#Infinite Labyrinth 2

[all-with-angel]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : The Labyrinth Song

...by Asif Avidan

❥ Satoru Gojo x Reader

Or when Satoru Gojo enjoys his last 7 minutes with you.

Made for Angels Birthday Event!

Satoru Gojo lay sprawled on the couch, one arm lazily hanging off the edge, the other bent behind his head like a pillow. It was hot today, making him feel lazier, tired and more melty than usual. Still, he had kept his eyes trained on you.

“You're staring again,” you teased, sitting across from him, eyes leaving the TV and meeting those bright blue eyes that seemed to be infinite.

Gojo giggled, voice low and fond. “I’m allowed. You’re the best view I’ve got.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t hide the small smile that tugged at your lips. He tucked it away somewhere soft in his mind, like how one might press flowers between the pages of an old book.

The world hadn't started fading yet, but his heartbeat already felt like something counting down.

“Give it back!” You screeched, clawing at Gojo’s chest while simultaneously trying to reach your homework. “Do your own assignment!”

“Why would I when I got yours right here?~” He taunts, waving the notebook right above you.

“Satoru, you should've done it yesterday.” Suguru hummed, yet he did nothing to help you. Instead watching with a smirk as the two of you played a tug of war with your work. “Same goes for you, Shoko.” 

“Mm, I did mine just fine 2 minutes ago.” She waved her work around, scribbles and half-assed answers sprawling on the page. 

“I don’t care if you did your work or not!” You kicked Gojo in the foot, which luckily made him curl into himself just enough for you to snag your assignment, rushing to your seat as you notice Yagas presence in the doorway. "This is mine!"

He could hear a heart slowing down. Was it his?

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“Both of you, sit down!”

Memory after memory faded into the next. Each blurrier than the last.

Hold on, just a little longer.

Satoru stood barefoot in your home, warm as sunlight started to filter through the blinds. He had his chest to your back, arms wrapped around your waist as he swayed you left and right - humming some random tune. You yawn, pouring two cups of coffee.

He laughed quietly to himself. The sound echoed strangely.

You were both nineteen when he first said it.

“I’d marry you.”

It was blunt. No theatrics, no teasing.

You blinked at him. “Are you - are you serious?”

He’d laughed then, too nervous, too fast. “Well, yeah. I mean. No! Unless like, if you want to. But that would be weird. But if you wanted -”

He could feel it now. The fade. The veil pulling him downward, something comforting telling him to let go of the pain.

Not yet.

“Senseiiii!” A pink-haired boy groaned out. Leaning against another boy, one Gojo and you had raised as your own. Dark spiky hair. “Can we pleeease go to the arcade? We finished the mission early anyway!”

“Yeah! We deserve this!” A girl cheered, brown hair with a fire in her eyes.

“Hmmm, I dunno~” Gojo had pretended to think, tapping a finger on his chin. “Do they?” He turns to you, by his side. Right where you’ve always been.

You nod. “Yeah, they deserve it.”

The three students cheer, high-fiving and thanking you. They were really like your own kids. Gojo smiled at the thought. Right before the entire scene changed, bright afternoon fading into the navy blue of the night.

He’s walking through a summer festival now. The stalls blur by in shades of red and yellow, paper lanterns floating like little moons above your heads. You’re holding his hand, fingers loosely interlaced as you point to another stall. “Can you get me that one?”

“Duh, ofcourse I can.” The memory feels a little wrong. Satoru doesnt remember hitting any of the targets straight, the orange lights flickering too often. Still, you cheer as you cuddle your new plush, soft against your features. Before Satoru could hold your face, cradle it and cover it in kisses, hes pulled away. A dark void before it blurs back to color.

Please.

Not yet.

“What kind of wedding do you want?”

“Hm?” Satoru turned to you, tilting his head. “Anything you want.”

“That isn’t an answer.” You deadpan, cuddling closer before turning over to lay on his chest. “What do you want in it?”

“Like i said,” he repeats, “Whatever you want is what I want!” But this time he pauses. A break in the memory, his own will slipping through. A lucid dream. “...I wish we had more time, though.”

“Huh?” You furrow your brows. “What does that mean?”

You blur into colors, your weight on his chest disappearing into the weight of the world. The weight of his failure.

“ –atoru? Hey!” 

Your voice fades too, but Satoru doesn't forget it. His eyes are still open, staring up into the sky. He’s felt like this before. The moment you appreciate life more than anything, find every little detail fascinating and new. Back when he almost died, yet came back.

It's different this time, though. 

Because this time, he has so much more to lose. So much more to leave behind. You. Another weak tug pulls at him, lulling him to finally rest after fighting for so long. Surviving for so long. It didn’t need to tug any stronger - Satoru knew that he’d fulfilled those 7 minutes, no more.

A.N. LMAO. Yall thought I was gonna keep posting fluff? in this economy?

[solspina]

We Should Stick Together (2)

sanguinius ⋆˙⟡

hello! remember this that i wrote like 3 months ago? flooding my inbox worked, and i gift you all the part 2 that you harassed me for (affectionate). i hope you enjoy, and please feel free to drop more writing ideas in my inbox if you have them!! i have work in 6 hours so i am very sorry for spelling or grammar mistakes :)

as the race to the imperial palace comes to an abrupt end, sanguinius confronts his greatest fear, and finally discovers whether this is a battle he wins or loses to his perfect phoenician brother.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: n/a

(part 1)

Sanguinius turned back, ensuring that Fulgrim had become a mere speck in the distance, even to the sharp and trained eyes of the avian mutant.

Five minutes… He had five minutes at most before the Phoenician stormed into the imperial palace and attempted to track down the woman he knew was his brother’s desired bride. Although much slower than the angel, Fulgrim was still a primarch, and therefore incomprehensibly faster on foot than the average human. The duo had only ventured about three miles away from the palace to begin with, and though Sanguinius could cover that distance in half the time his brother could, he still worried for the little time he had.

The angel landed rather clumsily, his feet failing to obtain a proper stance on the floor before his wings had folded in upon his back. He stumbled, unable to catch himself before his clothes and feathers were covered in the dusts of holy Terra just as his hands had been.

In flight, his appearance had become quite disheveled, and was now accompanied by the filth of the ground. His hair had become frizzy from the abuse upon it by the wind, and his loose feathers stood on his wings in a way that made them rather itchy. He would deal with that later. No time to lose right now.

His stagger to his feet was near immediate. One moment of hesitation meant one moment Fulgrim would inch closer to the imperial place.

Sanguinius was most concerned with finding her before the phonecian ever even got the opportunity, but the thought that he had not prepared a speech lingered in the back of his head like a quickly spreading disease. The great angel was and always had been an artist of impeccable detail, a poet of unimaginably beautiful words, a man who spoke to inspire the masses. And yet despite all of this, so was his brother, whom no doubt had much more time to prepare for the exact upcoming moment.

Pale white wings trembled ever so slightly at the thought, yet they caused the angel to more hastily sprint through every room that a baseline could possibly hide in. What if, even if he had been here first, Fulgrim’s speech was more captivating and practiced? What if she cared more about the display and grandeur than the intentions of her suitor? Did she know that Fulgrim had been married before? That he would have infinitely more experience when it was time to bed he-

Not the time to think about that.

Sanguinius turned another corner as he searched for the person he so desired, but again he found nothing. Thus began his endless chase of navigating this imperial labyrinth. He turned another, and another, and another, and another, until he finally found himself gazing into one of the imperial palace's many greenhouses.

There he saw his dearest beloved sitting elegantly by a pond filled with fish of many species. Greenery, a lovely assortment of flowers and, golden sunset light adorned her body in an impossibly perfect halo. The water that poured from the elaborate fountains complimented the melody in her voice like a song made only by nature's most beautiful things, meant to cleanse his very soul.

The scene would have been a dream if not made a nightmare by the pompous and flamboyant voice of Fulgrim, drowning out what should have been Sanguinius' idealized solace.

The Phoenician let out a pretentious laugh at something the baseline said, and the angel physically cringed at the way she placed her hands over her stomach to ease her own mirth. The sight should have been something glorious, enchanting to the eyes of the ninth. It had been so many times before, yet he only felt his blood begin to boil.

only I should make you laugh that way.

He did not know what emotion flooded his heart the most. Envy? Or perhaps sorrow? rage? resentment for his silver haired brother?

What he did know, however, was that he had lost.

Somewhere amongst an incredibly confusing concoction of emotions, the angel was beyond certain that a searing heartache was included in the most prevalent of them.

He may have been able to disguise his current visage as nervousness, were anyone of importance to ask why his mood had become morose. Social interaction with a passing custodian or serf had become the least of his worries. He did not care much, at this point, if someone saw him sulking in the doorway to the garden, grieving a baseline as if he had - for lack of a better comparison - lost his lover.

Not that a soul would come through to the conservatory anyway.

"Brother!" The palatine phoenix called. His voice was loud, deafening almost. High and mighty as ever, and calling upon all eyes that could see to face the angel in his horrent state of embarrassment. "Come! We have awaited your presence."

The smile of the third was hideously genuine. The stretch of his lips when his eyes met those of the human was so sweet it was sickening to Sanguinius - so much so that it sent a chill up his spine that caused his feathers to fluff and clatter against each other when he reacted to the sensation.

"We were just discussing you." The Phoenician beamed as the angel mournfully walked forward.

"Ah." Sanguinius replied. His cheerful personality had become lost somewhere deep in his chest, and what little of his voice he displayed had become somber and quiet. Quite truthfully, he was not in the mood for any type of social affair. He especially did not want to take part in the type of conversation that had likely already seen his would-be espouse become betrothed to his perfect, handsome, non-mutant brother.

"I was just about to ask this lovely baseline of ours a very important question~"

Oh?

About to?

Fulgrim hadn't asked yet?

The angel swore he saw the third wink at him before he started to begin speaking again. Something in those shiny violet eyes beckoned the angel as they stared deep into his ruby red gaze. An opportunity, he thought, a wordless promise. - "ask her now. last chance."

Before the phoenix could fall gracefully onto one knee, the golden primarch hastily plucked the red-diamond ring - a gem color choice Sanguinius found ironic - and fell to both knees. He firmly grabbed both of the human's small hands with his own and placed them gently to his forehead, unmistakably in a position of prayer.

"Please!" He cried. His voice rang almost in protest, if not for the tears forming in his eyes alongside the exasperation in his breath and the sobs in his voice. "Listen not to a word Fulgrim says! You should marry me! Me!" He paused, only to take one pathetic gasp of air and look up into her eyes.

"Brother..."

"You have not one idea how long I have waited, how hard I have worked to find the perfect gift! And now I am rushed! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Sanguinius!" The phoenician shouted. "I was going to ask her if she had eaten yet today. So you could have done this over dinner."

The angel paused; his crying ceased. "What...?" Two crimson eyes both widened, and then dulled in embarrassment as he looked back up at the baseline. She looked at him in complete and utter stupor.

"W-wait. I can explain." He stuttered out.

She sighed in response, but followed the fading of her shock with a grin and gentle laugh.

Sanguinius did not know how he felt, regardless of her pleasant reaction. She gently removed her hands from his, taking her hand and wiping away tears from his pathetic, wet face. "Ask me again over dinner."

Her smile did not fade. Not even for a moment.

The ninth shared a sigh of his own, before giving a nod and a kind smile of his own in approval. He hoped he hadn't looked as bad as he thought, despite his disheveled hair, wings browned from terran dust, and now burning red cheeks.

"I will clean myself up, and do this properly." He promised. He bowed slightly to her, taking her hand and giving the back of it a soft and proper kiss. "Wear your nicest clothing. I will treat you to whatever you wish, as an apology."

"To tonight, then." She gracefully returned his bow. Her face was covered in a gentle blush of its own, her eyes just as upturned and full of joy as they had been earlier. Perhaps now even more so.

The angel turned to search for Fulgrim, hoping to give him a gaze that asked whether or not this was a good thing.

When his eyes finally found his brother, though, he was already making his way out of the greenhouse. Shaking his head and indulging in some giggles of his own.

Solspina's Scribellum✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

@astrohymn @moodymisty @undeaddream

@lemon-russ @kit-williams @nereidof40k

@jackalwolfsoul @beckyninja @verylazykiwi

(please comment to be added/removed from my taglist !!)

[expanding-hyrule]

Story Spotlights Hub Post

Reference post for links and details on the Expanding Hyrule Story Spotlights community project.

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Looking to help support a creator in Expanding Hyrule? All of these works in our collection have yet to get enough reviews for a spotlight. Works need a minimum of 3 reviews to be featured, and will include up to 5 in their post, but you are welcome to submit more, the link to the responses is available on this post for creators to read the whole list.

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Short Projects (Concept boards, under 10 chapter fics, etc)

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Already Spotlighted Projects

| All That Hurts Us (post scheduled) | Alternate Triforce | The Baker and the Seamstress | Break the Wheel | Captain Link Araki and the Harbinger of Destiny ⭐ | Chained Truths | The Curse of Demise | Cycle of the Stars | Dad Link AU (post drafted) | Depths of Darkness (post scheduled) | Divine Gemstones | Fae & Fortitude* | Fall Under Your Spell | The Final Hyrule | The Fruitcake Campaign | Goddess of Secrecy ⭐ | The Golden Chain | Guarding Zelda | Hero | The Hero and the Priestess | The King's Lament | In the Blood | A Link To The Stars ⭐ | Linkubus | Lock & Key (post scheduled) | The Mage's Lantern | Mark of a Hero | Missing Hero AU | No More. Not One Single Time More | On My Honor | On the Shores of Change (post scheduled) | The Princess's Heart | The Promise | Remnants of the Past | The Ritual of Lomei Labyrinth | The Sea's Prophecy | Song of the City | Stone Fate | Strings of Fate | The Temporanaunt | To Fall in Love with a Goddess (post scheduled) | Too Old to Keep | Triforce of Power | Tri-Time War AU | Unbroken | Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore | Vessels | Void's Grasp | Western Hyrule (post scheduled) |

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[acesw]

Deep Analysis — 2.6 Poster

Hello everyone! As you can tell this is a post meant for the CN Spoiler audience. While the tags will be seen, same rules apply: If you're in any way sticking to global patches, I'd suggest not looking into this thread until way later. For any CN enjoyers, have fun!

*Placeholder for spoilers

I've also begun using both tumblr and twitter interchangeably so that I can manage the distribution of both GLB and CN Lore posts. The thread version of this post is here.

Deep Ch. 9 Poster Analysis: Folie et Déraison

Welcome! As of today (18/02/25), Bluepoch has released the poster for 2.6, and there are a lot of cryptic implications in this poster than I expected.

The formatting and amount of images here will be limited due to me being limited to my phone to write at the moment, but I will link specific parts of my twitter thread to be able to show the other images missed. Let's not dwell on my antics for longer and let's get started.

1. Title and Artwork

A. Title

"Folie et Déraison: Historie de la Folie" is a 1961 book written by Michel Foucault. The book describes how madness has evolved over the course of history from the middle ages to the 18th Century.

B. The Main Cast

Recoleta (Ficciones)

Aleph

Vertin

Sonetto

The Idealist

The Physician

Dores

C. The Poster's Main Elements

The entire poster represents 3 main figures: the panopticon/prison, a skull-like head showing the layers of the mind, and 3 inner humanoid shapes that show the depth of the panopticon.

D. Art Style

While I can't distinguish the exact form (ironic coming from an art student), this art style definitely uses Doodle/Scribble as a part of the drawing while also integrating the use of word art to reinforce the shape and message.

The way the lines are drawn are in a manner that makes it: hasty, jagged, sharp, and rough. It's meant to give that feeling of uneasiness, and express the desperation and mania founded in a decline in one's psychological health.

E. The Red Path

The red line represents paths and depth, with the addition of showing a hexagon-like shape in the middle and ladders across each layer. It also crosses over the key phrases, coincidentally symbolizing the shackles of the outermost figure.

F. Key Figures

The key phrase in this poster is "Our Mind Is a Prison," repeated all over the poster and being one of the leading mediums of the head shape. In the image below, it specially reads as "Our Mind Is a Prison," cycling into "A Prison of our Mind."

G. The Figures

As said earlier, there are three figures within the panopticon/head. The outermost figure encompasses the two others, the middle figure is shown to be in a sitting/dejected position, and the innermost figure is in a fetal position, protecting the hexagon shape.

H. The Description

"A place of exile for prisoners,

Countless fervent poems and ideals!

Countless illusions entwined into a labyrinth?

Countless versions of "you" drifting within...

Infinite possibilities lie hidden here,

And we have come for them."

-Merui's translation

2. Implied Symbolisms

A. Mental Spiral — With the ongoing themes of madness and illusions, and the key phrase, it's fitting that the poster shows a mental spiral and an interpretation of the "prison of your own mind" metaphor.

B. Labyrinth and Identity — Adding to the mental spiral symbolism, the panopticon is shown as a labyrinth. It can represent how difficult it is to navigate one's understanding of themselves and others. It adds to the complexity of interpersonal relationships and personal identity.

C. Death and Burial — My friend pointed out that the yellow scribbles that show the outermost layer of the prison can be interpreted as a grave. The head also shows a deliberately-placed hole that looks like an eye socket.

D. Pregnancy (and motherhood) — The outermost figure is shown to be encompassing the other two figures, while the innermost is in a fetal position. Here, it can imply pregnancy and likely the chapter's ties to Vertin and Urd (Dores), and their likely connection to each other. Additionally, someone pointed out that the figure in the fetal position looks like Vertin's body position in the profile screen!

3. The Main Cast

Recoleta and Aleph - Recoleta (Ficciones) and Aleph are both the main featured characters for this chapter, being described to be players of a "cruel game" (via Merui's translation of the broadcast description). Here in these posts, you'll find an analysis for both characters + the implications of the name "Recoleta."

It's likely that the two of them are either prisoners of the panopticon, or those who join Vertin and Sonetto in venturing deep in the labyrinth. They will definitely have some interesting stories to share.

Vertin and Sonetto - Speaking of which, Vertin and Sonetto are in the chapter together as a duo again; it's the first time since 1.2! This might be a chance for their individual characters and their relationship to be explored once again.

Many things between them are still left unsaid, and I would really want to see how this chapter will affect their relationship and understandings of each other. We might get a further glimpse of their origins too, who knows!

Dores - While we don't know who The Idealist and The Physician are, we definitely know who Dores is. What she went through to come back in this chapter, we don't know yet, but it can be assumed that she's imprisoned in this panopticon, and we will have a glimpse of her as a person.

4. Story Links and Initial Expectations

A.

Folie et Déraison is the 9th Chapter of the Main Series and a direct continuation from 2.4 (Last Evenings on Earth), taking place after Igor's betrayal and Dores' kidnapping in Ch. 8, and the artificial "Storm" experiment in 2.4.

Taking place in Ushuaia, Argentina, it can be assumed that the story will be set in the now-former Ushuaia Prison, which is a prison based on the design of a radial panopticon. This chapter will also be set in 1991 via the timeline, making it a few months after Ch. 8.

I'm assuming that the prison here is being used as a temporary Manus base, where Dores is being kept during the time that she had remained hostage by Igor and the Manus Vindictae by extension. The fact that Vertin and Sonetto are going by themselves is already scary enough, but I'm sure they'll be able to push through.

B.

The chapter will once more go into psychological themes, exploring the mind of oneself and "madness" as a concept. In that case, the main story—alongside Ficciones and Aleph's characters—will definitely deal with heavy and disturbing themes as well.

With the cast, we will definitely explore Dores/Urd as a character. With the line "countless versions of 'you' drifting within," we might see the story solidify her identity as Urd; which may bring a confirmation about her previous identities and her relationship with Vertin.

We'll also see two paths that will finally cross each other after too long. Besides that, there will definitely be a lot of reveals and new questions will be made, which is what I'm really hoping for.

5. Last Notes

This chapter definitely makes me excited. This poster is insanely done well and I really appreciate how cryptic it looks while it sets the message outright. The words are likely handwritten, so I applaud the art direction for that.

Aside from the anxiety over the PV and character design, I really have high hopes for this story and how it will push the plot forward. Thanks for reading and lets have fun theorizing for the rest of the week!

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Danny Phantom and the Riordanverse

I have some thoughts about a Shared World kind of crossover between Danny Phantom and Percy Jackson & the Olympians. I haven’t done a full rewatch of DP in ages, nor have a read outside the core 5 PJO books, the HOO books, the Kane Chronicles, Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, and about 2 and a half of the Trials of Apollo books, also been a while. Apologies for any inaccuracies but hey, fanon.

A Glitch In Time canonizes that the Infinite Realms and Material World were once one and the same, but a global war - waged by people who were naturally half ghost the way Danny and Vlad are - split the world in 2. All things regarding Pariah Dark, I’d say he was one of the major powers in this war.

Realms can range from a 10x10x10 room to entire islands with their own celestial bodies like Dora’s kingdom and its sun. Technically we don’t know if the Far Frozen even has an End Point. Doors can lead to alternate timelines; Desiree, Ghost Writer and Clockwork are all able to warp reality, time included, and the Observant Council perceive time in at least 2 dimensions.

In the Riordanverse it is revealed in the few books of the Trials of Apollo that I read and remember that mortal belief from even a relatively small cult can elevate a mortal man to immortal status a la monsters and Gods. Apollo even muses about the way the Gods don’t want to acknowledge how dependent on mortals remembering them they are.

All of this considered, if you want DP to exist in the Riodanverse and even keep the lore of both, then the Realms/Planes/Worlds of the Gods - of Hellas, Kemet, the Æsir and Vanir, the Heavenly Beauracracy, etcetera - are Realms connected to the Spirit World but managed to remain intersected with the Material World through the efforts of the Gods and the memories of Mortals.

The Duat could even be a layer of the Infinite Realms, frankly.

Danny states that his accident was a month ago as of Episode 1, Mystery Meat, which is set April 3rd, 2004. Based on the few concrete date indicators we get in Danny Phantom, the series takes place over 3 years. 4 if you count Claw of the Wild, but that means the trio stays Tiny all the way into Senior Year lol.

Prisoners of Love begins on May 18th, Fright Knight is a Halloween episode, and in Lucky in Love, they’re at a waterpark, which only open in May at the earliest. The Fright Before Christmas is obviously set before and during Christmas and then Reality Trip is set at the beginning of Summer 2006.

In Urban Jungle, Tucker remarks that it’s 90 degrees outside, which means it’s either late May or early June since I do believe they Are in school at that point and iirc global warming hadn’t made it 90 in the midwest early in 2006. Claw of the Wild is an odd camping episode featuring Danny’s class, and I forget in episode details so if this was during school time it had to be during the spring since, again, they live relatively close to the Great Lakes, so it’s gotta be during a naturally warm time. A Glitch In Time, therefore, is set in late spring or early summer of 2008.

Percy Jackson is 12 at the beginning of The Lightning Thief & 13 at the end Iirc since his birthday is August 12th. Either way, this is in 2005. Sea of Monsters and Titan’s Curse are both set during 2006; Battle of the Labyrinth is in 2007, and iirc The Last Olympian is set next year during 2008 and Percy is 16.

Thereby when the Heroes of Olympus books begin in 2008-2009, Danny is 18 and either a senior or highschool graduate. This is a hilarious point in time for Percy to meet Danny, actually, or any of our protagonist crew, if you want to maintain canon for both.

I know most people don’t, in fact, care to keep up DP canon nearly this rigidly, so some other fun thoughts.

In Reality Trip, Freakshow acquires the Reality Gauntlet, and begins the summer (as this begins on a last day of school event I’d say probably even on the Solstice) of 2006 with a reality warping bang. Once he gets the gems, Freakshow transforms the whole world into his circus, until Danny tricks him and gets the glove back, fixing reality to exactly how it was before the change, wiping his identity from the memories of everyone save Tuck, Sam, & Jazz, and then destroyed the Reality Gauntlet in a single shot.

This, I imagine, would grab the attention of The Gods. That’s if the Pariah Dark situation didn’t register to them, even. Considering Percy is 13 at the time and due to deal with the Sea of Monsters situation, the Kane siblings haven’t been recruited yet (I think) and Magnus is still just a homeless kid in Boston, I dunno if anyone from New Rome would be sent but the Gods of various pantheons may investigate directly or through minor gods/spirits.

The House of Life certainly wouldn’t approve of the Ghost Portals, Vlad, or possibly even Danny. Hell, Luke might actually be sent to recruit Danny or Vlad to the Titan’s cause now that I think about it.

With the fact that Danny, Vlad, and Dan were destroying other timelines while smashing into them from sheer speed through the Spirit World during A Glitch In Time, I’d say Danny is at least a 6D being (existing in at least 4 dimensions of space and 2 of time.) If that doesn’t count him as a God, idk what would. Also during Infinite Realms, Vlad and Danny time travel to both ancient Rome during an event in the colosseum and ancient China at a monetary. If these are the same universe as Danny’s, then he and Vlad should have a myth or two regarding one another, which would also put them on the watch list for Olympus and the Bureaucracy of Heaven.

But hey, what do you think? I’m open to talk about this and wanna hear other people’s thoughts and opinions.

[scleroticstatue]

OK, here's Part 2 of the worldbuilding questions list: What do Morwen's current outfits say about her (with or without armour)? Anything beyond "adventurer"? What would Gavrel's reaction be if Morwen went off and leveled up her crafting skills and asked if she could embroider protective and healing spells onto any of his shirts that didn't have them (and make him a blanket with runes for sound sleep)? (Because she absolutely will do that, and she might use it as an excuse to get some colour into his wardrobe, and also as a not-so-subtle hint to GO TO SLEEP GAVREL.) Can you make rune-worked bandages that slow bleeding or speed healing or lift/reduce the severity of curses? Carven splints that encourage breaks to heal quickly and cleanly? How about bandages that encourage the body to restore lost blood quickly? Are Morwen's temperature-controlled sheets back home worked with runes or enchanted or something else? How about a comb that detangles hair, or a drying rack that instantly dries clothes? Heck, a rack that cleans *and* dries? OOOOH, what about a bookshelf that bends space like the Wizards' Guild front desk? INFINITE BOOKS!

Wow. This is a lot to unpack here. First, quick note: magic made through clothes is called seidr.

So. While her armor does say "adventurer" (and not even "wannabe adventurer," with the damage it's got now), with her different bits and pieces from around the Labyrinth, Morwen's current outfits say she's a traveler. Probably an explorer or a cartographer, but she lacks the Innholders Guild badge, so people would assume that she does a lot of escort Quests through the Adventurers Guild or is rich/Skilled enough to travel for fun. This will very quickly make her a celebrity almost anywhere. Think of people who traveled to China during Regency England sort of celebrity; they're either military or loaded, and either way, they've got some cool stories.

Gavrel would probably explain the seidr he's already got on his clothes. His bedtime clothes are probably okay to add stuff to, if she wanted to try, but his daily wear are already pretty loaded and adding more might cause conflict. A blanket for sound sleep would be very nice and he might get all teary about the offer.

You could make seidr bandages for healing, but bandages aren't supposed to be reused because they can recontaminate an area if they haven't been properly cleaned, which is difficult because fabric is porous and absorbent. It's generally considered cost prohibitive to make anything artificial if it's not meant to be used multiple times. Atticus would probably be able to afford them, maybe some of the upper nobility that don't get hurt very often. Gavrel would be 50/50 because though he could afford to buy bandages if he was a normal person, he's Gavrel, and if he were to put a seidr bandage on every injury he got, he might be broke in a year.

Other medical devices aren't that common because the people with the ability to make them would just consider it faster to heal the person outright rather than make long-term devices that aid in slow healing. You can't reuse a healing spell, of course, but most everyone would just rather go to the Tamed Garden than deal with a broken leg for a week or two until the break healed. I suppose a splint that prevented further damage during regular use of the area or numbed pain might have a market, especially among adventurers or travelers that probably aren't partied with a healer during their injury to begin with.

Morwen's sheets are not magical. Her mattress does have magic in it — and springs, which are a novel invention from the otherworlder adventurers pre game shutdown — to adjust tension for ideal support based on body position, which is similar to how a tempurpedic is supposed to work, but it actually does because it's magic.

Detangling combs are fairly common, though Morwen doesn't have one — she lacks a comb at all — but they're around at the inns, as well as having magic to prevent communicable diseases like lice from spreading. Washing machines and dryers don't currently exist, but there's nothing to say they can't. Infinite bookshelves would probably not be wise, as the space warping spells may cause confusion that would negate any learning you try to attempt with the books you're keeping anyway.

[innorogers]

Dawn

Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: No, this pain…It was carved into him, ingrained into his very being, haunted him like a shadow. And no one saw it.

Warning: Angst

Characters: OC, Steve Rogers, John Walker, and Avengers.

Also: This is the almost last chapter of the series! Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull | 9: Vigil | 10: Eclipse | 11: Veil | 12: Labyrinth

There it was… this tree.

A giant, opulent, beautifully majestic oak.

You knew every branch, every root. You knew how the sunlight glistened through at dawn, golden beams cascading like falling rain through the shifting shadows of its leaves.

You knew how it breathed among the fog, whispering in an ancient language only time could understand.

You knew how it slept beneath the moonlight, how it awoke in spring, how its roots stretched so deep into the earth that – when you were underground in that hideous lab, strapped to the surgical table with things plugged into you – you could see it.

Golden threads of its life. Shining. Glowing. Bright as starlight, intertwined like an infinite spider web, nested in the ceiling, moving, circulating, breathing. Living.

When those Hydra white coats numbed you with electrifying pain, this magnificent view of these ancient roots was your tether to sanity. They curled into your mind, winding through the agony, singing a symphony only you could hear and understand.

And after whatever they had done to you and your siblings, you would go there. You could see through the layers, so its branches were like an open stairway for you to climb with ease. Your brothers and sisters never understood how you did it, how you ascended higher and higher until you were lost within the greenery of its leaves.

“Twelve!” They used to shout out to you—usually, it was Four or Seven who followed you to play deep in the forest. “What do you see?”

And each time, your answer was different.

“A bridge crossing the mountains… there’s, um… a red train with smoke! It’s so shiny! And it’s heading east… I wonder what’s in the east?”

“Oh, look! It’s that train again. It turned on the lights! Whoa, it looks so warm inside, and cozy too… They have yellow lights, that’s so nice…”

“Birds! I can see birds! Wow, they are so white, they look like flying little clouds… They are flying together… Now, how does the first one know there are so many others following? They are not leaving anyone behind… I wish we could do that too someday.”

“The village under the mountain has its lights lit! I think there’s a celebration. They have lights in red, green… violet? Is that the right color? I’ve never seen violet lights before… How do they do that?”

You would shout that to your siblings, and then they would tell the rest when you were together, sometimes during the rare occasion of having dinner, or after the guards went off their shift, in your separate cells where you could hear each other.

They would press you for more details, wide-eyed and eager, clutching onto glimpses of a world beyond their own. And they asked the rarest, weirdest, and most fantastic questions that turned a cold winter night into a conversation full of laughter and imaginary dreams.

Everyone would participate, except for Eleven, your twin.

She could read your mind, she never needed it to ask.

So she sat beside you at dinner, silent as she passed the bread and salt. Or curled against the wall of her cell, in the exact place you were on the other side, the corners of her mouth turning into the faintest of smiles.

Because she knew.

There was nothing.

Only miles and miles of barren mountains, infinite snow, jagged rocks, and trees stripped by the wind. The scenery was gray, deep green, and white.

Cold.

Unyielding.

Vast.

And hollow.

No bridges to the east, no trains with warm cozy lights, and no colorful lantern-lit villages.

Only a wilderness so vast and empty that the silence itself had weight.

And still, Eleven never said a word.

But sometimes, just sometimes, when she handed you the bread, her fingers would linger for half a second too long as if she wanted to say something. And you could hear her heartbeat, or see her life thread shining in the dark on the other side of your cell wall. It was shining more than usual when you told those stories.

But she never said anything.

And neither did you.

Or your siblings that went outside and saw the world.

They all knew. Just as you knew.

There was nothing outside.

Not for you.

Not for them.

But the tree still stood, after all.

And so did the stories.

So here you were, again. How many years has it been? You looked around. You were on a tall branch, a few feet from the ground. The air was cold, and the ground was lightly dusted with snow. Is it… winter?

You frown. Confused. You are in your usual position, these branches were so strong and wide, that you used to nap here in spring. But now… you couldn’t fit into it.

How… how long has it been since you were last here? Hours? Days? Years?

You looked around, and then you heard the voices.

Someone’s talking.

“It’s gonna work.” A female voice said, in a soft, gentle, but unwavering tone.

“How…?”A male voice responded. “We’re failing. My wounds aren’t healing. I’m not even close to passing the tests. Not like before. And Three… Three isn’t progressing either. She’s too slow. She’s—”

He faltered. “She was supposed to be better than us. And yet, when we were her age, we were so much stronger, faster…” His voice is desperate: “And I don’t even want her to be that, but they won’t let her live…if she continues like this.”

You peered through the leaves, your breath catching in your throat.

You could barely remember them, it had been so long, but yes, of course, you see it now. You look so much like them, but yeah, they were so gorgeous. Look at One. Oh my god, she looks like a Greek goddess.

“It’s going to work.” One murmurs: “This project, our mission, our purpose, it’s going to work.” She says softly but with the certainty of someone who had seen beyond time itself.

Two scoffs, crossing his arms. “Well fine, GREAT, that’s what they want. So what…what do you see? Do they just find some miracle cure? Some magic serum? Or do we just keep surviving their tortures because we’re so perfect?”

“No.” One shakes her head. “Not in the way they think. Not in the way we think.” Her fingers brushed the bark of the tree. 

“The experiment succeeds because of something else. Someone else.”

“What? Who?” Two raises his eyebrows. “‘Jesus’?”

One doesn’t answer right away. She tilts her head slightly like she’s listening to something beyond the wind, beyond the forest. A future too distant to touch, yet already written.

Finally, she whispers, “Someone will survive. One of us. Eventually. And they’ll be the last. The last, but the most important. The only one that matters.”

She smiles faintly, as if she were seeing something beautiful, something never seen before, some dream so far away but yet so stunning that she doesn’t even have the words to describe it.

“Someone strong, warm, kind, gentle, who will carry this cross. Someone that looks like…redemption and…mercy.”

“So…” Two nods sarcastically: “Jesus.”

One chuckled, brushing a fallen leaf from his hair. “No…well, probably. You know, the one who will end the fight and bring the peace we never saw. And we will never see.” 

Two stiffens. He doesn’t need to ask what that means. He leans on the tree looking up, and narrows his eyes as some sunlight pinches through the leaves, casting directly into his eyes. 

“How long do we have?” He asks softly, he pauses. “Wait, since when you’ve known this? Since when you’ve seen it? Did you know? We would start to fail? We would…eventually…die?”

“I think I’ve always known… but we were always…brainwashed and…put into sleep so I just thought it was a dream, but now, when Three was created and she started to fail…it just became more and more clear.” 

One sits on the ground, and she leans back and looks up at the tree above them too. And for a moment, you thought she saw you, but she didn’t. She looked at the sky, some blank space between the trees and beyond, but that was the only sky she’d seen. Or remembered.

“We are meant to fail. Two.” She looked at her partner.

“We are meant to fail and die. So eventually, one of us will make it. We are the trials, the suffering, the experiments, the test results, we are the stepping stones to something greater. Something that’s…worthy.”

“Wait…” Two looked at her as he listened. He knew her so well, as their souls were written with the same ink and pen. 

“Is this why Three is failing? She carries yours, no, she carries our DNA, is this why she is letting go? Because…she is accepting it? As we are accepting it? Because…you accepted it. So we all did. And so…all that comes after us, all our siblings, eventually…will too.” 

You pressed a hand over your mouth as you sat frozen in the tree, disbelief sinking into your bones.

So this was it.

This was the reason.

This was why all your siblings had died before you. Even those who survived to the experiments.

They were never meant to survive.

They were only meant to pave the way.

And they knew. Just as they knew you were inventing stories but never said a word, never shattered the fragile illusion that you weren’t trapped, caged—that your existence wasn’t just a highly sophisticated experiment, a perfected kind of lab mouse.

They accepted One’s vision, imprinted in her soul since she had witnessed it, and it was passed down to Two, to Three, to Four, to all of you. And so, one by one, they let go.

So the final prototype, the perfect and ultimate version of you could…

No.

Your eyes widened. 

Something pulled at the edges of your consciousness. A thought, a truth—one so absolute, you knew it. You knew it all this time but it was so deeply woven and buried into history that you didn’t grasp it at the beginning. 

It was like One said: The experiment had worked. Just not in the way Hydra intended.

“Not in the way they think. Not in the way we think.”

It had succeeded.

Not in them.

And not in you.

But in someone else.

The final outcome. 

The one who carried it all. 

Not just the experiments, not just the test, or the science, but the very heart of what One had seen. 

Strength, warmth, kindness, mercy.

Your breath hitched.

It was never you.

It was him.

It had always been him.

Steve.

All of you, you were never meant to be the final answer. You were the foundation. The formula. The failed trials. The pain, the suffering, the endless experiments—all of it, all of you, existed so that, one day, the right person would receive the right answers. 

Not the strongest. Not the fastest. Not the most enhanced.

But the one who didn’t need it to be great, not at those things, at least. A good man. A good heart. A soul so bright, so just, that his life thread was shining like concentrated sunshine.

Because Steve Rogers had been Steve Rogers long before he ever took the serum.

And that was what made him different.

That was what made him the success.

That was what made him worthy.

You felt the cold sting against your cheeks and wiped at the tears, but they kept falling. 

You could see it now. All of it. Every unspoken answer to the questions that had haunted you, every muted sacrifice, every quiet acceptance. 

One had seen it back then, and she embraced it. 

She had let go, and so had your siblings, the refined, enhanced echoes of her. And now, so would you.

Right?

So would you.

The tree opened.

Its golden life threads glowed like the first light of dawn, unraveling and twisting like infinite veins of pure light. They pulsed, beckoning, calling you home.

And in the distance, you saw them: your siblings. Standing together beneath the branches, waiting.

Four and Seven, side by side, just as they always were. Eleven with that quiet smile, she was carrying Eight, the one who passed so early, too young to remember the pain, too innocent to understand what she had been made for.

They were waiting.

White birds pure as cotton, moving like little clouds. They don’t leave anyone behind. They took flight. No one was going to be alone.

And for a moment, you wanted to go.

But. 

“No…” You muttered.

Someone was being left behind.

You could see it. 

You could see him.

His back was hunched, his hands gripping the edges of a sink, white-knuckled. His reflection in the mirror hollow, exhausted, tired. Dark circles under his eyes. He had been up all night, again.

You saw him sitting at a desk, untouched food growing cold beside him. His shoulders tensed as he forced himself to keep reading report after report, even as his vision blurred.

You saw him in the gym, fists slamming into the punching bag, again and again and again, sweat dripping from his skin. The bag snapped off its chain. He grabbed another. Kept going. Never stopping.

You saw him staring at his hands. The scars were healing by itself. But did the pain go way too? Just because it was cured fast, does it mean that it didn't hurt?

You saw his sleepless nights, wandering around the compound, just checking what he could do better, faster, so the seconds and the minutes passed quicker and it was another day, more challenges, more missions, more hurt, more scars. More.

You saw.

Pain.

Not the battle wounds or broken ribs, bleeding fists or a bullet on his shoulder or another scar on his back.

No, this pain…It was carved into him, ingrained into his very being, haunted him like a shadow. And no one saw it.

Because he was Captain America.

And Captain America didn’t falter.

Captain America didn’t get to fall apart.

Captain America didn’t get to suffer.

But Steve—

Steve did.

Steve was suffering.

“No.” You said again.

You promised.

You promised you would come back to him.

You promised to fetch every star so your soldier could sleep, that you would go to the furthest sky and come back.

You promised. 

And yet, the tree was pulling you in. The light wrapped around your wrists, your ankles, your chest. 

“No.” 

Your siblings were walking to the light, and so were you. 

You were meant to go with them. You were designed to let go.

It was in your very DNA.

Does promises weight more than nature? Than fate?

“BP is plummeting—40 over 20!” The quinjet’s med bay was a storm of flashing lights and frantic movement. Biometric monitors lining the walls flickered with erratic data streams, pulse oximeters screaming alarms. 

“I need 2 milligrams of epinephrine, NOW!! Move! Charge the paddles to 200!”

Someone shoved an IV line deeper into your arm, saline, blood expanders, anything to stabilize your failing system. The ventilator hissed, forcing oxygen into your lungs, your ribs barely rising under the straps securing you to the gurney.

“Come on, come on, stabilize…Push! Another dose!” The doctor that was rescuing you, fighting against Death, was frenetic: “Come on Dr. Lancaster…Come on!”

“Dammit, I need a crash cart ready now!” He was screaming to the nurses as the other medic was already prepping the defibrillator, hands steady despite the terror in his eyes.

“Push another round of epinephrine, now! We need to get her back …” His orders went above the sounds of quinjet’s machinery, above the blinding lights or the deafening wail of machines. 

“She’s fading!”

“Heart rate dropping—she’s crashing—get me the stabilizer, NOW!”

Steve wanted to say something, his lips moved. But he could barely make a sound, he was just there, John’s arms were around him, holding him down as the medics worked. 

The walls of the quinjet blurred, distant, irrelevant, the machine’s beeping slowed. The medics worked and the nurses run, but Steve didn’t see them. He saw you. Pale. Still. Slipping.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

No.

NO.

He thinks he made some sound. But it was so strange the voice that came out from his throat, it was pure agony, a desperate, animalistic sound.

“Please…” He heard himself saying.

“FIGHT!” His voice cracked, splintered, shattering against the walls of the jet. “You hear me?! Stay with me!”

“Come back to me.” His voice broke. “You promised, you PROMISED.”

But you weren’t moving.

“DAMN IT, PLEASE!” His voice ripped from his throat, raw, shaking, pleading. He was begging. He didn’t care. He’d fall to his knees if it meant getting you back. “DON’T DO THIS. DON’T GO. FIGHT.”

But then, the ECG monitor displayed jagged, chaotic spikes before—

Flatline.

Steve froze. 

And his entire world just broke down to nothingness. 

You looked up, and your fingers faltered. 

The strings of the tree’s life thread were so strong, pulling you so hard that they took away your strength. 

You could see it: Your own life thread was being absorbed by the tree. 

You think you are screaming, kicking, and fighting, but your siblings just keep walking. Your sounds were muted, echoed into silence and absorbed by the wind.

Please, no. 

You inhaled deeply. 

You need to go back, you don’t… you can’t leave him. You promised you’d never leave him, he was not alone anymore.

Please…

Your fingers trembled as you reached for something, anything.

You weren’t going to give up, not like this, not here, not without giving the fight of your life.

He is waiting, so you have to go back. You have to go back because he will be hurt, and you won’t let anything hurt him. Not anymore.

“No…” You clenched your teeth as you struggled with all your strength. But you were loosing, because this is engraved in you, it is written in your DNA, your soul, and your existence. You are destined to let go, just like your siblings did. 

No. You tried. Harder. And harder. And you prayed and begged. You called for his name. You were trying to hold on, to all the wonderful things you had when you were finally free, to friendship, to love, to life. 

Please. You could hear his voice, or was it yours?

Tears in your eyes, and you could hear how his heart was breaking, how his soul was crashing, so you fought, but the threads were so strong, and the tree was taking you further and further away.

Suddenly, Something caught you.

A hand. 

Rough, firm, unwavering. 

Grasped your wrist and pulled.

You gasped, head snapping up, and for a moment, this world of light and glow blurred.

And then you saw him.

Your breath caught.

Your eyes met his. And for some reason, it all made perfect sense.

You would have expected Steve to be here with you, and when you finally saw him, you just knew.

Of course.

Of course, he’s here to save you.

Of course, he has been here all along.

You didn’t really meet him. You never had.

Yet somehow, it felt like you had known him all this time.

And you had been waiting to meet him, right now, in this moment.

Bucky.

“I knew there was a reason why I was coming to this damn tree every time I was put to sleep…” Bucky chuckled once you were standing safe and sound before him.

“I knew it! Damn, and I was wondering, like, where the hell have I seen this tree before?” He smiled at you, not the Winter Soldiers’ smile, you could see it so clearly: this is James. The James that Steve knew.

“Well, it makes sense now…” He shrugged, chuckling to see you still in wtf mode. “So what are you…like asleep? Or are you like…dying? What are you doing in this…limbo?” 

“I…” You came back from your shock, and you wiped your tears and sniffed a little: “I think I was dying…WAIT! where…where are my siblings?!” You turned around, looking for them, but nothing you’d seen was there anymore. 

The tree is still in this quiet, silent forest on an orange and golden afternoon. 

“It hasn’t been no one around for a while…” Bucky shrugged: “I think I’ve seen some birds just flying by, but um…sometimes I see Steve passing around, walking and wandering, but he is always gone fast…which makes sense, I mean, the guy is always recovering in the blink of an eye, so…he doesn’t stay long.”

“So um…” You were still confused: “You…you were here? Always?”

Bucky exhaled and smiled to you.

 

“So, yeah. I’ve been here before. A lot, actually.” 

He glanced around, eyes scanning the golden threads shimmering in the tree’s endless embrace. “At first, I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me. A side effect of you know…used. Being put under, frozen, wiped, rebooted, whatever shitty thing they did to me.” 

His metal fingers flexed slightly, glinting in the soft glow of the light around you both. “But now… now I kinda get it.”

You swallowed, you knew, but you asked anyway: “Get what?”

Bucky’s gaze met yours, steady, knowing. “This place… it’s not just in your head, or mine. It’s something else. An anchor, a tether, maybe even a crossroads. And I kept ending up here because—” He hesitated, then chuckled under his breath.

“You know, there’s something we share in our DNA. But also I think it’s because I was waiting.”

Your heart clenched.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, glancing away as if embarrassed by his own realization. “I didn’t know what for, not until now.”

His voice softened, quieter than before, but there was no hesitation in it. “Maybe… I was waiting for this to happen.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

“I was waiting for you.”

He turned back to you, his eyes more serious than you’d ever seen them. “And so is he.”

Something twisted in your chest.

Bucky exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching up in the faintest hint of a smirk. The James kind of smirk. 

“So, you should go back.”

A sharp, suffocating stillness swallowed the Quinjet whole, everyone was in a deadly silence that filled the cabin, as the flatline in the monitor was progressively moving with a deaf sound, stretching on, as an endless, hollow wail, louder than any explosion, more deafening than any battle. 

No one spoke. No one moved. The nurses and the agents looked away, unable to meet the sight of Captain America, kneeling on the floor, eyes unfocused, soulless. 

John’s grip loosened, and he felt a lump in his throat. The only thing he could do was to put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. His lips moved, but there was no sound. 

There was nothing left to say.

No one could provide any words of consolation.

And then. 

You gasped. 

A sharp, sudden inhale, like you had been drowning and just breached the surface. It was like a horror movie slash miracle. You breathed. And you sat. 

A unified, staggered gasp filled the cabin. Eyes widened. 

And then—

A single, steady beep.

The monitor flickered, its display shifting. A heartbeat. Your heartbeat.

Steve was still frozen, still staring at you, his face unreadable. 

Until you turned around, disorientated, and met his gaze.

It took just a look, for his eyes to see the light in yours, again. And his body finally allows him to feel the devastation he was holding back.

And just like that, his tears finally fell.

TBC

HASDHAHUSDAISHASDIUDAHISUADSIUHAU Aaaaaaah! 🔥

I'm back! I'm so sorry I haven't post in a while. Oh god this chapter got me so emotional writing it, and it was just like 😭

So, from the beginning of the story, I knew that Bucky was surely sleeping, but I just KNEW he had a key part to play; the original plot, though, was REALLY DARK. And Bucky and John and Sharon, are the ones that actually save Twelve. (It was too much of an angst and I couldn't write it cause I was so down in my depression 🥺, but someday...) But still, here, I wanted him to be there. I knew he would be there.

So one more last chapter to go, and I'll be continue with the Burning Sun Series and probably some one shots 💖

Thank you so much for being with me all alone, and I'm sorry again for taking so long to complete this.

I'll see you in the big finale 💓

Love., Moon.࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

[ladyhoneydee]

Fic Recs - Expanding Hyrule Bingo!

If you're looking for some hot fresh recs that you may not have seen before, boy do I have the post for you!

For the last few days, I have been compiling answers for the @expanding-hyrule TBR Bingo Community Challenge! If this is the first time you're hearing of it, EH is a LoZ fandom project that intends to popularize a tag and create an archive for Original Legends, or LoZ fics, art, etc that create their own version of Hyrule, characters therein, and plot different from the canon games. The Bingo Challenge is a project to get people viewing and talking about more of these stories!

Of course, as a chronic overachiever when it comes to fandom, I got blackout on my bingo card. And because several of the works I counted aren't yet in the Expanding Hyrule Fic Archive, I felt this would be the perfect way to get the word out about even more cool works!

If it has a * asterisk, I had already read or been reading it prior to the announcement of the challenge. If two ** asterisks, I had already read or been reading it prior to discovering EH!

A1 - Recommended by a friend: Cycle of the Stars by @daeyumi

A2 - A genre I don't normally read: The Ritual of Lomei Labyrinth by @pocketseizure **

A3 - Caught up on a work: The Legend of Three by @fablesfables **

A4 - An incomplete project: Mark of a Hero by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet **

A5 - I made an Original Legends work: Too Old to Keep by @ladyhoneydee (me) **

B1 - Updated this year: Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore by @drsteggy **

B2 - Less than 5000 hits or 500 notes: Hero of the Dunes by @webhead3345 **

B3 - Picked because of the synopsis: Vessels by @ro-blaze **

B4 - A comic: Chained Truths by @mirensiart

B5 - Subscribed to an ongoing work: All That Hurts Us by @karama9 **

C1 - A familiar creator: A Link to the Stars by @abbyz-elda **

C2 - An Original Legends work not in the archives: The inconsistencies of fate by @stinkyguar

C3 - Show Us Your EH TBR: The Hunt by andrhars **, A Link to the Stars: Constellations *, Divine Gemstones by @divine-gemstones, all updates for ULtCoF, THotD, ALttS, AVftD, and CotS since Jan 2

C4 - By a mutual or someone I'd like to be a mutual: The Princess's Heart by @loz-untold-myths **

C5 - Multiple POVs: The Legend of Zelda: A Crossing of Stars by @ixtaek **

D1 - A new favorite: A Voice From the Desert by @avoicefromthedesert *

D2 - A reread: The Conviction to Save by @advocaado **

D3 - A fic: The Promise by @zeldaelmo ** (rated E)

D4 - A genre I love: In the Blood by @zeldaseyebrows ** (rated E)

D5 - Picked because of the title: Linkubus by RoughInTheDiamond * (rated M)

E1 - A compete project: Cherished by @sparklyhyperbole **

E2 - Last updated more than a year ago: Path of the Infinite by @shadow-djinni ** (rated M)

E3 - A new creator: Depth of Darkness by VeeLilu **

E4 - Less than 1000 hits or 100 notes: On My Honor by @pelicanpig **

E5 - Left a review in EH's Story Spotlights: The King's Lament by @transmascgerudo ** (rated E)

If you pick up any of these, I hope you enjoy! They all come with my blessing <3

[bracketsoffear]

Corruption: Bugsnax (Bugsnax) "The game starts with you finding out about the existence of Bugsnax: fascinating, mysterious and wonderful creatures of legend with big googly eyes that are shaped like food! They taste like the meals you imagine they do, but far better than it had ever been, satisfying you easily with a single one but still leaving you wanting more. As you progress, the inhabitants of the island where they're found ask you to find more and more of them to give them; they're enjoying them, and for each of them, these bugsnax signify something deeper than what it seems at first glance. It isn't just food: for some, they're like family; for others, they're mysterious creatures they grow obsessed to research about; and for others they're the sources of stability in their otherwise intensely unstable lives. One way or another, eating or just being near bugsnax can easily get a hold of you and make you completely dependent on them, making you believe they're the solution to all of your life's problems. The fact that by eating a single one it affects your body structure and turns your limbs one by one into food shaped skin also adds to the horrors that everyone seem to be too blind to, too focused on their own dependence as it builds and builds until, eventually, you're fully food shaped and then your body structure weakens, destroying you and turning you into another of the island's victims, and so become a meal of the meal you had been eating all along. At the end of the day, you find out what they really are: parasites, made in cute shapes with adorable or funny sounds for the sole purpose of convincing you to having them nearby, eat them, and so slowly build up to eating you from the inside out. You are what you eat, and all life is Bugsnax."

Spiral: The House on Ashtree Lane (House of Leaves) "The strange nature of the House on Ash Tree Lane was first recorded by acclaimed photojournalist Will Navidson when he moved in with his family. The film was subsequently criticized in a manuscript written by Zampanò, and upon his death the work was recovered, annotated, and organized by Johnny Truant. Possibly. No record of Navidson, the film he created, or many of the references utilized by Zampanò can be found, either because Zampanò made them up entirely or they were somehow erased.1 It is possible that this means that the house itself, whose notable properties include being 1/4" larger on the inside and an infinitely-expanding pitch-black system of corridors that drive explorers to madness, simply does not exist.2 Whether or not the house itself exists physically or merely as a memetic hazard spread through various iterations upon Navidson's original film, its effects seem to manifest as an anxiety pertaining to doors, hallways, and what lies beyond them, as well as a creature of uncertain nature5 that seemingly stalks those who annotate the account with their own thoughts and reactions.4

Possibly by a means similar to case #0120606, "Lost and Found".

Though by no means does simple nonexistence equate to harmlessness, as in case 376-U, "Upon the Stair".

It may be worth investigating the similarities between this Minotaur and the Distortion.

Whether or not readers who do not annotate the text suffer similar experiences is, naturally, unrecorded.

where the labyrinth spreads the Minotaur follows 3"

[firephoenix2020]

More LDR Moon bc he's gorgeous U-U

LDR/Love Death And Rollerskates belongs to @spadillelicious !

PNG Version:

Drew this while listening to my Romancing The Moon playlist:

Tho it's more of a mixture of Romance songs and songs that could be used for Moon angst [with a couple fun songs that remind me of moon thrown in there]

Songs for my non Pandora users:

[All the songs I have in this playlist so far]

1] how could u love somebody like me? By Artemas

2] Dream Sweet in Sea Major By(?) ミラクルミュージカル

3] What Love Will Do to You By Laufey

4] Never Felt So Alone By Labrinth

5] we fell in love in october By girl in red

6] Falling Down (Bonus Track) By Lil Peep & XXXTENTACION

7] Wires By The Neighbourhood

8] Lights Are On By Tom Rosenthal

9] Lost Umbrellas (feat. waif) By Rebzyyx

10] engravings By Ethan Bortnick

11] Labyrinth (feat. Shane MauX & Kaye) Byミラクルミュージカル

12] Used to be (L.O.V.E.) By Chelsea Collins

13] Infinite By Lyn Lapid

14] Shooting Stars By Bag Raiders

15] Alkaline By Sleep Token

16] Showed Me (How I Fell In Love With You) By Madison Beer

17] Bad Idea By Dove Cameron

18] Sleep Well (feat. Chi-chi, Kathy-Chan & Cami-Cat) By CG5

19] Space Song By Beach House

20] Scared of the Dark By BoyWithUke

21] Tip Toe By HYBS

22] Meteor Shower By Cavetown

23] Numb Little Bug By Em Beihold

24] Sports By Beach Bunny

25] Look Who’s Inside Again By Bo Burnham

26] Put Your Records On By Ritt Momney

27] i like the way you kiss me By Artemas

28] La Seine (Extrait de la bande originale un monstre à Paris) By Vanessa Paradis & -M- (Matthieu Chedid)

29] Bernadette By IAMX

30] Beautiful Things By Benson Boone

31] Afterlife By Avenged Sevenfold

32] Too Sweet By Hozier

33] Once Upon a Dream (From "Maleficent" / Pop Version) By Lana Del Rey

34] despair By leo.

35] Sailor Song By Gigi Perez

36] Disco By Surf Curse

I've got a shitty thing for romance, angst, and romantic angst songs/playlists ok? Love my Moonie Pie tho <3

[majestativa]

Mystery and labyrinth. Complex streets. Anonymous walls. Secret luxury. Secrecy of these houses without windows on the streets. The windows and door open on the patio. The patio has a fountain and lovely plants. There is a labyrinth design in the arrangement of the gardens. Bushes are placed to form a puzzle so you might get lost. They love the feeling of being lost. It has been interpreted as a desire to reproduce the infinite. Fez. One always, sooner or later, comes upon a city which is an image of one’s inner cities. Fez is an image of my inner self. This may explain my fascination for it. Wearing a veil, full and inexhaustible, labyrinthian, so rich and variable I myself get lost. Passion for mystery, the unknown, and for the infinite, the uncharted.

— ANAÏS NIN ⚜️ The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 2: 1934–1939, (1970)

[theguywithaplan]

List of Video Games Turning 10 Years Old in 2024

Alien: Isolation

Assassin's Creed: Rogue (the one where you play as an Assassin turned Templar.)

Assassin's Creed: Unity (the one set during the French Revolution.)

Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky

Azure Striker Gunvolt

The Banner Saga

Bayonetta 2

The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth

BioShock Infinite: Burial at Sea (the DLC where you go back to Rapture)

A Bird Story (a sort of spin-off of "To the Moon")

BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma

Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel! (is this a sequel to 1 or a prequel to 1? I forgor)

Bravely Default (in North America)

Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse

Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare (the one with K*vin Sp*cey)

Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker

Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 (to date, the last new Castlevania game to release)

Child of Light

The Crew (going offline at the end of March)

D4: Dark Dreams Don't Die (a wonderfully strange game from the guy that made Deadly Premonition)

Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (in North America)

Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (in North America)

Dark Souls II

Deception IV: Blood Ties

Demon Gaze

Diablo III: Reaper of Souls

Disney Infinity 2.0

Divinity: Original Sin (from the team that would go on to make Baldur's Gate 3)

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze

Dragon Age: Inquisition (the winner of GOTY at the very first TGAs)

Drakengard 3

Earth Defense Force 2025 (EDF! EDF! EDF!)

The Evil Within (from the creative director of Resident Evil)

Fable Anniversary

Fairy Fencer F

Far Cry 4

Freedom Planet

Guilty Gear Xrd Sign

Hyrule Warriors

Inazuma Eleven (in North America. And digital only.)

Infamous: Second Son (as well as its expansion, First Light)

Kirby: Triple Deluxe

The Last of Us Remastered (just one year after the original version came out...)

The Legend of Korra (the game from PlatinumGames that you can't buy anymore)

Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham

Lego The Hobbit

The Lego Movie Videogame

Lethal League (from the team that would go on to make Bomb Rush Cyberfunk)

Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII (the third and final chapter of the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy)

Lisa: The Painful (yes, really)

LittleBigPlanet 3

Lords of the Fallen (not to be confused with Lords of the Fallen, which came out in 2023)

Mario Golf: World Tour

Mario Kart 8 (the original version)

Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes (the prologue to Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, which came out 18 months later)

Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor

Might & Magic X: Legacy

Murdered: Soul Suspect (it's like Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, but not as good)

Natural Doctrine

Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty! (a from the ground up remake of the first Oddworld game from 1997)

Pac-Man and the Ghostly Adventures 2 (yes, it got a sequel. I don't know how or why.)

Persona 4 Arena Ultimax

Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth

Pokemon Omega Ruby & Pokemon Alpha Sapphire

Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy (the last time that Professor Layton himself was the protagonist. At least, until the New World of Steam comes out)

Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

Pushmo World

Risen 3: Titan Lords

Sacred 3

Samurai Warriors 4

Shadowrun: Dragonfall

Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (the 3rd one)

Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments

Shovel Knight (yes, really)

Skylanders: Trap Team (the 4th one)

Sniper Elite III

Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric

Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal

South Park: The Stick of Truth

Steins;Gate (in North America)

Strider (the one from Double Helix)

Sunset Overdrive

Super Smash Bros. for Wii U and Nintendo 3DS (or Smash 4 for short)

Tales of Xillia 2

Tales of Hearts R

The Talos Principle

Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call

Thief (the reboot)

This War of Mine

Toukiden: The Age of Demons

Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark (this game merged the storyline of the War for/Fall of Cybertron games with the storyline of the Michael Bay movies. I’m not joking)

Transistor

Valiant Hearts: The Great War

The Vanishing of Ethan Carter

The Walking Dead: Season Two

Wasteland 2

Watch Dogs

The Witch and the Hundred Knight

The Wolf Among Us (sequel this year!)

Wolfenstein: The New Order

Yaiba: Ninja Gaiden Z

Yoshi's New Island

[katz-chow]

baggage claim

a/n: having a bad night, this is my version of comfort…also self indulgent like most of my writing.

warnings: chubby!fem!reader, parental trauma, body issues, soft simon, hurt/comfort

there’s a lot of things that simon have not experienced quite yet, such things is the american airport system and how complicated tsa is. however, he landed, he walked, and there he’s faced with the rounding carousel of multicolored bags and suitcases.

he checked his ticket and looked up at the display of numbered areas. ‘11’, that’s the one.’ he watched the mouth of the conveyor belt, its plastic fringes flap against a purple suitcase…definitely not his. but still his eyes trained on that particular spot. then he let his mind wander.

long distance relationships were hard, long distance military relationships were harder. plane rides from deployment back to manchester then plane rides to another continent across the pond, lovely, just how he wanted to spend his first few days on leave: absolutely jet-lagged.

but then he thought of you, precious, precious you…oh his darling lovie and how your eyes shines whenever they make contact with his. you made it worth it. you made every crying baby on the plane, every overpriced water, and every awkward “thank you for your service” and then a bad american accented “thanks”; you made this airport journey worth it.

from here he spots his camo duffle. making way through the people, who’s eyes also trained on the infinite, snaking black, he hoisted it up and carried it with the strap on his shoulder.

his phone buzzed, whatsapp. you.

‘i’m in the lobby, by gate 2!!’

‘I’ll see you there.’

‘🥰😻🫶’

‘❤️’

and just like that, a few minutes later and a lot of sign-reading, he escaped the labyrinth of an american international airport. you stood there, hoodie and sweats on and your head bowed towards your phone. the dark sky outside and the oddly green-ish fluorescent made you look washed out, dull even. but simon knew you, he found you, he always did.

you look up, you wave, a smile adorned your face. you didn’t run up to him and tackle him in a hug that only a soldier could’ve done. and he didn’t have to lift you off the ground from the momentum of the hug, his bag dropping to the tile flooring.

instead you stood still, phone in pocket, as you waited for your boyfriend to get to you. simon didn’t understand, but he figured you might just be tired—which was fair, so was he. so he dropped his bag and wrapped his much larger arms around you, squeezing you tight and breathing you in, nose buried into the crook of your neck. “missed you…”

you smile, arms tight in between your chests as he holds you. he lets go eventually and you feel your body relax. “missed you too. let’s go home” you smiled politely.

simon’s eyebrows furrowed for a quick second but followed you anyway. thoughts ran through his head as he looks at the highway in front of him, one of his hands on your thigh as you drove the two of you home. he recalls the interaction you two had in the airport lobby. you’re distant, opting to curl up into a hug rather than hugging back and rocking side to side or jumping up and down. something’s different, something’s wrong.

his mind snaps back too as you took the exit, signaling the end is near of your driving adventure. the hum of the engine and the bumps of the road filled the air. no music. he furrowed his eyebrows again, medical mask now thrown away as he got into the safety of your car.

and now the safety of your bedroom, which is oddly quiet as he laid in bed, back slightly up as to prop himself up against the headboard. his eyes look at you drowsily as you sat on your vanity in front of the bed. you worked the multitude of skincare on your face and neck, patted it dry, and then climbed into bed, face the same emotion.

simon couldn’t take it anymore. “are you okay, lovie?”

you hummed in assurance, opting to set him down by wrapping your arms around his waist, urging him to lay down with you. he does and he holds you close, sleep flooded him, and just as quickly his succumbs.

he woke up to the sound of a hurt animal next to him, clearly in pain. he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and looked over at this hurt animal. it was you, curled up, and softly crying.

his heart stopped as he noticed your trembling figure, even with your face pulled away from him. "lovie? are you okay?'

you hold back a whimper as you tried your best to hold back the tremble in your voice. "i'm okay...go back to sleep simon."

he grumbled as he shifted over to you, wrapping his burly arms around, pulling you close. "tell me what's wrong."

the thoughts echoed in your head, resulting in a chill that ran through each muscle of your body, or lack thereof. your mother's words criticizing how you look flows through you mind, drowing out simon's. you grip onto the back of his hand and moved it away from your stomach, ashamed of how plush it was. you can just imagine it, the way it spills out of your shirt, the different rolls, how you sit, how you stand relaxed... you hated it.

simon poked his head up, surprised by your adjustment, but respecting it anyway. his big palm then instead rubs your arm comfortingly. "will you tell me?"

"i hate it."

"hate what?" he inquired, voice low and rumbling. his breath felt hot against your ear as he whispered, fighting sleep away while also wrapped up in your soft blankets.

you finally catch your breath and turn over to him, tucking yourself under his chin, feeling his stubble as you do. you sniffled, opting to breath in his scent and distract yourself from the past with the present. "i don't like how i look."

he sighed and clicked his tongue, arms tightening around you. "has this been bothering you all day?'

he felt you nod under him as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. "what's wrong with how you look, did someone say something?'

he felt you respond again, a shake of your head which led to more rubbing against his neck. "i just don't like how...big i am."

"you don't like your stomach? how soft and jiggly it is? how warm it makes my hands fill, hmm?" he sniffed and sighed, closing his eyes on top of your head. the scent of your lingering shampoo quickly lulled him in. "i love how you look, and don't say any of that shirt your mum said. don't say that shit about how i deserve better than you or something."

you moved your head away from his warm chest to protest, to say that it's true but he growled and held you tighter, preventing you from moving away. "don't even try. it's true alright? i love you and how your stomach feels when i knead it."

you whined and sniffled, his love filling up in your chest-which was once heavy with doubt. it was silly, you decided, that you think he wouldn't like you after coming back from deployment just to stare at you and gag at how ugly you look. of course not.

"you're my baby, you're mine." he reassured you, a pat and rub on your head and then a kiss on your forehead. "and i think you're beautiful."

"okay," you mumbled as he hummed a distant song that you recognize but don't quite remember all the words to. he hummed and kissed you and rubbed your head, fingers raking through the strands.

"now can we sleep?" he complained as you feel a smile form on his lips.

you pulled away from him, pouting audibly, "it's so cold."

"woman, i am literally hold you under two blankets."

yeah you were going to be alright.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch9

chapter nine: the crawl

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 9, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-8, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

Warnings: smoking, addiction, withdrawal symptoms, suicidal ideation; animal death, typical gore/violence

A bit of a disclaimer here: the reader is somewhat forced to curb their smoking addiction, which results in several withdrawal symptoms. Their addiction isn’t intended to be a centerpiece of this fic in the slightest, so the pacing of that part of the story may seem a little fast. I want to restate that I don’t intend to romanticize addiction or substance abuse in the slightest—I tried my best to do some research and ensure that this depiction was as accurate as possible. Hopefully, I haven’t made any missteps along the way.

Jack took away your lighter and your cigarettes. He even went so far as to appear on your front doorstep and demand that you turn over any remaining materials you had at home. It was utterly humiliating and dehumanizing to have your privacy so swiftly broken. Not to mention, it felt incredibly patronizing. You’re a fully-grown adult, not a child who needs disciplining. You’re able to make rational decisions and monitor your own health. And yes, smoking was having a poor effect on your health. But you had already considered its adverse effects and decided to ignore them (and even embrace them). 

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought that your new habit was consistent enough to create an addiction, but you were wrong. In the hours following Jack’s house visit, you’re shaking and trembling as you stare off into the wall in front of you. Your mouth feels dry, your eyelids feel heavy, and a persistent nausea climbs up your throat, threatening to spill past your lips. Most of all, you feel terribly… empty. There is an utter lack of emotion and color to your life. Everything bores you, nothing excites you. 

Typically, when you feel uncertain or are struggling with something, you’re able to throw yourself into work. But now, when you focus your attention on work, you find yourself experiencing a new emotion as you meet the hazy eyes of the corpses of victims: envy. When you blink and look down at them, you see yourself lying on the cold metal table—skin mottled and entirely motionless. 

You’re starting to think you won’t feel anything ever again; you’re succumbing to the seemingly infinite fog suffocating everything and everyone around you. Everything lacks substance. Nothing gives you fulfillment. Life is horribly muted and painfully monotonous. You wake up in the morning, pretend that your breakfast tastes like something, drive to work, toil away at your desk (and occasionally find yourself in the field), force yourself to eat lunch, do more work, go home and pretend your dinner isn’t the same meal as the night before—only to fall asleep and repeat the cycle all over again. It’s all an act—a performance to convince yourself and Jack that you’re capable of getting better—even when you don’t believe it to be true.  

Surprisingly, somewhere along the way, going through the motions—as miserable as they are—begins to yield results. You begin to feel the familiar stirrings of rage and disgust in your gut as you come across corpses; grief and remorse when you’re left to the shadows seeping through the corners of your home. You’re slowly picking up the pieces of your shattered psyche. 

…But then the card tower of coping skills you spent time delicately arranging topples down into a scattered mess. But then the pendulum tears through the air in front of your eyes, until you’re standing at the top of a carpeted staircase and looking down at a woman’s sprawled body with the taste of copper settling on your tongue.

Through the shadows, you can see her husband crawling on the ground—dragging himself towards you in a futile attempt at resistance. You grab his hair and yank his head up, promptly pushing the barrel of your gun to his temple and firing a shot he will not survive. The children are swiftly eliminated with the same unapologetic cruelty—necks twisted brutally and viciously. 

You look down at your bloodied hands and inhale slowly, feeling a strange sense of serenity and peace overtake you. The Jacobis and the Leedses were small steps towards your desires; this family is a much bigger lunge towards them. Even so, you feel a magnetic pull towards the bathroom tucked away in the corner—a visceral urge to punch the mirror and dig your fingers into the shards of glass. But you cannot leave fingerprints, so you have to settle for placing a shard in your pocket and making a quick departure. There is nothing left for you here. 

The pendulum is unyielding in its descent, as it roughly pulls you back to the present moment: back to the chilly white walls of the lab and away from the trickling warmth of crimson running down your fingers. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the laboratory—nor do you really recall entering the space in the first place. Yet here you are: staring down at the mother’s wide, milky eyes and wishing they could tell you more. 

Jack and you are standing over the table in utter silence. You can’t pinpoint exactly what Jack’s feeling, but you’d wager it’s a mix of guilt, frustration, pain, and exhaustion. Well, the pain and exhaustion may be projections. Your limbs have been trapped in an eternal state of dull aching; the skin on your face feels drawn far too tight across your cheekbones and jaw. There’s a weird taste settling on your tongue and a desperate tremble to your hands. You haven’t been sleeping well lately either. It’s almost as if your body knew that something was about to happen, because, in the past few days, you’ve only slept for a collective few hours. And you doubt your sleep is going to get much better, now that the image of the fresh corpses is thoroughly cemented in your mind. 

While the pain ebbs and flows, as you suspect, your sleep gets worse in the coming days. The unfounded dread from before gives way to skin-deep grief and persevering self-loathing. You’re sleeping at short intervals—with long periods of restlessly staring up at the ceiling interspersed across them. Even as your withdrawal symptoms start to fade and color slowly bleeds back into the world, you still feel miserable. You’re exhausted and overworked. Life as an FBI agent is hard enough on a full ten hours of sleep and a complete breakfast. You’re lucky if you get five hours and a bite to eat on the way out of your house in the mornings. 

Throwing yourself into your work has never been a healthy solution to your problems, and this newest attempt is no exception. Bloodied, misshapen corpses follow you into your dreams and your waking mind. You can’t stop contemplating the nature of your existence—what has gifted you continued life, while children’s flames are brutally snuffed out without a moment’s hesitation. You’re going more and more fidgety as time passes—a confusing contradiction to the lethargy and fatigue that assault you the moment you wake. You’re trapped in a strange state of unreality, bogged down by reminders of the life you reunite with every morning. 

You can barely think straight. Your mind feels like a giant mess of a cobweb, with strings shooting around in all the wrong directions. There is no clear path to the answers you seek—and, frighteningly enough, you don’t think you can even remember why you want those answers in the first place. What are you fighting for? What are you running towards? Is this really your fate: waking up to fall asleep, avenging the dead to live? What happened to that determination from your training years—that visceral desire to push yourself up from the ground and keep at it? You can’t remember the last time you felt genuinely motivated to walk into work.

Even Jack has noticed your changes in behavior, but he’s so swamped in work that he never seems to address it. Besides, that responsibility isn’t his—you should know when you’ve reached your limits; you should be able to call things off when it gets to be too much. You’re an experienced agent by now—you should have some sort of process for all this. But you don’t have anything. Instead, you’re falling victim to a merciless cycle of hope and despair; anger and remorse; anticipation and apprehension. You’re fading, just as the lifeless corpses on the spotless lab tables.

It certainly doesn’t help that the newest murder comes with a frustrating lack of substantial evidence. Shattered mirror fragments can only reveal so much. Jack and you seem to come to the same troubling conclusion, as you lock eyes in the dim warmth of his office. 

“We need to talk to Hannibal,” you realize aloud. The recognition settles into the air uncomfortably. 

“I’m afraid so.” Jack appears resigned, but not defeated. The two of you both know that Hannibal likely has information. The only problem… is trying to get him to reveal it. “Would you like me to accompany you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine,” you deny the offer. Sensing that Jack is impatient, you push yourself out of your chair and head for the door—only for him to interject just before you can leave.

“Agent,” Jack remarks. You freeze and turn back around to face him, unsurprised to find a grave expression on his face. “Don’t let your guard down. He is not assisting us out of the goodness of his heart.”

Then why are we seeking him out again? You think wryly. 

“I think you know we have few other options,” Jack responds. You hadn’t realized that you uttered that last thought aloud. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to leave Lecter to rot in his cell. But this killer is far too similar to him. He will have valuable insight, even if he hasn’t revealed it yet.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “What if he never reveals it?”

“Then we’re in trouble,” Jack admits darkly. On that note, you leave his office and head out of the building. Once you make it to your car, you’re quick to pull out of the parking lot and begin the drive to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. You don’t have to use navigation to get there anymore—and that small realization is rather frightening. You never wanted this—never wanted him —to be a part of your life again. In the years following Hannibal’s surrender, your life was blissfully quiet. The voices in your head were subdued. Now, they’re back in full force—scolding you for everything you haven’t yet done. 

You go through the motions of the entrance procedure, coming back to yourself just a few steps from the door that leads to the corridor with Hannibal’s cell. You contemplate turning around and walking away, as you have done many times before. And, just as you always do, you reach out and open the door. The door lets out an ominous creak, betraying the fear and apprehension that keep you firmly frozen in the doorway.

Eventually, you somehow manage to convince yourself to keep moving forward. You take one step, then another, then another. Through this process, you find yourself standing in front of the ever-familiar glass-wall of the Ripper’s enclosure. You take a slow breath and attempt to steel your nerves, despite knowing the effort is futile. 

To your surprise, Hannibal doesn’t notice you right away. Instead, he seems to be looking at some sort of paper with rapt attention. You squint and attempt to get a glimpse of what he’s reading, only to recoil upon reading the headline. It’s an article from TattleCrime—the one about you that was published a few years ago. There’s a picture of you on the front cover—glancing off to the side with a stormy expression on your face, the scar ripping through your cheek fully visible—underneath a bolded headline speculating about the nature of your “relationship” with Hannibal. 

Fortunately, you haven’t been featured in TattleCrime since your unplanned friendship with Freddie. But seeing that paper in Hannibal’s hands transports you back in time: to a deceptive tranquility and a comfortable silence that clung to your home’s walls. You remember the feeling that stirred within you as you read the article for the first time. After all, back then, you were doing a rather good job at compartmentalizing any and all thoughts about Hannibal. But that article was the first to crack through the walls you erected and invade your mind with unwanted thoughts. 

When you remember your surroundings and refocus on Hannibal, you find that he’s already staring at you unabashedly. Your gaze falls to the paper in his hands and he makes no attempt of concealing it, instead offering you a smile and placing it on his desk. Something ticks in your jaw. You hold back any sharp remarks as Hannibal gets up from his chair, stalking over to stand across from you. His hands folded behind his back, he levels you with an intent look. He seems to be scrutinizing you—and it almost appears as if he doesn’t like whatever he finds. 

“You look…” Hannibal starts. You’re suddenly incredibly irritated. 

“Awful, I know,” you finish for him, sick of everyone you meet scrutinizing your appearance. Well, “everyone” is a bit of an exaggeration—a playful remark from Bev and a quick inquiry from Jack was all you really received. But you’ve noticed the wary glances that have been paid to you at crime scenes; the way everyone has been giving you a wide berth, as if waiting for you to snap and lash out. There aren’t any words that can overstate your exhaustion. 

“I was going to say exhausted,” Hannibal says with a thin smile. He pins you down with an attentive gaze. Your hand twitches at your side as you notice just how close he’s standing. Taking a deep breath, you try your best to maintain your composure and remain frozen where you are—even as your heart races along your skin. Your eyes are burning from fatigue. “How much sleep did you get last night?” he asks. 

“Is this a doctor’s appointment?” you snap bitterly. Hannibal doesn’t respond. You take a deep breath again, recognizing that he isn’t the source of your frustration. “…Three hours,” you decide to answer honestly, after a few moments of contemplation. There’s really no harm in providing him with such a useless detail. 

“Have you been having difficulty concentrating?” Hannibal hums, his gaze flitting about your face. He almost looks concerned. You may be tired, but you’re not dazed enough to mistake the turn of his lips as genuine distress. You cross your arms over your chest, then let them fall to your sides when you remember how much you’ve been doing that simple gesture in front of Hannibal—as if you’re attempting to shield yourself from him. The effort is futile, though. You have no agency in the affair—if Hannibal wants to know something, he will learn of it. “Memory problems? Worsened moods?” he presses. You’re idly reminded of his background as a surgeon… and then sickened by the subsequent contemplation of how many people he covertly harmed under the knife. 

You’re beginning to get a headache. Admittedly, you have been experiencing all of the symptoms he mentioned—in varying degrees of severity.  “What is it?” you ask in lieu of providing an answer. Hannibal nods knowingly. He’s more than familiar with your avoidance, just as you are more than familiar with his loaded questions and ambiguous answers. 

“Sleep deprivation,” he remarks. You exhale in amusement. That’s far from a revolutionary diagnosis—you could’ve pieced that together yourself, even with your minimal medicinal knowledge. (After all, the FBI never taught you how to heal people–only how to hurt them.) “And the lingering traces of withdrawal. Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Hannibal continues.

“Nightmares,” you admit. A phantom shiver rolls down your spine, sending goosebumps across your arms. 

“About what?” Hannibal is practically leaning forward in interest. You don’t want to give him more ammunition, but damn it, you need information on the Tooth Fairy. And, perhaps, if you can get him in a good mood… then he’ll be a bit more forthcoming. After all, that’s what you’re here for… right? …Right?

“The newest victims,” you respond. Hannibal is staring at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to elaborate. Somehow, that’s when your mind shuts off and the desire to speak fades into obscurity. You settle for shaking your head silently, not wishing to summon more thoughts of bloodied stains splattered across homey walls. 

“Perhaps you should return home,” Hannibal suggests a moment later, clearly sensing that you would rather be anywhere else. You pay a fleeting glance at the security door from which you came, wishing you had such a luxury.

“No, I need to keep working on this,” you maintain. “Here.” You take a few steps to the side and slide a photo through the small mail slot. The photograph has been burning a hole in your pocket since you prepared for your visit here. And regardless of how many times you ran your fingers over it and ensured there wasn’t so much as a single paper clip attached to it, Hannibal’s predatory approach to the mail slot puts you on edge. Standing across from you once more, Hannibal looks down at the mail slot and stares down at the photograph. Your stomach churns as he takes it in his hands. But he barely gives it more than a second of his attention. Just as quickly as he picked the photo up, Hannibal places it back down in the slot. 

“I don’t wish to look at this,” he announces, sliding it back through the slot. 

You choke on a laugh. “What?” You stare at him in surprise. The expression on his face is completely blank. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now,” you scoff and stare at him, irritation and helplessness assaulting you. 

“You need to go home, Detective,” Hannibal asserts, enunciating his words carefully. What is it with everyone treating you as if you’re made of glass? Do you really look that pathetic? Sure, you have impossibly dark circles under your eyes and a general sluggishness about you, but that doesn’t seem like cause for such concern. 

“The newest victims,” you continue determinedly, pretending as if he hadn’t spoken. “Another family, two parents, one child. Mirrors shattered. The wife had strangulation marks, bite marks on the neck.”

“Enough,” Hannibal orders, his voice cutting through the static in your mind. You blink and lurch forward, placing a hand on the glass to brace yourself as a wave of vertigo hits you. When your vision finally clears, you’re surprised to find Hannibal on the other side of the glass, his hand extended to match yours. There’s a stormy expression on his face. 

“Leave,” he says. “If you return well-rested, I will discuss the murder with you.” Hannibal doesn’t leave you much of a choice. If you want his perspective, you’re going to have to come back later. You grit your teeth and walk away, bidding him a quick goodbye and shoving your trembling hands in your pockets. 

Your suffering doesn’t end there, however, as you nearly crash into Frederick Chilton on your way out. He steadies you with hands on your shoulders, looking at you intently. “Lecter seems worried about you,” he prompts. 

“Hm?” You ask, admittedly zoned out.

“Lecter seems worried about you,” Chilton repeats, his brows furrowing. 

You squint at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you decide to say, if only to appease Chilton. Unfortunately, Frederick Chilton must be the densest person on the planet, because he refuses to drop the subject. 

“I have to admit, you look tired,” Chilton says after a moment. Somehow, the look on your face must be enough to convince him that you don’t want to talk, because he holds his hands up in surrender.  “Alright, I won’t fight you on this. Get home and get some rest.” 

You mutter a goodbye and head back to your car. The ride home is uneventful, save for your eyes stinging with exhaustion. Unfortunately, you don’t get rest. Rather, you find yourself sitting across from Jack as he brainstorms a way to draw the Tooth Fairy out of hiding. It’s clear that the killer will continue to kill every full moon, and you’re regretfully lacking in evidence. If you don’t have a new lead soon, another group of innocent people will die. The thought keeps you tossing and turning that night, until you’re walking into the bureau the following morning with a renewed vigor. You restlessly ruminated over the Tooth Fairy murders that night, neglecting sleep in favor of attempting to dissect the same few pieces of evidence again. Is it insanity to do the same thing over and over again, expecting different results? You’re not sure. 

Regardless, you do come to some sort of conclusion. It doesn't necessarily have to do with the existing evidence; rather, you have an idea of how to draw the Tooth Fairy out of hiding. You tell Jack as much that early morning, and he looks at you tiredly over his mug of steaming hot coffee. He eventually places the drink aside and asks you to elaborate. 

You go through your existing characterization of the Tooth Fairy, starting with what he looks like and moving on to his personality. There, you remind Jack of the man’s pride—and how that pride and arrogance led you to develop an idea. At that point, Jack is practically foaming at the mouth with how much you’ve been leading him on. You eventually abandon pretense and tell him outright. 

“I think we should set up a TattleCrime article,” you say. “In it, we’ll characterize him to be a sexual deviant and a monster, amongst other things. Then, when he sees the article—which he will—he’ll take out his anger on the closest target.”

“Which is…?” Jack trails off, staring at you expectantly. You gesture to yourself and understanding passes over his face. He contemplates the idea for several minutes, his hands folded in front of him as his elbows rest on his desk. You almost want to accuse him of being distracted, but it’s clear from the look in his eyes that he’s meticulously analyzing the plan you’re suggesting. You both know it’s risky, but at this point, you don’t feel as if you have a choice. You need to catch this guy—or, hell, at least get something on him.

Hours later, you find yourself in a conference room at the Bureau with a rather unique group of individuals: Jack, of course; Freddie Lounds, journalist for TattleCrime; and Frederick Chilton, the head administrator at the Baltimore State Hospital of the Criminally Insane. The four of you quickly review the basic information on the Tooth Fairy, before Jack takes the lead with creating a suitable narrative for the story. Freddie types notes rapidly on her laptop, while Chilton divides his attention between staring at you and providing unwanted commentary to Jack. 

Then comes the fun part: inventing provocative remarks about the killer. It isn’t exactly hard to do, considering the mirror fragments he always leaves behind. The Tooth Fairy is a man deeply wounded inside—longing for acceptance amidst a society and world that doesn’t understand him. That’s the sugarcoated way to put it. 

“He is a sexual deviant,” you say, the words practically slipping from your lips of their own accord. “A predator that preys on innocent people and gets off on killing women because that is the only time when he is able to exude power and authority. In all other aspects, I daresay he is small—in stature and in presence. He is hopelessly insecure, and seeks external enlightenment to mask his many flaws.” If there’s one generalization that can be made about the Tooth Fairy’s ego, it is that he loathes being underestimated, objectified, and otherwise scrutinized. No doubt these comments will drive him absolutely crazy. At least, that’s your hope. And judging from the somewhat surprised and impressed look on Jack’s face, you think your statements are suitable. After all, if the killer is secretly as fragile as you suspect him to be,  he will take offense at virtually any insult—even if there isn’t a grain of truth in it. 

Some time later, Freddie has gathered everything she needs for the article—save for an accompanying photo. She seems to think that a picture of Chilton and you will do nicely, and Jack agrees. Outnumbered, you suppress your objections and stand next to Chilton. Freddie adjusts the angle and the camera flashes, freezing everything around you. A feeling you thought to be vanquished has just reared its ugly head: fear. You will be faced with the brunt of this killer’s attack, unless you somehow divert it. 

In a spur of the moment decision, you clap a hand on Chilton’s shoulder. Admittedly, the physical contact is entirely purposeful and pointed. Through the gesture, you’re forging an association in the killer’s mind and passing off the blame to Chilton himself. If you’ve characterized the killer accurately so far, there’s a good chance he’ll take his anger out on Chilton. 

The irony is not lost on you. When you were held captive by Abel Gideon and forced to point a gun at Frederick, you couldn’t take the shot. You had pushed him to the floor and inadvertently saved his life. Now, you’re holding the gun… and you’ve just fired the trigger. 

You tilt your head in what feels like slow motion to look at Chilton. Suddenly you can see him lying dazed on the kitchen floor, eyes glazed and hazily crooning at you, “See?” Suddenly there’s a bullet carved neatly through his temple, and his body lurches backwards and falls to the floor of the dimly lit hallway of that crumbling house you were trapped in. Suddenly he’s ripping his way out of a horse’s womb, covered in blood and guts, and you’re firing at him with nothing but rage in your heart… 

You blink again and look ahead. The camera flashes once more, sending dizzying spirals across your vision. 

You just sent Frederick Chilton to the gallows.

next chapter

endnotes: I really don’t think I did the TattleCrime article justice. In the TV show, Will goes OFF on the Tooth Fairy and it’s savage as hell.

Recent movies/shows I've watched: Chucky (1-3), Halloween 2 (the bloody tears almost made me cry), Late Night with the Devil, and The Patient (went back and finished it; it was fucking awesome)

thanks for reading!

look forward to a new POV in the next chapter Ψ(`_´ # )↝

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[lalagloomy]

…and then she woke up

i’m gonna ramble abt this recent drawing / a quick drabble to set the sceneee idk just to look back on so I don’t forget or I can edit it later

firstly, I love drawing trees like it’s actually so fun ^_^ and I like the colors and I think my only critique is I think I could’ve done better with isadoras placement/pose or maybe a different line width idek it just feels weird but i’m not upset abt it

Following Isadora moving to college in hopes that a change of scenery and environment could help her get away from what’s haunting her, if perhaps dedicating herself to her studies and getting out in the world can help, she finds that it does. sort of, with a lot of mistakes, hardships etc along the way…

a lot can happen in 2 years when she’s on her own and cut off from everyone back home. school, work, internships, more work and strangers. Also, many voices, random sounds, windows slamming open and shut. dreams where she’s back home, where she’s somewhere new, and dying.

There’s only so much that avoidance can do that it all comes back tenfold and she’s determined to do something about it. In a spiral of insomnia she follows the sound one night in the middle of a snowstorm, convinced it’s all a dream like the many others. Without much thought she never noticed where she was headed or how far she must’ve gone on her own away from her apartment.

lost in a daze she wandered into a snowy forest. crunching on the snow, stumbling over roots and with no attempt of tearing herself away from the calling branches, instead just letting them scratch at her. she found herself staring at the sky as she fell back against a large tree. one similar to the trees she loved sitting under back in highschool. She finally felt like going to sleep, and like a blanket the snow put her to rest.

2 more years passed. As her eyes fluttered open as the snow gently kissed her face, she was calmly staring up. the sky, dark and clouded by cold fog didn’t scare her for the first few seconds, and the stars and moon seemed like a sweet welcome. Only then after a heavy breathing she felt the cold air enter her lungs, and leave. Where was she? This wasn’t her apartment and this wasn’t a dream.

Her eyes slowly searched around and when her head turned to the sound of wind that gusted past her as she sat up, she felt the panic shoot into her blood stream. Her hair laced in snow resembled her frost coated skin and dress soon were shaken off as she attempted to stand up from her frozen state. Terrified, all she could do was run as fast and far as she could. The forest appearing like some infinite labyrinth to run from within the fog that made everything seem farther away from her.

The adrenaline and fear worked as a sedative for the ache in her lungs and feet as she continued to run for what felt like eternity only to be cut short as she tripped over a root. she stared at the back of her hand now bitten from the cold, she felt her hair working as a blanket to her body and her once clean nightgown that now was stained with dirt and hardening frost.

her eyes moved forward and saw a distant flickering of a lamppost, she was close to something now, she just had to keep running. She climbed back up with the support of the tree and stared at its frosty coat shimmering from the moonlight. If this were under different circumstances maybe she would’ve stopped and stared in awe at the entire forest, admired the details that nature provided. she would’ve waked peacefully and in shoes preferably, a coat too. Not now though, she ran with pain in her joints until she reached an empty trail, a familiar one that she would slowly walk the path.

quietly she walked, now the adrenaline gone and in a tired state she didn’t care about the cold, she didn’t care to look down if she was even bleeding. she was going to make it back to her apartment and sort out this nightmare. she would wake up in her bed and all this was actually just a dream, like the many that she had to fall back asleep to in order to wake back up.

Except, strangely, her apartment door within the complex was vandalized in what she had no time to decipher and now had been overgrown with vines and weeds. She turned the knob hoping that this lucid dream would work in her favor and to her sleepless delight, it did. she froze at the sight, the room remained with only the second hand furniture she picked up off garage sales or donations. The bed and its frame rotted away and the closet and cupboards left wide open or half way shut with a lingering disappointment. It was clearly abandoned. she was dreaming, she had to have been. she knew she went to sleep in her room, and she was going to wake up any minute now, this wasn’t real.

the morning stars rays peeked through the window shades and she would not wake up when it shined directly into her iris.

As she wandered away droplets followed and a puddle formed at her feet of melting snow as she stayed in place glaring at her reflection in the old bathroom mirror. The shattered caricature of herself stared right back with much longer hair, dark shadows under her eyes, she was desaturated and dirty from the nights journey. How long had it been and what was she supposed to do. she shouldn’t even be alive if she was truly in the woods for whatever time she spent there.

[aroaceleovaldez]

my notifs recently got me thinking about the very random concept of "what if there is a second, secret CHB. directly below normal CHB." and i ended up brainstorming it in the discord.

context for how this originated: one was just a random notif on my post talking about the tunnels under the Hephaestus cabin, and the other was some tags from @drksanctuary on my fake readriordan article mentioning the idea of a chthonic demigod camp.

so. my brilliant (read: "smashing my 2 brain cells together") idea: the elaborate and seemingly infinite tunnels under cabin 9 are remnants of an abandoned underground CHB that exists directly underneath camp. It's basically just normal CHB except in a big cave system, probably connected to the labyrinth somewhere and has the separate tunnels, and instead of the Olympian cabins it has chthonic cabins. there's probably also some infernal nymphs and etc down there too. since all chthonic demigods can learn to shadow-travel they probably used that to get down there, and a lot of chthonic demigods probably have geokinesis just by nature, ergo the tunnels (for when they don't want to shadow-travel, or can't).

in brainstorming with the discord we decided it could be cool if some of the cabins lined up with the above-ground cabins, either for thematic purposes or associations or whatever. Like there's maybe a Hermes and maybe Poseidon cabin in the chthonic CHB too that just link to the above-ground ones, but also like Persephone cabin lines up to Demeter cabin because of course it does. and maybe Hecate cabin lines up to Cabin 8 cause Artemis is sometimes 1/3rd of Hecate. Maybe Angelos cabin is beneath Cabin 1, and Zagreus cabin is beneath Cabin 12. Things like that.

The other ones i thought of were either Hypnos or Thanatos cabin lines up with Apollo, because twins, and the other is just right beside it (because twins). And Charon's cabin is beneath Cabin 9, ergo why the tunnel system connects to it (because Charon. Ferryman. Surface access. It makes sense in my brain).