#memories of unwritten futures

[writergeekrhw]

In the special features for Star Trek, the producers and writers often refer to Trek as a "period piece" in the same vein as Jane Austen or Bonanza, just set in the future instead of the past.

With this in mind, 90's Trek had very distinctive language usage. It is formal, even stilted at times, but it comes off as erudite and evolved. Even Patrick Stewart has commented how he could always tell when Star Trek was on TV because he'd hear the dialogue and recognize that distinctive formalness.

From a narrative perspective, this choice falls in line with the whole "humanity has evolved" theme. But from a technical writing standpoint, it seems to have served a much more important purpose of setting the time period by scrubbing the dialogue of any time-stamped, current slang.

So in this future universe setting, casual, current language (such as F bombs) would be akin to one of us using slang from the 1600's. It's jarring not because it's crass (for some it is), but because it cracks the suspension of disbelief that what we are watching is set in different time period because they are using our language, not theirs.

I apologize for the massive run up to this question (maybe I've completely missed the mark with my musings) but what were the instructions you were given that gave DS9's dialogue that "period piece" feel?

Good observations regarding language use in Star Trek.

There were no specific instructions on how to write "proper" Star Trek dialogue. It was mostly learning by doing. But we adhered to the same unwritten rules as TNG, and that could be gleaned from reading scripts and watching episodes. Once I started on the job, a few things became quickly apparent to me:

Avoid slang.

Avoid religious expressions.

Generally, dialogue between Starfleet characters should be respectful (or even warm), slightly formal, and thoughtful.

Playful is fine, but not too goofy.

Use metric units.

Most aliens don't use contractions or use them minimally.

There are probably plenty more that I learned (and adhered to) unconsciously, but those were the ones that jump out in memory.

[suugarbabe]

Always

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x y/n

Warnings: slow burn, fluff, smut-adjacent? I guess

Summary: You & Theo have been best friends since year 1. Mattheo has been crushing on you since around the same time; everyone thinks you and Theo are going to end up together but both you and Theo have others in your sights.

You had met Theo your first ever day at Hogwarts. Really you had met him on the train; you had been so nervous that you were going to miss the train you made your mum get you there extra early. You had found a compartment to yourself in the back, making tiny paper birds with notebook paper and flicking your wand up and down to make them dance. It was a simple spell, a children’s spell really that your mum had taught you. It helped calm you down.

You heard more students arriving on the train the closer it got to 9:00. You weren’t bothered that no one had joined you yet, it was almost more peaceful that way. At 8:59, your compartment door flew open and a mess of brown curls was standing with his back to you, shouting down the car pathway, “Down here, Teddy, c’mon!” The curly haired boy plopped down across from you and almost jumped out of his skin, “Merlin! Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. I’m Mattheo.” You gave a weak smile, but didn’t say anything as another boy came rushing in - more like stumbling- and sat right next to you. He had sandy brown hair and was as skinny as a bean pole. You made a mental note to watch out for his inevitable clumsy-ness in the future.

“I’m Theo, thanks for letting us sit with you. We almost missed the bloody train,” he gave you a crooked smile that reached his eyes. “Teddy and I are first years, I’m assuming you’re the same by your robes,” Mattheo spoke again, tearing open a chocolate frog and shoving half in his mouth. You nodded your head, pulling a knee to your chest. “I told you, it’s Theo now, we’re going to school, it’s Theo not Teddy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Not happenin’, Mate.”

“What’s your name?” Theo turned back to you, smile plastered on his face again. “Y/n,” you spoke barely above a whisper, but Theo nodded, repeating your name to himself over and over again like he was committing it to memory. “She must like you better than me, Teddy, she didn’t speak to me at all when I first walked in,” Mattheo mumbled through mouthfuls of chocolate. The tips of Theo’s earns burned the slightest shade of pink, you found it endearing. “You’re gonna have to get used to me sometime, Princess, we’re all gonna be best friends now.” You turned back to Mattheo, confusion clearly written on your face.

He rolled his eyes again, “It’s like an unwritten rule, duh. The people you sit with on the train your first time to Hogwarts end up being your best friends for life.” You took a deep breath, “Well if I’m stuck with you guys for life, I have a few rules.” Both boys sat up a little straighter, listening intently. “You need to learn to eat with your mouth shut,” you gave your want a small flick in Mattheo’s direction, shutting his mouth immediately. Theo threw his head back in laughter, wiping his eyes, “Okay, you’re definitely going to have to teach me that one.”

“And you,” you turned to Theo, “have to let me call you Teddy.” Theo smiled widely, “If you teach me that mouth sealing spell you can call me whatever you want.” You flicked your wrist again, releasing Mattheo from the spell. He gasped for air dramatically like he had been gagged, “I don’t know when, but I’ll get you back for that one, Mouse. I don’t know when, but expect it.” You tilted your head, “Mouse?” Mattheo smiled proudly to himself, “Yeah, ‘cause when I first came in you were as quiet as a mouse.” You felt your face get hot, your stomach fluttering with butterflies.

You were the last of the three of you to get sorted. The sigh of relief you let out was massive when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin with your new friends. Theo’s long arm was waving like crazy, beckoning you over to him and Mattheo. The next several years consisted of you three growing closer and closer. You and Mattheo would always argue back and forth. But overall you felt closest to Theo. He was like your brother. You cared for each other at parties, fell asleep on each other in the common room, wore his extra quidditch jersey to games.

People asked you both all the time why you didn’t date. So when Pansy asked you again at the beginning of sixth year you had to roll your eyes. “Me and Teddy? No way, yuck!” You gagged, “he’s like my brother. That’s incest Pans, gross. Never ever no.” She laughed at your response, but still seemed a bit nervous. You raised your eyebrows, “Wait why…do you…OH MERL-” Pansy slapped her hand over your mouth, “Shut it, y/n! Do you want to wake up the rest of the girls? Yes, okay. I’m crushing on Theo.” She covered her face with her hands, groaning and presumably hiding her cheeks that were most definitely bright red.

“Oh this is great, truly,” you smiled. “Honestly, you don’t know how happy this makes me, Pans.” The girl across from you lifted her head, “Why does this make you so happy, Y/n.” Pansy was definitely suspicious at your tone of voice and just your eagerness in general. “Because…” you grinned, “a certain gangly limbed, brown haired boy told me he had a crush on a bombshell black haired girl this summer.” Pansy sat there, blank look on her face. You groaned, “Merlin’s beard…Pansy, Teddy told me he’s had a crush on you for the last year.”

Pansy squealed with excitement but quickly covered her mouth, glancing over at the other girls in the room making sure they where still sleeping. “You know what this means, right?” She sat up on her knees, practically bouncing as she spoke to you. You nodded, in full understanding, “It means we have to make sure you look hot as shit for the welcome party tomorrow.” Pansy nodded, “We both need to look hot as shit.” “Wait why we? Who do I have to look hot for?” You questioned. Pansy tucked herself into her duvet, “That’s for me to know…and you to find out tomorrow.”

——————————

As sixth years you were in charge of party planning. You and Pansy had designated yourselves as lead party planners making sure everything was perfect. You had gotten ready together, making sure each other looked “extra hot” as Pansy stated. You were still clueless as to who you were looking hot for, but you still went along with it. You both let the party get started before you made an entrance. As the pair of you made it across the room you found your group of boys. By the second week of your first year, the group had expanded from just you, Theo and Mattheo to include not only Pansy but also Draco, Blaise and Lorenzo.

Theo’s eyes were glued to Pansy the moment he clocked you guys across the room. You smiled, thanking Merlin that Theo would likely finally get a girlfriend and put the stupid dating rumors for you two to rest. He spoke up immediately, “You look amazing Pansy.” She blushed slightly, “Thank you, Theo. You look pretty good yourself.” The tops of Theo’s earn turned the slightest of pink as his smile grew, still crooked as always. He stood up, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.

“You’re looking fucking sexy, too, Y/n-” Enzo started his sentence but was quickly cut off with a flick of Mattheo’s wand, sealing his mouth shut with the charm you had taught the young boy so many years ago causing the rest of the group to burst out laughing. “Can I, erm, talk to you, Mouse? Alone?” Mattheo stood from his seat. You crossed your arms, “Not until you release, Enzo.” He rolled his eyes, flicking his wand again. Enzo opened his jaw wide, moving it around and making chomping movements with his mouth, “You can rightfully piss off for that one.”

Mattheo just gave him the finger before grabbing your hand. You couldn’t help the way your heart raced when his skin made contact with yours. It didn’t always used to be like this. Sure, you had a slight crush when you were eleven, but he was adorable, all the girls had a crush. It had died down a little when he started hooking up with Astoria Greengrass in year three. But last year, when Mattheo started keeping to himself more, not even hooking up with random girls your crush had time to blossom again.

You did your best to keep it to yourself. You two were still close, not as close as you and Theo, but that’s only because doing things like falling asleep on Theo’s shoulder was nothing. If you were to do that on Mattheo, you’d probably fail every test the next day over analyzing every move and breath he took. Mattheo stopped walking when you two made it to the hallway leading to the boys dorms. The silencing charm cut off right before the halls, making it much quieter and easier to talk there than inside the party.

“What’s going on Mattheo, why did you need to talk out here? And why were you mean to Enzo, he was just telling me how nice I looked, he’s allowed-”

“No,” Mattheo started through gritted teeth, “he’s not allowed, and he was being inappropriate to you.” You scoffed, crossing your arms, “Excuse me?” Mattheo turned away from you, yanking down on his curls. “Mattheo Marvelo, look at me this instant!” He whipped around, slamming a hand on the wall next to your head. You jumped slightly, letting out a small yelp. “He is not allowed to say those things to you, Mouse,” Mattheo spoke softly, his jaw was clenched and he kept his eyes shut, clearly trying to keep himself calm.

You reached up, placing a hand on his cheek, “Why?” The boy relaxed into your touch as he took a deep breath. He opened his eyes, meeting yours as you stared back at him. He held eye contact with you; you had always loved Mattheo’s eyes. Theo would tease him and tell him they were “so brown because he was full of shit”. But you were always quick to defend him. Mattheo’s eyes reminded you of mahogany in the middle. He had the richest shade of brown along the rim of his iris, when the sun caught his face on the train that first day you knew you’d be done for long term.

“Talk to me, Matty, what’s wrong?” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the nickname. You noticed his eyes flick from your own, down to your lips and back. Your heart rate picked up, not quite believing what he might be thinking. When his eyes flicked down again, you got a surge of confidence moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. You pulled him closer, hearing his breath hitch as your lips met.

Your fingers tangled into his dark curls, his hand that wasn’t holding his weight on the wall found your waist. He took a step closer to you, essentially trapping you against the wall, the front of his body now flush to yours. You mind was tangled, you placed your hands on Mattheo’s chest, pushing him back slightly. “What’s wrong?” He asked, “Was it bad did I mess up?” You shook your head, smiling, “No, it was, gosh it was amazing, I just don’t understand how, or why, it’s happening.”

Mattheo rested his forehead against yours, “I’ve always loved you, Mouse. It’s always been you. Ever since that first day on the train, when you charmed my mouth shut with that little attitude of yours.” You smiled at the memory as he continued, “Merlin, no one had ever done anything like that to me before. I didn’t understand it at first but I felt love for you in that moment. When everyone started saying you and Theo should date, I got so jealous. I wanted it to be me. But you were always so much closer with him. I tried to date other girls, to chase that feeling I felt that first time we met but they never did it for me. Not like you, Y/n.”

Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. The boy you had been pining after for years just basically told you he loved you since he met you, that his feelings were the same as yours. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead you tilted your head up slightly, capturing his mouth with yours. He pulled you closer, seemingly not being able to get enough of you in that moment.

In what felt like entirely too soon he pulled away, “We should get back to everyone else, yeah?” You smiled, nodding your head, “Yeah, s’pose so.” He laced his fingers with yours, leading you back to the couch your friends were sitting. Pansy and Theo now sitting down, Pansy’s legs thrown casually over Theo’s. As the two of you got closer, Pansy’s eyes panned down to your hands. She slapped Theo’s chest, pointing toward you and Mattheo. “Oh thank MERLIN,” Theo exclaimed, causing everyone’s eyes to follow, smiles forming on everyone’s faces. Enzo sat up, “Fucking Salazar, finally! We were so tired of hearing Mattheo drown on and on about you, Y/n, year after yea-” in an instant his mouth was charmed shut. Everyone turned to look at Mattheo who put his arms up in defense. You slid your wand back in your holder on your leg, shrugging your shoulders, “He talks too much sometimes.”

[the-artist-grimm]

Closeup plus basic notes of the lamb's room from my Starfall comic! Anthea's got a room in the attic of the temple

Also extra notes! Placing under Read More just to keep things tidy

The One Who Waits Alter

Anthea started worshipping TOWW shortly after entering Ratau's care. The rat hadn't exactly planned on telling his freshly orphaned, somewhat traumatized ward that their new guardian was previously a cult leader, but Anthea discovered some of his old books on the lost 5th Bishop of Death one day and Ratau was left little choice but to explain. The book was an exact copy of an extremely old, likely from right before Narinder was imprisoned, text that depicted the god of death as a kind, patient being, which for the lamb whose family had died in the most violent way possible quickly became a comfort. It contrasted Ratau's own memories of a somewhat more reserved, stern god, but since it made Anthea happier he decided to let it be. Anthea hasn't missed a nightly prayer ever since, and still does it before bed despite now having direct access to the god himself. The layout was one they read from that old book, which stated that a pentagram wreath was to hang between an evenly divided four candles. Unwritten however was the reasoning-the center was Death, and on either side his siblings who ruled over Life. They were meant to be lit in honor of the siblings who took care of the mortals Narinder would eventually receive after death.

Stars and Starmap

Back when he was still alive the lamb's father, Aries, would take Anthea with him on supply runs knowing they didn't get much one on one time otherwise with their younger siblings around. They'd sometimes be out overnight so the two would go stargazing, and its something the lamb still holds dear. Their original copy of the book, 'A Story of Stars' was one of his last gifts to them which even while he was alive Anthea was super careful with it since books are hard to get, but their brothers kinda colored all over it while Anthea was out gathering supplies shortly after his death one time. The lamb played it off and shared with them after as a 'oh they're little and just miss dad its ok' type of thing, but it was kinda reluctantly, with them being secretly upset about it whenever they saw scribbles all over their favorite illustrations while reading to the kids. It burned with their old life, and now Anthea would give anything to have those scribbled pages back.

Sleep Potions and Herbs

The lamb suffers from sleep problems and often brews their own remedies. They know not to take them often since they're kinda really strong-like once they kick in they literally just pass out, but they keep them around for when nightmares get bad. They know a few other remedies from Flinky, since he used to double as both Ratau's right hand and cult medic. Antidotes, pain tonics, basic essentials for when you don't have a doctor.

The Crown

Gonna make a silly doodle comic but after an uh...awkward incident with Narinder calling the lamb while they were dressing one morning the two made a deal in regards to his being able to see through the crown-if the crown is off and facing a wall it means the lamb needs privacy and he's to try again later or until they call back unless told otherwise. Look he may be a bit of a grumpy god but Shamura raised at least one brother to be a gentleman lol

Hope Chest

In sheep culture weaving/knitting with wool was a huge thing, especially for ewes, like most learned from the time they could walk from their mothers. After coming of age most would start keeping a chest they'd gradually fill with handmade linens, blankets, ect. for their future homes after marriage, and it was something Ratau encouraged Anthea to do since he didn't want them to just drop their culture. They still got a loom over at his place since it's hard to move, though they do have knitting needles in the chest.

Books

Books are somewhat hard to come by if you're not in one of the Bishops' cults where they have scribes so Anthea tends to collect any and all they find

Ratau's Family Crest

Given to the lamb on their 18th birthday. Rats have family crests tattooed onto their foreheads at 18, and since he'd essentially adopted Anthea Ratau thought it was fitting to give them something similar but not permanent. It fell off during their execution, but they made sure to go back and grab it after downing the heretics that attacked after resurrection. They still wear it now under their tunic

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Another Word For Protection Masterlist

NAVIGATION || Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Niece!reader (Platonic series)

❝ [There were many different words and examples for protection. Ways of saying it and ways of showing it; all varied from one person to another, oftentimes held reserved for the few that they love the most.

Defense, sanctuary, guidance, barrier, and buffer. A watchful eye and a steady hand.

It all led back to the same overarching meaning at the end of the day. You didn't need all of those fancy words to tell you what the sensation of it felt like, to be cared about. To you, another word for protection wasn't even a word at all, it was a single name:

Simon Riley.] ❞

WARNINGS ➺ Talks about death, murder, Simon's comic backstory & the themes that they carry with them, abductions, tense situations, etc. (Specific warnings stated/implied in each work)

This will be a small collection of fics featuring Uncle Simon & Niece Reader! It will include any future requests I might get for them/ideas I come up with myself/random thoughts, drabbles, or blurbs. No set update schedule or anything.

THOUGHTS ➺

✎ SIMON & SCHOOL SHOWS

╰┈➤❝ [Thinking about how Uncle!Simon would try his best to be at every school event that a young Niece!Reader has, even if he has to race out of the base to get there on time.] ❞

✎ SIMON & HIS MEMORIES

╰┈➤❝ [Thinking about Uncle!Simon and how he would try his best to tell a young Niece!Reader about her parents, brother, and grandma when she asked him where they were.] ❞

DRABBLES ➺

✎ SOLE SURVIVOR

╰┈➤❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

FULL WORKS ➺

✎ BLUE VIOLET

╰┈➤❝ [You were his best kept secret.] ❞

✎ MONKSHOOD - unwritten

╰┈➤❝ [Undetermined] ❞

IMAGE: Jean-Baptiste Monnoyer, Floral still life

FANART:

Platonic Simon & Platonic Price fic Doodles

I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform/A.I. program.

[intuitive-revelations]

FLUXES [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "DOCTOR, The"

[Image description, courtesy of @quailfence: a series of pictures of text, alternated with screencaps and gifs from Doctor Who.

1: Text: Fluxes: [Celestis: Engineered Participants/Technology] Individuals transposed backwards in time but not too far in space, using a very high chaotic limiter setting and tied to their home period by a thread of biodata

2: The Eleventh Doctor stands in the future corpse of his TARDIS, looking and a pulsing stream of light that has replaced the console. He says, "That is the scar tissue of my journey through the universe. My path through time and space."

3: Text: He raised a finger. 'Look. There.

Now she could just make out the thread in the moonlight. It was just a faint reflection, maybe a foot or two long, about a metre off the ground. A taut strand of spiderweb hanging in the air, not attached to anything.

'What is it?' Fitz asked.

'It's only partially rotated into three dimensions,' he said. He pushed his finger right through the glimmering line, without affecting it. 'That's why it looks one- or two-dimensional. The rest is still perpendicular to what we can see - woven into higher space, or the time vortex…'

'Yes,' said Fitz, 'but what is it?' 'It's what your friend mistook for a ley line.' The Doctor was scuttling around the silver thread, peering at it from every angle, getting more and more agitated. 'It's part of the fabric of space-time itself. What DNA is to your genetic code, this stuff is to biodata. And it's all just exposed here now. Personality, history, memory, perception, all vulnerable…'

'I'm going to have to ask you again, aren't I?' said Fitz.

The Doctor said, 'It's me.'

4: The Fourteenth and Fifteenth doctors in the TARDIS. 14: "But you're fine?" 15: "I'm fine, because you fixed yourself. We're Time Lords, we're doing rehab out of order."

5: Text: The subject is turned loose in his or her own history, and the limiter setting allows tiny actions taken by the future version to have considerable effects on the past version. The biodata link then transfers these changes to the future version, which alters it, and thus alters the changes made to the past version. Therefore, the individual's history is kept constantly in flux.

6: The Fugitive Doctor says, "Let me take it from the top: Hello, I'm the Doctor."

7: Text: Let me finish. Think back to that time when you went to see your previous selves.

8: Ten, Eleven, and War talk to each other. Ten: "You're not actually suggesting that we change our own personal history?" Eleven: "We change history all the time. I'm suggesting far worse."

9: Text: 'Maybe there's no one home on Gallifrey,' said the boy softly. There was just the one of him.

The Doctor looked at him, cupping the small white cube in his hands. The boy said, Maybe they all left. Or maybe the whole planet's being destroyed, and undestroyed, and destroyed, and you just caught them at the wrong moment.

10: The TARDIS by the ruins of Gallifrey

11: Text: 'It's impossible,' said the Doctor. 'It's impossible for my people. Our past is unreachable. What's written can't be unwritten.'

'Who said your history can't change?'

Another boy answered, 'Someone from his history.'

And another: 'Maybe it's the second-biggest lie in Time Lord history.'

12: Dhawan!Master tells Thirteen, "You are the Timeless Child."

13: Thitreen stares at a ruined house. Swarm whispers in her ear and tells her, "All the memories you've lost, all the people you've been. It's all in there, contained within that house."

14: Text: And it was like the Doctor's home. As if his ship understood the loss of the House and had compensated to fill the emptiness. Shadowy corridors, alcoves and stairways, a secret at every turn. Like being in the Doctor's head. Like his life, for that matter, the details of which were strewn like flotsam across the floor.

15: Text: 'Sweet,' said the little boy. 'That's my favourite of your origin stories, too.'

The Doctor opened his eyes. He had been laughing, he realised, he felt that lightness in himself. The boys had all moved away, behind him, leaving him facing the empty dark of the warehouse.

'What do you mean?' he asked. His voice sounded very small.

'Is this the version where they banned all mention of his name, and yours, for consorting with aliens? Or the one where he got every record of himself deleted from the files?'

'Feel free to believe either of them,' snapped the Doctor, 'or both of them, or neither of them. If you're curious about my past, I want there to be as many wrong answers as possible.'

16: The Eighth Doctor tells someone, "I'm half human. On my mother's side."

17: Text: 'Well he's a hybrid, you know that. A Gallifreyan not born of Gallifreyan, the one who unites the two races and brings good old human niceness into their alien society. Aliens need that, y'know.'

'A human hybrid? She saw the contempt in his curling lip. 'Pseudoscientific nonsense. There's no evidence,' he repeated.

'He's allowed to be different. He's got a prophecy and everything.'

18: Lady Me says, "By your own reasoning, why couldn't the Hybrid be half Time Lord, half human?"

19: Text: Someone giggled. 'Let's play pin the tale on the donkey.'

'Maybe you didn't use to have a father.'

'Maybe you're living in the middle of a time war. Maybe there's an Enemy out there -'

The Doctor shouted, 'I'm not listening!'

'- who's rewriting you when you're not looking!'

'Maybe you weren't always half human.'

'But now you've become always half human.' 'Maybe you weren't always a Time Lord.'

But now you've always been a Time Lord.'

'Maybe you originally came from some planet in the forty-ninth century. Fleeing from the Enemy who'd overrun your home -'

'I said I'm not listening! Laa laa laa laa laa -'

'- and you've just been written and rewritten and overwritten, ever since.'

'Pin the tale!'

'How d'you know it's not true?'

'How could you know it's not true?'

The voices crowded in. 'How would you know, huh?'

'How would you know?'

'How would 'How would you 'How 'How would you know? you know? you know? know?'

'Why would I care?' shouted the Doctor.

The boy fell silent.

20: Lady Me asks, "Am I right? Is it true?" Twelve replies, "Does it matter?"

21: Text: However, the one group from the Homeworld which has excelled at flux-engineering is the Celestis.

22: Two asks the Time Lords, "Now then… what about me?"

23: Tecteun tells Thirteen, "Which is ehy we engineered the Fluyx: Shut the universe down and you within it."

24: Text: Even Mictlan itself can be considered a kind of enormous flux, an endlessly-shifting realm so cortosive to the rest of history that its heartland has to be kept on the outer skin of the universe

24: The Fourteenth Doctor tells Donna, "I invoked a supersition, at the edge of the universe, where the walls are thin and everything is possible."

25: The space station from Wild Blue Yonder

26: Text: There are suggestions of a stable middle-ground between the two fates, in which the physical matter of the flux is lost but the meaning of the subject/ victim is retained, a series of memetic connections with no flesh to support it. Yet this entity exists only on a purely theoretical level, relying on the perceptions of others to survive at all.

27: The Twelfth Doctor walks up to the TARDIS console. He says, "Can't wait to hear what I say." Glancing at the viewer, he adds, "I'm noting without an audience."

28: Text: You know what Sam represents. If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to hear it, does it make a sound? Stop me if I'm getting too abstract here, but if a Time Lord saves the world and nobody witnesses him doing it, does history care? She's your witness. The thing you need to make you whole.

29: The First Doctor looks at the viewer and says, "Incidentally, a Happy Christmas to all of you at home!" End description.]

[Plain text: Fluxes [Celestis: Engineered Participants / Technologies] Example: "Doctor, The". End plain text.]

@dw-described

[paintersknife]

Lost

I was asked for a Silver Knight fic, so here's a Silver Knight fic

TW: suicide (it's not graphic)

He has been here before. He has been here before, too many times to count. So why does it feel different now? Has she always had such fear in her eyes? Something twists in his gut, a long forgotten instinct. Like a beast recoiling from fire? No, something deeper, like a bird hearing its chick call for them with the melody that only they share. On instinct, Cael clutches her closer to himself, seeing the flicker of hope that ignites in her eyes. The hope that reality will soon smother, that misplaced dream that he can save her. As desperately as he wants to fulfil that dream, he knows it’s impossible. He knows that his hands were made to destroy, not to save. Never to save. Blood bubbles out from the corner of her mouth as she tries to force out the sounds that make his name, and memories surface, unbidden. He remembers her whimpering his name the first time he held her like this, trying to comfort her in the purgatory that lasts until time finally resets itself around her. He remembers the time after that, when she had clutched his sleeve– Just like she clutches it now– how her fingers lost their grip as life ebbed from her body. He remembers how every single time, his name had been upon her last breath. How every single time, his face was always the last thing she saw. The only thing he can do now is to comfort her, to stroke her hair as her ragged breaths quiet and finally cease. She won't remember this death, just like she wouldn't remember the countless others before it, but that is barely any consolation. 

Before the world around him dissolves into static, he is overtaken by the urge to press his lips to her forehead, and so he does, his touch lighter than the snow falling around the both of them.

The motion feels familiar somehow, like something half-dreamt and barely remembered, but somehow right. 

But before he can question it any further, he finds himself once again in the Silver Knight’s tent, lonelier and colder than it has ever been.

His gloved hands curl into fists as he sends Liam away with some perfunctory words. None of this had bothered him before, so why now? 

She is merely the charge left to him by his superior, an obligation, a burden. So why does she suddenly stir something in the deepest recesses of his memory, in a murky place that even the Empire hadn’t been able to touch? 

These thoughts are of no help to him. All he knows is that he cannot bear to see this happen to her again. He will let her go, severing this cursed bond that he has trapped her with.

Her own path lies ahead, unwritten.

He should not interfere.

-

Even after he sets her free, Cael isn’t able to stop himself from watching her journey from afar. She’s breathtaking, he muses, seeing her fight. The complete opposite of his creations that she destroys, the painter is meticulous, precise, just like her brushstrokes, shattering their rime crusted wings into crystalline dust. There’s a dancer’s elegance in her movements, and he laughs ruefully, knowing that this was something that she doesn’t realise about herself. 

The fire in her eyes was made to temper, not consume.

So how can he dare to covet it so?

He’s envious of her, of that changeability, that limitless growth. It won’t be long now before she surpasses her mother, his superior that he had looked up to. 

How will he see her then? 

With the same reverence? 

With pride? Suddenly, he’s afraid, a deep ache making itself known in the space under his ribs. She’s a beautiful thing, never staying still, always evolving. He’s the opposite, like cold marble to her limitless ivy. How long would it take for her to outgrow him? She would deny it, of course, but he knows her well. He has already seen it in their unwritten future, how she would cripple her own wings for his sake, and never for a moment blame him. Regret was something she would never do, so he would carry it for the both of them, even knowing that it would ruin them both. He can already see himself as the hand that pinions her, taking the hand she offers him only to pull her down.

The painter scatters the last of the butterflies in front of her, taking a moment to catch her breath before she hurries off again, going to check on the people that came with her. The Silver Knight watches her treat their wounds with care, her smile warm enough to drive back the harsh bite of eternal winter.

It is in her nature to love others, and receive love in return.

A stray glacial butterfly flutters towards him, the sole survivor of her earlier performance. Its flight is crooked, its wings bent and torn by her illustra. 

It is in his nature to destroy, to be the hand that seizes victory.

His fingers close around the butterfly, beautiful, ethereal, and fragile, just like she is. Tearing his eyes away from her, he finally leaves, crushed gossamer wings the only trace of his presence.

There’s an emptiness in his chest, an endless abyss. One that he never knew was there. Until now.

Cael yearns to step into the light beside her. Prefect Silver knows that it’s impossible.

The place by her side could not ever belong to him.

-

The script demands the Silver Knight attack the capital and he plays his role dutifully, knowing that she should be safe beside the man that she has chosen. 

It only takes a second, a momentary lapse in his usually impeccable awareness. The dagger that buries itself into his side is meaningless to him, and he easily tears it from his body, slashing the throat of the knight that dared to wound him. Cael’s legs lose their strength and he realises it was coated with venom, but even then, it is nothing but an annoyance, something that would only immobilise him momentarily. What makes his blood truly run cold is the familiar voice that screams his name. 

He turns, and he can remember that look on her face, the earth shattering grief that looks as if it would crush her. It was something he saw often when she lost her mother, but he doesn’t understand why he sees it again. That was a look reserved for those she loved. It can’t be for him. It shouldn’t. By his own hands, he has ruined this world she holds so dear and is so fervently trying to save. They are soaked with the blood of multitudes, stained so deeply that nothing could ever wash them clean again. 

He wants to call out to her, to tell her that monsters don’t die so easily, but the toxin still has him in its sway.

She falls to her knees, desperate, trembling, as she closes her hands around the hilt of the dagger. Distantly he is aware of the sound of someone screaming the painter’s name, blissfully ignorant to the fact that it comes from his own lips. In a cruel twist, time seems to slow around him, binding his movements more than the toxin does, rejecting his mastery over it as it forces him to look, to only watch her from a distance, just like he had been for the last few years. Her hands are quivering, the tip of the blade wavering as she raises it towards herself, but her expression is as dauntless as it has ever been, as if this is the only thing she's sure of. 

Her lips curl around the syllables that form his name, but he cannot hear it. 

With one thrust, his own heart is pierced.

And shatters.

He roars, finally breaking the intangible chains that have shackled his being in place, his arms barely moving in time to catch her body as it falls. 

Hot tears fall on her cheek, looking like dew on her eyelashes for a moment before they freeze in the frigid cold. He's unaware of them falling from him, unaware of anything except the numb void in his mind and the all consuming ache in his chest as his fingers fumble for the lapis necklace. 

The static he's so intimately familiar with is nowhere to be seen, and his stomach drops, knowing that he would be consigning her to remember this. To remember the disgrace she had to suffer, all for him. His stomach lurches again, but he presses the cold chain to her anyway. He has to. The alternative is unthinkable.

“Please,” he entreats, voice hoarse, fingers clenched so tight his already pale skin loses any remaining colour. He doesn't even know if he's begging her, or begging all of creation or even begging himself. “Please don't. You can't.”

Finally he feels the pull as time begins to realign itself once more and he crushes her limp form to his chest, not wanting to let her go. Afraid to let her go. 

He has always been cold, but her tiny, fragile, broken body seems to sap all the warmth he could ever feel. He doesn’t care. It is the least he can give to her, who had the misfortune of meeting the likes of him.

Her path forward should always be one free from thorns. The one without him.

-

She’s not sure if the memory is even real, or a half recalled dream, twisted by her own despair and longing into the reality that she desperately wishes for. She thinks she remembers the fleeting feeling of his lips brushing her forehead, of words whispered in her ears in that liminal space between dreams and wakefulness.

“Forgive me.”

The only thing she knows is that he’s gone. Others have noticed his absence as well, but it’s easy for them to brush it off as the same as one of his countless routine disappearances. A business trip. A sabbatical. A conference. A vacation. Everyone has an explanation for her, but when she sees the concern and pity in their gazes, the unspoken question of ‘ He’s your guardian, didn’t he tell you?’, she stops talking about it.

So she goes through the motions, as if she too is a ghost that isn’t really there. Time has no hold over her, but now it seems to stretch on infinitely, each solitary second an entire lifetime. 

Are the words that twist in on themselves in the restless nights like unfulfilled infinity even real? “You’ll understand in time,” she thinks he said, but she still doesn't understand. She can’t understand anything, least of all why he isn’t here by her side, his graceful fingers brushing her hair out of her face as he whispers quiet comfort. Instead, she can only mourn him like she mourned her mother, except this time, she’s alone.

Even dreams now bring anguish instead of bliss. All she can find of him there are his faint afterimages, dull, muted, lifeless, as if all the colour in the world has been drained from them. It’s a curse, to be one step behind him where before she would walk by his side, his stride held so she could keep up, something he did only for her. But that was when they had each other, before he left her with only memories and regret.

Some nights she can almost feel his familiar presence, like how she used to when they were merely temporarily parted, and she’s almost sure that if she looks behind her, she’ll be gazing into those lilac eyes and their untold depths. He’s a traveller too, and far more experienced than her so the illusion always shatters, she’s always a mere step behind him, but that step might as well be infinity. Those nights she wakes with tears soaking her pillow and a sadness that curls itself in her chest, settling there to roost. Every night she prays she won’t dream, sometimes she wishes she simply wouldn’t wake. 

“I have to do this… for you.”

How can this be for her own good if she hasn't felt whole since? Like there’s a rent in her soul that can never heal, like how a newly missing limb leaves a person collapsed each time they forget its absence. 

But something deep inside her knows, has always known that he isn't coming back.

Not now. Not ever.

The only thing she can do is spend the rest of her life chasing after a mirage, an apparition, for the words she desperately wants to believe she heard, but will never hear again. 

“I love you,”

Yeah I know I posted that last bit before but it worked so perfectly here that I just adapted it

[futurepastme]

A collection of known prophecies related to Emrys and the Once and Future King

I actually had fun doing this. Quick reminder that english is not my first language. Enjoy.

“(...) scrying, when our sister Winfred went to take her turn. I can still feel all the energy that filled the room when she took her place in front of the crystal, but what I'll remember most, what I won't ever forget, are the words that came out of her mouth that day. A shattered core wilt covereth the w’rld in shade, stealing us of our light; Blood shalt flote the streets, shalt taint our rivers, and soak up our forests; Screams art to feedeth the night, burning the souls of our kin; Fire shalt beest breathed f’r a lasteth time; Full halls wilt wend exsufflicate; And ev’rything yond once wast, shalt beest nay m’re.

–  From the notes of Alma, a high priestess apprentice.”

♦

“(...) a trance, with his eyes going white and his voice deeper than the earth itself. From the ruins and the ashes of a desperate past, a god of light shall grace the men with his blessing. Dark will be his path in his duty towards the light of day; True shall be his nature in his search for his kin; Hope will grace the world once the immortal one meets his fate.

– Urbgen, son of Morrigan; about Merle the hermit.”

♦

“ (...) and with the help of the god, the lightbringer shall mend what has been torn.

– Incomplete passage, unknown source.”

♦

“Guided by his destiny; the King that was and will be shall rise for the first time. Bringing forth the grace of Albion; Freeing the desperate from their plight; Joining his half in their fight against the darkness; The dawn of the new day shall come forth with the guidance of his own blood; Until his need is most again.

– Iudris, Druid leader of the northeast Bexbour Woods clan.”

♦

“(...) I also had a chance to speak with one of the leaders of the fae folk, a polite young maid named Niamh who was kind enough to share with me a little of the fae culture and traditions. Amongst her tellings were some apparently old prophecies that were never written down. And while I have every intention of respecting their traditions, any unwritten prophecy that is known only by word of mouth seems to me a reckless stance, as the memories of men -those who are human or not- tend to fade, and retellings of any old stories are never the same as the original.      It is with that knowledge that I decided to write down, if only for my personal use, one of said prophecies that Niamh shared with me. Like every word-of-mouth retelling, her speech had the structure of an old fable, instead of the traditional form of prophecies that are known for being an almost rhymed riddle.       She starts her tale with a man, a sorcerer, named the most powerful of his time and of every time that was and would be. Emrys, she called him. This Emrys would become the saviour of the magical folk, along with a different man whom she called The Once and Future King. They were to, together, unify the lands under one kingdom of Albion, and bring peace to all living things, born of magic or not, after a period of despair, ashes and blood.      Emrys and the Once and Future King are said to be two parts of a whole, with some believing that the goddess herself chose a brave and kind soul, amongst all souls that were ever forged in the plenitude of existence, and splitted it in two. In one of those halves, the one that should become Emrys, she put so much of her own magic that it is said that that half of the soul became a god itself, ready to bring the goddesses magic back to the barren world. On the other half, she created a leader, just, strong, courageous and owner of a heart so big as to be compared with the one of a mother for her children. He would guide his people with this heart and defend them with his life. That half of the soul would be The Once and Future King.      The two halves are said to never feel complete without the other, always seeking one another at every moment of their lives. And unless they truly let their souls become one, the golden age of Albion would never come forth, and their true destinies would never be completed in its fullest. (...)

– Excerpt from the lost journal of King Bruta, first King of Camelot”

[buckingham-truther]

Chapter One

Characters: Robin Buckley & Chrissy Cunningham. Background Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson

Summary: Just a cute little coffee shop AU

Word Count: 1056

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: This story is very much a work in progress, I have almost no plan for it and so please keep this in mind when reading future chapters. The warning may appear as the plot develops.

The gentle hum of the coffee machine and the talk of customers over it allowed Robin to get too far into her head over the disaster of a date she had been on last night. Becky had been lovely enough but Robin wasn’t sure anything would come of it, something just wasn’t right between the two and she didn’t seem to appreciate Robin's sense of humour.

Steve had been lovely enough and had cut his nightly facetime with Eddie short when she turned up after it, bottle of wine in hand. He assured her that if someone was worth her time she wouldn’t need to hide any part of her. That ‘ her person’ wouldn’t cringe when she stumbled out of the door at the end of the date. She felt bad for interrupting his and Eddie’s evening given that Eddie was on tour and this was one of the few evenings he wasn’t on stage but it was an unwritten rule that Robin came first for Steve and the band came first for Eddie. 

 A jingle from the bell above the door pulled Robin out of her thoughts and she stepped towards the counter and looked up, into the most beautiful blueish grey eyes she had ever seen set into what only she could describe as the face of an angel with a halo of strawberry blonde hair. 

“Wow,” She whispered, “Welcome to Bakin ‘n’ Robins, what can I get you this morning?” Robin asked finally, after what she was sure was too long of a pause.

“Erm can I just take a hazelnut latte with almond milk please? And maybe whatever your favourite from the bakery section is” the woman smiled and didn’t that just make her even more stunning.. 

“Sure, coming right up. It’ll be $6.70 when you’re ready, cash or card?” Robin said as she tapped it all in the till, she was so glad this was all muscle memory at this point because she was sure there wasn't currently a thought in her head aside from how gorgeous this woman was.

“Card please” The woman smiled again and tapped her card on the reader when Robin indicated. 

“Take away or to sit in?” Robin remembered to ask before stepping away to make the order.

“I’ll sit in please, this seems like a super cute place to sit and read” she said, patting the book Robin had failed to notice in her arms. 

“You go and find a seat, I’ll bring it over to you” Robin nodded towards the selection of tables they had.

“Table service too, thank you.” she giggled and walked away. 

“Who was that?” A voice came from beside her as she started to make the coffee. 

“Jesus Christ!” Robin quietly exclaimed, almost dropping the mug she was holding, “Do you need to sneak everywhere?” 

“I literally dropped the opening on the counter so hard,” Steve, her partner in this coffee shop, laughed from beside her. “So, who is she?” 

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before but she’s super pretty ok so I’m naturally going to do something like spill her drink all over her or drop her baked goods on the floor. Or even forget how to speak as I get there and just throw the whole tray at her and run” Robin started to ramble. 

“Okay okay stop right now” Steve interrupted her, “You sort her the rest of her order and I’ll do the latte, I’ve got you sorted okay” he winked at her nudging her out of the way with his hip. 

Less than 5 minutes later Robin was walking towards the blonde trying her best to hold the tray as steady as possible. She had found the biggest and freshest almond knott and Steve had made a heart with the milk on her latte, it was a perfectly solid heart too, he was just showing off now. 

“Oh, thank you” The woman squeaked as Robin placed the tray down, it seemed to have pulled her from a deep thought. “This all looks wonderful” She grinned when she looked down and saw the latte. 

“Enjoy” Robin smiled as she walked away. 

“I can’t believe you did the heart!” She hissed as she got behind the counter again, smacking Steve lightly on the arm as she walked past him.

“Did she like it though?” he grinned “She watched you the whole time you walked back and she still keeps glancing over, I think you’re in there birdie. Anyway I need to start prep work on the pastry for the next batch of baked goods. Can you do the stocktake of the things behind here and I’ll get El and Max to do the stockroom tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Sure, I’ll get that done and make sure it’s all okay for Dustin to come in to take over from me.” She replied. 

“Thank you,” he said loudly as he walked from behind the counter and to the back where the kitchen was. His pride and joy, the reason he wanted this all along.

Robin spent the rest of the day thinking of the women from that morning. Trying to think if there had been any clues as to who she was or anything else about her. 

“I’ve got a present for you,” Steve declared as he walked into her apartment one evening a few days later, before throwing a small package at her. 

“Thanks,” She mumbled as she tried to catch it. 

Opening it up she noticed it was a name badge, her name was written on it along with her pronouns and a tiny lesbian flag on it. 

“Oh, this is so cute, thank you” She said as she launched herself at him. 

“I’ve heard that the blonde from the other day has been back a couple more times, only ever getting take-away after looking around. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to let her know your name and that she’s got a chance. I’ve had them made up for all of us. I really liked the idea when I saw them ages ago and just kept putting it off. I felt like the pride flags around the place were enough to let people know we’re a safe space but you and this girl gave me the excuse I was looking for to get these” Steve shrugged.

[sturniolocoded]

I Hate Boston - 🧡 Chris Sturniolo

The memories cascade like falling leaves in autumn, each one tinged with a bittersweet hue, as if they were painted by a heart torn between love and resentment. Y/n sits alone in her dimly lit apartment, her fingers strumming the strings of her guitar, her voice soft yet laden with emotion as she pours her heart into the lyrics she's penning.

"I was just a tourist," she sings softly, her voice trembling with raw vulnerability. "You got to be a big hometown hero."

She pauses, memories of Chris flooding her mind like a relentless tide. Chris, with his brown hair and piercing blue eyes, the YouTuber whose smile could light up a room. The boy from Boston who swept her off her feet with promises of adventure and love.

But promises are fragile things, easily broken.

"Made you feel important," she continues, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Still stuck in your high-school yearbook."

Y/n remembers the way Chris would reminisce about his glory days, how he seemed trapped in a perpetual cycle of longing for the past instead of embracing the present. She was just a footnote in his story, a passing fancy to be discarded when the novelty wore off.

"Why'd we have to cover so much ground?" she sings, the ache in her voice palpable. "You showed me around."

Boston, once a city filled with promise and excitement, now holds painful memories for Y/n. Everywhere she turns, she sees traces of Chris, reminders of a love that was never meant to last.

"As far as I'm concerned, they should just burn the whole city down," she sings, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

Y/n's fingers falter on the strings of her guitar, tears blurring her vision as she struggles to continue. The pain of their breakup is still fresh, a wound that refuses to heal.

"How'd you make me hate Boston?" she sings, her voice breaking on the final note. "It's not its fault that you don't love me."

The words hang in the air like a heavy weight, the truth of them echoing in the hollow chambers of her heart. Boston was just a backdrop to their love story, innocent yet tainted by the ghosts of their past.

"Had its charm, but it lost it," she continues, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It's not its fault, just a casualty."

Y/n's fingers find their rhythm again, the melody a soothing balm to her wounded soul. Through her music, she finds solace, a way to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.

"Mm, how'd you make me hate Boston?" she sings, her voice tinged with sadness. "The whole thing is haunted."

Haunted by memories of a love that was never meant to last, haunted by the ghost of Chris and the promises he couldn't keep.

"How do you sleep?" she sings, her voice trembling with anger. "Oh, when you held me hostage."

Y/n remembers the suffocating weight of Chris's expectations, how she felt like she was drowning in his need for validation. Their love was never equal, always lopsided, with Y/n giving more than she ever received.

"You must be exhausted," she continues, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Don't you miss me?"

But the question hangs in the air unanswered, lost in the silence of the empty room. Chris is gone, a casualty of their love, leaving Y/n to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.

"And casual's the way you chose to leave," she sings, her voice soft yet defiant. "And you're all over every single street."

Chris may be gone, but his presence lingers like a shadow, haunting every corner of the city they once called home. But Y/n refuses to be defined by their failed love story, determined to forge a new path for herself, one free from the ghosts of the past.

As the final notes of her song fade into the night, Y/n sits alone in her apartment, the echoes of her music mingling with the whispered memories of a love that was never meant to last. But amidst the pain and heartache, there is a glimmer of hope, a promise of a future yet unwritten, waiting to be discovered. And as Y/n looks to the horizon, she knows that no matter where life may take her, she will always carry the music of her heart within her, a testament to the power of love, loss, and the strength to rise again.

[physalian]

Timeskips (A Deceptively Tricky Trope)

Anyone remember when we all went to the theaters to see Endgame and the trailers actually fooled us into thinking all the action happened immediately after Infinity War? Then 15 minutes into the movie, the Thanos we grew to love/hate dies and the bomb drops: “Five…Years…Later”

It’s a shame that the movie didn’t properly explore the worldly consequences of losing half the population in favor of a Marvel victory lap through all its greatest hits. That our heroes could do absolutely nothing for five whole years, opening on a shot of a cold and dark cityscape — that was the best use and execution of a timeskip I’ve seen in recent memory, even if the rest of the movie didn’t follow through with it.

Timeskips are an effective way to age up characters or age past the end of an era of peace, or the healing after a tragedy (or the lifeless aftermath of one). Usually, your established heroes do their heroic thing, and anywhere from a couple weeks to a couple months to a couple years pass before the story picks back up again. Some may have died along the way, the political climate has changed, couples have had children, or babies have grown into their own characters, relationships have grown, begun, or fallen apart.

These damnable plot devices are a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the author gets to skip sometimes decades of meandering plot and development to tell almost an entirely new story in the same universe, sometimes not even with the same characters who are now too old, too dead, or retired.

However, timeskips can also cause some massive confusion, missed opportunities, and fandom wars over whether or not the jaded and grizzled and depressed heroes we see on screen are, in fact, a realistic evolution from the last time we saw them (looking at you, Star Wars).

Sometimes, they’re used in a single episode, thrusting a present character into the depressing dystopian future so they can prevent whatever causes said future before disaster strikes (Teen Titans "How Long Is Forever?"), and all returns to normal by the time the credits roll. Sometimes, the author really wanted the drama and angst of a pregnancy, then got stuck with a baby that needs constant attention from its parents who can no longer go do Plot Things until the baby can take care of themselves (The Originals).

Sometimes it’s the jump between two eras of a series, where our heroes have had a couple years of practice and now we can make the tone a little darker and the action a little more visceral. Or, it’s expected of a multi-book saga that regularly jumps a year ahead with each edition, leading up to the big prophecy (Percy Jackson, Harry Potter).

The Fundamentals of a Good Timeskip

As requested by Anonymous!

Telltale signs of a dubious skip:

Audience is expected to care more about an undeveloped newcomer than the pre-existing cast, because the current cast does without explanation

Audience is “told” to accept Catastrophic Event without being “shown” how and why it happened

Characters die, break-up, disappear, marry, change teams, or change entire personalities for ~drama~ and no other reason

The Book You Never Wrote was way more interesting than the future you brought us to

The new plot depends on Events Unwritten, but never shows or explains Events Unwritten

Timeskip only exists because the author is unable to make the leaps in logic themselves and hopes you won’t notice

The legacy of past heroes is trashed completely for More Story

Signs of a successful skip:

Characters we know and love are still themselves, just a little older and wiser

Characters that do change do so logically, within reason, and could have been extrapolated from the last publication

Radical changes and the new hellscape you threw your heroes into is given ample screen time to show “How tf we got here”

The new world doesn’t disregard or ignore the legacy and victory of past heroes

Absolutely nothing of import or unexpected happened in the interim, except time

Anyone who dies off-screen won the story by dying of old age, or some other respectful avenue (popular with aging mentors and old masters, usually when their actor also passes)

Whether your timeskip succeeds or fails depends entirely on, in my humble opinion, how much story you skip and sacrifice to make the jump, and how radical the changes are from the past to the future. And, to what degree the skip serves as a means to an end or the centerpiece of the new story.

Meaning that since you leave weeks, months, years, or decades unwritten, how interesting was the Book You Never Wrote, and how badly would audiences need to read it to understand the jump from A to B?

If I’m writing a ten-year skip and half my heroes have died, half have ended wonderful relationships, two kids have been born, a known hero has become a villain, and an entire city’s been destroyed… that is a *very* interesting story I wish I had the opportunity to read, because it sounds like every character I fell in love with is about to become unrecognizable and very frustrating to follow now that I don’t understand why they make the choices they do — *if* I’m never shown evidence to support the leaps in logic.

If I’m writing a ten-year skip and all that happens in the interim is a minor child character is now a tween with a pretty average life, or my super-powered heroes have had only mediocre rogues to battle, or a character who began in the mail room is now a middle manager at their boring job, then, yeah, we can skip all that jazz and get to the good stuff. This is usually the setup for your “next generation” skip for any genre.

Good timeskips also depend on how readily the characters accept and acknowledge the changes that have happened off-page, and how much the future story now depends on the information the audience never received. If your plot and your characters constantly reference and argue over the Book You Never Wrote, your audience won’t be pleased to not have read said book.

I’m going to use specific media here because the nature of a timeskip concerns entire plots and my usual vague examples don’t suffice. How you write and implement one is entirely up to you and each of these have their staunch defenders, I just don’t like them and I’m here to explain why. Hopefully if you’ve seen at least one of them, you can use them as a shining example of what (or what not) to do in your own work.

The fandoms in question:

The 100

Star Wars

Percy Jackson

Last Airbender/Legend of Korra

How to Train Your Dragon

The Little Mermaid

—

The 100

The timeskips in question are between seasons 2 and 3, and between seasons 4 and 5. The first timeskip is a couple months between seasons 2 and 3. After a huge conflict (and easily the best season of the show by a country mile), shifting alliances, enemy-of-my-enemy, the best couple-that-never-was, the season ends with protagonist Clark unable to let herself enjoy the spoils of war because of the crimes she committed to make it happen. She leaves behind all her friends to go be a hermit, including deuteragonist Bellamy, who is Not Happy about this decision.

The problem: In between seasons, Clark hasn’t changed much, but Bellamy sure has. He gets a girlfriend, develops an entire relationship, only for this girl to get fridged within the first 50 minutes or so of season 3. He takes her death super hard and, with Clark not there, spirals into a bit of a blind-faith fascist turning on all his friends and becoming nigh unrecognizable. Without seeing the growing relationship with the fodder girlfriend, without seeing how hard life has been for him without Clarke, all his choices, all his beliefs, all his pontificating sound completely foreign and out of character and he does not recover until it’s almost too late. As he’s the deuteragonist of the show, you can only take yelling at your TV for all his stupid and OOC decisions for so long, when it could have been done so much better.

The second damning timeskip is five whole years between seasons 4 and 5. Bellamy develops another unseen romance up in space, his sister becomes a bloodthirsty underground queen, and Clark devotes her entire life to raising a little girl she finds.

The problem: Clark cares a lot more about protecting the little girl than anything else, a choice audiences can’t empathize with because we’re still siding with the characters we’ve watched grow and suffer for four seasons, making Clarke an incredibly frustrating character to watch.

Five-year timeskips are fine. I think I’m in the minority in hating this decision by the writers. However, when your characters’ motivations change so radically without you being able to follow that development, making their new choices seem incredibly inconsistent with who they’re supposed to be, the disconnect is super strong. We’re being told at this point to care about these strangers over the existing cast without ever having been shown why.

Star Wars

Timeskip in question: Return of the Jedi to The Force Awakens. Enough time for Rey to look like a 20-something and, I believe, the exact same gap between the movies in the real world. The argument over Luke’s character has been beaten to death by now. We end Return of the Jedi with the promise of a galaxy in peace after decades of civil war between the Rebels and the Empire and the ultimate sacrifice from Anakin.

The problem: We open Force Awakens like the war never ended. There’s still stormtroopers, there’s still the Empire (though, now it’s called the First Order), there’s still Rebels rebelling. The happily ever after one would expect between Han and Leia is shattered because their kid went Dark Side. Their kid went Dark Side because… well, one side, the other side, and the unrevealed truth.

It’s less “Luke would never make these choices” and more “How do you expect audiences to believe Luke made these choices without seeing the pain and trauma inflicted on him to end up like this”. The casual fan only watches the episodic films. Luke ended one movie as a semi-optimistic war hero. He began the very next film jaded and traumatized enough to debate, and nearly go through with, murdering his nephew because of what he *might* do someday.

That anyone expected that to go over well was deluding themselves, but everyone knows these movies are a mess.

There’s also the disappointment in realizing all that Anakin lived and died for fell apart in less than 30 years. Who are these people calling themselves the First Order? Where did they get the funds, the resources, the platform to become as big a threat as they are? How did the Rebels fail so spectacularly at building a functioning government? How do they not have the funds, platform, and resources to buy better ships and equipment? How did no one realize they were hollowing out an entire planet to build another Death Star?

The Sequel Trilogy lost audiences when it refused to provide any explanations at all for *why* these changes happened. The movies don’t care about *how* Ben became Kylo, they just need you to accept that it happened. They don’t care *how* the First Order rose, just don’t look too closely or it all falls apart.

The skip between Empire Strikes Back to Return of the Jedi is also a bit sketchy, because Luke has done all his Jedi training off-screen and can just pull abilities out of nowhere, but the plot of Return of the Jedi doesn’t depend on having seen Luke grow.

Percy Jackson

I feel bad putting this here because it’s not nearly as egregious as the previous two, but because the original series was so good, these choices are that much more baffling. The timeskips in question: Sea of Monsters (2) to Titan’s Curse (3) and Last Olympian (5) to Lost Hero (6).

The books focus on a singular week or two per year, so Percy can age from 12 to 16 in time for the Great Prophecy by the end of the series. This series is filled with timeskips and unseen content, but the jump between books 2 and 3 is the most jarring. I just did a retrospective for both of them so if you happened to read that, I’m repeating myself a little.

The problem: At the end of SoM there is a huge shakeup in the realm of who will actually be the chosen one — a discarded chess piece has been revived and brought back onto the board. In the missing months, Percy has built an entire friendship and rapport with his would-be rival, and so many reunions were left unwritten between Thalia and the friends she left behind. It’s the depth of the missing content that really feels like they forgot to print a chapter in either book, particularly when she’s so important to the story.

Percy references quite a few times how good friends he and Thalia have become. Fantastic, on what page might I read that development, when the author spent quite a bit of time building up the presumption that you two would hate each other?

The other timeskip is the complete opposite. Last Olympian to Lost Hero is, I believe, only a month. Once again, we have a presumed happy ending and ultimate sacrifice completely torched for the sake of More Story. The original five-book saga culminates with the tragic death of a villain we’d watched for five whole books. His argument was the thesis of the first series.

The problem: As with Star Wars, everything that character died for is rendered mostly moot. There is evidence that his death meant something, in the positive changes seen in the lives of those that survived him, but he died preventing armageddon… and a month later Bigger Badder armageddon is on the rise.

I almost wish the timeskip here had been longer. A couple years, at the expense of aging up the heroes to their twenties. His legacy on the story is virtually nonexistent. When you look back at the horrible tragedy that was this kid’s life, all it amounted to, everything he fought for, everything he believed in and died for and lost friends for… bought only a month of peace.

The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra

Obviously, the timeskip in question is between these two series, about, what, sixty years? Last Airbender ends with, once again, the world at peace, ish, with lots of cleaning up to do, reparations to make, and governments to reshape. In the gap between series, almost everyone we knew has passed away, or aged out of being useful to the plot. Aang, of course, had to die so Korra could be born.

In the first season, because I’m reasonably confident all they planned was one season, the 60 year interim sees a lot of radical changes. Fan favorites die, the old ways are lost, the status quo is nothing like it used to be. So how do they get away with it?

Firstly, the show doesn’t begin with the main villains having already conquered Republic City and trashing everything the heroes fought for. The entire season is a crawl, then a plunge, toward disaster. They let you enjoy the fruits of the old characters’ labor, see the world that they built, before the new threat attempts to burn it down.

Secondly, because almost the entire original cast is dead or absent, there are no relationships sorely missing context, and there’s no *subversive* twists to what the audience could extrapolate from the ending of the old show.

LoK did make some radical changes to the world, but, crucially, it didn’t change the surviving core characters — we still have a known point of reference through which to view all the other changes. Katara is still Katara, she’s just older. Zuko is still Zuko, he’s just older. Katara didn’t become a persnickety, bitter bat and Zuko didn’t launch the Fire Nation Invasion II and return to his angsty ponytail-era.

It also helps that Korra is, like us, an outsider to this strange new world, a perfect vector through which the audience can ask questions and get answers on how, why, and when everything changed. LoK, unlike Star Wars, cared and thought about the *how* and the *why*.

If you’re going to write a story about the next generation without compromising the legacy of the old guard, Legend of Korra is a solid example of how to do it convincingly, respectfully, and entertainingly, even if it did drop the ball on some characters *cough*Sokka and Suki*cough*

How to Train your Dragon

But an even better example? How to Train Your Dragon to How to Train your Dragon 2. It’s been five years, a massive risk for your children’s animated fantasy series, but it’s also been almost five years of real-world time. Those who were Hiccup’s age when the first movie premiered are still Hiccup’s age when they head back to theaters. Not to mention the optional Netflix shows to help fill in the gaps.

Once again, there’s no *subversive* choices made with the relationships. Hiccup is still with Astrid and they’ve grown out of their awkward teenage phase. Their personalities haven’t radically changed either, only matured, the main group of heroes have had time to foster deeper bonds.

There’s no surprise children, no important characters who got killed off screen, and the changes to their homeland seem reasonable and logical given the time frame. A place that once feared dragons is now dedicated entirely to their preservation and conservation.

This is a timeskip that took advantage of every benefit of skipping time. The audience can very easily fill in the missing years with their imagination, because the jump from A to B makes perfect sense.

Frozen and Frozen II relied on the same mechanic of the audience growing with the characters with that one musical number. I’m not a fan of the execution of either of these movies, see this post about Frozen’s convolutions, but the execution of the skip itself is well done. All that’s happened in the interim is Elsa getting a little more comfortable being a person, and time has passed.

The Little Mermaid

The gap between Little Mermaid and Little Mermaid 2: Return to the Sea double-skips. First, it skips ahead to Ariel and Eric having an infant Melody, then about twelve years later to Melody being a tween and the new protagonist of the story.

Why it works: Melody is remarkably like her mother and rides the line between endearing and annoying very well and the plot depends on the skip happening at all – twelve years removed from the ocean and Melody has no idea her mother was a mermaid. Ariel and Eric (and Flounder) have grown to become wizened and worrisome parents and absolutely nothing remarkable happened unseen between the credits of the first movie and the second skip in the second movie. They get twelve years of peace, respecting the first movie’s legacy, and it’s through the actions of characters we see on screen that start jeopardizing everything.

—

Another feature I didn’t touch on earlier is that, by virtue of being a musical, the opening song to the Little Mermaid sequel efficiently catches audiences up on all the necessary exposition, all the old familiar faces, and where everyone is now in about 4 minutes. Frozen II does the same.

The Percy Jackson books also give a “previously on Percy Jackson” exposition speedrun at the start of books 2-5 and notes any important details that occurred in the missing months (save the glaring omissions detailed above).

If your time skip is just a plot device to get from A to Y, a well-handled exposition speedrun to catch everyone up won’t offend anyone, so long as you do it tastefully. If your skip is the centerpiece of the plot and the “how did we get here” is the big mystery, jarring your audience with the unexpected future on the opening pages is the point.

Do your best to avoid awkwardly having your characters state “X years have passed,” in dialogue because it’s always obvious and you can do better. Have somebody reference their upcoming birthday so audiences can do the math, or an anniversary. “X years have passed” cracks the immersion, as your characters don’t know or care that a time skip has occurred.

Or, if you’ve written a narrating style that talks directly to the audience, the narrator can just say “X months ago we did Y in the last book, reader, you remember how fun that was?” 

—

TL;DR, terrible timeskips happen, in my opinion, when the writers are disinterested with the interim and want to get to the good stuff without providing a logical jump to get there. Or, they happen when the time the story skips to jeopardizes where it came from without explanation. Whether that’s undermining the legacy of the original hero, ruining relationships and killing fan favorites for *subversion points* and *drama*, or creating a world so far removed from what audiences expected that they’re left confused watching their heroes make baffling decisions based on development they’re promised did happen, but is never shown. It’s one thing if you take your wide-eyed hero and toss him into a bleak future where everyone’s shocked by his pessimistic outlook, it’s completely different tossing your hero into a bleak future and none of his friends seem to care.

[goldensunset]

my memory of it isnt the best, but the book of prophecies is supposed to have information on everything that happens up to kh3 right? so what if either the blank period just plain isnt in there, or there are blank pages, or it is written that this era will be erased in some way

right cuz the trailer DID say ‘an unwritten era’…

hold up. HOLD up. the master of master says that the contents of the book are only what the gazing eye sees (‘and even then, only the bits important enough to write down’). so if there’s nothing in the book related to the events of ml, perhaps a plot point will be something having gone wrong with that keyblade? like it’s been buried or hidden somewhere where the eye can’t see a thing.

it isn’t clear whether events literally have to be in direct sight of the eye itself or if the keyblade’s general presence in an area is enough. if it’s the latter then something really weird must’ve happened for nothing to get recorded. because surely the gazing eye must’ve been in scala all that time, right? we see [black hooded figure] holding it in the first trailer at least. and we know it’s there on the wall in dark road

or, y’know, maybe MoM just intentionally didn’t write any of that stuff down. maybe he didn’t actually want ephemer to have the power to see his own intended immediate future in front of him like the foretellers did. maybe someone messed with fate so bad in that era there was nothing that could be written. idk!

[spacerockband]

— Calamity Unwritten Masterpost —

Two years ago, Link woke up in a shrine and discovered the world had ended without him. After traveling across Hyrule to try and put the pieces together, he is left with just one memory to recover— How he died. But when a tiny guardian opens a portal through time to the moment he lost, Link finds he might have the chance to change his past. At least, for one version of the world. The life he made is still waiting in the future, and he might not like the person he used to be.

Part 1 - Memories

Part 2 - We meet some friends

Part 3 - Treasured

Part 4 - Speaking with Zelda

Part 5 - Links abound

Part 6 - Personal Problems

Part 7 - Return to Camp

Part 8 - Zelda's Training

— — — — — —

Bonus 1

Bonus 2

Bonus 3 - Notes on Past and Future Link

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 9

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: so. much. fluff.

______________________________________________________

You had signed up to go to Hogsmeade as a chaperone. You were regretting it. Minerva and you had walked around the village, looking in different shops and things to buy for friends and family for Christmas. You had spent a particularly long time picking out a gift for the DADA professor, to which Minerva gave you a knowing look. You ignored that meddlesome old woman.

As the sun started to set, the two of you walked in the wake of the students, making your way back to Hogwarts. The day had been long, and your feet were feeling the strain.

"Oh, Minerva, I swear, I may never volunteer for this again," you grumbled, massaging your sore feet.

Minerva chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, the perils of a field trip. Did you not consider bringing more comfortable shoes?"

You rolled your eyes. "I thought these would be fine. Turns out, I was wrong."

"Learning from experience, my dear," she teased. "Perhaps next time, you'll be better prepared."

You sighed dramatically. "Maybe I'll just stick to the cozy confines of my room. Who needs outdoor excursions anyway?"

Minerva laughed heartily. "I'm sure the students would disagree. But, fear not, we are almost home."

You couldn't help but smile, despite the discomfort. "Thank Merlin for that. I might need a week to recover from today."

Minerva's eyes glinted mischievously as she walked beside you, leaning over to you in a hushed whisper, "Well, my dear, if your feet are truly in agony, perhaps Professor Lupin could lend a helping hand."

You couldn't believe your ears and stumbled for a moment, genuinely shocked that someone as dignified as Professor McGonagall would make such a suggestion. "Professor McGonagall!" you exclaimed, your face flushing with embarrassment. "I… I can't believe you just said that!"

Minerva pulled back with a smirk, walking ahead, and ordering students to make sure to be in their dorms before curfew. You stood dumbfounded for a moment before recollecting yourself, heading inside the castle.

Like muscle memory, you headed straight towards Remus' classroom, where he had said he was going to hole himself up in so he could finish up grading papers and get ahead on lessons for after the break.

You knocked twice before letting yourself in. Remus stood by the window, watching the sunset. He turned as you drew near, setting your bags down on an empty desk.

"Busy today?" he asked.

You groaned. "You have no idea. My feet are killing me. Feels like they're gonna fall off."

Remus chuckled. "Yeah, I heard those trips can be grueling. Surprised Minnie can still keep up."

"I think she put some kind of charm or something on her shoes, who knows. Maybe I should look into it. Though, I highly doubt going back to Hogsmeade all day is in my future."

Remus smiled, nodding to your bags. "What did you buy?" he asked.

"Oh, just some gifts for family and friends," you replied, shrugging your shoulders.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package, adorned with festive paper and a ribbon.

"I got you a little something for Christmas," you said, handing him the gift. "Figured I give it to you since I won't see you until the beginning of the next term."

Remus looked pleasantly surprised. "Oh, you didn't have to get me anything. Thank you."

He unwrapped the gift with a smile, revealing a beautifully crafted leather-bound notebook. "It's a journal," you explained. "I thought you could use it to jot down your thoughts, or maybe it could be handy for lesson planning."

Remus ran his fingers over the smooth leather cover, his eyes reflecting gratitude. "This is thoughtful, thank you. I'll make good use of it, I promise."

"Oh!" you exclaimed, reaching into another bag. You put a hefty amount of chocolate bars on his desk. "I figured you were still a chocolate fiend, given that night in the kitchen and all."

Remus couldn't help but laugh, genuine and heartfelt. "You know me too well. Thank you, really. This is sweet of you."

Remus grinned and held up a finger towards you, motioning for you to wait a moment. He walked over to his desk, opened the drawer, and carefully retrieved a wrapped gift. "Here you go," he said, handing it over with a gentle smile.

You accepted it with curiosity, tearing open the wrapping paper to reveal a muggle book. Pride and Prejudice. "I remembered you mentioning this one during our conversation a while back. Thought you might enjoy it," Remus explained.

Your eyes lit up with delight, touched by his thoughtful gesture. "A while back? Do you mean fifteen years ago? Remus, this is perfect! Thank you so much," you said, genuinely grateful for the gift.

In response, he chuckled warmly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of happiness and a hint of bashfulness. "Well, I remembered you mentioning your love for literature, and I thought this might be a good addition to your collection."

Grateful for the thoughtful present, you couldn't resist the impulse to express your appreciation. With a beaming smile, you pulled him into a spontaneous hug. Remus, though slightly taken aback, soon embraced you in return. His arms wrapped around you securely, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. There was a tenderness in the way he held you, as if cherishing the moment.

Remus nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. The softness of his touch as he petted your hair was both comforting and intimate.

As Remus embraced you, a subtle but distinctive scent emanated from him, creating an olfactory tapestry that spoke of warmth and comfort. The earthy undertones, reminiscent of damp soil and fallen leaves, seemed to linger in the air, grounding you in the moment. Intertwined with this was a faint whisper of chocolate, like a mug of hot cocoa on a chilly winter's day.

As you leaned into his hug, the unique blend of scents became more pronounced. There was a comforting familiarity to it, as if each fragrance was a chapter in the story of his life. The subtle musk, not overpowering but present, reflected the quiet strength that defined Remus Lupin.

As you both pulled back slightly from the hug, Remus's warm hands found their way to your face, cradling it with gentle care. His amber eyes, filled with a mixture of emotions, locked onto yours, and in that fleeting moment, you sensed an unspoken understanding between you. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, and before words could bridge the gap, Remus closed it with a tender kiss.

In that stolen moment, time seemed to suspend, allowing you both to savor the sweetness of the kiss and the shared emotions it carried. Remus's lips, soft and tender, spoke volumes about his feelings, leaving you with a sense of warmth and belonging that lingered long after the kiss had ended.

[not-so-lost-after-all]

Fanfiction Master List

Baldur's Gate 3

Here are my favorite pieces of my writing about certain tragic vampire gremlin called Astarion:

There are worse things I could do (This little thing is inspired by Dicken's A Christmas Carol and visions of the past, the present and the future - all of them dark. After all, a romance with Astarion can go so horribly, horribly wrong...)

Moments before the distaster (Astarion and Tav having supposedly the last chance to have some fun time together AKA the missing opportunity to go on a date)

The rest is still unwritten (Astarion reunited with his family and leaving the past behing)

Astarion earns a princess... (and a brother who seems to be his unbroken mirror image)

Ascended Astarion and his consort. Make it hurt...

My Tav and Astarion and an epilogue to the epilogue

New memories with Tav are the counterweight to the two centuries of misery

The alternative version of the infamous scene at the docks

Something Halloween-y about ascended Astarion meeting the ghosts of his past

My contribution to the papastarion topic (yes, a daughter who looks like him, except she is mortal :D)

My Tav, Astarion and their big fight concerning the heated topic of Halsin

Tav breaking up with ascended Astarion (for the daily dose of angst)

A Song of Ice And Fire

Final veil (Buckle up because this isn't exactly a fix it fic but Jaehaera Targaryen gets a shot at happiness. Or, how I wanted to give the little queen a voice.)

A tale of wars and mercy (Aegon II and Alicent in the future, so spoilers for the series, obviously. Hurt but no comfort andvI mean it.)

[flowercrowngods]

Steve carries Eddie’s body through the gate, blood soaking his clothes where silent tears fail to wash it away. It feels like Eddie’s blood is going to seep into is body and stay there under his skin like a tattoo. A reminder for all eternity that happy endings were only ever an invention by people who didn’t know anything about life.

“He’s losing so much blood,” Robin keeps wheezing behind him, breathless with the weight of it all, and Steve wants to say something, wants to comfort her that it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t hurt him, he won’t need the blood anymore. But the words get stuck in his throat as more tears fall.

Eddie’s hand is cold in his, and it will forever haunt him. Still, he’s not ready to let go when they reach the remnants of the trailer, when his knees give out and he collapses onto the soiled mattress. But whatever stains they were, they’re history now underneath all that blood.

History is the thing with the bloodstained beds and lost, abandoned homes, is it not? History is the part where everything gets ripped from you and you’re meant to keep standing. Keep fighting.

History, right now, looks a lot like a future unwritten, with Eddie’s hand in his, cold and unfeeling.

Steve still doesn’t say a word.

The world has larger problems than his failed attempts at grief. Ripped apart at its seams, wilting and rotting and overcome with death and decay, Hawkins needs Steve Harrington to once again show a strength he shouldn’t have to possess.

He helps. Donates clothes, offers his home, his kitchen, his bedrooms to everyone in need. Donates his time, his smile, his thoughts to the people who have the fortune and the privilege to think nothing of him.

Funerals are a daily occasion — with or without the bodies — and so Steve doesn’t even think about it when Dustin approaches him about Eddie.

“He shouldn’t be put on public display like that,” Dustin says and Steve marvels, for a second, that he still has his voice. “He deserves more than a freakshow, and they’re so busy, but they said they could… They could come and—and prepare him. The body. Bring him over. Have a proper service for him, those who knew, those who cared about. Could we do it at your place? Please?”

His eyes sting as he nods and pulls Dustin into a hug that leaves his shirt wet. It’s fine. All his clothes have the memory of tear stains on them, and tear stains are better than blood; a kinder version of history.

It’s a week after… a week since… It’s been a week, when they finally have the funeral for Eddie. Steve doesn’t mean to be there, he shouldn’t be, he can’t be, not when he still scrubs at his skin where Eddie’s blood used to be and he wants to get it out of there because he knows it’s inside him, he knows it’s in there; he knows because he’s hurting all over. Everything, everything hurts. And he can’t wash it away, the memory, the stains, the part where past and future became history and present became nothing but pain. He can’t—

He can’t.

Eddie refused to run and it’s all Steve wants to do anymore. It’s not fair. It’s not.

He shuts himself away from the world in his room and tries to scratch it away, the memory of the blood. He wants to scream and to shout and to talk and to apologise, but he can’t, because there are no words.

And then Dustin is talking, and Steve stops tearing at his skin to listen. He can’t hear the words but he can hear the pain, he can hear the way Dustin is stronger than him, always has been, and he opens the door. Slips down the stairs slowly until he sees it. The open coffin with Eddie’s body, his hair glowing in the light of the afternoon sun.

“He was the coolest, kindest, bravest guy I know,” Dustin says, but Steve doesn’t want to hear it, so he stops listening as he reaches the foot of the stairs and keeps walking, closer to Eddie, always closer, always so, so close.

And he misses the touch, misses those dark brown eyes that were so kind, and he wants to see them again. They’re closed. They shouldn’t be closed; the world has to see. Has to see the kindness in those eyes, the beauty, the wonderful things they’d think of.

Silence falls around him but Steve doesn’t care, doesn’t really notice; not when those eyes are closed, not when he reaches out to open them as a way to right all the wrongs in the world now.

But then his eyes fall to Eddie’s bare throat, and everything is wrong once more, no chance to right it, because—

“Where’s his pick? He needs-Eddie needs his plectrum to play. He can’t play without his pick, he can’t— The bats will get him, please, you have to… He needs his pick.”

And Steve falls apart as he finds his words again, words that rip into his very soul, tearing at the fabric of the world itself and turning it upside down. There are hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the coffin, but he clings to it even as his knees start to give out while sobs wreck through his body.

“It’s okay, boy,” someone tells him, and Steve falls back into Hoppers chest, strong arms holding him up instead of pulling him away from Eddie. “It’s okay.”

He’s shaking his head, vision blurry now, and maybe there’s a bit of irony in the way that Steve and Eddie will both have had their last visions of each other be blurred with tears.

“It’s not, it’s not okay,” he insists, trying to shake off the hands holding him up. He wants to fall apart; wants to break; wants to be gone. Don’t hold me together, let me shatter. “You— You all wanted me to talk. You wanted me to!”

He’s gasping for breath again, hiccuping through the tears and the words and the weakness.

“I’m talking. Eddie, I love you. I wanna love you, and now I’m gonna, forever, but I don’t want the sad kind of forever. I want… Please, please he needs his pick, he can’t play without it.”

And then he’s on the floor, sobbing, and the words are gone again. Robin, Dustin and Hopper go down with him, but even they can’t put him together now.

“Steve,” Dustin says, voice hoarse with the weight of his own tears. “It’s here, see? I’ve got his pick, it’s safe. Do you wanna give it to him? Make sure he has it forever?”

He does. But he can’t bring himself to let go. Wayne comes up and places a scratched up piece of plastic on Eddie’s chest.

“He used to leave ‘em all ‘round the trailer. I always keep ‘em with me the days. Found this one under the couch before we… He’ll have it now, see? He can play again, our boy can play again.”

Steve falls apart until he doesn’t remember what piece of himself goes where. But it’s fine. Eddie will play again.

@thefreakandthehair technically you didn’t do this, but you sure didn’t discourage me from writing this (inspired by the My Girl funeral scene)

[skylermadness]

Projected Reality (Hephaestus TF/MC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 22, 2024)

Original Description:

A bit of a belated birthday gift for my beloved boyfriend. This was a story I've actually wanted to write for a little over a year now. I had first wanted to write out a Hephaestus TF around Spring of last year when I was planning out a concept that I have since long abandoned. During that time I did have a few stories that involved people I was close to, and Arti had volunteered to be used for the Hephaestus concept. Although even after the concept was scrapped I still wanted to write a story for them involving this character! A few months later it's August and Housamo finally translates the Virtual Summer Memories event. It was around this time that I finally come up with an idea for this TF, but due to a bunch of stuff happening at the time I was completely unable to follow through and the story was left unwritten for a very lengthy amount of time. It isn't until Spring of this year that I finally got the motivation to write it out as I realized I could actually use this story as my gift to Arti for their birthday! Thus, the story finally came into fruition after over a year of constantly being pushed back. Beyond that though, the actual writing process for this story was extremely fun! I love using random VR nonsense for TFs, and it was honestly extremely easy to play around with that seeing how Hephaestus' one event appearance had a lot of focus on virtual reality. Furthermore I just love using my boyfriend as a TFee, and I gladly wish them a late happy birthday! I do wish I could've written this story out earlier, but college was beating my ass at the time of early May. But I'm still very glad to have gotten this out for them! <3

   Reality is many things. Inconsistent, imperfect, unstable, and almost never lives up to your expectations. It's always ever changing, the world constantly malleable to the whims of fate. Such whims that are beyond the grasp of a mere human. That's why we here at ScybR Essence Technology believe reality should be yours to control.

   With our team of advanced scientists we have invented the next advancement in the field of virtual reality: the Hyperreality Manifold. Using a mix of our patented hardlight technology and neurolink engineering, the Manifold projects small worlds for you to spend time in. With just the single press of a button it can turn your living room into an RPG-style dungeon with you as the explorer; or your kitchen into a bustling tavern bar for you to begin a lengthy adventure in. The possibilities are endless, and the only limitations are the ones your mind would impose.

   While the Hyperreality Manifold is still in active development, pre-orders are available with prices starting at 8500 USD. We will also be releasing Lite versions of the Manifold to carefully selected individuals to test out prior to the worldwide release, with the next major Hyperreality Manifold Lite testing date being May 4. So please keep that email inbox open for any important information regarding your potential selection!

   ScybR Essence Technology: We bring the future to the present to change your reality to whatever you desire…

                                        ----------------------------------------------------------

   The advertisement on Arti’s phone proceeds to come to an end. This is perhaps the third or fourth time they've watched the strange video ever since they got that email a few days ago telling them they've been selected as a tester for this Hyperreality Manifold thing. Initially they had assumed it to be some kind of spam mail, and even after they got a tracking number for the package they weren't fully convinced it was real. But then the fourth of May had arrived, and roughly a few minutes before noon Arti had been notified their package was delivered. The open box of that package was what sat on their living room table now, and the contents of it sat beside the cardboard container. 

   “No matter how many times I watch that ad, it never sounds any less pretentious…” Arti muttered to themself as they shoved their phone back into their pants pocket. Their gaze then drifted over to the unpacked objects of their recently acquired package.

   The most important object was of course the Hyperreality Manifold. Despite the complex sounding name, all it looked to be was a simple white cube with dim gray circuit lines etched across five of its six faces. The only face without circuitry just had absolutely nothing on it. To Arti it just looked like some kind of fancy paperweight. Perhaps an expensive one too if that eight thousand five hundred dollar price mark was correct.

   The mysterious cube had also come with an instruction booklet. “At least it doesn't look like it has 40 pages worth of information I guess,” they remarked as they booked up the plain looking booklet and began to read through it.

   ‘If you are reading this then that means you have been selected to test ScybR Essence Technology’s Hyperreality Manifold. Your selection means that you have…’

   Arti could already tell the first page had absolutely nothing of value besides boring legal stuff. If they didn't read the terms and services of every website they sure aren't going to read two pages of extremely small legal text. So instead they just started to skim through the pages after to try and gleam whatever information they deemed important, talking to themselves as they did so.

   “This is only a lite version of the Manifold and comes with a pre-installed package, to attain all features for you Manifold you must buy the full version at our store, this is just more boring disclaimer stuff- oh, finally, instructions!”

   ‘The Manifold relies on a mix of physical and cognitive manipulation. To do so requires two important steps in Manifold setup. The first is to place your Neurolink Encephalon Adapter on the side of your face. After the Adapter is secured, press the blank side of the Hyperreality Manifold with two fingers. This will begin the area scanning process which should not take too long.’

   Arti stared at the instructions for a good five seconds, mild confusion already arising in their mind. “The fuck’s a Neurolink Encephalon Adapter??”

   Placing the booklet down, Arti looked back into the box, which was still full of bubble wrap, to see if they had missed anything. They plunged a hand into the box to remove the bubble wrap and they had found one last component they apparently had missed. A small plastic bag containing some kind of thin metal sheet.

   Casting aside the bubble wrap they pulled out the bag, opened it, and removed the metal sheet. It wasn't particularly wide, it was extremely thin, and it was shaped like a crescent. It had the cold gray coloration that metal, typically aluminum, tended to have. Although it also seemed to have circuit lines running through it as well.

   With a brow raised in curiosity, Arti removed their glasses for a moment so they could properly put the unremarkable metal sheet on their face. “I wonder if this'll work…” they thought aloud as they put the crescent-shaped strip around their right eye before putting their glasses back on. They then adjusted the cube on the table so that the blank side faced upwards before doing as the instructions said and pressing two fingers into it.

   Absolutely nothing seemed to happen at first. Arti was going to make a snarky comment saying, “Knew it was a useless paperweight,” but only got half the sentence out before something actually did begin to happen.

   The circuit lines on both the cube and metal sheet started to glow an orangish-yellow, and the cube itself began to float in the air. As the cube levitated it also seemed to release a bright yellow gridline wireframe that encompassed the surface area of the room they were in. 

   “Woah…” was all Arti could think to say as they looked around the room, gridlines just overlaying the walls, floor, and ceiling. “I guess it's not a hunk of metal after all.”

   An automated voice then started to speak from the cube. “Scanning complete. Room dimensions logged. Beginning psychophysical projection in five seconds. Please have any objects you wish to take to the virtual reality on your person at the time of projection. Five, four…”

   “Uhhh-” Arti vocalized, a little confused by the robotic voice’s stream of words. They decided to just pick up the instruction manual, which seemed to be a good move on their part as the moment the voice reached zero everything in the room seemed to straight up disappear. The table that was in front of them, the box the cube came in, the couch that was behind them, even the walls and doorways just blinked out of existence. All that was left was Arti, the cube, and the wireframe outline of their living room's surface area. Mildly panicked at the prospect of having their entire home sucked into some kind of virtual void, the enby looked back at the instruction manual to see what it had to say about this.

   ‘Once scanning is complete the Hyperreality Manifold will begin the psychophysical projection system. The general explanation of this system is that it will trick your senses into believing you're in a void for a few seconds. Your cube will then project the reality that is programmed into it. This projected reality will be completely interactive and will be seemingly realistic for as long as you have both the cube and neurolink active.’

   By the time Arti finished reading through that paragraph, the wireframe began to fade away as their surroundings rapidly shifted. Manifesting into the void was a menagerie of various objects. A sizable table with multiple papers and what seemed to be unfinished metalwork projects. Some kind of large cylindrical object that Arti presumed to be a furnace just manifested in the corner to the left of them. There was an even larger cylindrical object that was on its side that appeared to their right! Some kind of engine if they had to hazard a guess? Turning around they also saw a massive rectangular entranceway that opened to an alleyway. There had also seemed to be a building parallel to the one their living room transformed into. All the while the air of their room shifted, the warm indoor heating fading to the slightly cooler temperature of a room that always has access to fresh air.

   A low pulse came from the cube before it spoke again. “Psychophysical projection complete. Currently active projection: Crafters Workshop at Kamata Technical University.”

   “Okay then…” Arti responded, slowly circling around in place to take in their surroundings. They were astonished, to say the least. That cube managed to project all of this? And why does it feel so realistic? This all felt so… impossible to them.

   Logically this meant Arti’s curiosity would lead them to the newly created furnace that the cube just popped into reality. Without a second thought the enby placed a hand in the furnace for a second, felt the metal, felt the extreme heat, then retracted their hand with a slight hiss of pain. “Well I guess I know it can mimic temperature now! Hm…”

   Stepping away from the furnace, a thought began to cross Arti's mind. They looked back at the booklet with the feeling of curiosity rolling around in their brain. 

   “What else can this thing do…?” they asked themselves as they tabbed through a few more pages. It wasn't until close to the end of the booklet that they found what looked to be a page on projection editing.

   ‘While the lite version of your Hyperreality Manifold is limited to only one projection type, your projection can still be edited in various ways. These include changing the time, the season and the weather, and the color of your surroundings.’

   “Okay, that just sounds boring- oh, but what's this…”

   ‘Despite your Manifold being a trial version, we are generous enough to have included one premium feature for you to test out: the Self Manipulator. This is a highly experimental feature that allows you to alter your own physical form to fit the projection you have been provided with. Please note that this should be temporary and usually should not have any carry over to when the projection is dispelled. However due to its highly experimental nature there may still be bugs and glitches that may occur during usage. Please use with caution.’

   “Right, right,” a sly smile formed on Arti's face. What kind of caution would be needed with weird virtual projections? It'd probably be like they were wearing some weird suit or something more than anything else. Still sounds intriguing either way.

   ‘To activate the Self Manipulator, you must take hold of the Hyperreality Manifold and use a single finger to make a circular motion in the blank side. This will then display a face of the character your Manifold has been preloaded with. Then you must do one more finger press to begin the projection on yourself.’

   With that information in mind, Arti walked over towards the floating cube in the middle of the room. They placed the instruction booklet on the table among the multiple other papers littered atop it, then took hold of the cube. “Let's see what you've got…”

   They placed a finger on the blank side, then did a circular motion, and instantly the cube registered it. What was promptly displayed on the cube was the outline of a man’s face. The man had spiky hair and an equally as spiky beard, thick eyebrows, and a rather uninterested-looking expression. This was also accompanied by the cube robotically stating, “Preload selected: Hephaestus.”

   “Hephaestus, huh?” Arti remarked. “Hadn't thought of this place as a domain for a Greek god but whatever, he looks hot.”

   With that said they did the final step of long-pressing the image with a finger. The cube seemed to respond by glowing a brighter orangish-yellow before saying, “Preload accepted. Physical alterations will begin shortly. Please note this is a highly experimental feature and may result in-”

   Arti rolled their eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Skip the legal stuff or something!”

   “Physical alterations beginning. Please stand by…”

   A low heat then began to arise in Arti’s body, beginning at their core before slowly spreading further out of their body with each beat of their heart. But as the heat warmed up more and more it started to cause a secondary sensation to well up within them. One that felt like a low pressurizing feeling that entered into their practically burning chest.

   “Is it supposed to- ough-” Arti leaned forward a little as they clenched a fist over their chest. “Is it supposed to feel like that??”

   Beads of sweat started to form in their forehead as their blood continuously boiled. Their breathing steadily became a bit more labored as their chest continued to burn and a pressure continuously pushed itself onto their upper torso. They weren't sure what exactly was happening but it felt like a lot for a virtual reality to make their body experience.

   Arti was unaware of the truth behind these sensations though. That truth being their physicality seeming to alter. The heat and pressure was working in conjunction to forge new additions to the enby’s body, the first of which having obviously been in their chest.

   Typically their chest was undefined since Arti was never one to work out and put effort into building muscles. However it seemed as if with each breath they took their chest steadily expanded. Its size was just slowly increasing, previously unimpressive muscle swelling up larger with each ragged inhale. It didn't take very long for a pair of pectorals to properly formulate from the nothing of their upper torso, and each pec would only grow out larger and larger. Firm, meaty chest muscles just get pushed out even more every few seconds. Their roundness would soon even etch itself into the fabric of their undershirt, pushing open their open jacket to reveal the massive shelf that the enby had developed beneath the deep indigo of the shirt itself. Their new cleavage has indented into the shirt as well, further accentuating the pure size their chest had obtained.

   Their muscles hadn't been the only thing being changed however. One major change seemed to enter into their skin, the tone of it darkening at a rather rapid pace. Pale ivory shifted to a raw umber, and that change in tone continuously spread across the rest of the skin on their chest. All while this occurred there had also been a second major shift being introduced alongside it. Arti had usually been a pretty scarred individual, but as their transformation grew in prominence it seemed as if their scars were being altered in some way. This was most prominent is the massive scar that stretched over their upper torso, where the size of it seemed to shrink and reshape. This alteration seemed to be centered at the exact middle of their chest as the longest points of the scar retreated into that area. In the end the scar would just become a still rather sizable one that was etched into the middle of their chest and over the inner sections of their pectorals.

   Arti had been subjected to the feeling of their skin brushing up against their now much more ill-fitting shirt. A feeling that had been increased as they felt their abdominal region churn and their shoulders ache. “I-it’s working! I think-” they said, although a mild hesitation was present in their voice. They weren't going to deny this felt extremely weird, especially since it was changing them at such a fundamental level. But also they couldn't deny that this had all felt rather… nice.

   The lower end of their torso hadn't been left out as while Arti was in the middle of their internal musing, their abdomen entered a process of bulking itself up as well. Intense heat mixed with a burgeoning feeling of strength just churned around in their gut. This was followed by their abdomen bubbling as hardened muscles started to properly formulate. Abs then routinely jutted out at a somewhat rapid pace, a firm six-pack properly forming out of their previously flat stomach area. It was also at this point that Arti’s form seemed to widen almost, their width ever so slowly increasing to accommodate their much thicker muscles. 

   That increase in wideness mainly came due to an alteration in the enby’s very bone structure. While much of their structure had remained similar during the course of their bodily expansion, there was one major portion of the skeletal region of their torso that had a more severe change. As the changes moved away from the front half of their body and onto the back, there had been a menagerie of shifts that came to it. Trapezius muscles bulging in size, the sides of their body burning a bit as their oblique muscles improved. The changes in their skin tone continued to wash across their form as multiple scars formed behind them. But soon enough everything started to centalize towards one major segment of their back: the spine.

   A slightly pained (and seemingly deeper) moan escaped Arti’s throat as something surged into the discs of their spinal column. “The hell…”

   There was a strange occurrence that happened within the bone structure. While it seemed to elongate in size, practically adding inches to Arti’s height, there had been a more alarming addition to that change. That being, Arti could no longer stand up straight. A prominent curvature was etched into the top end of their spinal column, an extremely noticeable hunch being added to them as a result. 

   “Ch-changing a lot about…” Arti started to idly comment before halting their statement. “My… voice…”

   Already their voice had begun a process of deepening. Although while it still had a specific tone that it could still be recognized as Arti to some capacity, there was still a steady amount of lowness entering it that wasn't there prior. Although they didn't have too much time to focus on any of that as they heard the sound of ripping come from… a lot of places, really, but mainly around their arms.

   While all the previous portions of the transformation were occuring, there had been a concurrent series of changes entering their arms. It had initially started at their shoulders as the changes in muscles and melanin had entered that area first. Size increased rapidly as a rigid roundness formed in them thanks to the rapid formulation of their deltoids. All while their enlargement caused the overall boradness of the enby to increase a bit more. Then there had been the manifestation of a few relatively large scars over the top portion of both shoulders.

   A few more scars then etched across the upper half of Arti's arms. This had been in conjunction with even more growths in muscle mass as strength and warmth constantly cycled around each limb. Biceps bulged out alongside the thickening of their triceps, and the growth in size was already becoming enough to rub up into both their undershirt and jacket. The ridges of their massive musculature just etching into the fabric more and more. It wouldn't take long until it forced their sleeves to reach a limit in the attempt to stretch over their arms.

   This would be further proven as the circumference of their elbows widened before the muscle enhancements jumped to the forearms. Extensors burned with an almost instantaneous workout as muscle mass continuously swelled up within them. The ends of their sleeves rode up their arms more and more as the bones in their arms seemed to lengthen. Meanwhile as the diameter of their arms practically doubled it caused their watch to just snap off their arm. All the while even more scars manifested across their arms, including a really large one on their right arm.

   Things didn't take long to move beyond their wrist and onto their hands. The size of both hands practically doubled as a chunky meatiness entered them, increasing their thickness to a point that it was consistent with their muscular form. This was quite tangible when it came with their fingers and all of them swelled into sausages while lengthening for consistency and blunting a bit at the end. A slight itch entered their palms as they hardened with callouses, accompanied by scarring on both the front and back of their hands. This had also come with the completion of the darkening of their skin, at least on a majority of the upper half of their body.

   Of course, with all of this muscle mass constantly vying for attention on Arti’s clothing it meant that the limits of the fabric would easily be reached. Their jacket suffered multiple tears thanks to their broader back and thicker arms. Their undershirt experienced a must worst fate however as rips continuously etched across the front, back, and sleeves thanks to how much raw muscle it had been containing this entire time. And while it wasn't completely torn apart, it very much was ripped to tatters. This was what Arti’s focus had been drawn to, while also meant they had been given a relatively easy view of their much brawnier form.

   A shocked expression formed on Arti’s face at the sight. “My skin- my scars?! I-I thought it was just going to be th-the muscles!”

   After saying that, Arti cleared their throat. Their voice had still been shifting more and more, deepness continued to form into it to a point that what sounded like Arti and what sounded like their new form was getting blurred. “Uurgh, this is… a-a lot…”

   It was definitely a bit overwhelming. Arti had expected some weird suiting experience but the fact that this VR technology seemed to have the capability to make them physically feel and witness the changes was… Arti didn't know how to describe it. Impressive? Mildly terrifying? And truthfully it made their head hurt a little.

   However their internal concerns were interrupted by the Manifold speaking suddenly. “It is advised that you stabilize yourself.”

   “Uhhh, wha…?” Arti raised a brow. Looking to their right they still had the railing of that massive engine, so they decided to reach out a hand and clasp onto it. “J-jeez, my hand is big- WOAH-”

   The lower half of their legs went numb in that instant.

   The transformation never halts, and all while they were thinking it just continuously progressed down to their lower body. Their belt had strained against their hips as their waist rapidly gained a wideness appropriate for their new form. Meanwhile their pants began their process of becoming rapidly undersized. This was mainly in due part because of the muscles in their thighs expanding. Quadriceps and hamstrings bulged and widened while the amount of scars that surrounded them multiplied quite a bit. It was enough to yet again cause their newly defined legs to push up against their legwear by quite a bit.

   The numbness didn't start until the changes had reached the halfway point of their legs, around the level of where their knees were. This feeling was then followed by the feeling of something cold within the entire crus of their legs. “W-why is…?”

   The answer to their half-inquiry was an easy one. Beneath the knee, instead of the pigmentation of their skin shifting, the very structure of it had changed instead. Flesh hardened, cells reformed at the atomic level, and a cold metallic sheen encapsulated the entirety of their lower legs. It didn't stop at the skin either as the internal workings of their legs were mechanized as well. All the while their diameters were becoming larger, and the length of them increased to give Arti a bit more height. This was followed by the frontal portions of their pants bursting open as the front half of their metallic legs gained armor-like plating to them, most noticeably a knee-guard that went over their still organic knee. 

   “P… prosthetics…?” Arti questioned. Indeed, the lower half of their legs seemed to have become some kind of robotic prosthetic. That didn't even seem to be the end of it as once the metal reached their ankle region it seemed to shrink a bit into a thick metallic pillar that was connected to the rest of the prosthetic. This also allowed some wires to expose themselves as they slithered down to the connect to the last region of their lower body: their feet.

   Art’s feet underwent a similar transformation to that of their leg’s crus, that being the envelopment by the constant formation of metal. Although as each foot grew in size the internals seemed to hollow out a fair bit, only having minimal internal systems that connected to their legs. Various regions became a layer of playing such as their feet’s instep and bridge. Meanwhile their toes, while thickening, gained a segmented appearance to them with the areas of segmenting glowing a faint orange. Of course with their feet growing in size and becoming a clunky bit of metal it meant the Arti’s footwear stood no chance against the transforming appendages. Thus their toes burst from the toecap of their shoes before being followed by the sides ripping apart to reveal even more of their metallic feet.

   “Oookay,” Arti started, breaths slowing to a more stable pace of breathing. They could feel whatever remains of their shirt’s neck just splitting apart as their neck thickened into a hefty and scarred trunk. This coupled with the rapid changes in their vocal cords left their voice completely unrecognizable of what it once was. It had become deep, masculine, and had a certain tone of bluntness mixed with a vibe that had a strange lack of confidence in itself. 

   “I-I guess all that leaves is my head?” Arti said with a weak grin. They felt a bit tired at this point, and oddly confused. The weird confusions and worries about this body had mostly faded into more concerning thoughts about themselves. They had a moment where they felt perfectly fine with it but now that was being subsided with a strange amount of self-consciousness that they don't think they've experienced before. Was it the prosthetics, or the scars, or that spontaneously granted hunch in their back? “Uurgh, why am I… th-thinking these thoughts…” they placed a massive hand on the side of their head. “Mind f-feeling… muddy…”

   They blinked a few times as their typically blue irises started to glow a reddish-orange. This was coupled by an odd heat entering the right side of their face, the metal of their Neurolink starting to glow as if it were in a furnace of some kind. “A-ahh…”

   The raw umber tone cascaded upwards from their neck and began overlaying their face. A couple clicks and cracks escaped from their skull as it began to restructure itself, becoming larger in size while reshaping into a more rectangular shape. This was accentuated by their jawline broadening and chiseling into a more square-like formation. Fuzz then began to poke out of their face, starting at the base of their chin and above their upper lip before quickly spreading across their entire jawline. As it grew the fuzz that was on their jaw thickened, a spiky-style of facial hair being born from that thickening. Pointed clumps of beard hair just poking out in various directions based on the placement on their face. Although it did result in a rather thick and fluffy beard that adorned their shifting face.

   Of course as their beard formed there had been other features of their face that shifted as well. Their nose became a bit more angular as the dorsum of it broadened and became rectangular. Their eyebrows thickened into large bushes as the hairs on them became a deep black and the furthest ends of them became a bit pointed. Then came the various scars that formed across their face. One over their left brow, one that slashed into a small bit of the left side of their beard, and a few scars that ran across the left side of their head and neck.

   The most major of changes came with their hair however. A deep red had overtaken the typically indigo coloration as the follicles had quickly undergone the process of shortening themselves. Long flowing locks of hair retracting into their scalp, meanwhile at the sides of their head the fluff would practically shave itself down to a buzz. The top of their head was different however as once it reached a sufficient length it began to heavily restyle itself. Fluffy hairs mixing together into more rigid clumps that had a certain look of messy spikiness to them that granted their hair an almost flame-like appearance. Such a change ran from the apex of their head down to the back, the new style only being describable as a messy, fiery fauxhawk.

   “Mmff…” they moaned, head continuing to pound with strange thoughts and memories that they hadn't had before. The familiarity of this place was becoming overwhelming, and his negative self-image of himself was growing. Wasn't he a different person a few minutes ago? Why does it feel like he's always been like this?! “I-I’m… A… whuh…”

   He blinked a few times. He's forgetting something crucial. He could've sworn his name was on the tip of his tongue. 

   “Finalizing Hephaestus Protocol…” the cube said from a few feet away.

   “R-right, I'm… Hephaestus…” such an admission felt weird to him. Like he was still forgetting something major. “W-why does that cube look like the ones from my Antibody P-program…?”

   Hephaestus stopped clinging to the engine’s railing, then stepped forward before momentarily losing balancing and stumbling. His brain feels a bit out of sync with his prosthetics for some reason. Like he's not used to them just yet, although his mind is on the cusp of familiarity with them. “Ugh, c-come on!”

   He stabilizes himself and steps forward again, oddly unaware of his ripped up clothing or the fact that it was now in the process of fixing itself. His undershirt seemed to completely slip off his body before dissipating into nothingness. Meanwhile his jacket remained, resizing to fit his bigger form while restitching itself to seal all the holes that his growth had caused. The lower ends of the jacket seemed to merge with his pants somehow, followed by the material of both that and the legwear shifting into a harder and more leathery texture. This had also caused the generally indigo shading of his clothing to shift to a brownish-gray instead. The jacket’s lapel shrunk away as the collar raised and folded into a different type of collar. Meanwhile the jacket’s split formed metallic teeth that trailed down to meet with his pants zipper.

   Changes soon began to ramp up. Sleeves rolled themselves up to his elbows while both pant legs rolled up to his knees, which had revealed the ruddy white interior of his new jumpsuit. Shoulder and breast pockets formed out from the material, and one of the breast pockets came pre-packed with a bunch of pens. Orange highlights also formed on the apex of the jumpsuit, alongside a series of diagonal orange stripes on the left leg that came with the name ‘KAMATA’ printed beneath them. His belt had somehow not been merged into the leather and instead bulked up before a bunch of pouches materialized to hang from it. All of these pouches came pre-packed as well, although this time with a large array of tools. Lastly came his footwear, shoes fixing themselves up before enlarging to fit his new feet. The deep blue tone shifted to brown while the tongue became orange, held down by orange and white shoe strings that crossed each other multiple times. While the bottom of each shoe became a messy white rubber, the cap of both of them ballooned into a hardened steel toe exterior. But perhaps the weirdest of any of these changes would come to the neurolink as the almost superheated orange came to its final culmination: igniting itself into a burst of flames. An eternal flame just casually engulfs the side of Hephaestus' face, and he doesn't even do so much as to react to it. All he feels is the nice warmth of it layer onto his body.

   The heavy steps of Hephaestus’ new footwear echoed through the air of the workspace as the man finally managed to lumber over to the cube. “S-strange, I don't recall ever making a ph-physical version of these…” he remarked as he took hold of the cube. He would analyze it for a few seconds before casually tapping the side with his own face on it. “What are you-”

   “The blank side has been doubled tapped,” the cube interrupted. “Disengaging Manifold.”

   Then in just seconds the entirety of the Kamata Technical University's Workshop seems to dispel like some kind of hologram in front of Hephaestus' eyes. He watches in a mix of vivid curiosity and concern. “W-what the fuck-” was the only thing he stammered out as a reaction. In mere moments the familiarity is lost to him as the workshop his brain has numerous memories of is lost, instead taking on the appearance of some kind of living room.

   “Manifold disengaged,” the cube in his hand said. “Please allow thirty minutes of downtime to recharge systems.”

   “Manifold?” Hephaestus asked, tilting his head in curiosity. “It was able to c-create some kind of virtual simulation of Kamata. Maybe-”

   Something then buzzed in a back pocket of the lower portion of his jumpsuit. Hephaestus lets out a startled yelp before panickedly patting around the location and pulling out some kind of smartphone. Although it looked nothing like the one he usually used. “Wha- who's is- huh??”

   Turning on the phone the man was greeted with a single text message displaying on the screen.

   MikeS💛

   Leaving work soon! Looking forward to seeing that cube thing you said you got :3

   Hephaestus' eyes narrowed as he looked at the screen. “Mike…?” He then turned his head towards the Manifold. “Cube thing. Hm…”

   Gears began to turn in his mind. He'd probably be able to reverse engineer this Manifold in order to properly learn how it functioned. Perhaps he could even manipulate it to such a manner he could make it do what he wanted. What exactly the limitations of that are, he wasn't quite sure yet, but that's why he's going to look into the make of it in the first place! And as for that Mike guy, well… he isn't opposed to having one or two live test subjects for this.

   A slight smile formed on Hephaestus’ face at the thought of that. This was accompanied by a single stray thought: he's going to have to find a way to bring Talos here with this thing.