you can tell she is hurt inside. 

They really go all the way with portraying Ash as a stereotypical misogynist, with him literally telling her to get back into the kitchen. He’s a loser who can’t even make his own sandwich. Marceline and Finn beat up Ash, which is a justified response to attempted sexual assault. He’s one of the most sociopathic characters in the series, and the most despised character among the fans. He has his own hatedom. He’s fun to hate, but he’s a good character that provided a great foil to Marceline while showing the reality of how some men behave towards women. Jake stomping him with a giant foot is a perfect ending. The episode follows the route of “It Came From the Nightosphere” in using Marceline as a way to explore trauma more specific to the experience of a young woman or teenage girl. It’s also really nice to get some good Marceline drama that’s not tied to Princess Bubblegum or a parental figure for once. 

Grade: A

[ainyan]

The Last Memory

(This story can also be found on Ao3 for those who prefer.)

It was bitterly cold, the snow swirling in the air, but he did not feel it. Such mundane concerns like temperature and weather did not concern him; the ice did not touch him, and he felt no hint of the frigid wind. The thick coat that covered this body was only for show; neither it nor he needed it now; had not for some time - but one mustn’t upset the natives by wandering around in inappropriate clothing.

How tedious. Life had been much easier when everyone had worn the same thing, had been the same race, had wanted the same goal.

This parody of existence these creatures called living now was messy and fleeting and horribly insulting. But it is all he had to work with.

For now.

Pushing aside his dark thoughts, he paused on the graveled path leading up to the village before him, studying its wooden walls with disgust. No more the soaring towers of Amaurot; no more the glorious spires, the glass and steel etchings, the flowing lines and sleek curves. These creatures - these “men” - had barely discovered how to work iron again, much less build anything that wasn’t strictly functional.

But there was something behind those rough-hewn walls drawing him onwards; he’d been feeling the pull and tug for days now, forcing him ever northwards until he’d reached this tiny hamlet tucked deep into the snow-shrouded woods of the northern wilderness.

Another of his lost brethren, perhaps. So far he’d managed to find nine of the thirteen and restore their memories to those shattered, broken souls, but four still eluded him. It was possible - nay, probable - that another shard lay within those walls.

Though he was eager to be done with this damnable duty, it would ill-suit his current form to go bursting through those gates and causing a ruckus. As much as it pained him to admit it, he had a role to play, and it would not do to have the natives - or whatever they were - discover that there were forces so much more powerful than their insignificant selves in their midst.

Not until they’d finalized their plans to undo what that wretched woman had done.

So he took his time, striding up the path, straight backed, square shouldered, just another traveler like those who infrequently wound their way along the dirt-and-gravel paths that traced the vast distances between the scattered villages and hamlets that dotted the northern tundra. As he approached the gates, he could hear a muffled shout - directed not at him, but at the guard who stood within the walls, and one of the great doors ponderously swung open.

Trusting fools.

He stepped across the threshold and onto the main thoroughfare for the hamlet, one that ran directly from this gate to the one on the other side of town. In the distance, he could see what passed for a town square, the shingled buildings rising around it, short and squat and nothing like the magnificent edifices of a bygone era. Trying to ignore the twinge in his heart, he instead turned to face the guard who approached him.

And he knew why he’d come.

Her eyes should have been green - a bright, emerald green with rims of brilliant platinum, their flowering irises shaded with hints of forest green and tawny gold - not such a pedestrian shade of cornflower blue. Her hair should never have been the bland color of wheat, without a hint of individuality - rarely had her hair been so much as its original raven hue; instead, always an ever-changing rainbow based on her whims.

Even her skin was wrong - sunkissed rose now, rather than the rich color of walnuts, as smooth as the finest silk woven from her precious bombicae. Tall for one of the creatures that called themselves a ‘hyur’, she was nevertheless significantly shorter than she’d once been, her body slimmer, less lushly curved beneath the furs and leathers of her clothing.

Wrong. She was all wrong. This was all wrong.

Even her soul was all wrong.

That it was hers, he had no doubt. Faint and dull like any of the sundered, it was still a thousand times brighter than those of the creatures who inhabited the world that had been theirs. Only a few shades of blue rose from within to shimmer below her skin: sapphire and cobalt and lapis lazuli. Less the oceanic tides that had once surged with vigor and more an insipid pond like one of the ornamental water fixtures that had graced the city parks.

Still. It was hers. Mnemosyne.

She smiled at him, her eyes meeting his with a frank curiosity as she crossed her arms and leaned back on one heel. He could sense her confusion and knew that she felt that same tug and pull - so much stronger now in such close proximity - that had drawn him all this way. Unlike him, however, she had no idea what it meant. No idea what connection it portended, a connection that would last until the last star burned out and the universe collapsed upon itself. One that would draw their souls together again and again and again, as it had for countless millennia before. “Welcome, stranger.”

Soft, breathy, lilted. In no way the powerful, rich, sinfully deep voice that used to tease him to a fever pitch, that would cut across the floor of the Convocation chamber and slice her opponents to shreds without a single blow, that would lift in song - out-of-tune, but still - when she showered or would rise in ecstasy as he drove her up and over the edge again and again.

“Greetings,” he said, trying his best to modulate his tone - he’d been told that even at his most pleasant, he often came across as supercilious. By the flicker in her eyes, he gathered he’d once more failed. As her expression lost some of its cheerful welcome, his hand slid into his pocket, clenched around a stone.

The rest he carried in a pouch beneath his jacket, but this one - this one he couldn’t bear to place with the others.

It never should have been made. Lahabrea and Elidibus would be appalled if they knew he’d gone behind their backs and created a stone for her as well as the missing ten members of the Convocation, but he didn’t care. She was a hope he could not give up.

And now she was here. He had only to draw out the stone, to channel his magicks through it, and she would remember.

She would be.

“What brings you to Hearthward?” she was asking, her eyes glinting suspiciously as they flicked down towards the hand he’d slid into his pocket, her own fingers skimming surreptitiously towards the sword dangling at her side. “Don’t get many strangers around here.”

His mind raced, considering ramifications even as he answered in an off-hand tone, offering a ready-made excuse for his presence. “I’m scouting ahead; the rest of my party is a few days behind, but I wanted to make certain nothing had changed on our maps.”

Those pale blue eyes flickered over him, and he knew she was seeing his well-worn gear - similar to hers, leather and hide and fur, sturdy and ugly, with a heavy, primal scent that still offended his nose after all of these years. The pack on his back was filled with all manner of tools he had no idea how to use, but was certain the malformed soul that had once worn this body had. He’d learned enough during the conversation he’d struck up with the creature in the last town, before luring him out and shedding his body of its burden, to take it for his own.

“I see,” she said, nodding slowly as her hand fell away from her sword, and he knew she’d accepted his response. “Very well. If you have any need of resupply or wish to take an evening’s respite, the inn,” and she pointed to the largest building in town, just off the square, “and the general store,” and that was the smaller building squatting in the inn’s shadow, “are there, and open for another several marks of the candle.”

Just a simple spell, a shove really, to release the memories, the personality, the person within the stone, to restore her to herself. To restore a little balance to a world gone mad.

A little equilibrium to himself.

Even as his fingers closed around the amber-colored stone, her eyes shifted past him and, for a brief second, her eyes lit up. He knew that look; he’d seen it directed at himself. At Hythlodaeus.

He turned.

The hyur was tall and slim, dressed as they were. His hair was pale blond, his eyes a rich chestnut brown. His smile was quick and ready as he greeted the guard, and in it, the visitor could read his interest, his desire. A quick glance back at her showed him the same; no affection - not beyond the bounds of friendship, not yet, but an attraction. 

Jealousy, hot and angry, curled in his belly, and he could feel his aether rise in his breast, already forming the spell that would smite this misborn upstart into his component pieces, motes too small to see with the naked eye.

“Excuse me,” she said, breaking his concentration. “Is there aught else you needed?” He turned to meet her eyes, and she stared up at him, her smile faltering. “Forgive me, good sir, but… have you been here before? I would swear I know you from somewhere.”

Her fingers raised unbidden to brush between her breasts, across that point from which heart and soul sprang, that center of self.

That center that bound them together through eternity and beyond.

One little twist of his magic.

And yet.

She had stood in opposition of the Plan. She’d turned away from him, from them, refusing to give her aid to summon their lord Zodiark, to bring forth the only being which could restore balance to the world. She’d left him, left Hythlodaeus, left the Convocation and their people to walk amongst these- these twisted, stunted creatures, these creations with their pallid, insipid souls. To save them, at the cost of them.

And if he restored her… if he restored her, she would do the same. She would never espouse what they were doing now, never agree with the tentative plans Lahabrea had begun to make to rejoin the fourteen shards of their shattered star.

He could have her back, but she would never be his again. And their disagreement would be an ache in his breast from now until eternity ended.

“No,” he said after an uncomfortable stretch of moments, during which both hyurs had stared at him, perplexed. “No, I have not been here before. I’m afraid we have never met.” He forced his lips into a smile, and deliberately slid his eyes towards the man. “A pity, I think.”

Her brow furrowed and the man stiffened. “Indeed,” she said slowly. “If that is all, then I bid you a good day. Should you have need of aught else, simply see me, or anyone within the village, and we shall be happy to help you.” Her smile was quick and bright - almost too bright; the bond was beginning to pull at her, draw her in. Draw her to him.

He bowed slightly, and her eyes widened, then crinkled in amusement. Such a familiar expression; such a familiar pang in his breast. As he turned to walk away, he could feel her eyes on his back, then felt her regard slip away. A few more steps, then he turned back.

She was staring up at the pale-haired hyur, and he was gazing back. They did not speak, but there was a comfortable familiarity that spoke of friendship, of comradeship. He could read the tentative courtship in their stances; the way that they angled themselves towards each other, the way the man’s fingers curled, as if to keep himself from touching her. The way she twisted her fingers together for much the same reason.

The bond pulsed and pulled in his breast, tugging him back to her. Now that he had found her, he would never lose her again, not as long as their souls remained tied together by fate and destiny and a love too profound to ever be defined by words.

And he knew she could feel it too. Even as the man began to speak, her head turned back towards the visitor and met his eyes - and he could see her puzzled confusion, her helpless interest. The man faltered, frowning, then also turned to stare at him, eyes darkening with jealousy.

He took a step back. She took a step toward.

This would not do.

He could not break the bond. Would not break the bond. To do so would jeopardize her chances of ever finding fulfillment, the snapped thread of their futures together forever tripping her up. As frustrated and unhappy as he was; as disgusted as this world made him, he would not wish such misery upon anyone - especially her.

But perhaps…

He forced himself to turn away again, to begin striding towards the square. He heard a deep, rich voice rise in question, and felt her falter, heard her voice answer, anxious and confused. He waited until he was certain her attention had been diverted once more, then turned back.

The man had a hand on her arm, and his expression was one of distress and concern; that told him all he needed to know. Despite his jealousy, his first thought was her and her wellbeing. This man could never give her everything that he could - and the one thing he could not give that she needed more than anything.

Support.

Together, they would be at odds. She would remember the world they had lost, would once again feel her impotence and helplessness to aid those who had once looked to her for succor. She would blame him for the death of their beloved Hythlodaeus, just as she had before, and she would be no more likely to stay now than she had then. He would lose her again and again, and she would lose him again and again, and through their bond, they would suffer.

Apart - she would live her life, die her death, a thousand, thousand times. She would love, she would lose, she would weep and she would laugh, and she would never remember the love they had shared within their perfect paradise. And he… he would never forget.

He took a breath.

He let it out.

He reached into himself, into his limitless wellspring of aether, and he crafted a spell, a breaking, a rebinding. He tore free their bond from his own soul, snapped the threads of their future with an almost audible snap. He felt the pain of it sing through his body, saw her convulse as the loss of it struck her as well. Even as the other hyur caught at her, calling her name, he threw the spell at him.

It struck home, it sank in; it pulsed, he convulsed - and then it settled, braiding itself indelibly into his soul. The pair leaned drunkenly on each other, disoriented and confused. He waited with baited breath to see if his spell had done its work.

The woman looked up. The man looked down.

Their eyes met. Widened.

Then their mouths met. The bond would not push them into love; not immediately, but it would break down the barriers formed by shyness, by reticence, by the nagging feeling of waiting that would have kept her from forming any such bonds at all.

He did not wait to see what came of it. Already the ache of it was fading, and nothing pulled him here any longer. Head clear, heart clear, he strode off, bypassing the inn, the store, for the gate on the other side of the wall.

And when he passed through it, he dismissed it from his mind, and relegated her to where she belonged.

To memory.

[ponyosmom35]

I Really Miss You

Bittersweet chapter thirty two

Steve Harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Steve finally confronts Indie after freindzoning her, unable to take the silence.

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

In the sprawling expanse of the Starcourt Mall, Steve Harrington often found himself more occupied with the view across the corridor than with his actual job at Scoops Ahoy. Dressed in his overly conspicuous sailor outfit, he scooped ice cream with mechanical motions, his attention fixed on The Gap where Indie Holland, was now working.

Indie was a familiar presence, yet she felt miles away. Their interactions, once easy and filled with laughter, had become infrequent and fraught with unspoken tension. Since he had inadvertently friend-zoned her, a decision he regretted deeply, there was a palpable distance between them, marked by awkward eye contact and hurried looks away. Steve missed her terribly, missed the comfort of their friendship, and the mall felt emptier despite the constant shoppers.

Today, like many days before, Steve watched for the moment Indie would take her break. As she stepped out from behind the counter at The Gap and made her way to the food court, Steve seized the opportunity, hastily handing off his scooping duties to Robin with a muttered excuse about needing a quick break.

Indie, settling at a secluded table with a coffee, seemed lost in thought and didn't notice Steve approaching until he was almost beside her. She looked up, surprise quickly morphing into a guarded expression.

"Hey, Indie," Steve began, trying to keep his voice even. "Can we talk?"

Indie looked hesitant, her body language closed off. "Steve, I don't know if that's a good idea," she replied, her tone cool.

"I just... Please, just a few minutes," Steve pleaded, his heart sinking with the fear of losing what had once been so good between them.

Reluctantly, Indie nodded, and they found a quiet corner away from the bustling crowd. They sat, the air heavy with anticipation and past hurts.

Steve took a deep breath. "I've been thinking a lot about everything that happened... about how I handled things. I'm sorry, Indie. I really miss talking to you."

Indie cut him off, her words quick and filled with a mix of emotions. "Steve, I'm sorry too. I've been really distant, and it was wrong of me. I guess I was just hurt, and I didn't handle it well."

Her openness caught Steve off guard. "You don't have anything to apologize for, Indie. It's on me. I just... I really missed you."

The conversation slowly deepened, evolving into a sincere exchange of feelings and apologies. They both spoke of missed connections and the pain of misunderstanding.

As they delved into their heartfelt discussion, Indie glanced at Steve's Scoops Ahoy uniform and couldn't help but smirk. "So, how's life on the high seas with Robin?" she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve chuckled, grateful for the break in intensity. "Robin's great, actually. She's funny and really smart. We get along well."

Indie's smile faltered slightly, her heart twinging with a pang of jealousy she hadn't anticipated. She sounds perfect for him, Indie thought bitterly, though she kept her smile intact. "That's great, Steve. She sounds awesome."

Steve, oblivious to her inner turmoil, nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, she's been a great friend. You would really like her"

"I'm sure" she smiles

They continued talking, the air around them gradually lightening. But inside, Indie felt a mix of emotions swirling. She was happy to be reconnecting with Steve, yet the mention of Robin reminded her of what she'd pushed away and what might be growing in her absence. The thought nagged at her as they wrapped up their conversation, promising to not let so much time pass between them again.

"I heard that Billy Hargrove talked to you"

"He did" she confirms 

"What did he have to say?" Steve asks, his protective instincts coming out. 

"He apologized" 

"He did?" steve asks in surprise 

"Yeah it was really sincere"

"I'm shocked" 

"He's not a bad guy, he just has a lot of shit in his head"

"He beat me unconscious and broke your head open"

"Yeah he hasn't handled himself well, and he knows that. I think he's really sorry"

"Yeah right" steve rolls his eyes

"I'm loving the uniform by the way" she says changing the subject and pointing to his uniform.

"Yeah it's unfortunate"

"No I like it! It suits you" she giggles 

In all reality, she was in awe of how Steve was able to somehow make a horrific uniform look good. Only he could do such a thing. 

"thanks" he says running his hands through his hair "well I gotta get back to work"

"Good luck, seems busy over there" she smiles 

"Come by after your off and I'll hook you up with the best ice cream you've ever had" he smirks 

"Okay" she smiles 

As they parted ways, Indie felt both relief and a lingering sense of what might have been. She watched Steve return to Scoops Ahoy, his laughter reaching across the food court as he joked with Robin. Indie turned away, her heart heavy, a mixture of happiness for his newfound friendship and a selfish sadness that it wasn't her by his side, sharing those moments.

The walk back to The Gap was longer than she remembered, each step weighed down by complex feelings and the realization that moving forward might mean letting go of what could have been, even as she cherished the renewed friendship they had managed to salvage from the brink of silence.

[unironicallycringe]

It is WIP Wednesday, which I only celebrate when I have a wip to share (which is to say: infrequently).

Turns out having a secondary fic to fiddle with helps me work on the main one more. This time the secondary is an old TES wip called Dear Brother. I've shared pieces before but it's largely unpublished since it was during my "I can't let anyone know I'm cringe!!!" 2016 phase. It has like ten chapters sitting in a file gathering dust, but I've been editing it bit by bit and injecting a new framing device. Here's some drafting of a scene stitching together the middle chapters.

Raelius shrieks as a weight descends upon him in a flurry of shadows. Before he even has a chance to react, he’s hit the floor while someone's hand wraps tightly around his throat. An ugly knife glints in the light of his still-flickering torch spell. To his horror, the face of a corpse melts out of inky blackness and hovers menacingly above. A thick, tangled curtain of blood red hair obscures its features, but the dim light reveals its most important detail - fangs like those of a slavering wolf, bared in a frozen lunge for a second that feels more like a lifetime.

Yet in that same second, Raelius notices something else. Beneath that lethal maw, its neck beholds a jagged, twisted scar. The flesh there is lumpy and gnarled from its body's desperate attempts to knit a mortal wound back together long after surrender should have come. Recognition hits him in a surge that overrides all panic. "You're the Silencer!" he gasps. The corpse stills. Its jaws close slightly, its hand loosens. Shadows dance across the sharp ridges of its face where bone stretches its skin taut. Then, its eyebrows furrow in what could only be described as a dumbfounded expression. A wheezing puff of air hisses through its throat. "Hhh?" it questions. Its breath hits Raelius as a rotten cloud, and he dearly wishes for the vampire to close its mouth. "Th-the writer! Of the journal! I have your journal!" he explains quickly. "Please let go, and I can show you!" The vampire none-too-gently yanks Raelius to his feet by a fistful of tunic. In the quiet that follows, its reddish-pink eyes scan his face in meticulous examination. At least, Raelius thinks they're scanning his face, since any difference between sclera, iris, and pupil is just a progressive deepening of red. An unsettling gaze that would remind him of Dunmeri eyes, were they not so empty. Regardless, he takes the chance to give the same once-over to his mystery author. It - or maybe “he”? - is indeed as short as admitted in the journal. He's of Bosmeri heritage, the woodland elves who are much smaller than their eastern and western merrish cousins. Silencer stands nearly a foot shorter than the Redguard mage, but his presence intimidates all the same. If memory serves, contemporary medical texts describe vampirism as bestowing supernatural strength along with its various curses. And given that he just lifted Raelius one-handed, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine him capable of much more concerning feats. Silencer could likely snap the intruding man in two should he choose. Raelius gives a nervous laugh at this realization and wets his lips. “You didn't write about the vampirism! I was wondering how you might have escaped that dreadful business in your last entry,” he offers lightly. “Well, perhaps you just didn't get to that part, seeing as I have your book and all. But wow - this is incredible, really, I was only looking for more pages here, I didn't expect to find you alive! Er, well, mostly alive, aha…” The joke doesn't seem to break any ice, since Silencer merely stares with wide, unblinking eyes. Typical response to icebreakers at Raelius' academic conferences, anyhow. “I suppose your title describes you well, Silencer!” Another nervous laugh, a clearing of the throat. “Perhaps I should introduce myself and tell you why I’m here. My name is Raelius Moorwing, and I’m a graduate student at the Arcane University ...” Silencer sticks a hand out with his palm up. Raelius goes in for the expected handshake, but the vampire smacks his advance away in annoyance. He repeats the original gesture, this time curling and uncurling fingers insistently, as though to demand ‘give me’. “Ah, right! Your book, yes, I’m sure you’re keen to see it, just a moment.”

[trickstercaptain]

indie captain jack sparrow, private, plot heavy, low activity, primarily trilogy & tpof based. est. 08/14. rebooted 02/20. written by lottie ( she / her ), gmt, 25+

         CAPTAIN JACK  ♢  MODERN JACK  ♢  VERSES  ♢  MAINS / EXCLUSIVES

my worldbuilding & portrayal are heavily affiliated with : hangtherules / villainmade + captainteague / lorelodge + reddhaed + musecraft

                          other links :   MEME TAG  ♢  META                              please read the rules below the cut before interacting!

• This blog is very chilled, selective and low activity, meaning that I only write with mutuals for my own state of mind. I work and have a busy life outside of tumblr which takes priority, so I cannot write with everyone, plus I do practice mains and exclusives — although I am picky about this.

• A couple of notes about my portrayal of Jack: I draw on both movie & book canon, primarily the trilogy and Ann Crispin’s The Price of Freedom, the latter of which concerns Jack’s past, although I do borrow sparingly from other sources across extended canon. He is much more than the witty rogue with a fondness for rum that he is often dismissed as and I have been writing him long enough to develop him far beyond the scope of his canon; I therefore ask that you please respect this and my reasons for being picky when it comes to incorporating certain ‘canon’ established in Dead Men Tell No Tales in particular.

• I have also been around the block when it comes to Jack; I have been writing him for more than nine years now, and in that time I have replied to many, many generic, non-plotted starters where muses approach Jack in a tavern to ask to join his crew/ask him for help etc. These kind of spontaneous threads just do not spark joy or excite Jack's muse any longer and therefore I cannot guarantee that you will receive a prompt response ( or a response at all ) if you throw one my way. So what I am saying effectively is that I am primarily plotting based here — the more you plot with me, even if it's just initially to establish a jumping off point, the more likely Jack's flighty af muse will stick and we can write all of the wonderful things together!

• I do not care to see call out posts or any other kind of drama. I will unfollow and potentially block if I see it on my dash: I am here to write, not to engage in tumblr politics.

• I am multiship and Jack is bisexual, however I tend to be picky about shipping — ic and ooc chemistry is key, and just because Jack is a promiscuous muse, do not assume that means that he will jump into bed or emotionally invest with absolutely anyone. Likewise, just because Jack is a certified flirt, do not take that to mean I am forcing a ship on you or your muse. He flirts with everyone.

• Usual Tumblr etiquette applies. Please don’t godmod, don’t rush me on replies as I am very slow, please make sure meme replies are transferred over to a new post etc etc.

• NSFW may appear from time to time, as well as certain dark topics considering that Jack is a pirate and there are potentially triggering events within his canon, such as child abuse. I do not have any triggers myself, but I will certainly try to tag anything particularly sensitive that may appear on this blog. As for smut, I write it pretty infrequently but only with partners I’m close to on an out of character level.

• If we are mutuals, I absolutely want to write with you! Hitting up my IMs for plotting is likely the easiest way to get something going with me, but sending a meme or liking a starter/interaction call absolutely works too!

• I’m Lottie, she/hers, 25+, GMT timezone. I’ve been writing on tumblr since 2014 and I can also be found on my other blogs if not here:        MULTI + SCOOPS KIDS

• I do not have any association with Disney, Pirates of the Caribbean, or Johnny Depp. Any ignorant and uneducated hate towards my faceclaim will gain an instant unfollow from me and, out of respect to him as a human being, as well as for my own personal comfort, I will not write or interact with any blog who uses Amber Heard as a faceclaim.

[goldenworldsabound]

Phone 📞, Romance 🌹 & Sick 🤒 ~ rebeccaselfships

@rebeccaselfships THANK YOU Kerioyl time- fkjdhafkjdsa

Phone 📞 - If you and your f/o have cellphones of any kind, what's their contact name in your phone, and what's theirs for you?

phones don't exist in verse but!!!! I think he'd include some emojis cause he's cute like that fkjdhsafks like 💖Wendy 🦊. I am boring and write full names in my phone fkjhdskja BUT he's set to ICE (In Case of Emergency) so that's something? and favorited fkjdsahfks

Romance 🌹 - What's the most romantic thing your f/o? Furthermore, what's the most romantic thing you have done for your f/o?

oh no this- this is a 😳 question f-for him being such an early fave I may have put myself into danger fkjdshfakjds

THE most romantic thing will be hard since I am still working out our ship BUT a romantic thing is always offering me his jacket when it's cold out /// I think he also absolutely can be romantic and a sweet talker so maybe when we go off on our own (infrequently unfortunately) he might tell me how important I am to him and stuff in a moment of vulnerability /// that'd mean a lot to me. I think there's a lot of casual romantic moments but it's hard to pinpoint a big, BIG one just yet...quite possibly getting me a meaningful gift though ///

UM as for me for him??? We've both traveled a lot but I like to think I know a few secret places in the other Stratums that he doesn't! So bringing him to all my favorite spots and making sure he knows how much he means to me at each one ///

Sick 🤒 - Your f/o is sick in bed, what do you do?

🥺RUNS TO FIND A HEALER ASAP-

but barring that (as I assume sickness can't be magically healed) I'm gonna stay by his side and make tea for him and take care of him! I'm sure the rest of the Menagerie of Fools will help me out too, so I'll coordinate their efforts while I'm at it. He's gonna try and make jokes at me and I'm like "hush" (teasingly). "focus on getting better, not makin' dumb jokes." "oof" he grumbles but he's smiling.

[thecloserkin]

fic rec: Less Than Dirt. by ulexite

fandom: Supernatural

pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

word count: 40k

Is it explicit: no

Bottom line: when they say “go hard gencest or go home” they are referring to this fic, which went so hard that it ground up my insides and fed them back to me in a tube

In this early-season AU, Sam is beset by visions and the boys are keeping it from John. Who knows what John would do if he knew, right? That’s present-day 2006. In 1997, fourteen-year-old Sam and eighteen-year-old Dean tangle with some hunters who turn out to be bad hombres. I think either plot thread could have stood on its own—the 1997 story is entirely self-contained—but when ulexite braids them together the impact is like an airplane landing. This fic is about Sam defending Dean, and Dean defending Sam, against all comers. “All comers” unfortunately includes John. There is some violence done to John’s canon characterization but in service, I think, of a good cause. If you’re familiar with ulexite’s other work it’s probably If Gold Rusts…, which is a fantastic fic. It’s also 130k long lol which is why I wandered away before finishing. Luckily this one’s more digestible.

In 1997, while John is off on a case, the boys have been left to rusticate in a motel in Nowheresville, USA. John deliberately leaves Dean behind to punish him for fucking up on a recent hunt. We are told baldly the nature of Dean’s fuckup: his actions proved that Sam’s safety—not killing monsters—was his top priority. As a consequence his father is putting him in the equivalent of kiddie timeout. In the aftermath, there’s a lot of discourse between the boys about who John’s favorite is. From Dean’s perspective:

“Look after your brother,” Dad had said, “since that’s what you’d rather be doing.”

And from Sam’s perspective:

Might as well have said: “Look after this burden of mine so I don’t have to.”

This is classic they each think the other is John’s favorite, and it’s just as aggravating to me, the reader, as it’s intended to be. So this whole ball of recriminations is sitting between them at the beginning of the 1997 arc. Sam and Dean are not on the easiest of terms with each other.

Enter the bad hombres.

They’re hunters. They’ve worked with John before. They’re looking for backup on a werewolf hunt, and since John is unavailable, they’ll take the next-best thing, his teenage sons. Yeah you heard right these guys just press-ganged a fourteen-year-old into forced labor, all the while relentlessly belittling him. It’s frightening how simple it is for a pack of complete strangers to drive a wedge between Dean and Sam at this fragile moment. All they’ve got to do is treat Dean like one of the guys—like a grownup—and ice Sam out by treating him like a useless hanger-on kid. Here is Dean defending his unilateral decision to 1) join these randos on a hunt and 2) lie to John about it:

“Yes, Sam, I lied to him, and you better not even think about calling him again to tell him we’re going on a hunt. You’re still my little brother, and I’m still in charge until Dad gets back, so do as you’re told for once.” He doesn’t feel like pointing out how infrequently he doesn’t do as he’s told. Everyone’s always accusing him like he makes a habit out of disobedience.

This is grossly unfair! The charge is that Sam has a “disobedient” temperament rather than that he has done xyz “disobedient” thing…which makes it impossible to refute. Again and again canon shows us Sam being punished for what he is rather than what he does—“freak” is an epithet that targets his nature which he cannot control rather than his behavior which he can—and it hurts extra coming from Dean, the person whose opinion he values highest. Sam is gravely wounded by Dean’s betrayal. Still, even hurting as he is, when the chips are down you will never find Sam anywhere but in Dean’s corner:

Outside, Donovan lines up empty beer cans along the stack of firewood and tells Dean: “Time to prove you ain’t all bark, Winchester.”

He’s both proud of Dean for making every shot even with his eyes bleary from the early morning and his hangover, and also wondering why he couldn’t just tell this man “I don’t gotta prove shit to you” and walk away. But then he understands it when the gun’s put in his hands, and the cans are lined up again, and he’s being told to give it a go.

As soon as Dean says “Show ‘em what you got, Sammy,” the need to impress makes all the sense in the world. Just that Dean’s the only one here whose opinion matters to him, and letting his brother down, especially now when he needs Sam on his side the most, even if he doesn’t know that? He makes damn certain he doesn’t miss a single shot.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in this section of the fic Dean is 18, the age of majority, the age at which he might assume legal guardianship of Sam were the worst to befall John (an eventuality he has definitely contemplated more often than is healthy). It’s not clear to Dean what Sam’s role is—is Sam his charge or his peer—and that flare of pride he gets every time Sammy does something well? Some skill Dean taught him? Muddies the waters even more. But we’re not done with this scene yet! We have to see with our own eyes exactly why these bad hombres are bad news:

Sam holds out the gun, but before Dean can make a step to start setting the cans back up, Donovan takes the gun and turns the opposite way from their makeshift targets, aims his gun over top of their heads, and shoots a starling right out of a tree overhanging the driveway. “That’s what it means not to hesitate,” Donovan tells them, sickly pleased that Sam can’t even bring himself to look at the felled bird wherever it landed. “You’ll learn, kid. Or you’ll die. One or the other.”

This dude just shot a living creature dead for NO REASON wtf?!

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Ok so long story short our boys get separated, the bad hombres stake Sam out for werewolf bait without even bothering to arm him with a weapon, Dean shows up to clean up the werewolves but is obviously livid about the way they deemed Sam expendable. Dean feels an obligation to stay and finish the hunt, but he won’t countenance Sam remaining if it will endanger Sam (which it will, since these dudes are psychos). So Dean deliberately picks a fight. He says the only thing he can to get Sam voluntarily onto the first bus to wherever-the-hell-John-went.

“Sam… I’m staying, alright? I’ve gotta see this through. I can’t keep fucking up and getting people killed, and you’re a distraction for me. Dad’s right about that.”

“…I’m a distraction?”

“You are.”

His eyes are burning, white-hot emotion, sadness disguised as fury. “So I’m just in your way, is that it? You want me to leave?”

“This entire time you’ve been nagging and nagging at me that you wanna go home, Sam. I’m saying if you wanna go then go. But I’m needed here, and they’re right. You’re not a little kid anymore, you don’t need me to protect you like you used to.”

I am a kid, Sam thinks, enraged, and so are you!

“I want you to come with me, Dean! I don’t trust these people, I haven’t trusted them from the minute we met them!”

Sam leaves. Then he changes his mind and returns, because Dean sent him packing with their only gun, and Sam can’t bear the thought that he left Dean alone without a weapon. Thank god he does, too, because the scene Sam walks in on is one of these psycho hombres murdering Dean. It’s the real unhinged one, Donovan. Donovan is hurting Dean for fun, just like he shot that bird for fun. Dean is badly injured and unarmed but still fighting back because the son of a gun has said he will go after Dean’s little brother next, and THAT threat never fails to make Dean see red. Of course he’s losing badly until Sam shows up and shoots Donovan cleanly in the back. Aaaaand scene.

What stands out to me about this episode is not that fourteen-year-old Sam killed someone, but that the two of them tacitly agreed to let Dean take the rap for it (Sam was after all not supposed to be there). They let the victim’s relatives believe for nine years that that’s what happened, that Dean killed Donovan. When the inevitable reencounter occurs in 2006, John is entirely in the dark—the boys never told him what happened back in 1997—so John is caught off guard when Donovan’s brother and nephew draw their guns on Dean, and Sam gleefully claims credit for Donovan’s murder (“you’re pointing those at the wrong guy”), and then uses telekinesis to turn the guns on the other two. It’s hard to tell if John’s madder that he’s been kept out of the “Sam is manifesting psychic powers” loop, or madder that two dudes just tried to murder his son. One of these things is maybe a slightly bigger priority, John! It seems worth noting that Sam’s psychic powers are triggered, as usual, by a bodily threat to Dean’s life or limb. Also that John seems to assume that if people are trying to kill Sam, they probably have a good reason (instead of that people are fucking psychos). It’s this unwarranted presumption of guilt that steams my beans. There is not a shred of evidence that Sam is endowed with an evil nature or doomed to walk an evil path, and yet John’s conviction is nigh unshakeable. The visions that Sam was having at the beginning of the fic? Those were premonitions of his own death at John’s hands. He’s been seeing visions of plenty of people getting murdered, he just didn’t realize it was himself he was seeing. Omg when the dashboard read 3am I should have known I should knownnnn. ulexite is good at a lot of things but this descriptive passage stood out to me because it is BUSSIN:

Trees. He sees trees. A grey morning, barely out of the pitch of night, only knows it’s morning and not evening because of the dew clinging to the earth, the sense memory for a thing that hasn't happened yet telling him he shouldn't be awake. Dirt and mud, rotting leaf litter, new blood. He can smell it all, iron and loam. Yet, as soon as he tries to turn his head to look around, that’s when the pain hits, a needle from one temple to the other, straight through the cortex like his premonitions are killing him.

Dw John does not put a bullet in Sam because Dean shows up at the last second and he puts a bullet in John instead. And that’s our story all tied up with a bow.

Now, do I think ulexite’s characterization of John is true to canon? No, I think this is a very selective and unsympathetic reading of John. I think in this fic the boys are conflicted in their feelings for John, but John is never shown to be conflicted, up to and including when he’s about to put Sam in the ground he’s certain that he’s doing the right thing. Canon!John would never. That’s fine though, as long as the fic’s John characterization is internally consistent I’ll buy it. What really sits at the core of it though, the thing that sank a grappling hook into my heart, is the evolving relationship between Sam and Dean and the different roles they occupy for each other as they grow up:

The weight of his amulet, a constant reminder that Sam loves him the most, feels like a noose around his neck all day long, until finally he gets the courage to apologize to Sam

and

It’s not Sam’s fault Dean conspired to keep him young forever and has just now changed his mind. It’s really not. But sometimes Sam grates on him and it’s not because of any real discernible reason other than that Dean thinks sometimes he was made into a parent at four years old and that just kinda sucks

Idk this may just be my own hobbyhorse, maybe y’all don’t care and it’s just me on my soapbox watching these boys agonize about whether I’m parent or peer of what. But I mean:

“Do you hate me?” he asks, not even meaning to, it slips out insecure and irrational, unchecked.

Dean is quiet for a few beats too long for comfort, but he wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders and he’s pretty sure Dean kisses the top of his head, and he says “You’re my little brother, you know I love you.”

He wishes that answered his question, but in this one instance, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.

My first thought was: When Dean put a bullet in John that pretty definitively answered the question, wouldn’t you say? “I choose you, Sammy” is what I thought that bullet was saying. But on my second readthrough I’m not so sure. “I choose you” is not the same as “my love is unadulterated by other, more complicated feelings.” I think what Dean’s bullet does establish is that there’s no room in the SamDean relationship for anyone else, even the man who raised them.

[iviarellereads]

Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 35

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Sixth House icon) In which Gideon is finally, properly, rendered speechless.

Camilla, Harrow, and Gideon leave Corona to her grief.

Then, Camilla realizes Palamedes isn't with them, and she lost sight of him at some point in the room. Gideon says it's fine, he probably just went to check on Dulcinea, and she still doesn't understand why he's an even bigger "weenie" over her than Gideon is. Camilla finally explains that Palamedes has exchanged letters with Dulcinea for twelve years, and his study of medicine was entirely to work toward saving her from her familial fate.

This turns Gideon's blood to ice. She says Dulcinea never even mentioned him, and then Palamedes was still so kind about it, why didn't he ever say anything?

Camilla continues that he asked Dulcinea to marry him about a year ago, "so that she could spend the rest of her time with someone who cared about her comfort." She refused, not because she didn't like him, but because necromancers are discouraged from marrying outside their Houses. The letters grew more infrequent, and by the time they arrived at Canaan House, Palamedes still loved her, but he "was glad that she was spending time with someone who made her laugh."

Five people had died that day; it was weird how the small things ballooned out in importance, comparatively. The tragedy saturated the stiffening bones and static hearts lying in state at Canaan House, but there was also deep tragedy in the flawed beams holding up their lives. An eight-year-old writing love letters to a terminally ill teenager.(1) A girl falling in love with the beautiful stiff she'd been conceived solely to look after.(2) A foundling chasing the approval of a House disappointed with her immunity to foundling-killing gas.(3) Gideon lay on the floor, facedown, and became hysterical.

Harrow says it doesn't make sense. Camilla agrees, it hasn't made sense for the whole time she's known them. Harrow says, no, Dulcinea Septimus spoke to her of Palamedes Sextus as a stranger, she said she didn't know him well at all.

Gideon interjects to wail about how she wants to die, from the floor, and Harrow nudges her with a foot, "not unkindly", and tells "Griddle" to get up. Gideon asks why she was born so attractive, Harrow says "Because everyone would have throttled you within the first five minutes otherwise,"(4) and asks Camilla why Dulcinea would have such a change of position about Sextus.

Camilla says if she understood, her quality of life would go up considerably. She tells Gideon to get up, Sextus doesn't hate her, and she didn't ruin anything. He and Dulcinea "were always more complicated than that", and never met in person before Canaan House.

Gideon springs to her feet, eager to find Palamedes and make sure he's really okay with her behaviour.(5) She says she needs to find him and she asks for a few minutes alone. She tells Harrow to go get her two-handed sword, in the false bottom of her trunk, at which Harrow is "affrighted"(6), and asks Cam to keep an eye on Harrow with an apology for being a "homewrecker". Gideon sprints off before either of them can say anything, though she hears Harrow shout "Nav!"

Gideon's rapier bangs against her hip, her arm hurts from the last fight, her neck feels weird, but she runs as fast as she can to the sickroom. She finds Palamedes in the hallway, staring at the closed door. Gideon's breathing alerts him to her presence, and he cleans his glasses, looking at her as he puts them back on his nose. They stare at each other for a long time, but just as Gideon opens her mouth to say her apologies, Palamedes folds his fingers "as you would a piece of paper", and Gideon's body stops responding. She feels cold all over, and she can't so much as move her tongue from the roof of her mouth. Palamedes looks over his work, sees that it will do, and opens the door, smiling at Gideon, and leaving it open so that she can hear what comes next.

Palamedes says he should have spoken with Dulcinea as soon as they arrived. She asks why he didn't, and he says, he was afraid. His heart was still in pieces, and it was easier to believe that Dulcinea had moved on and was trying to spare his feelings. He cared about her, and Camilla cared about them both, and he thought Dulcinea was saving them "the heartache of watching her fail, and die," during the trials. He elaborates on how he was a child when he first started writing to her, eight to her fifteen, but he "was shown endless tact and sympathy." He asks if that runs in the Seventh House.

Gideon can hear a smile in Dulcinea's voice as she said she supposes it does. When you know so early that you're ill and fated to die, you grow to take other people's feelings "as seriously as yours aren't."

Palamedes says there are two things he wants to know. Dulcinea says he can have more than two. He says he doesn't need more. The first thing is, "Why the Fifth?" A puzzled pause, and Dulcinea asks, "The Fifth?"

"The Ninth and Eighth houses posed the most clear and present danger," he said. "The Ninth due to Harrow's sheer ability, the Eighth due to how easily they could have outed you--any slip would have shown an Eighth necromancer that you weren't what you claimed. He would only have had to siphon you to know. I even wonder why I'm still walking around, if you don't find that arrogant. But it was the Fifth House that scared you."

Dulcinea tries to say she doesn't understand, but Palamedes bids her not to lie to him. She says she's never lied to any of them. He asks why again.

Dulcinea says Abigail Pent was a speaker to the dead, not insurmountable but a problem… but that was only her hobby. She was dedicated to ancient history, the bits Dulcinea didn't think anyone would care about. "Letters, notes … pictures … the archaeology of a human life." Dulcinea should have swept the whole of Canaan House, first thing, but she was nostalgic.(7) Palamedes says, "I see", and Dulcinea says she's glad he didn't. Pent gave her enough of a fright, she's glad she didn't understand how Palamedes had mastered psychometry.

Palamedes asks why she put the key inside Abigail. Dulcinea says she had to buy time, and hiding it in the flesh hid it from most detection methods. She really thought they'd find it earlier, but it gave her time to gum up the lock. She asks who removed it, and Palamedes says it was the Ninth. She says the Emperor would love to get his hands on Harrow, then. Thank goodness he never will.(8) Still, if she'd known the lock could be broken and the key found, she'd have swept the place clean.

Dulcinea remarks that Palamedes must have used his psychometry on the message inside. If he'd never gone in, he'd never have known she'd been in there too. He says maybe. Dulcinea asks what his second question was.

Gideon still can't move. Her eyes are watering from her inability to even blink. She can breathe, and listen, and that's all.

Palamedes asks where "she" is. Dulcinea says she thought she'd come to an understanding. If "she" had told Dulcinea about Palamedes, she would have taken extra precautions.

Palamedes demands that the person who isn't, in fact, Dulcinea Septimus, tell him what was done with the woman herself. She says she's still here, but when the ship was boarded, the cavalier refused to hear reason. Then, she and Dulcinea talked, and they were an awful lot alike, which makes sense, except of course for the eyes as "the Seventh House is awfully predictable for looks".(9) But the illness… she might not have lived the first few weeks here, even if she hadn't had to be killed to protect Not-Dulcinea's plot.

Palamedes says, then the story about Protesilaus being puppeted by the whole of the Seventh House was a lie. No no, says Not-Dulcinea, she phrased it as a hypothetical, and everyone accepted the truth that was easiest to understand. If Palamedes has an issue, he should have listened more closely. Not-Dulcinea is from the Seventh House, and it was an accident that Dulcinea died. She really had wanted to help her, and she kept her as long as she could, but when someone took out her false cavalier(10), then the bodies had to be disposed of, and the furnace was the only available option.(11) And don't worry, she adds, Dulcinea didn't suffer.

Palamedes acknowledges that that's not nothing, but he assumes the rest of them are now to follow? The woman says yes, but it was never about them. She had to ruin the Emperor's plans to build new Lyctors, to draw him back to the system, but in a way that he "wouldn't bring the remaining Hands(12) with him." She's going to shatter the Houses, one by one, and find out how many she needs before he crosses into the system. And when he does, it will be too late.

Palamedes asks why one of the Emperor's Lyctors would hate him. She says she doesn't hate him, she has loved him for ten thousand years. They all loved and worshipped him, like a king, like a god, like a brother.

She pauses and her voice drops, so that she sounds "very normal and very old", and says she doesn't know why she's telling Palamedes all this. She says they should all thank their luck that they didn't become Lyctors. It's not life or death, but something terrible in between, and not even God should ask them to embrace it.

Palamedes says he'd never do that to Camilla, and the Lyctor congratulates him on figuring out how it's done. She didn't want to do it either, but she was dying, and she and her cavalier, Loveday, they thought it would make her live. Instead, she's been dying for ten thousand years.(13) She says that Teacher "was nearly demented", and a holy terror. They can blame Sixth House for that one. She's curiously grateful to the Second for taking him out, as he might have "made things stupid" at the end. Palamedes asks why Teacher didn't recognize her, and she says he might well have, because who knows what that blend of souls was ever thinking?

The Lyctor comments that Palamedes is taking this better than she expected. She assumed he "would try something silly" when he realized Dulcinea was dead. He says he never does anything silly, but he decided to kill this woman when he knew there was no chance to save Dulcinea.

She laughed, as clear and bright as ice. It was arrested midway through by a cough--a deep, sick-sounding cough--but she laughed through it anyway, as though she didn't care.

Palamedes continues that he had to buy time, and do it slowly enough that she wouldn't notice. Another short laugh, interrupted by a cough, but it doesn't resume afterward. She asks what he's done.

"Tied the noose," said Palamedes Sextus. "You gave me the rope. You have severe blood cancer ... just as Dulcinea did. Advanced, as hers was when she died. Static, because the Lyctor process begins radical cell renewal at the point of absorption. All this time we've been talking, I've been taking stock of everything that's wrong with you--your bacterial lung infection, the neoplasms(14) in your skeletal structure--and I've pushed them along. You've been in a terrific amount of pain for the last myriad. I hope that pain is nothing to what your own body's about to do to you, Lyctor. You're going to die spewing your own lungs out of your nostrils, having failed at the finish line because you couldn't help but prattle about why you killed innocent people, as though your reasons were interesting ... This is for the Fifth and the Fourth--for everyone who's died, directly or indirectly, due to you--and most personally, this is for Dulcinea Septimus."

The Lyctor says it will take a great deal more than that to kill her, he must know that, knowing what she is. Yes, he says, but she must have studied "thanergetic fission", and she'll know what happens when a necromancer uses all their thanergy very, very quickly. She asks, "What?"

Palamedes ignores her and calls out to Gideon, asking her to tell Camilla… no, Camilla knows what to do.

Then, the sickroom explodes, and the magic holding Gideon breaks. She lurches back down the corridor, away from the cold, white-burning death that Palamedes is unleashing. A huge crack and a boom, and part of the ceiling falls, near enough that the part above Gideon rains plaster dust on her.

Gideon runs for her life through Canaan House, and falls to her knees in front of the dried up fountain. She leans against it, though she knows not for how long, until there's movement at the entryway. She turns to look at the woman standing in the white steam, her eyes blue "like electromagnetic radation", huge wounds all over her arms and neck and legs, exposing her bones beneath, though they're knitting themselves closed as Gideon watches.

The woman Gideon had kind of had the hots for held a gleaming rapier. She was barefoot. She leaned in the smoking doorway and turned away, and she began to cough: she spasmed, retched, clung to the frame for support. With a great asphyxiating bellow, she vomited what looked like most of a lung--studded all over with malformed bronchi, with wobbling purple barbs and whole fingernails--onto the ground in front of them. It went splat.

She groans, and stands, blood dripping from her chin. She names herself "Cytherea the First […] Lyctor of the Great Resurrection, the seventh saint to serve the King Undying." Both necromancer and cavalier, "the vengeance of the ten billion",(15) come to kill the Emperor and burn down his Houses.

"And Gideon the Ninth..." She walked toward Gideon, and she raised her sword. She smiled. "This begins with you."

=====

(1) Palamedes, to Dulcinea. (2) "Stiff" here in the manner of "corpse", as this describes Harrow falling in love with the girl in the Locked Tomb. (3) Gideon, of course. (4) There is nothing in here indicating disagreement. Harrow thinks Gideon is hot. Just sayin. (5) Gideon cares so much about what others think of her, but she only lets herself acknowledge it when she genuinely cares about them too, even if she pretends she hates them. (6) Affrighted just means frightened but with different letters. Muir loves a thesaurus, and we love her for it. (7) You there yet? (8) And how can she know all this? (9) Recall how Ianthe's eyes were struggling to stabilize between her violet and Naberius's blue-and-brown. The eyes tell the story of the soul… quite literally. (10) Harrow dismantling the beguiling corpse enchantment, and stealing Pro's head. (11) Yep. Two sets of cremains. Dulcinea Septimus, and Protesilaus Hebdoma. (12) From context, the other Lyctors still living. (13) Exactly as she said earlier in the book, in fact. (14) Neoplasm - a kind of tumour with excessive growth. (15) I don't think it's spoilers to say this is approximately how many died (whether or not they were all resurrected) in the events of the Resurrection.

[feartheoldblog]

*kicks door but hurts foot really badly and spends an hour in pain before knocking like a normal person*

You.

I demand lore about your Gilded Rot OC's

HELLO BIM THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!!!!

So, my original characters have only been mentioned by name in the fic so far. However, they will be slowly introduced in the next chapter or so, so for now I’ll tell you about the characters that are in it already:

Gawain, and Finlay!

I don’t want to give too much away so I’ll try and keep it fairly brief.

I know, Finlay is a canon character but we barely know anything about her other than her heroic journey, carrying Malenia back to the Haligtree. However, I feel like I’ve basically got enough creative freedom with her to the point that she’s essentially an original character. I’ll make another post about Aoife, Harlan, Bastien and another OC who has not been named in the fic yet.

So, Finlay:

She hails from a small island on the western coast of Limgrave, entirely separate from the mainland. It’s only possible to travel there by boat, and they very rarely did so (unless transporting goods) due to the frequent storms and treacherous whirlpools that surrounded the island. The main source of income was fish, which they sold on the mainland. Finlay’s mother was native to the island but her father was from Leyndell. She hasn’t seen her family in years nor received correspondence from them due to the island’s infrequent contact with the mainland and due to her serving as a Cleanrot Knight. As you can tell, she’s very close to Malenia (obviously lmao) and they’ve grown closer over the years that she has served her. She also enjoys Miquella’s company when she has the opportunity to see him, as infrequent as they are. Gawain is her closest friend, but she is also extremely close to Aoife and Harlan, but Bastien doesn’t spend a lot of time with the Cleanrots aside from Gawain.

Gawain is just an asshole (joking, but not really).

He grew up on a farm in Eastern Limgrave where his family bred and sold horses, as well as reared sheep and goats. Finlay is his closest friend though he is fond of Bastien. He’s on thin ice with Loretta; he doesn’t agree with her vibrant personality, and she isn’t fond of his aversion to the more fun things in life. He greatly respects Malenia as a warrior and would give his life up for her but they aren’t particularly close socially. He’s renowned for his abilities with a spear and typically regarded as one of the strongest Cleanrot Knights. He’s been banned from participating in archery after accidentally shooting loosing an arrow into the main hall of Elphael, a mere few inches away from Miquella’s head. His aim is awful. Fortunately, Miquella found it amusing that someone could be that terrible at archery and forgave him.

~

I know it ain’t much but it is honest work 🙏 I’ll give some info on the other lads when they get properly introduced. They’re an unusual bunch but they all get along (for the most part).

[tungstenb]

🥺👉👈 6, 22, 36, 72 for the writing ask bestie? I'm too stupid to try and give you multiples or a math problem so I ask from the depths of my heart and nosy bitch syndrome also

Thank you very much! I am procrastinating and cringing at the memory of the face my PI made at me at a lab meeting as he watched me eat a burrito like a starving dog. Six is a perfect number.

Fanfic ask game.

6. What's the last line you wrote?

Polishing up a massive Chapter 4. See readmore.

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Inspiration strikes infrequently enough that I usually use the existence of a title as justification for writing the fic. It goes like this: string of words comes to me, and if it's sharp and punchy enough I'll use it to skewer juicy ideas like a kabob. Let me cook!!

36. What fic are you proudest of?

SAtS? SAtS. Gotta be SAtS. I worked hard on it. Not sure if it's obvious. Tangentially related but I miss its companionship---it was so well behaved. I've used the sandcastle metaphor before, but outlining and writing for me is like shoveling sand into place so I can build my sandcastle: the menial stuff has to come first, and while it's rewarding in its own right I don't derive much satisfaction from it. I miss the refining and detailing and editing part of SAtS's sand-castle stage. For several years it was there for me when I needed control over something intricate and complicated but not necessarily pretty in the traditional sense.

BODS is recalcitrant: the sand's like not right for a sandcastle and the ocean's waves keep rushing over my progress and reducing it to featureless lumps.

72. What's your favorite writing compliment you've gotten?

I go feral whenever someone tells me what I wrote is haunting or heart-rending or visceral in some way, like, you don't necessarily have to relate but I want people to understand. Love that my comments section is a party of neurodivergence and brainworms.

Anyway, the Ch. 4 excerpt. (Not a line. Multiple lines. Many lines.)

"You're still studying me though," Shepard said, smug.

"Admiring," Liara corrected.

As expected, her gaze drifted downward. But she turned away, reaching for something near the sink, and when she faced Shepard again she held her tub of scar ointment.

"May I?" Liara offered.

"…Yeah." It came out delayed, after some odd hesitation. Shepard faked a small cough. "Yeah, go ahead."

Liara delicately repositioned the meteorite pendant, safe in its waterproof locket, backwards and out of the way. The disc rested coolly on Shepard's back; slight tug of the chain across her throat. She closed her eyes.

Scent of eucalyptus as Liara unscrewed the tub's cap. The medical salve tingled as she massaged a layer of it across the left shoulder, where the topmost edge of the large warp-burn scar began.

Liara didn't have to do this. Would've been downright cruel and unusual to even suggest it — but it wasn't Shepard's idea. All attempts to convince Liara otherwise were countered with But what if I want to?s. Immovable object.

Liara had, at least once a day all this week, taken to the scar with enthusiasm and deft gentleness, memorizing where it was numb, where it was sensitive. Maybe Liara tended to the scar out of a sense of obligation. Shepard never asked no matter how much she wanted to know for sure: where exactly Liara's mind wandered as her fingers followed the rippled texture of the burn; what ice-cold memories surfaced when she stared into the middle distance.

Even unserious words were a gamble when Liara's mind was an intricate web. Shepard kept her mouth shut, wisely. Intimate as it was quiet, the scar-care routine had become a good exercise in keeping their busy minds in check. She couldn't risk mentioning anything that would bring Liara back to Noveria — anything suggesting it was a matriarch with a foot through death's door that'd done this warp-burn number on her.

Armali was Benezia's domain. Her influence lingered on despite Liara's avoidance of the topic; and if Liara refused to talk about her mother's illustrious career on a scenic walk — averting her eyes, drifting toward alternate routes, almost pretending not to notice (or rather hoping that Shepard wouldn't recognize) the series of elegant curlicues of Arlees script that spelled out T'Soni or Benezia on stately buildings' stone placards, the dedications of whimsical art installations, &c — if she couldn't reminisce casually then, then she'd find it super inappropriate and distasteful to utter Benezia's name while tending to the collateral damage of her downfall: Saren's teeth on her spine, her mind not her own… all burnt into Shepard's skin.

It was insane to think about how that was only a couple months ago. But Shepard'd been at Liara's side through all of it.

Hardship had only drawn them closer, emotionally, as their months chasing Saren had proved. But this history they shared made their relationship's foundation a cracked and painful thing.

Liara's fingers slowed then stopped, lingering against the numb skin of her upper chest.

"Will you be upset with me if I use this opportunity to pry?"

"Mmmm." Shepard sucked on her teeth. "Don't you like not need to pry if you can literally swim around in my brains?"

Liara rolled her eyes — probably for multiple reasons, erroneous and poorly translatable use of 'literally' included — as she gathered more ointment onto her fingertips. "Is every corner of an ocean visible upon one dive?"

[prideringradio]

Hello to you all!

I've been told that most accounts on this website have an introductory post of sorts? Forgive me if I'm a bit unsure of how things work here, this whole internet thing is still new to me.

The purpose of this page is primarily to promote the Hazbin Hotel, as I've been told that this website is one of very few that can be reached by both sinners and the living at once. Something about a hell-site..? I'm not interested in trying to understand.

However! I have also been authorized to use this account for personal interactions if I so choose. They likely will be infrequent, but do not be surprised if such a thing comes up on occasion.

The inbox is open for any questions about the hotel! Or about me, I suppose, but hotel-related questions shall take priority.

//this blog is inactive, i lost interest too quick lol. im still into hazbin itself though, my ooc blog is linked below!

//hi! mod here. anything ooc is gonna be under a cut like this

//i am SO very excited to get started on this blog, i am very normal about hazbin and alastor specifically (lying)

//find me at @queerplatonicradiostatic ! its a sideblog dedicated to hazbin and i'd prefer ooc questions/comments be directed there :D

//tags will also be a mix of ic and ooc - in character comments first and then there will be a little barrier before ooc tags!

//keep in mind that the concept here is "alastor on tumblr dot com" - things like magic anons wont work. interact like you're interacting with a real user! current storyline takes place roughly 1 week after the events of episode 8. we move in real time, since he's interacting with the real world!

//that's all for now, enjoy!