#i am getting the urge to write

[lostinwildflowers]

Okay I'm not going to promise anything, BUT. I will tell y'all that I am getting juice. Birch is getting brain juice. I have not had brain juice in many weeks. You know what juice means?

WRITING BABY.

[tubesock86]

hey remember these guys?

[bluerosefox]

Waiting... Waiting...

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms delicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[synthe4u]

masterlist

A wave of nausea hit you, sending you reeling back from your papers. You grasped your stomach, willing the pain to go away. There was a deadline set for this work and of course you being you had to wait last minute to finish.

You glimpsed at the time, 1:03am, the paper was due at 6:00am and you were hoping to get some sleep before then.

A knock sounded before the door opened, "Hey love, you okay?"

It was your husband, John. You had forgotten he came back from a mission two days ago. You've just been too busy with work.

"I'm alright."

"You sure?"

He raised an eyebrow at you. Maybe it was the way you were hunched over or the papers scrawled all over the office desk. Or the time...Time.

You had to finish this paper now. For both your mental and physical well-being, but none of it was making any sense.

The words started to jumble on the pages.

You didn't know when, but John came back with a plated sandwich.

"It's not much, but you haven't any yet."

You mumbled a thanks before going back to writing. Your lover watched over you, waiting for you to pick up and eat the sandwich he made.

"Gonna eat, love?"

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, too focused on thinking of what to write. So focused that you didn't realize when John started tapping his arm in impatience.

It was only when he stood right behind you with his hand on your wrist, pulling your arm away from what needed to be done.

"You need some sleep."

"But I have to finish this!"

He grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the desk and chair. You wouldn't fight him. You didn't have the strength to do so because you were too tired.

He laid both of you down, wrapping an arm around you.

"Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight," you laid awake with your eyes wide open. Your thoughts were too big for your head and it felt like you needed rest, but you couldn't.

"I didn't eat the sandwich you made me."

"Huh?" He was confused by your statement.

You repeated yourself, "I didn't eat the sandwich you made me."

You could imagine him closing his eyes again while he spoke, "You can eat it in the morning."

A moment passed before he sighed and pulled you closer into his arms. The married couple snuggled together for both warmth, love, and comfort. They understood one another and that was all that mattered between them.

Sometimes moments of comfort like this makes one want to dream.

[samuelroukin]

today marks a year since i started writing and in that year i wrote 855k words.. what the hell did they do to me 😵‍💫

[therentyoupay]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

elsa is meticulous about planning and preparing for special occasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 2.

Previous part. Masterpost. Next part.

Content warning: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an unhuman whumpee, pet whump.

"In folklore, any mythical, magical creature is commonly called 'fey'," they book that Lord Teelo had ordered after returning to the inn room said. "It is, of course, a wide misconception that is not accepted in any theory that has even an ounce of respect for itself. Fey is not just another way to say "magical", but a registered phenomenon different from a spirit, a magic-infused animal or a demon, and especially has nothing to do with tiny folk with wings, whose existence is widely refuted…"

It went on and on, an irritatingly salty response siting some previous debates and calling out authors the lord had never heard about. It could be entertaining in its own right – Lord Teelo was anything but impartial to loud grudges and decades old arguments – if not for his lack of experience with the topic rendering the details tedious and the fact that it wasn't idle interest that led him to seeking out the book.

The papers had been signed in half an hour, the impressive sum of money changing hands as the decision had been finalized at the spot. The arrangements had been made immediately after to transport the creature to the lord's summer house. It was to spend its last night at the auction house, and then, in the morning, they would ride – Lord Teelo in his usual carriage and his new property in an impressive cage – towards its new home.

The thrill of the purchase was sure to keep the lord awake, and he decided to spend the time on research. Learning about the kind of thing that came into his possession was paramount – after all, he didn't want it to die before its time because of his ignorance.

"Fey is defined by any reputable source as an otherworldly creature. It does not come with as many defined characteristics as an unsoundly educated person would believe: a creature from another dimension does not have to have wings and three pairs of limbs, though it is not out of the realm of possibility. A fey can look exactly as your regular cattle. The one thing that makes it fey is that it is not from the reality we live in."

The text wasn't very useful. In the two chapters Lord Teelo had managed before throwing the book into his bag and settling in bed, there was an infuriatingly little amount of actual, useful advice. The further he read, the more sure he was: he would have to figure things out by himself.

It was the thrill that came with owning the never before seen creature, one he wasn't even sure was from the same world, one, if it wasn't, that would catch the interest and desire for experiments by mages all over the world.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he should get into contact with a few. Their insight would be valuable either way – the lord was doubtful that the rainbow marks on the creature's skin could be the result of anything but magic, and magic tended to come with complications he wasn't confident he could deal with by himself.

Getting in contact with the sailors who caught the thing was a good idea, too. He'd already asked for the name of their ship and drafted a letter to a good old acquaintance in Froien. She would get the information to him in no time, even if he'll definitely have to show the creature to her afterwards. Keya, as he knew her, was curious beyond all else. Lord Teelo couldn't wait to see her face and the faces of his other acquaintances when they saw the kind of prize he'd gotten. The images of their amazement and barely hidden jealousy made him giddy with anticipation.

He wanted to make the most out of the day, and so was up and in the back garden of the auction house barely an hour after sunrise, despite the morning chill finding its way to his very bones through the layers of fabrics and furs he'd donned. A cart made into a cage with thick iron bars – provided with the purchase, of course, and with how much he'd paid Lord Teelo would be personally offended if it wasn't – was hurriedly readied and brought to the doors of the building.

The sounds of clattering and clinging and human voices burst through the open door before the creature was dragged out. It was the size of a northern wolf, bound and twisted and carried by two cautious servants. It craned its neck and bared its teeth through the muzzle, a wild animal, a scared one, and if not for the lines running down its skin and the weirdly human-like hands – with thumbs even if they were too long to actually be human – Lord Teelo would have taken it for nothing more than a dumb beast. Then it opened its mouth as wide as it could and let out a whole string of sounds – low and guttural and constantly repeating in patterns that made the lord think that it was trying – no, saying something in an unfamiliar, alien language.

He felt his pulse high in his throat, watching the creature as it was pushed inside the cage, chains around its limbs secured and the door locked behind. It kicked and threw itself against the metal only to settle back a moment later, too smart to waste energy on a fight it couldn't win.

And then, it noticed him.

Lord Teelo thought it recognized him – or maybe it was a wishful thinking fueled by the way it stilled and stared and then craned its neck to the side and forward, baring fangs in a display that was chilling even despite the binds. The unblinking yellow of its eyes pierced right through him.

He felt goosebumps creeping up his arms but refused to acknowledge it. He was safe, he reminded himself. It was tied up and helpless. No matter how it bared its teeth and tried to look scary, he was the master.

He stepped forward, lifting a hand up to place at the edge of the cart. The creature glanced at it, then continued staring. The lord smiled, "Hello there."

The creature growled and then said something. Lord Teelo continued soothingly, "No need to be so tense. We'll get to know each other -- you'll get used to me in no time."

In the light of the starting day, its skin didn't look like that startling black he saw in the dim cell. It was more grayish – still dark, though, and still unnatural. The pattern of colorful lines didn't look any less striking. His fingers ached to touch it, to feel if its skin was rough under his touch or as human-like as some of its features were. As the black short fur framing its face and ending in the middle of its back in a sort of haircut. Fey, Lord Teelo thought fervently. It had to be one. It was too strange in some ways and too familiar in others. It had to be a creature from another world. What other explanation could there be?

"Lord Teelo?" A voice came from his side and soon he was regrettably distracted, finishing the transaction and discussing the details. Servants pulled a thick piece of fabric covering the cage from view. Lord Teelo dismissed the pang of regret at their actions, reminding that he was going to have months worth of time to play around with the new toy.

He wondered what it'd be like. How it'd act. Would it be able to learn the human tongue, or prove to be too dumb for it?

He wondered where it would live. And – ah, this was an urgent question, was it not? He should send a letter to make sure it was all taken care of by the time he arrived.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump, @the-lone-youth

Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[thedorkurge]

Third chapter of Schism is out!

[i-will-always-love-the-jedi]

Just some kiddos, nothing bad will ever happen to them

Yep, nothing bad, not ever. What do you mean, I’m not delusional, they’re happy and still besties to this day?

…

[lu-sn]

Pete watches on in amusement as Macau totally fails to shimmy himself into the skintight layer of his pilot suit.

“Hey, it’s because I’m swole now, okay, I lift,” Macau says petulantly as he finally manages to roll the suit past his hips. 

Pete finishes zipping up his own suit. “Mhmm.”

“This is a super old suit,” Macau complains, “they took my new suit for repairs, and let’s be honest, I was basically a stick back then–”

“Until you became hot,” Pete says, having heard this spiel only about twenty times before. He moves to help Macau squeeze his arms through the suit.

“Until I became hot!” Macau grins at Pete. “See, you get it. Hey, I bet my biceps look real good in this–”

“The kaiju will definitely be blown away by your biceps.”

“They sure fucking will.” Macau looks inordinately pleased with himself. “The final, secret weapon that will save humanity.”

Pete rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says, “hold your breath – good,” as he yanks Macau’s zipper all the way up. He pats Macau on the back. “Let’s go.”

–

Once they’ve made their way to the jaeger cockpit, the technicians start encasing Pete and Macau in their protective armor, along with all of the hook-ups that give them control over the various limbs and weapon attachments on the jaeger. 

“Helmets,” one technician says, and Pete swiftly pulls on his head sock, making sure his bangs are securely tucked under the cloth before slipping on his helmet as well. He hears the familiar hiss of the hydraulics as the technician locks in a large attachment to the back of his helmet – the critical cabling that enables the pilots’ neural link.

“Step back,” the technician says, and Pete does. The exoskeleton clicks into place around him. “Preparations complete.”

“Testing comms,” a voice says, directly into Pete’s ear.

“Menace-L, copy,” Pete responds.

“Menace-R, copy,” Macau follows. “‘Sup, Hia.”

“Brat,” Vegas says placidly. “Operations confirmed that the kaiju is a Cat-3, and it’s headed for the Philippines. You’ll be in-flight for a little over 2 hours before the drop.”

“Yeah, right,” Macau mutters.

Pete snorts. After that one time they were stuck waiting to drop for over 12 hours, Pete doesn’t blame him for his skepticism.

“Tell yourself 4 hours, and then maybe you won’t be so cranky when the estimate isn’t spot on.” Vegas says. “The shelf on that side of the island falls off pretty quickly. Luckily, we don’t think you’ll have to wait until the kaiju makes it to the shallows. He doesn’t look like a swimmer.”

“A runner?” Macau says, a hint of glee in his tone.

“Yep. Four-legged. You should be able to fight him along the sea bed.”

“Phi,” Macau says. “Phi. Can we wrestle him, please–”

“Absolutely not,” Vegas starts.

“Sure,” Pete says.

Macau whoops. “Fuck yeah! Underwater wrestling, baby, let’s fucking go–”

Vegas sighs. “If HQ asks for Menace’s damages bill again, I’ll make sure you’re the one taking that call. You can be the one to explain exactly how critical it is to account for underwater wrestling in the budget–”

“We’ve, like, improved,” Macau says. “We’re good at it now. Tell you what – I’ll make you a bet. External damage only. No dents in the framework this time.”

“Deal,” Vegas says immediately. 

“Here we go again,” Pete says under his breath.

“We’re ready for the neural link, sir,” another voice interrupts. “Are we cleared?”

“One moment,” Vegas says. “Yes, you’re cleared.”

“Neural link for Apocalyptic Menace going live in sixty,” the voice says.

“Copy.”

Pete exhales, leans back into the exoskeleton. The jolt of the neural link is always nauseating, but thankfully it’s short-lived. Pete is very used to it, though. And the drift itself is wonderful.

He hears a faint click, and an indicator pops up on his helmet’s interface that he’s been switched over to a private line.

There is a long silence.

“Wish I could come with you,” Vegas says quietly.

Pete smiles, fond. “You’ll just have to wish harder for a Cat-4. For next time.”

Vegas’s injury means that he’s not allowed to be on a standard pilot rotation, not like the rest of them. But he’s so damn good that HQ can’t bring themselves to bench him, either. So he gets sent out with Pete on the really tough drops, the category 4 and 5 kaijus, and Macau subs in on all the rest.

They’re lucky that all three of them are drift compatible with each other. Otherwise, HQ would force Vegas into the cockpit far more frequently. And then Vegas would re-injure himself, probably, and Pete would have to go kill someone over it.

“Next time,” Vegas says. Then, firm, “You’ll come back.”

“I always do,” Pete says, voice soft.

Vegas hums. “And bring my idiot brother back intact, please. Keep the wrestling to a minimum.”

“Can’t believe you’d throw a bet like that,” Pete says, amused.

Vegas scoffs. “It’s a win-win for me. Less repairs, and HQ doesn’t come for my head... or, Macau does laundry for a month.”

Pete shudders. “Maybe not laundry this time? He’s not very, um. Good at it.”

“How else is he going to learn, Pete,” Vegas says pleasantly, “if we don’t give him the opportunity to improve himself.”

“Uh-huh. And it’s a total coincidence that you hate laundry.”

“Like I said,” Vegas says, “win-win. Oh, wait. Macau is speaking.” And Pete hears another click.

“Phi,” Macau says, very seriously.

“Nong.”

“Friendly reminder,” Macau says, “to not think about Hia.”

Pete laughs.

“No thoughts!” Macau screeches. “None! Not a single one, or I swear to god, I’ll break the neural link and jump into the ocean.”

“That was one time,” Pete says. Plus, it wasn’t like it had been Pete’s fault. Vegas shouldn’t have given him horny thoughts from 2000 kilometers away.

“Once,” Macau says, “was plenty.”

“Link in three,” the technician’s voice counts down, “two, one–”

And as the neural link kicks in, Pete’s vision whites out, and the pain is sharp and bright right behind his eyes – until, suddenly, it settles.

Hey, bro, he hears. Ready to rumble?

Pete grins. Macau’s emotions are infectious, all excitement and anticipation and dogged determination. And in the far corner of his mind, a tiny hint of nervousness. 

It’s good for Macau to have that. Keeps him from being reckless.

Let’s do this, Pete thinks. And then, just for a brief moment, he pulls up a memory from this morning – Vegas standing in the bathroom doorway while brushing his teeth, shirtless, ratty sweatpants riding low on his hips–

Oh my fucking god. Why would you do this to me. Why would you make me suffer like this.

Pete laughs, harder this time.

“Drift is stable,” the technician says. “Cleared for lift-off.”

“Copy,” Vegas says. There’s some murmuring from his end of the line. “Operations says you’re good to go. Good luck. Remember to cut down on the snarking this time. Maybe it’ll improve your kill time average.”

“Maybe I’ll stop snarking,” Macau says pointedly, “once Phi is done inflicting mind crimes on me–”

Describe to me, Pete thinks, in great detail, exactly how you picture this wrestling going. Just so we’re on the same page.

The distraction works. Pete feels a huge wave of glee hit him. Phi. I have so many ideas.

–

(thank you to @suzteel and @kissporsche for all of the ideas ❤️ and especially to suz for saying that every combination of mvp would be drift-compatible, because i swear i wasn't going to write anything until she baited me with that)

[gemharvest]

bhnnjfgjn FUCK IT I'm thinking about this, poll time. Big disclaimer I DO NOT HAVE ANYTHING PLANNED & I make no promises that this is an idea I even end up acting on. However, I am very curious if there's even any interest in this. Answer honestly- I promise I'm a big boy and can handle it if there's not enough interest to justify doing this.

"Karl why are you thinking about this" I'm cursed with the permanent desire to run an askblog even tho the trend of them is absolutely not what it once was. Next question.

[sanasanakun]

What if I wrote a fic about a redeemed!Durge who saved Baldurs Gate/hero stuff but is unable to celebrate that night cause he’s still uneasy about his past AND the fact that he (personally) killed his previous life’s closest friend/lover???? (Gort). So, the companions are like “bruh get down here stop moping,” but he’s just chillin on Elfsong tavern’s roof or w/e. And then he realizes..that since the Netherbrain is dead that means all the tadpoled people got un-poled👀👀 including the Flymms👀 and he gets so irrationally angry despite not even understanding why cause he shouldn’t care anymore. But he can’t help himself and he goes back to Flymm’s cobblers under the cover of night and he delivers his own form of brutal (almost unnecessarily violent) justice himself (I mean, he is still The Dark Urge after all. Jergal removed the absolute need to murder, but he didn’t take the batshit crazy part lmaooo). Anyway I’m not gonna write it cause I have an 80 page thesis to do but what if, huh?

[blackjackkent]

Wyll stands up slowly from where he has been kneeling next to Rakha's bloodsoaked body, and he moves next to Jaheira and watches with wary puzzlement as Withers descends the stairs into the center of the temple of Bhaal.

"Thou hast defied Bhaal, thy liege and father."

The skeleton's feet make no sound on the blood-damp stone floor. His voice echoes like a gong in the utterly silent room. Ignoring Wyll and the others, he walks straight for Rakha's corpse, speaking as he always does - steady and placid and very nearly monotone, and for all the world as if Rakha could hear him.

"And in doing so," he goes on, "thou hast earned a place among champions and heroes."

He comes to a halt near Rakha's shoulder. "But, alas..." he says pensively, "thy courage was in opposition to the divine cosmology that bound thee to the Lord of Murder." He makes a low noise at the back of his throat. "Thou art now faithless - godless - and doomed to wander the Fugue Plane for eternity."

Wyll can't help it. He releases a soft, strangled noise of grief and despair. It is a final blow on top of all the others. Rakha, after fighting such a terrible battle for her soul, is doomed to spend forever trapped in the purgatorial emptiness of the Fugue... and he can do nothing to help her. Perhaps nothing to find her when his time comes.

How will I bear it?

Withers pauses, lifts his head and turns his eyes very briefly to Minsc, to Minthara, to Jaheira. His gaze lingers perhaps a moment longer on Wyll - and Wyll fancies he sees something almost like sympathy in those unblinking eyes. Then the moment passes, and Withers' attention returns to Rakha's corpse.

"I will not permit that," he says gravely, "though all the powers of life and death dictate that it should be so."

He lifts one hand.

Were Rakha able to open her eyes, she would see a sensational show of light and color, the Weave rippling and then twisting outward, opening a path beyond the Realms and into the existence beyond, a tunnel into oblivion. But Wyll, watching, sees only that Withers twists his hand into a fist and pulls at something unseen.

"I too," the skeleton murmurs, "still hold some power. And I invest a portion of it in thee, who hath challenged the gods..." The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly. "...and now liveth to tell of it."

He jerks his hand downward sharply, releasing the fist and splaying his fingers out flat. "Thy fight is not over - and it is thy fight, for one who can look upon Bhaal and oppose him can survive any crisis."

Wyll watches in fear and wonderment and sudden desperate hope as Rakha's body is abruptly wrapped in tendrils of pale blue magic. Her whole form spasms, her back arching, her face twisting with pain.

"So rise, Challenger of Gods!" booms Withers. "And prepare for battle once more! Death will not claim thee whilst I endure!"

The magic bursts, and Rakha rolls to the side and curls inward on herself, drawing a hoarse, shuddering breath.

-----

For a long time she simply lies there, breathing. It seems to take terrible effort, monumental effort. And then a little less so, and then less.

What... what happened...?

She remembers nothing after Bhaal ripped his blood from her. Only blackness, and then a grey haze and... calm. Silence. Emptiness. Nothing at all. It must have gone on forever-- except now it is gone, and she feels the rush of blood pulsing in her ears like a thundering drumbeat. Everything feels loud and immediate and overly real, as if its edges has been sharpened.

She stares at the carved stone beneath her, fascinated by the lines and patterns etched in it and unwilling to face the extent of reality that lies beyond it.

But finally she has no choice. With a soft moan of pain and effort, she forces herself onto her front, then up onto her knees.

Withers is watching her with quiet, placid attention. As she looks up at him, he inclines his head back at her. Bits and pieces of his words start to filter through the empty haze of her mind, the invocation that drew her back into the world of the living.

Rise, Challenger of Gods, and prepare for battle once more.

She is so tired. So terribly, terribly exhausted. And it feels as if there is nothing inside her, no energy to draw on, none of the usual rage and violence that spurs her to action. She is... empty.

And it was quiet, wherever she was before. She has been desperate for quiet for so long.

"I just want to rest," she whispers. "Death... seemed so peaceful."

(A/N: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

"There is no rest for those like thee, faithless," Withers says, and his tone is oddly gentle. "But when victory is won, I swear I shall find thee a home."

Rakha stirs uncertainly, her head lifting just a little. Home. She has no knowledge of the concept; she remembers nothing but the beast and the road. And... Wyll...

She wants to turn, to look for him, but she finds she can't turn her eyes from Withers, from that strange and inescapable gaze. A miniscule, struggling little flame of curiosity and puzzlement sparks up within that great emptiness inside her.

"Who are you?" she asks in a low voice.

He raises one shoulder in a slight shrug. "A scribe, a seneschal," he says mildly. "A keeper of records. And now thine advocate, both here and in the City of the Dead."

An advocate. Rakha swallows. Whatever Withers is, why should he advocate for her anywhere, after all she has done? There is an ocean of blood on her hands; Bhaal's taint drove her to so much killing, and even more that she cannot remember.

And it was finally going to be over. A fitting end for one who lived as she did - her mind finally free, her body punished as befit the crime.

"I deserved to die," she whispers, "for all the evil I have done..."

Withers shakes his head slowly. "The sole way to atone for thine actions," he says, "is to do better in a new dawn." He leans forward slightly, taking a step closer to her. "That dawn has come."

She slumps wearily away from the suggestion. Her limbs don't seem to want to obey her commands; her heart is still trying to remember how to pump. The dawn he describes is far too bright for her to look at.

But his voice presses around her, implacable - simultaneously comforting and rousing.

"Bhaal tried to extinguish thee," he explains. "But his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew. The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his."

Rakha considers this. She looks inward. She listens - and realizes that he is right.

The beast is gone. There is no growl lingering at the back of her mind, no hunger for vengeance and slaughter. She does not feel the flickering and inescapable eagerness to shed the blood of everyone in the room.

She simply sits, empty and hollow, herself and no more. The tadpole still squirms in her skull, but its trembling is nothing by comparison.

The beast... is gone.

She begins to shiver violently.

Withers perhaps can see the way she responds, because his voice softens a little. "But there is a new part of you that hath grown during thy travels," he says. "That part Bhaal could not extinguish. And so... instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew."

She doesn't answer. She has no words. Tears begin unbidden to stream down her face, and she doesn't know if they are joy or grief. She cries silently, sitting on her knees in her own blood, and Withers watches her unblinkingly.

There is a new part of you that hath grown during thy travels. She knows it is true; she has fought so hard for that part of herself that Bhaal did not own. But she does not know what it looks like; she has only ever seen it wrapped in shadows, with the beast's teeth in its throat.

Wyll hesitates, then takes a step forward. He wants to run to her, to take her in his arms and feel that she's real and alive and breathing, to hold her through the emotion now engulfing her - but Jaheira puts a hand on his arm, holding him back, and he knows she's right. He knows what it is to be changed irrevocably by a force beyond one's control.

Instead he speaks, his voice low and gentle, all the love he can muster going into every syllable. "Was there ever any doubt?" he asks softly. "You are a champion. You overcome."

He has told her so from the beginning. He has seen the light she carries in herself, no matter how much the darkness tried to snuff it out, and he has loved her for it and for the way she fought to hold it. He has seen it more clearly than she has seen it herself.

Her head jerks, turning to look at him for a moment. There's recognition in her eyes, but gods... she looks so broken. So... confused.

"The heart of a savior hath overshadowed the mind of a murderer," Withers says gravely. "Thou hast vanquished thine Urge."

Rakha's voice is thick when she tries to speak again, the tears still streaming down her face. There is no sobbing, no hitch to her breath, just... tears, unending, exhausted. "Did you know my nature?" she asks. "All this time?"

Withers nods slowly. "I know all. But to state truths is to interfere, for the minds of mortals are easily swayed. My place, for the most part, is to observe. This intervention, the reclamation of thy soul, is beyond mine ordinary remit. But thou art extraordinary, and so are these times."

He rests a hand on her shoulder. She feels the cool dryness of his palm through her bloodstained shirt. "Today," he tells her, "thou art born anew."

She lets out a shuddering breath. Yes... she is alive. For better or worse, she lives, empty and baffled as she always has been. Perhaps even a little more empty and baffled than before. But... one thing has not changed from her moment of death.

The terrifying blankness where the beast sat, the emptiness that she must now learn to fill, does not change the fact that she is free. She stood strong at the moment when all might have come crashing down.

She draws another breath and looks up past Withers now. And the first face she sees is Jaheira's.

The older woman is looking at her with an intense gaze, some deep emotion working at the corner of her mouth. It takes Rakha some time to recognize it because she does not believe she has ever seen it directed at her before. It is pride.

"A genuine pleasure to meet you again, my friend," Jaheira says softly, and Rakha feels some of the death-chill start to recede, a flicker of strange warmth flooding her body.

"Minsc had his doubts about you, little Slayer," Minsc says with a slight grin. "But Boo had none."

Rakha, astonishingly, feels herself laugh - a coughing, choking, uncertain thing, but a laugh nevertheless.

And then Wyll steps into her vision.

"You fought and you prevailed," he says softly. "Your future will be what you make of it."

He takes her hand, pulls her to her feet, and before she has quite registered what she's doing, she presses herself into his arms, kissing him fiercely, desperately.

What *we* make of it.

When the kiss finally breaks, she turns her head to find Withers watching her with that same steady, unblinking gaze.

"Greet the bloodless dawn, child of none," he says.

(A/N: What a great line, goddamn.)

Rakha grips one of Wyll's hands to steady herself and forces another slow, shaky breath. Her mind still feels so... odd, even more patchwork than usual with new pieces torn out of it. She is used to the rhythm of fighting with the urges inside her head; without them to battle against she feels off-balance, as if she missed a step going downstairs.

"I... have no idea what to do," she admits. Her voice is unchanged in some ways - still curt, still serious and contralto and gravelly. But they can all hear the softening of its edges, missing the unsheathed dagger that always sat behind her thoughts no matter the situation.

"Thy path is clear," Withers says calmly. "You must save Baldur's Gate. As it was, so it is again. A hero has risen from a legacy of death."

[parchmentknight]

realizing that i am an outlier in fandoms because i do not ship anyone with anyone

[eebie]

i cant keep it hidden any longer