#Fic: Oblivion

[hebuiltfive]

Oblivion: A NCS Story

Chapter One: Waiting Captain Scarlet was used to dying. Everyone around him was used to his retro-metabolism. But that didn't make it any easier to watch, nor did it mean his indestructibility came without a cost.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Character Death, descriptions of injuries, mentions of plane crash, dark themes, Mentions of the afterlife, or the Mysteron Version at least, even in death scarlet cannot escape black

Notes: This idea came to me when I was reading Captain Scarlet and the Silent Saboteur, where Doctor Fawn asks Scarlet if he dreams in death. That simple question opened up a whole world of possibility and I chose to run with it. I will just preface this by saying there is no concrete plan for this story. I'm just seeing where the writing takes me. For that reason, I have no idea how long it will be either.

Disclaimers to say I don't own the Captain Scarlet franchise or the characters. The only thing I own is the words to this story.

Read it below or on AO3 here.

Waiting.

The waiting was the worst part. 

It never got easier.

Waiting.

Nothing to do, watching as the seconds ticked by on their watches.

Waiting.

Destiny always tried to be present. 

She always tried to be there for him when he woke up. Unless she was out on a mission, it didn’t matter where she was or what she had been doing. She was there. At his bedside. In the medical bay.

Waiting. 

It was torture having to wait, but it was important for Paul to have people he knew, loved and trusted around him when he came back from the land of the dead. At least, that’s what Doctor Gold had said.

Adam often waited with Destiny for that reason. 

Together, they sat patiently.

Waiting.

The seconds would turn into minutes and, more often than not, the minutes turned into hours. 

Once, they had both experienced the close call of truly losing Paul, despite his retrometabolism. It was a harrowing day, but it was the day both Adam and Destiny had decided to be present together, not only for Paul’s sake but for each other. 

Because the waiting was always the worst part.

Everyone on Skybase knew Captain Scarlet was indestructible. He’d become Spectrum’s most valuable asset against their war against the Mysterons.

Captain Scarlet was indestructible, but Destiny still found herself worrying.

Would that luck of his eventually run out?

A cat only has nine lives and, given the fact they new little about how the Mysterons’ retrometabolism worked, would Paul eventually succumb to the Great Sleep before they were ready to say goodbye to him? 

Destiny didn’t want to imagine having to say goodbye to him permanently. Again. The memories from the first time still haunted her. So many people had been the victim of the Mysterons war against them. Paul couldn’t be one. Not again.

She knew Adam probably held the same concerns too.

Shared those same worries.

They were unspoken, but Destiny could feel it. They both shared those thoughts as they sat there.

Waiting.

The worries were always quickly ousted from Destiny’s mind, however. They were thoughts she couldn’t bear to think about when she sat at Paul’s quiet bedside. 

It was always quiet in the medical rooms.

A small blessing.

Doctor Gold appeared every now and then to check in on his patient, and to give the two sitting vigil the updates they so badly needed on Paul’s condition.

Those updates never got easier.

The updates usually ended with Doctor Gold repeating the same two sentences he always did.

“You both should get some rest. He won’t be awake for a few hours yet.”  

Neither Destiny nor Adam ever moved from those seats though, even when Gold ended his shift and turned in for the night. They always remained, flanking the unconscious Paul, with Destiny sitting on one side of the bed and Adam on the other.

Waiting.

Always waiting.

The time it took for Paul to reawaken varied. Usually it was six hours. Sometimes it was twelve. They had found it depended on the severity of his injuries. 

The bruises and cuts rarely remained, but occasionally Paul could be left paralysed for a few days.

Seeing their indestructible friend confined to a wheelchair was always a sight.

Indestructible he may have been, but it was a stark reminder that he could still be hurt. 

Wounded.

A reminder that, although he may have woken up, Paul had still been dead.

Destiny often found herself wondering what went on in Paul’s mind during those hours of infinite slumber. Did he dream? Was he aware of anything?

She wasn’t sure if knowing the answers would have made her feel more easy with the situation.

She doubted it.

When Doctor Gold had finished his shift for the night and Doctor Fawn had taken over, Adam filled Destiny in.

On the mission. 

The Mysteron agent. 

The plane crash.

Paul had ejected from the doomed craft just a second too late.

Today’s death came from being caught up in the tail end of the explosion.

He had been torn to shreds.

Adam had pulled him from the wreckage. It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

It rarely was.

The internal damage Paul had sustained was extensive, according to Doctor Gold’s initial scans. He estimated Paul wouldn’t be awake until at least the morning.

Possibly early afternoon.

Destiny didn’t care. 

By the look of it, neither did Adam. 

They’d wait for as long as it took. 

Paul continuously put himself in so many situations, he made sacrifice after sacrifice so that the world — so they, his friends — could continue living.

Waiting half a day for him to wake up was the least they could do for him.

No matter how much the waiting hurt.

Neither Destiny or Adam slept that night.

Sometimes they sat in silence, the only sound coming from the beeping machines that were hooked up to Paul. 

Sometimes they shared stories about their day. 

Sometimes they made jokes in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. 

It never worked. The solemn feelings remained hanging over their heads.

Those feelings wouldn’t lift until they knew Paul was home.

Just after dawn had broken over the landscape 60,000 feet below Skybase, Paul’s eyes slowly flickered open.

Their waiting was over.

Destiny was the first to notice.

She was the first to jump to her feet. 

Adam followed her lead once he’d noticed. 

He called back to the Medical Office. “Doc, he’s awake!”

Paul tried to sit himself up, grunting as he did. He still looked like death.

Destiny pushed past the uneasy churning of her stomach. “How do you feel?” 

He stopped his attempt at sitting, hand rising to rest against his forehead. 

“Woozy.” Paul admitted whilst lying himself back down again. His voice was weak. Hoarse. “How long was I out?”

Adam flicked his wrist to check his watch face. “Almost thirteen hours.” 

He sounded relieved. His friend was okay. He was awake. 

He was alive.

Destiny understood that feeling.

Had felt it wash over her only moments ago too.

“Take it easy.” Adam gently held Paul by his shoulder as he tried to sit himself up again. “Gold said you took quite the beating in that explosion.”

Doctor Gold appeared as if on cue.

He was followed by two more medical officers.

With a scanner in his hand, Doctor Gold shooed Adam and Destiny away from the bedside.

“Why don’t you two go and grab some coffees, or something?”

They’d heard those words before too. They knew it was Doctor Gold’s code for ‘get out, let us work and catch up later’.

Adam offered Paul a wave, Destiny a quick kiss to his cheek, and they finally left the MediBay.

Once they had freshened up and changed their clothes, they met in the canteen.

Gold’s suggestion of a coffee had been too tempting to ignore.

Their vigil was over.

Until the next time.

But they’d be there.

They’d always be there.

At his side.

Waiting.

[orcusnoir]

"You know what I hate?" The Champion asked to no one in particular as he watched over the slow boiling pot of stew.

"Uh... Not having enough spices?" The Captain asked from his seat at the table.

Wild gave a nod. "Not what I was going for, but yes."

"Then what do you hate, Champ?" Wars asked while glancing over to the Vet. Legend was currently trying to stack his fork and knife on top of each other to no avail.

"How do I put this?" Wild tapped his chin in thought.

"As bluntly as you can." Hyrule chimed in.

"Fair enough. Why are certain clothes locked to certain people? It's fucking cloth." Wild complained with a laugh.

At first Wars was going to chide Wild for the language, but... He just couldn't. Wild had a point here.

"FINALLY!" Wind's loud voice startled Wars a bit as the Sailor had been awfully quiet in his seat. "Tetra and I both hate that stupid shit. What do you mean I can't wear heels? I'm trying to feel tall, and Tetra hates heels, and so somebody has to wear them."

"Tell me about it." Wild started. "Zelda let me try on one of her old royal dresses, don't ask how they survived a hundred years, and somebody had issues with that."

The Captain just laughed. Damn those social rules indeed. Wild in a dress wasn't something he was expecting to hear about today, but it was something that he could picture.

And the Champion would rock that dress.

"Heh, I've been thinking those rules were stupid since I knew they existed. So, since I was nine." Time joined the conversation. "I didn't even know what the big deal was back then."

"I'd ask how, but I'm afraid the answer would be too confusing." Twilight said.

"Oh, not at all, I was raised by forest spirits and a giant tree." The Old Man nonchalantly explained. "They didn't have concepts like "male" and "female." So imagine my confusion."

A claim that he made often but never elaborated on. Everyone, besides the Captain and Wind, thought it was a lie or a ruse.

Warriors just laughed, he couldn't help it.

"Oh little Mask and his insisting that he's a tree." Wars felt everyone's eyes turn to him.

Time laughed loudly. "You made that corporals life hell."

"I did not have time for that guy's bullshit. We are in the middle of a fucking war, if the kid says he's a tree then he's a fucking tree." Wars started to lose his composure from all of his laughing.

"What do you mean by "he's a tree"?" Sky asked while scratching his head.

"Again, I was raised by forest spirits." Time explain. "You lot, besides two, think this a lie. It's not."

"Time, your life profoundly confuses me." Sky said. "So they assigned you a tree?"

Time nodded.

"Instead of anything else?"

Another nod.

"Not like a boy tree? Just a tree?"

Another nod. "Two trees, to be exact. But yes."

"Two trees?"

"Maple and oak, to be exact."

Wars just watch the conversation with a grin. Oh, poor Sky. He must be feeling the same confusion that he and the Sailor had during the war.

"I feel so understood." Rulie said with the widest smile imaginable. "I'm just a Fae." He shrugged as the others turned to face him. "Not the legend kind of Fae. I was raised by Fairies."

"Well, now you can be a Fae tree. How lovely." Time stated with a laugh.

"What kinda tree?"

"Hmmm, you and the Captain both have the same one. Pine, and you can have maple too. As a treat."

"A Fae pine and maple tree. Nice."

"Are we just gonna brush over the fact that Wars already has a tree identity?" Legend asked.

"I do too!" Wind but in. "Take a guess, it's so obvious."

"Uh...Palm tree?" Twilight asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Correct!"

"What tree am I then?" Wild asked while seasoning a few cuts of meat.

"Willow." Time and Warriors both spoke at the same time.

"Damn, that was fast."

"You had this conversation before, hadn't you?" Sky asked while keeping his gaze locked to Wars. "So tell us our trees."

"Oh, alright, I'll try to remember all the specifics. It's been a while." Time laughed while tapping his fingers on the table.

"It all reminds me of the Minish. They have leaves instead of trees, though." Four, who had been quietly observing this whole time, finally spoke up.

"Oh, the Kokiri had leaves too. That's a whole other thing."

[bloodyblackack]

Toji accidentally smacking your booty short covered ass so hard while you lie over his lap casually just using your phone. The shock of the sting had your toes curling and your butt clenching as you yelp out suddenly before rolling off of him and onto the floor with your face contorted in pain, stuck in silent scream mode. He sometimes forgot just how strong he really was but the way you backed up to him on all fours with your ass facing him as you weakly asked “is it red? It is isn’t it you asshole!” With teary eyes had him chuckling nonstop like the menace he is, only making you whine out even more as you crawled to the farthest edge of the couch.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I see people ship their characters with Daedric Princes, or at least simp and/or thirst very hard for them coughNocturnalcough but like what about the Aedra? The Divines? Yeah, no one wants to ship their character with Talos. I understand. But there are other options! Dibella-shaped options! And Stendarr, okay? I like Stendarr. And Arkay. And I know you all love Kyne/Kynareth, don't lie!

[babyblueetbaemonster]

@tes-summer-fest 24, day 4: thief and enamoured

Ah yes. You're not a thief. I know this, and I love you🩷

A little gift for @hannah-heartstrings and her lovely Thiefguard 😙

[wangxianficrecs]

Ad Oblivione by Baph & HikariNoHimeWriter

Ad Oblivione

by Baph (@bapha) & HikariNoHimeWriter (@hikarinohimewriter)

M, 70k, Wangxian

Part of the MXTX Epic Journeys Big Bang

Summary: There’s a child lingering in the outskirts of the cultivation world. No one knows where he comes from, his age nor his goal. This is the story of how he found his way back home. Kay's comments: It's been a hot moment since I last read this, but I still remember how much of a hoot it's been! The story is absolutely incredible, like, it's definitely one of the most creative time-travel stories I've read! I really enjoyed how it came together slowly, it had me really hooked! Something happened that made the world forget Wei Wuxian, who now lingers at the edge of the culvation world as a nameless child (and in the past), helping where he can while the cultivation world grows worried over his influence. It was super cool to see him be re-introduced to the other charascters and I enjoyed everyone's characterization as well. Not for Jiang Cheng fans! Excerpt: “What is gongzi’s name?” he asks, realizing that at no point did the boy introduce himself. “Who knows?” The boy shrugs. It looks strange when he’s still hugging the sword. The act looks almost involuntary. “My name was forgotten and it’s not my place to tell.” Once again, Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to say. He can tell that there is a story behind this boy’s response and attitude, but he can’t pry. It is not his place to pry. He already overstepped once. Doing so again would just be rude. “Now, now, er-gongzi, it’s getting late. I’m sure you don’t want to skip your curfew. Oh, but the innkeeper only gives morning meals. You won’t get anything to eat now.” The boy sits on the bed near the window. The bed is a mess of outer robes and sheets. He makes himself comfortable, falling on the mattress with a plop and a pleased groan. He sounds nothing like the person who just lectured Lan Zhan on the intricacies of demonic cultivation. Lan Zhan sits down on the other bed. He carefully sets Bichen and Wangji down before removing his boots. He glances at ZhiRuo. Somehow, at some point, she laid her head on the table and fell asleep. Lan Zhan didn’t know ghosts could sleep at all. His gaze returns to the nameless boy. “About your cultivation method, can you tell me?” The boy blinks at him. He looks shocked. “You... Want to know?” “You made solid points.” Lan Zhan shifts until he is kneeling on the mattress. “I want to understand, so I can improve.” “Oh.” The boy scratches his neck. “That’s... Not what I was expecting. But it’s good! Very good! Definitely worthy of Han—of Lan-er-gongzi!”

pov alternating, canon divergence, time travel, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, identity reveal, golden core reveal, cultivation sect politics, not cultivation world friendly, not jiang cheng friendly, abusive yu ziyuan, angst with a happy ending, developing relationship, mystery

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[hannah-heartstrings]

Corvus is Latin for crow, and Umbranox is Latin for dark night, so basically the Gray Fox has the edgiest name in Cyrodiil. XD

But I got randomly curious if Millona was Latin, and according to Google translate it means millions and her full name translates to this:

Is this true? If so, I think that's pretty cool.

Also I don't know how accurate these are, but giving them relatives could be fun. XD

[mirkwoodmunson]

insomnia

eddie munson/f!reader

sfw

If it weren’t for Eddie sleeping peacefully by your side, you’d be crying in frustration right about now. The aching pull of sleep behind your eyes was a constant reminder that if you could just relax, you’d be out cold. But whether it be your heart or your mind, your body betrays you; so, despite your exhaustion, you lie awake in Eddie’s bed at four o’ clock in the morning.

Your legs are tingling with restlessness and it starts to reach your arms, you dare yourself to stay still, wallowing in discomfort to save Eddie the ordeal of waking up just to help you fall sleep. As many times as he’d tried humming to you, rubbing your back, tried talking you to sleep, the stress of wanting to give him that satisfaction of lulling you into slumber kept you awake despite his best efforts. More-so on your part you’d decided it best not to indulge in that frustration just to have him awake with you. He needed rest, too, and you’d either fall asleep, or you wouldn’t. Mornings when he could tell you hadn’t rested were a blessing within your curse, anyway — he’d coo and sweet-talk you, rub your back apologetically and bring you a cup of coffee in bed, tending to your enervation.

When the dark night begins to give way to the earliest of the sun’s light, it’s a bit too much to bear, and you rub your eyes with a soft sigh of irritation before carefully climbing out of his bed. You grab one of his discarded sweatshirts off the floor and pull it over your head, arms wrapped tight around yourself as you leave his bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Wayne is still working the night shift, leaving the rest of the empty trailer to your devices. For a little while you watch some TV, curled up on the couch with your arms around your knees — early morning reruns of Batman, infomercials pleading you to buy K-Tel albums and Ginsu Knives.

You could pass for a zombie right now.

TV does nothing but worsen the ache in your eyes, still restless, so you switch it off in favor of staring out the window. You might as well be the last person alive on planet Earth. The trailer park is silent, still, hardly even a breeze shuffling the flora. You brush away an intrusive thought that encourages you to go outside and scream as loud as you can. Satisfying as it might be, it likely won’t help you sleep. You’re not even sure sleep is what you’re after anymore, what good would it do you now? Either way at this point, you’d still be exhausted in the morning.

Hell, it practically is morning.

You take to pacing to wear out your restlessness, down the hall to Eddie’s closed door and back to the living room - repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat. You close your eyes on the sixth rotation, you’re a ghost haunting the Munson household at this point, you know every angle of this trailer like the back of your hand.

What you don’t expect is to collide with something, someone — which you do, walking straight into a pillar of warmth and soft chuckles. The run-in elicits from your lungs a shriek, silenced midway by Eddie clamping a hand over your mouth, your eyes snapping open to find him grinning down at you as he laughs softly.

“Christ, you scream like a banshee.”

You smack his hand away half-heartedly and heave a sigh, “you scared me!”

“I’m not the one practicing my zombie shamble in the dark — I nearly grabbed the bat! Have you been bitten?”

He playfully tugs at your arms, pulling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt you wear, swiping calloused fingers against you, checking over your skin in a mock assessment. Everywhere he checks, he plants a warm little kiss, making you blush and squirm away from him.

A nightlight plugged into an outlet in the kitchen casts him in a warm glow, and you can see how sleepy he is, likely waking up for a quick piss only to find you meandering the short and narrow hallway like you were sleepwalking. His hair hangs in a tangled ruffle, wearing a ratty and bleach-stained band tee where only a few letters of the name are visible — if not worn — the rest faded away from years of washing and wearing and washing again; sleeves ripped off to promote his shoulders and biceps. The shorn hem ends just at his navel, showing off a bit of his soft belly and the trail of hair leading down into boxers that hang low on his hips.

After all this time he still makes you soft, and you for him.

In the silence of your admiration he ceases his playful ministrations to look at you, brown eyes cast to black in the near-dark — you could fall into them forever for all you cared. But he rests a curled finger against the underside of your chin to capture your full attention, or at least as much of it as he can have in your sorry and depleted state.

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

“No, actually, I just really like pacing back and forth at five a.m.”

He snorts and lightly shoves your shoulder, before pulling you back and into his arms, his splayed hand rubbing your back as he rests his face in the crook of your neck and breathes you in.

“M’sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you mumble, giving in to his comfort with a soft sigh as your eyes fall closed, winding your arms around his middle and tucking yourself against him.

“Can I do anything?”

“No, baby, it’s okay. I don’t wanna keep you up — I think sleep is a lost cause for me at this point.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, lifting it from your neck to pout at you. “Lemme help. Let me try, even just an hour or two would do you good. Just let me try. Please? I really don’t mind.”

How can you refuse this giant puppy? You groan softly in resignation and firmly plant your face square in his chest, rubbing into his shirt as he laughs softly and continues to stroke your back.

“Fine,” your voice comes muffled. “Misery loves company.”

Eddie laughs again and kisses into your hair before ruffling it, “misery is fucking cute when she’s tired. Go on, go lie down, I’ll be right there — I gotta take a piss.”

“Eeewwww,” you bemoan teasingly.

Eddie snorts and retorts with a lighthearted swat to your ass to which you squeak, sending you on your way.

As he heads into the bathroom, you trudge back into his bedroom, collapsing into the bed with a weary groan, burying yourself in the messed sheets, waiting for his return. He joins you again a few minutes later, sliding into the bed beside you and greedily pulling you into his arms, squeezing you in a warm hug before you relax together in your entanglement.

Eddie pulls all the moves he can think of as he lies on his back with you pulled up against him, your head resting on his chest so you can feel the steady rise-and-fall movement of his breathing, the thud of his heart just below your ear. The fingers of one hand comb into your hair, gently grazing the nape of your scalp in a tender massage, while his other hand once again lies flat on your back, rubbing wide and slow circles into you.

You don’t know why you initially deny his comfort when you’re struggling to relax, as when you receive it, you feel muscles ease up that you didn’t even realize were tense in the first place. You let go of a deep sigh, melting into him as you close your eyes, and this time it’s not a struggle to keep them shut. Maybe you’ve finally worn yourself out.

“Relaxed?” Eddie murmurs.

“Mhm…”

“Comfy?”

“…mhm…”

“Love me?”

You giggle softly and nuzzle yourself into him as you nod, “love you.”

Eddie nestles his face into your hair, hiding his smile there, shifting you into him further as he exhales a slow and soft breath. You’re cocooned in his warmth, his comfort, arms pulled up between you as you clutch yourself to him with loose fists twisted into his shirt, anchoring yourself to his refuge. Eddie is your safe place, his arms a home, eager to welcome you into the sanctuary of his grasp.

[yansurnummu]

TES fest day 8: free day

The first fic I ever finished and posted was The Blood of the Coven in 2016, which followed Anthelion through the Dark Brotherhood quest line in Oblivion.

I set a goal at the beginning to do at least one of these prompts, and somehow I actually managed to do them all! I had lots of fun and it was great to see everyone else's amazing art and writing as well :)

[dirty-bosmer]

IT IS DONE

Years and years I've funneled into this fic and finally (FINALLY) it's over. Thank you to all my dear and darling friends and readers who have supported this chaotic endeavor, especially those who left very insightful comments on my poll last week. It was the motivation I needed to see this thing through. Really, I don't have the proper words to express my gratitude :')

So without further ado, the grand finale:

Chapter 78: Penance — The Pain We Live For

Was it worth it? Will it ever be?

Nim followed after Elianna, and the earth pushed hard against her feet, each step urging her onward. Move faster. Get out, get out, get out. This world knew all she had taken from it, and linger as long as she liked, it still wanted her gone. It knew of her sickness, her alien ways, and like everyone else she ever loved, dead or living, it too would forsake her. Stubborn and spiteful, Nim dug her heel into the dirt. She wished to shed a piece of herself here, anchor the woman she’d once been upon Nirn, and even if what mangled remnant sprouted into nothing but a cypress knee, wouldn’t it be better than being ousted completely? Surely no woman, mortal or daedra, could be built to withstand such desertion, and how strange that even as a god, her body still recalled the shapes of the wounds this world had carved into her as she’d tried to flee it. How sad to confess that the backhand of its wrath didn’t hurt half as much as its absence.

[ego-osbourne]

Jyggalag Concept

I’ve really been wanting to draw him but Oh Dear Lord trying to figure out his shape took way too long. It was mostly his legs. I struggled so hard on his legs. BUT now I have a decent design figured out, so hopefully drawing him in the future will prove to be more fruitful

[hebuiltfive]

Oblivion: A NCS Story

Chapter Two: Falling Ask Captain Scarlet what happens to him whilst he's dead and he'd tell you nothing happens. He doesn't dream. He isn't conscience. He's just dead. Except that's not true. Scarlet just can't usually remember any of it. Until now..

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Character Death, descriptions of injuries, mentions of plane crash, dark themes, Mentions of the afterlife, or the Mysteron Version at least, even in death scarlet cannot escape black

Notes: I'm not sure if there will be another part for this yet. I have started writing something but it's not fully formed. To be honest, all of my works have hit a creative block at the moment, so hopefully this will pass.

Read it below or on AO3 here.

Falling.

He was free-falling.

So far.

He didn’t know how long he’d been on this descent.

There wasn’t an end. There never was an end. Only a continuous drop.

Down and down.

Darkness enveloped him. Nothing, and everything.

Down and down and down.

Falling.

His arms stretched out, but reached nothing but the blackness. His eyes were open, but there was nothing to see. He fell further and further, diving through the swirling, inky mists.

Down and down and down.

Until, finally, he wasn't falling anymore.

Until, finally,  he hit what felt like solid ground.

He never felt the pain that should have shot through him at such an abrupt landing. In this chasm, he couldn’t feel anything. Not the wind on his face, nor the bruising that should have come from the end of his fall.

He had been here so many times before now. He was getting used to these depths where he was.

Always unfeeling.

Always numb.

The here-but-not-here.

The somewhere-in-between.

A void that bridged the gap between life and death.

The place between existing and not existing.

Survival and extinction.

His mind’s limbo.

It was a dangerous tightrope he walked. Whilst it was brighter than the fall had been, it was so much darker by nature.

A zone filled with horrors.

Screams.

Torments.

Pleas.

Promises.

And voices.

So many voices.

Voices of the lost.

Voices of the damned.

Voices of the dead.

Those voices never got any easier to hear. He always tried to block them out. He never could.

Constantly they would cry out to him, to anyone who could hear them, and he could do nothing.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

One voice rose above the din of noise. It was a voice that he knew well. In another life. Somewhere so very far away from here.

“You know you can't win, Scarlet."

He knew the voice was an illusion, that Black wasn't really present. This place where they always met after Scarlet had taken his last breath wasn't a concrete environment. Neither of the men were corporal. This meeting wasn’t really happening, yet neither was it all in entirely in Scarlet's mind.

The voice was Black’s.

His words. His thoughts.

"Don't you just want to give in?"

Black always knew when Scarlet arrived here, wherever here was.

Scarlet had never managed to name the place. Whenever he awoke, he never remembered those moments in limbo. The memories of this place escaped him, like dreams escape someone after they awoke from a slumber.

He knew Black didn’t have to be there, but he always was.

Connected in a way no-one back on Skybase could explain, Black always chose to meet him there, in oblivion. To taunt him. To try and weaken his resolve in this 'other' place.

Sometimes, Black’s words almost got to Scarlet. Sometimes he found himself imagining how easy it would be to just give in.

To know peace.

All he’d have to do was simply accept the surrounding darkness. Welcome it. He knew it would only take a second, and then that body back on the mortal plain would truly be vacant. It would continue to grow colder and colder, to decay and wither.

No more pain. No more suffering.

But Scarlet never gave in.

He knew it could never be an option, no matter how inviting the prospect may have seemed.

"Don't you deserve it?” Black continued.

It was always the same. Whether or not Black could sense the doubt in Scarlet’s mind, he didn’t know. The familiar figure strolled into view. Only a few feet from where Scarlet stood.

The shell of Captain Black.

Conrad.

His friend. His mentor.

Now, his enemy.

"After all you've given, do you not deserve a rest, Scarlet?"

"No."

His resolve held. It always did. It had to.

In the real world, his body might have been broken, but it was healing. Soon he’d be back. Soon he’d be free of the torment of this beyond. He refused to break here. "There's still work to be done."

Black's humourless laugh echoed around the void. It bounced off walls that weren't really there. It mingled with the screams of those souls who had been torn from their bodies. The people the Mysterons had killed and then replicated.

Would they ever know peace?

Would Scarlet?

"The work is pointless. Humanity will fall and there will be nothing you can do to stop it." Black's cold, calculating gaze zeroed in on Scarlet. "Our vengeance on your world will be gradual, but the demise will be great."

Such conviction in Black's words. If Scarlet could have felt anything in this void other than the numbness, he'd have felt uncertain. Uneasy. Not fearful, but concerned.

The odds were against Earth. They had always been, right from the start.

Would the Mysterons eventually win?

If they chose to strike tomorrow and wipe out all life on earth, they could. There would be nothing the humans could do to stop them.

They could win.

They would win.

So, was the work indeed pointless? Did Black make a valid argument?

The pain that Scarlet knew he would return to… Would it be worth it?

Black could sense the conflict in Scarlet's mind. He grinned. It was a terrifying sight. "You know I'm right."

"No-one can predict the future, Conrad. Not even you."

"I am not Conrad.” Black spat the name.

Scarlet grinned this time. He took the small wins like this. He always found satisfaction in the Mysteron replicant’s obvious offence to that name, as though it disliked remembering the shell it wore. When they had been trapped in the Rhino, under the frozen lake, Scarlet knew he’d managed to break through some of the Mysteron’s control. By behaving and acting as though he was dealing with Conrad, some of that power dimmed and his friend, for a while, came back to him. Scarlet believed it to have been the humanising of the replicant, by calling him by his name; Conrad. Scarlet enjoyed exploiting that weak spot whenever he could.

"He's here, though, isn't he? Amongst the voices, in this beyond."

"Yes. Somewhere, Conrad Lefkon screams into eternity. Destined to watch and unable to intervene."

"Let him talk to me."

It was a long shot but he figured anything was possible in this void, even if Scarlet doubted the Mysteron in front of him would allow his friend to speak.

But Black's body went taut.

His arms shot out to his side, head tilting up to the nothingness-sky above. He looked to be possessed. And then...

"Paul?"

“Conrad?” Hope filled Scarlet's voice. His friend, still somewhere inside there.

The head of the replicant lowered and Conrad's eyes fell on to Paul. A smile, a genuine smile that hadn't been present on that face in so long, formed.

But no sooner had Conrad appeared in control of his replicant body did the Mysteron Force rip it away again. And Conrad was no longer Conrad.

Black laughed. Indeed anything was possible here.

Scarlet willed the hurt to not show.

“You know, if you gave in, you’d probably be able to see him again. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to see anyone else again, but you can’t win it all, can you?”

He knew Black was relishing in his pain. He knew this was all just a part of his attempt to try and break him.

Scarlet wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"The problem with you, Scarlet, is that you're too emotional."

Black was taunting him on purpose.

He had to ignore it. "Emotions are not weak."

"When utilised in the right way, they are not. But you? Humans have a complex relationship with their emotions, and that makes them an easy spot to target.” Black tilted his head. "Then again, you're not really human, are you, Paul?"

"I'm more human than I am Mysteron."

"Are you?" Black gestured to their surroundings. "I'm no expert on humanity's afterlife, but I'm certain it doesn't look like this. Humans generally don't have a waiting room they reside in until they bring themselves back from the dead, do they?"

"Neither do the Mysterons." Scarlet wouldn't allow Black to penetrate his mind like this. He was human!

He was!

He was!

"Well, no. We don't. As a rule, we're not... how do you put it? Indestructible. But you have to admit, this is far more alien than the human norm..."

"What's the plan here?"

Scarlet was tired.

He was tired of playing these games. Every time he died, he ended up here. Every time he ended up here, Black joined him. And, every time Black joined him, the same old weapons were wielded against him. He just wanted to go home, back to the land of the living, where he could feel his heart beating and where he was a million miles away from wherever the Mysteron replicant of his friend was hiding.

Where he was with people he loved and cared about.

“Plan? Be more specific, Scarlet. Long term or short?"

Scarlet didn't give him an answer. He just stared at his enemy.

"Getting restless, are we?"

Black's smirk struck something within Scarlet. His heart leapt. No, it didn’t leap. Not in fear, at least. He couldn't feel here. No, his heart… His heart was beating again.

Finally, in some far off, distant land, he was starting to wake up.

Black sensed it too. He seemed annoyed that he had, once again, failed to keep Scarlet here. "One day, Scarlet, you won’t be so lucky. One day, you will give in. You’ll choose to stay here with me. With all these damned souls. Believe me when I say I am very much looking forward to that day."

The figure of Black faded back into the darkness.

For a moment, Scarlet was alone again, in the nothingness.

Then, he began falling… no, not falling. He was flying.

Upwards.

Towards scorching light.

Flying higher and higher and—

———————————————

He awoke with a gasp of air.

Oxygen. Nitrogen.

Life.

Everything was blurry. Everything was numb still. There were voices… but they were not screaming. They were not tortured souls.

They were familiar.

Far away, yet so close.

Blinding lights as he tried to open his eyes, shooting pains as he tried to sit up.

Bad idea. He should rest a while. His eyes stayed closed, his body remained horizontal.

The voices slowly became clearer.

"How do you feel?"

Destiny.

That was Destiny's voice. Relief washed over him.

He was home.

"Woozy." He admitted without shame, and dared to crack one eye open.

Whilst his vision was slightly less blurry now, Destiny still appeared as a foggy blur. She stood at his bedside, her hand clasped around his. He tried to offer her a squeeze. He wasn’t sure if he managed it.

He forgot how exhausting being dead was.

Paul tried to sit up again, but the room span.

There was hand on his shoulder then, urging him to stay down. "Take it easy."

He knew that voice too.

Paul looked to his right and saw a blur of blue.

Adam.

"Doctor Gold said you took quite the beating."

He could believe that.

Paul didn't attempt to try and remember what had happened. He knew it would be pointless for now…

Pointless.

Someone else had said something was pointless. What was that about?

He couldn't remember.

Paul had a vague awareness of Doctor Gold arriving. Of him shooing his friends away. Of other medical practitioners circling his bedside.

And then, nothing.

———————————————

Waking up was always a trying experience for his body. It went against nature, even for his Mysteron biology. It took Paul the rest of the day to recover enough to sit up, to talk properly, to gain proper awareness of his surroundings. His thoughts were less hazy too.

The MediBay. He was in a bed he was all too familiar with.

"You gave us all a fright yesterday, Captain." Doctor Gold told him as he approached his bedside that evening. He sat an orange bottle of tablets on his bedside table. "Two of those, three times a day for the next week, even if your injuries are healed. Understand?"

Paul nodded. He knew better than to argue with Doctor Gold. The first time he’d been in this situation, the two hour long heated debate between the two of them over whether mediation was necessary ended with Colonel White stepping in. Paul lost the argument, and White had signed him off duty for a whole month because of the debacle.

“Though I would have liked you to stay in for the night, it isn't necessary. If you wish to go back to your quarters, you are free to do so. But you are signed off any missions for the next week."

"Doc—"

"Colonel White's orders, not mine."

Paul figuratively hung his head low. He knew arguing that case was was pointless too.

Pointless.

Again, something in his mind associated that word with something else. Another conversation. With… someone.

What had been pointless before?

He ignored it and, with a defeated sigh, Paul nodded again. ”Understood.”

"Like I said, you gave us all a fright, Captain. We do this not as a punishment but because we want you to be at your best physical health before you go back out there."

Paul would have argued that he healed quicker than humans, but he figured most humans wouldn't have survived what he had.

Well.

What he hadn’t survived.

He had died. He just hadn’t stayed dead.

Paul had the gift — or curse — of retro-metabolism.

The memories of that crash came to him an hour or so after he had awoken. The bomb he was unable to diffuse in time. His parachute failing to open. The blast that had caught him.

He had a phantom pain earlier, a memory of his body being hit by that explosion. Paul had reached down to his legs, to make sure the skin that had been seared off had grown back. He twisted his neck to know it was no longer broken. He placed a hand over his heart so he knew that it was indeed beating again.

Indestructible.

But only to a degree, and with a mighty cost.

Paul thought it best to not dwell on things like that. They never did him any good. He swung his legs from the bed, pocketed the tablets and left the medical wing.

Though his bed called to him, there was one stop he wanted to make first.

———————————

[copper-skulls]

so the last castle of oblivion chapter by @jekkiefan am i right

t'was one of those that I had an IMAGE and had to draw it out so here's wips.

[halothanic]

some little fanarts for @wispstalk since his work "idle in their thrones" has absolutely captured me. i'll be so sad when i finish reading, it's been a daily treat for me for the past week or so. i love tanis so much lol, but i just had to draw coradri too!

my bestie @ieillorien got me into TES by osmosis last year and i just haven't been able to get oblivion (OR MARTIN) off my mind, especially their interpretation of it, along with their oc. it's been a true treat swapping gay star-crossed high fantasy love stories (whew, what a mouthful) and i'm so glad they pointed me in the direction of this work. i'm convinced having summits on this stuff is one of the finer things in life and i never take it for granted

[manie-sans-delire-x]

Btw I’m obsessed with the idea of Shadowmere being this eerie horse where on the surface everything seems normal but people can’t help but feel like something is a little…off.

She’s a little too big. A little too smart. The mares teeth are a little too sharp. Are those…fangs? Say, has anyone actually seen the thing graze? How does it stand so still, frozen for hours on end until its master returns? The other horses avoid it, ears pinned back and nervous whenever it enters the stable. She moves like a feline. Something is wrong with that mare.

[antitheticallyargumentative]

I’m going to attempt to explain why the ending of Ted Lasso re: Jamie and his dad, bothers me so much. I know a lot of other people have made posts about this, and excellent ones, too, but I also have a lot of thoughts. These are just my opinions. Feel free to disagree. Feel free to discuss with me why you disagree. I love respectful conversations.

 This is gonna be long. sorry guys.

tw/cw- James Tartt Sr., abuse, The Amsterdam Thing

not detailed, but they are mentioned. proceed with caution and take care of yourself, please. <3

It is not the decision to have Jamie reach out to his dad that I hate. It is not even the decision to put Jamie’s dad in rehab (though I do think it was… A Choice.) To me, it’s very unsurprising that Jamie would try to reach out to his dad. Not just because of who he is as a character, but because of what this kind of lifelong abuse does to a person’s psyche. A lot of kids who come from abusive or neglectful homes have an incredibly hard time cutting off their parents. Even if they’re scared of them, even if they’re angry with them, there is still a deeply ingrained need to be loved, that maybe this time it will be different. They’ll mean it when they say they’ve changed. They’ll love me. Going no contact is fucking hard. It’s also fucking dangerous. As much as Jamie says he’s done everything he has to spite his dad, there is a part of him that deeply, desperately craves James’s approval. Of course he would visit him in rehab, because, if he’s in rehab, he’s trying, right? And maybe this time it will be different. 

But it won’t be. Because James Tartt has a pattern. A pattern of playing super dad, presumably where he cleans up his act and “makes an effort” with Jamie. Does father-son things with him, talks to him outside of asking for game tickets or telling him he played like shit (I’m hypothesizing here), lulls him into a false sense of security. And then what happens? Well, things like Amsterdam happen. And I highly doubt that was the only time he pulled that act. He likely also pulled it when he first came back into Jamie’s life, and probably other times after Amsterdam, too. What he doesn’t do, ever, though, is apologize, or take accountability for his past actions. Because James is a narcissist. At least, that’s what I would say. He feeds off Jamie’s fame and success to make himself feel bigger, important, entitled. And narcissists lack empathy. They struggle to take responsibility for their actions. They’re also, commonly, very manipulative. 

James is not an abusive piece of shit because he’s an alcoholic. He is both an abusive piece of shit AND an alcoholic. Not only does acting like he was horrid because he was drunk perpetuate the stigma of substance use disorders, it also completely takes away accountability.  James going to rehab does not change what he did. It does not fix what he’s done. It does not mean that he is magically going to win father of the year because he got sober. More likely, he’s going to continue to the cycle. I truly do not see a way in which we get to the happy ending of the show. Which brings me to my final point. 

This is not a happy ending. Jamie going to see his dad does not fix things. Jamie forgiving his dad does not take away from his trauma. Jamie should not have to forgive his dad, not for James, not for himself, not for anyone. The thing that bothers me most is that the show plays this scene like it’s closure. Like everything is OK now, and they have a good relationship, there’s no fallout, no consequences, nothing left the heal. And I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. 

The things our parents do and say to us cut deep, at least in my experience. It doesn’t matter if they apologize, it doesn’t matter if they learn and grow, it doesn’t matter if we forgive them. That hurt stays. It sticks. You remember it. You feel it. There is no way in hell that seeing his dad wouldn’t be incredibly difficult for Jamie— just judging from what we’ve seen in the show. There’s no way it wouldn’t bring up all the trauma James has put him through, even repressed. It would not be easy. It would not be happy. And I don’t think it would be healthy. 

Whatever Jamie eventually decides to do regarding his relationship with his dad, whether its cutting him off or choosing to forgive him, which personally, I don’t think he should (but I also know that cutting off a parent is no easy feat), it would take time, it would take effort, it would be a struggle. It would take actually working through the years of abuse and trauma caused by his dad. And we don’t get any of that. We get “forgive <3” and problem solved! And honestly, I think that’s a dangerous message to be passing out. 

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. (Hehe, get it?)