#also tempus!! do we know if he's like?? just some sort of being from the astral sea? or is he some other kind of magic griffon? are there

[dent-de-leon]

Cr ask game - goblin

goblin: who is your favorite non-main campaign character

aHH I feel like now it has to be Zerxus. He's tragic, he's full of heart--he does everything he can to protect a city he can't stand, a place he never wanted to even be a part of and feels trapped in every day. He believes so badly that there's an inherent good in everyone, that no one is ever beyond redemption. Believes it so much he thinks he can change even the devil himself.

And when Asmodeus turns on him after everything, Zerxus isn't mad--he feels pity for this betrayer god, and that more than anything is what angers the Lord of the Hells. It's not a betrayal that breaks Zerxus' resolve, or shatters his ideals. In fact, he lets himself be dragged to the hells by Asmodeus because he still so fervently believes in this. And I don't know, I just adore him and his whole heartbreaking character arc.

Also, I love his family!! And hIS STARRY GRIFFIN WHO VISITS HIM IN THE ASTRAL SEA!! I just want them all to be happy.

But before Zerxus, I think I'd be tempted to say the ridiculous werewolf twin Travis played in The Song of the Lorelei--Lawrence, I think?? He's so silly and I just adore that whole adventure.

And also Merriweather from Shadow of the Crystal Palace, because I just love everything Taliesin did with that oneshot and I like the whole mysterious enigmatic figure with a dark past thing. I think it'd be neat if Taliesin ever revisited something like that.

[braveclementine]

Day 7~ 1:12 A.M.

Warnings: None, Readers under 18 can read this book.

Copyright: My OCs are Coach Yonce, Emma, Ila, Tempus, and Itty Bitty. I own these characters. I do not condone any copying of this.

The guard got me food when the lady wasn't there. Some white powered donettes which I scarfed down and then my throat was all dry. I was just glad I wasn't running on an empty stomach anymore.

I didn't thank him though.

Personally, I thought he was an idiot.

He was also a monster.

What kind of person- even if he was trying to help me- let kids die?

Hitler. . . King Herod. . . Stalin. . . Voldemort. . . Darth Vader. . .

So basically very horrible people.

I didn't have to wait very long before the lady came back through the door. Despite the lateness of night, she looked wide awake and was still wearing that stupid smirk on her face. I wondered if she'd had some form of plastic surgery that just meant she couldn't stop smiling.

"You may leave." The lady said to my guard.

He nodded and went back through the door.

The lady smirked at me. "I have to give you the credit, you are brave. Stupid, but brave. I guess that's why it's part of your name 'Braveclementine3'."

"I'm empathetic." I corrected her. "I just care about the children here. That's all they are, you know. Some of them haven't even hit puberty yet. They had dreams to be astronauts and Presidents and Scientists and teachers. You took all of that away from them. You're still taking that away from others."

"The rules haven't changed." The lady said with a small smile on her face. She seemed pleased with my outburst. "You have about forty-five matches left you know. And there's still seventy-five contestants. You could all still go home."

I wrinkled my nose at that statement. "What about the children you killed? Will the parents be able to get their bodies back to bury them? To get some sort of closure?"

The lady laughed. "Of course. Bodies have already been sent back to the families. Not all of them, of course, we can't send to many. But we're not entirely cruel."

I paced away from her, "Why am I in this room?"

"I came to make a proposition for you." She said, and there was a soft thump as she placed her folder of papers down on the table that was in the room. Then there was the sound of the chair being pulled out softly.

"You can see the door on the other side of the room." She said.

I could, indeed, and it had been one of the first things that I had seen the moment my guard had brought me into the room.

It was old. Brown and cracked, made of wood. The handle was large and brass, the circular kind that you had to turn. It opened inwards and had several locks on the outside of it.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Behind this door is a. . . minigame of sorts." The lady said as though I couldn't remember what she had said a few hours or so ago. "Behind this doors is. . . well I suppose its our rendition of Maze Runner. Have you ever seen it?"

"No, but I've read the books." I murmured.

"Now, we don't have the invisible hole that will get you out of the maze." The woman said. "It is very large however. Let's see. . . the next Escape game will be at 10 tomorrow. Breakfast is at 8. . . you have six hours to survive."

I felt myself shiver and a feeling of dread sunk into my bones. Though I had never seen the movie, I had read the books and I knew that there were horrible monsters in the maze. Of course, they couldn't actually be monsters. . . the wolves. I would have to escape wolves.

Well, that had to be somewhat easier, right? Thomas had used vines to keep himself off the ground for the most part. I was pretty sure that wolves couldn't climb.

"Or," The lady continued, "You don't have to do this at all."

This proclamation made me finally turn to face her.

She wasn't sitting at the table like I had thought she might be. Instead, she was leaning against the table, her legs crossed at the ankle and her arms crossed over her chest.

"I'm guessing there is a catch." I sighed, leaning against the wall, mocking her pose.

"You could join us." The lady continued, straightening up from the table. "You could become a guard too. Well, more than a guard really. We've reviewed your profile of course. You're quite good at many of the games on Roblox. If we continued this, you could be a trainer of sorts. Assassin, Murder Mystery, Break point, Deathrun, Field of Battle, and many, many others. You are drawn to the killing games Y/N."

I flinched at the use of my name. It was the first time I was recognized as a person to her.

"And of course," The lady continued, "While I wouldn't exactly be able to let you go until you proved your loyalty, I would release Katherine and Emma immediately from this series of games."

I wish it wasn't such a tempting offer. Not only would I be extracting myself from the game, but I would also get Itty Bitty and Jaguar to safety.

But. . .

Could I really put myself before others. Not to mention, she was talking about making more games. Kidnapping and killing more children.

How could I possibly be a part of that?

No, my only chance was to protect Itty and Jaguar in the games and get them home that way. Protecting all of the children to the best of my ability. If I took up her second offer, then I would be killing more children, not protecting them.

"I'm going to enter the maze." I said. "Is the door open now or do I have to wait a little longer for supplies."

The woman was no longer smiling. But she didn't look angry either. She looked almost disappointed.

"The pack is right there." She said, pointing to a small black bag that was resting on the shelf next to the door. "I must say, I'm a bit disappointed Y/N. I thought I would expect better things from you."

"I'm on the side of life." I said. "Taking up your offer is completely against all of my beliefs. I would never help you kill a child. I can only try and save them."

The woman said nothing more as I yanked the door open, taking a deep breath, and walking inside.

The door shut behind me and I shivered in the cold, night air.

⬅️➡️

[phoebe-delia]

Has anyone asked for song #1 yet? I'm very curious which song you're listening to most.

I really enjoy your writing in combination with the song prompts! Thank you for sharing it with the world!

Hello darling! Thank you for this ask. As a matter of fact, no one has requested 1!

My number 1 song is the explicit version of "Potential Breakup Song" by Aly and AJ.

I know, I thought it would be a Taylor Swift song, too! I will say, this playlist was from Apple Music and I recently started using Spotify more so idk if this is still accurate for my current No. 1 song, but it's still a bop.

This is a bit of a challenge, but I figure if I can write a fic based on "Yeah!" by Usher, I can give this a try. This fic will be *mostly* funny and fluffy but there's some angst with a happy ending.

5 Times Draco Almost Broke Up With Harry

1.

"Tell me something," Draco said shyly, tracing patterns into Harry's bare arm. Sunlight streamed into the living room, dust motes dancing in the rays.

"What do you mean?"

"Something I don't already know about you."

"Like what?"

Draco's expression turned exasperated. "I don't know, Harry, that's rather the point."

"Right...er, okay, here's something you don't know about me. I don't like whipped cream."

Draco looked at him, startled. "You don't?"

"Er, no. I also don't like marshmallows or--"

"What?"

"Or avocado, or eggs."

Draco sputtered. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Merlin, here we go."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Every time I tell people the foods I don't like, they get all indignant and huffy," Harry waved a hand. "It's so weird. Like I've offended them by disliking meringue."

"You don't like meringue?! That's it, I'm breaking up with you."

Harry groaned. "I regret this. I regret everything. Just--forget it."

Draco sighed. "No, no I'm sorry. In my exaggerated teasing, I see how I might've struck a nerve."

"It's fine--I'm just tired of people taking my food preferences as a personal insult."

"I take everything you do as a personal insult."

Harry just chuckled. "That you do, Draco, that you do."

2.

"POTTER!!"

"WHAT?"

"GET IN HERE!"

"WHERE'S 'HERE'?"

"TAKE A WILD GUESS, AUROR POTTER!"

....

"Ah, good to see that your tracking skills aren't too hopeless. Now, care to tell me what's wrong with this picture?"

"Er...you're angry?"

"Yes, I am angry--and the reason for that is obvious if you merely look around the room and see if you can identify what might be bothering me."

"You get really formal when you're upset."

"Potter--"

"And you call me Potter."

"If only you would use your powers of observation for discovering the cause and not the symptoms of my frustration, this conversation would be over."

...

"Is it my socks?"

"Your socks, your pants, your shirt, your trousers--all in a heap in the closet."

"So? I haven't done laundry in a while."

"Potter, you do realize there are laundry spells, don't you? So that dirty clothes don't stink up one's closet?"

"...No?"

Sigh. "Alright, I suppose I won't move out this time."

"Oh, what a relief."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Never. Especially not toward you, baby."

"I should hope not. Now, c'mere and let me teach you the spell."

3.

"I can't believe you'd betray me like this." Draco shook his head mournfully, bits of snow falling from the top of his warm hat. "I trusted you."

Harry scoffed. His breath fogged in the air. "I told you this was happening today. It's not my fault you weren't listening."

"Asking me post-coital if I'd like to attend the Weasley Family Brunch is Slytherin-level manipulation."

"Did I ever tell you the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin?"

"What?" Draco stopped walking, turning to Harry in shock.

"Yeah. Told me I'd do well. But you'd been such an arse to Ron that I begged it to sort me anywhere else."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course. Honestly, I did you a favor. You were practically made for Gryffindor."

"Who knows? Maybe we'd have been friends back then."

Draco glared and Harry snickered.

"You know, Potter, between your little jokes and this stunt you pulled, I'm one insult away from Apparating on the spot and leaving you here."

Harry smiled fondly. Taking Draco's hand, he led them toward the Burrow, its warm light a welcome destination in the icy weather.

"Nah, you won't, you know why?"

"Why?"

Harry smirked. "Because then we won't get to be post-coital together."

Draco scowled. Harry laughed.

4.

"Don't say a word."

"Can I just--"

"Harry."

"But I--"

"Potter. Shut up.

...

"Draco I'm sorry--"

"Harry, what is the one thing I asked you to do when you became an Auror?"

"...Don't be stupid."

"Yes. I asked you not to do anything stupid. I asked you not to impulsively put yourself in harm's way."

"Draco it's my job to protect my partner, and--"

"You don't think I understand that? Of course I do! I can't fault you for being a loyal partner, Harry, but running into a hostage situation without calling for backup is the absolute dumbest thing you could've done! You nearly died!"

"But I didn't! And the case is over now."

"You were in St. Mungos for nearly a week! Do you know how agonizing it was to see you like that? Do you--" Draco's voice cracked and he cut himself off, turning away from Harry.

Harry's heart clenched. He walked up to Draco and wrapped strong arms around him from behind, expecting to be pushed away. Instead, Draco leaned into the touch.

"I know your job has its risks, Harry, but the least you can do is not create them for yourself. You said the Sorting Hat nearly put you in Slytherin; some self-preservation would be good for you."

Harry sighed, nuzzling Draco's neck. "Okay. I'll try."

Draco turned in his arms, looking at Harry with wet eyes. "Good. The last thing I want to do is break up with you, but I couldn't handle it if I lost you any other way, I--" The tears spilled at that. Draco's face flushed in embarrassment, in anguish.

Harry's chest constricted. He pulled Draco close to himself and stroked his hair, letting the other man cry his fears into his shirt.

"I won't let it happen, Draco. I promise."

Draco nodded, his cheek brushing Harry's shirt.

Harry smiled. They'd be okay.

5.

Draco was going to kill Harry.

He was going to break up with him, and then kill him, and then revive him just to break up with him once more.

He cast a Tempus. 8:20.

Over an hour. Over an hour he'd been waiting for Harry to return home. He was beginning to get hot in his tailored suit, despite the cooling charms.

He hadn't heard anything. No Owl, no Floo, no nothing. Either Harry had no respect for decorum or...

Nope. Draco couldn't go there, wouldn't. Harry promised and he always kept his promises.

Suddenly, the Floo roared to life, making Draco jump. Harry stumbled through with a panicked expression on his face, dusting the Floo powder from his formal robes.

"Draco! Merlin, I'm so sorry, I thought I had time and then everything got all screwed up and I got here as fast as I could."

Draco sighed. "It's fine, Harry, let's just order takeaway."

"Why?"

"Well, we missed our reservation. Cerise won't wait for more than thirty minutes."

Harry pursed his lips. "What if I had something else in mind?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

With a smirk, Harry tossed him a hairbrush, which Draco caught with Seeker instinct.

"Harry wh--" His eyes widened as he felt the pull of a portkey, the sound of Harry's amused laughter echoing behind him.

He landed with a thud on a balcony. After a crack, Harry appeared next to him, gasping to catch his breath for a moment.

"Potter, what the fuck?"

Harry chuckled. "Surprise! Look around, Draco."

Draco's breath caught as he finally took in his surroundings. They were standing on a balcony in Paris, confirmed by the sight of La Tour Eiffel in the distance. The lights of the city twinkled like stars below them. On the balcony were two chairs and a small table with hot food under a stasis charm. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat ready for them. Draco checked the label and confirmed with a gasp that it was a 1989 Chateau Lafleur.

"Harry, I--" Draco turned around but was startled into silence at the sight of Harry on his knee, a hopeful smile on his face and a small black box in his hand.

Draco's eyes went wide. "What?" He breathed.

Harry bit his lip. "Draco, I'm sorry I don't like whipped cream. I'm sorry I forget to do laundry, and that I dragged you to Sunday dinner. I'm sorry that I worry you sometimes because my job is dangerous. I'm sorry I run late to our dates sometimes.

But I promise to give you the avocado from my sandwich. I promise to try to remember the spells you taught me, and to use my manipulative powers for good and not evil. I promise I'll use better judgment in the field. And I promise I'll try to be on time for our dates.

And I promise to do all of this for as long as I can, as long as you let me. And if you do--if you promise to love me for the rest of our lives--I promise to do the same. Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"

Draco let out a delighted, euphoric laugh. "Yes, yes of course I'll marry you!"

Harry grinned and rose from his knee to pull Draco into a nearly bruising kiss. When they pulled apart, they pressed their foreheads together and looked as Harry slid the ring, a simple silver band with tiny emeralds, onto Draco's finger.

As they ate dinner, looking out over the city, Harry gave him a cheeky grin. "So, tell me, how'd I do?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "With tonight? The proposal?"

"Yeah, what'd you think? I hope it made up for me being late. I'm sure you were about ten minutes from breaking up with me," Harry said with a chuckle.

Draco shook his head and smirked. "No, Harry," he raised the glass of wine to his lips. "I'd never do that."

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[trickster-archangel]

About Time.

Blame that blessed soul who is @electricrogue for this rant, otherwise I wouldn't have even published it.

Also, I wanted to prove my points with quotes and gifs and whatsoever, but my time is unfortunately limited and this bloody app would delete everything with more that 3 low quality .jpg, so I settled for a quick, plain text sort-of-meta.

Feel free to add content, context, rants, elaborations, speculations, proofs...the more we are, the wider and the deeper the discussion grows.

I was thinking about Helen's relationship with time, given the fact that she's immune to its passing. Thus, she has a lot of past behind her back, but just as well she has an indeterminate amount of future before her, not mentioning a very heavy present to deal with.

But this is just a metaphor: in reality, Helen deals with Time in a very tangible way….by travelling back in time. Literally, she is to live again her past, by means of her new present, trying not to alter a future which is literally in her past.

Bloody hell.

So I thought, what if Time were a part of her life even in a more subtle way? We know that out of The Five, only Helen and Nikola inherited the indeterminate lifespan granted by the Sanguine Vampiris genetic traits. John gained it through Helen's blood, even if it's still unknown whether, if she suspended her injections, he would've grown old and died normally. Nigel probably had some sort of prolonged lifespan too, until he decided that eternal life was more of a curse and less of a blessing, and simply died. James didn't inherit anything of the sort, and had to put his immense brain at work to solve this very specific, very personal issue, and probably never really got over this misfortune of his.

Of these four men, three have been part of Helen's life in the most intimate way. We know John has been her fiancee, before becoming a murderer and a madman, then there's been James, and finally it's been Nikola's turn (whether for past!Helen or future!Helen or both, it's not to be known for sure).

So let's try a spectacular leap of faith and look at these three man from Time's perspective.

John Druitt. 

He's the past, not specifically Helen's, but the Past. He always stresses how they were happy, how perfect it was, how he could make it better if only they could go back to the past.

Totally ignoring that even before the Source Blood he was less than perfect (a bloody misogynist as for Adam's words, and if another madman has the clarity of mind to see through him...), and that the Blood probably only drew out what already was there, which maybe would've found another way to come out, sooner or later.

He doesn't care about this new Helen who keeps rejecting him, he wants "his Helen" back, that meek, frightened cute thing she once was.

More than this, Helen herself talks of him like the Past. He's not Druitt anymore. She doesn't love him and never will anymore. She feels guilty, but that's all. She even hates him, she probably would've killed him in Tempus, and the more he tries to push her back to the past, the more he chooses to move on and build back something dead, something that doesn't and cannot comprehend her anymore, and the more she pushes him away.

She tries to build a new friendship, something new between them, she desperately wants to believe he still can be saved, as a human being, not as a lover, but he doesn't want this pity and he refuses to accept it.

To Druitt, only Past exists.

Then there's James. He's rooted in the present. He quite likely can't count on the future that much, not like Helen. Without his machine, he's literally dead. Literally. His future belongs to the past because he wasn't meant to last this long.

But he doesn't dwell on the past, either.

He has his present, and he goes on and on, doing his duty, helping the present, helping Helen...but he sort of lacks Helen's foresight.

He's dutiful and accurate, and quite a genius - but he's not the genius who looks onto the future: he solves present problems, be they social order problems or medical problems. 

There's a problem, James solves it, then moves onto the next.

No curiosity, not anymore. No darings. No discovers.

Doing his job, that's James.

He's the very epitome of boring....genial but boring, teaching and learning and then using nothing of it except that which has immediate use.

No wonder Helen grew out of love for him. Fondly loving him as a brother, that's true, but nothing more...he doesn't have the same spark as she has. He openly sulks that she doesn't visit him often in London, as a friend. They are friends, but each on his side of time.

Who then is left for Future?

Someone who only and always looks at the Future, further and beyond, always pushing forward...?

Yes. That's him. No need to elaborate.

Curious, daring, sparkling energy (...literally…). He's the one Helen seeks for adventures. He's the one sharing her reckless and restless quest for the unknown, for the sake of knowledge itself. He's the one injecting her the Blood, and she's the one revamping him to make him a part of her future again. To have a future where Nikola exists.

Nikola is Helen's future. But also her present and her past. He loves her because he loves what she was, what she is and what is yet to be.

And I'm sure Helen understood this very well, so well that she broke her promise and risked the timeline just to seek him, his help, his presence. To create a new Sanctuary for a future that had already been built.

If there's a future for Helen Magnus and her Sanctuary, it's nothing but inevitable that Nikola Tesla will be there in that future he helped to build.

“Let the future tell the truth and evaluate each one according to his work and accomplishments. The present is theirs; the future, for which I really worked, is mine.” – Nikola Tesla

[galadrieljones]

The Walking Dead: Episode 4.12, “Still” Rewatch

So I rewatched “Still” in honor of the Stilliversary tonight. My thoughts are not related much to Team Delusional stuff, more so just thoughts and idle analysis, but I had fun and definitely did not cry.

Here we go!

Beth is already feeling it, right away, after the trunk scene, ie: what he must think of her. She’s just another “dead girl” who needs to be protected. It is both insulting and embarrassing at the same time.

Daryl misses that squirrel and breaks an arrow! Dammit, Daryl. This is just another trial, but it’s interesting in how we see Daryl in like rote provider mode, and yet he makes a mistake.

The suck-ass camp begins with some Garden of Eden imagery: While Daryl skins and cooks the snake, Beth is admiring the beauty of a ladybug crawling on a leaf. The music is actually full of wonder. Beth sees the beauty in the natural world while Daryl sees it only for what he can use. It is an essential masculine vs. feminine moment, in terms of their individual themes, and what propels them and their actions. Their masculine and feminine energies will be subverted later though, and well-complicated, because the writing is good.

Beth brings up Hershel’s death early: “He’s not exactly around anymore so...” She wants to have a drink, maybe to rebel against her father, maybe to honor his memory, maybe to seal her own fate. It is a complicated choice for Beth. It’s not just some “dumb college bitch” moment. She knows this, but how is she supposed to communicate it to Daryl?

Daryl is like an animal eating that snake while Beth tries to talk to him. Literally, out of body. I imagine being her and just like, Ugh. Gross, dude. Then, when she leaves, Beth totally expects him to come after her. When she doesn’t see him right away, she mutters, “Jerk.” She called him a jerk in season 3, too, after he takes off with Merle. I think Beth is used to being treated nicely by boys. Ofc, Daryl, while he may not be an overt gentleman in his scarfing of that disgusting snake, was there watching her the whole time. 

“You wanna spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that. We might as well do something.”

I sort of missed this before, the mention of “the rest of our lives.” It is a small acknowledgement that they are now “stuck together.” Ofc, Beth’s idea is to “make the most of it,” to go out into and DO something! Embrace the future! Daryl sees only the here, the now, and the past. He would prefer to stay still.

Unrelated but: God, Daryl is peak hot in this episode. 

Anyway, so, the state of Pine Vista, and what happened there. Jfc. It’s very ugly and very sad. The Dogtrot seems a reference to a dogtrot house, which is an old Appalachian style home. Basically like two shacks connected via a breezeway. I see some sort of backcountry types having moved in here and tortured the rich folk. There is evidence that “fun” was had. “Rich bitch,” etc. Maybe it’s the same psychopaths who tormented the OG Terminus crew, ultimately turning them into crazy cannibals.

Beth finds the Washington D.C. spoon. Why?? It’s such an odd, pointed shot, with a slow zoom. Is that where we’ll find her? Does anybody else know anything about this?? Anyway maybe this is a TD post lol.

Beth finds that bottle of wine and it’s a shame she has to break it! I remember feeling so bad about that the first time I watched this episode. Like NO BETH YOUR BOOZE!! She uses it to stab the shit out of that walker though, and to defend herself. She’s kind of pissed at Daryl for not helping her, again used to only the kindest of attention from boys. But Daryl isn’t like other boys (lol). He was there the whole time, once again, but he let it play out, because he knew she could do it. I like that her first (almost) drink here sort of has to become a weapon instead. Nothing is ever easy! And sometimes, the environment IS best observed, not in terms of its beauty or promise, but in terms of how its use can best be served to survive.

Tempus Fugit - Time flies! Oh, yes. Yes it does lol.

Daryl and Beth both need to escape their old selves here. Beth with her pretty cloths and Daryl stealing the cash and the jewels. They need to shake that shit off. Burn it all down, if you will. I think this episode we mostly associate with Daryl changing and having his epiphany, but Beth changes, too. She is just quieter at it.

It is 3 o’clock! The grandfather clock is this interesting motif that puts pressure on the situation literally while also bringing the symbolic pressure of time passing, running out, etc. It makes us feel detached from reality, like this is a purgatory episode. I like when The Walking Dead does this, like when they take us to a new place in which we become critically aware that this thing we’re watching is fiction, and by the rules of fiction, anything (ANYTHING) can happen.

“I know you think this is stupid, and it probably is, but I don’t care.” She just is who she is. She doesn’t give a shit what he thinks. I think that attracts Daryl to her in this moment and emboldens him. I think Daryl actually really cares what other people think of him, that he is keenly self-aware in this way. We see this fear manifest as Merle in Chupacabra, ie: that the rest of the group thinks he’s a “freak,” a piece of “redneck trash,” and that they’re all “laughing behind [his] back.” Meanwhile, Beth is just like, “You probably think I’m just some dumb bitch. But guess what, Daryl? I DON’T CARE.”

Beth sitting at that bar trying to clean out glasses: “Who needs a glass?” She clutches the bottle longingly and then cries. I would argue she is thinking of Hershel and the line of questioning that arises in this moment. Should she do this? Is she betraying him? This moment also contradicts what she tells Daryl in 4.1. “I don’t cry anymore Daryl.” This is the moment that breaks him.

Beth keeps trying to make him feel normal, while they’re walking to the shine shack. She thinks he used to be a motorcycle mechanic. But Daryl’s normal is not hers, and he doesn’t really do small talk. In these little moments, we see him being who he is. Daryl is really good at being who he is when who he is revolves around passivity and silence.

They go from country club to moonshine shack. What we see is how a class divide might differ in longevity. A country club full of walkers, made out of humans who turned against each other, every bottle dry in the house vs. an empty shine shack, no death in sight, absolutely full of booze. When societal protections collapse around us, it is the ruthless and the bereft who will know how best to survive. It’s like Beth sad about Daryl, being “made for this world.” 

They are trapped! Tropes. So many romantic tropes! Lol at people who would like to ignore that any of this happened or that Bethyl was never canon.

This: 

Anyway, I think Daryl is actually pretty mean to Beth toward the end here, out on the porch, like the way he treats her, kind of tugs her around physically. He doesn’t hurt her, but he is not gentle. This puts things into harsh perspective for Beth, as I do think that, while he is not right in how he handles her here, he is right in some ways about who she is. She is not naive but she is used to protection and safety and relying on others, the same way he is used to the opposite of those things. Both of them need to learn how to exist from the other side. 

Beth also sees what’s going on, however. I think she also might be used to this sort of quasi-violent, performative, drunken behavior. Her dad was a drunk. I think it’s interesting that so much of this episode hinges on alcohol in Hershel’s wake. I always thought this might be one reason Beth is drawn to and accepting of Daryl. We only really see Hershel while sober (I mean, mostly). We never saw him in his deep element of alcoholism, but Beth did. She is not innocent to vices or men spinning out of control. It’s why Beth responds to Daryl’s whole insane story about the tweaker and Merle with, “You miss him, don’t you?” She doesn’t care that Merle was a degenerate drug addict. He was Daryl’s brother who died. She has loved and lost an addict, too.

Before, Daryl was just “drifting.” In this episode, Beth gives him a quest. I think that’s very important. She also gives him something to look forward to:

“You got away from it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Maybe you gotta keep on reminding me of it sometimes.”

The hint at their future: “You gotta keep on reminding me,” he says, counting on them staying together. Beth is so kind to him here, too, even doting as she talks about him being the “last man standing.” I can’t imagine a girl has ever treated Daryl like this. I think she scares the living shit out of him.

Daryl suggests they go back into the shine shack, but Beth says they should burn the place down instead. Again, stillness vs. action. See their complimentary traits: Daryl is passive. He needs someone to tell him this is okay. Beth is active. She does what she wants. It is uniquely antithetical to their gender roles and subverts the power dynamic we might otherwise expect from a relationship like this: Daryl is older and a man. Ofc he should be the more aggressive, assertive one. The actor. But he’s not. It’s Beth who makes their choices in this episode. Daryl follows her and protects her along the way. 

The ending is so happy. Oh my god. Anyway.

Thank you for humoring me. Happy Stilliversary!! 😭🥺❤️

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 6

A/N Out in the open

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

You may think you understand stress, dear reader, but I can assure you that you do not. You do not understand stress unless you have driven around the city in broad daylight with a body in the trunk of your car. There was only so much guilt that a hat and sunglasses could cover.

“We should stop by the bank…take out some cash before we leave the state.” I suggested, my hands tightening on the wheel slightly as I drove. 

Jonah nodded and reached into the backseat to pulled over his bag to shuffle through it. It was always full of random junk from snacks and a water bottle to notebooks and his wallet and phone charger. He carried his life in that bag. He pulled out said charger and helped himself to the port in my car to plug in his phone.

“Jo.” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t you…freaked out?” I asked.

“I am.” Jonah answered as he dropped his bag in the backseat again. “My best friend called me out of the single most important studio session of our careers to get me involved in the murder of his wife. Who wouldn’t be freaked out? Why aren’t you freaked out?”

I shifted my hands on the wheel nervously, “I-I am freaked out. I just…I don’t know what happened at all and I think I’m just in shock.”

“Do you think you killed her?” Jonah asked quietly.

I could sense the nervousness in his voice as if he was scared of me too. I honestly didn’t know what to tell him…I didn’t know what to tell myself to reassure either of us. I loved Avalon. I loved her with almost everything in me. So what would be my motive to kill her? Would our argument about my job be enough to enrage my conscious to see nothing but red?

I could only answer my best friend truthfully. After all, he risked so much to come help me.

“I don’t know.”

Jonah nodded stiffly. He probably expected that reply from me. I had been saying it all morning.

“Well, we’ll go to the bank and check out this J person at the Lincoln motel and see where that takes us.”

Jonah and I were by no means celebrities, but our jobs certainly put us in the spotlight more often than we might have liked – especially in a situation as we found ourselves in with Avalon. Owning one of the top record companies in the country was not an easy feat and the publicity that came with it often made going out in public a bit of a hassle. I couldn’t tell you how many times Avalon and I were interrupted on a date for someone to want to talk to me, slide me a demo, or – for some reason – even get my autograph. Even Hollywood Fix seemed to have a soft spot for Jonah and me.

Avalon hated paparazzi. She hated paparazzi more than any other aspect of my job honestly. They made her nervous and claustrophobic and she always felt completely tense the entire night we were out if the paparazzi greeted us at the restaurant. Seemed like no matter the country they followed us everywhere. Even on our honeymoon we couldn’t catch a break.

“It’s just a few cameras.”

Avalon glanced out the tinted window of the rental car to the sidewalk that was swarming with paparazzi and their crew, waiting for us to step out.

“That’s hardly a few.” she mumbled.

“Just keep your head down and don’t say anything.”

“I can’t just ignore them.” she turned to me, “That’s rude.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” I sighed.

“I want to have a date with my husband that’s not riddled with strangers and their cameras.”

“Sorry to be such a burden in your life, honey.”

“Oh, Daniel, stop that.” she scoffed, shaking her head as she turned back out the window.

I stared at her a moment, her bottom lip held between her teeth and her arms crossed over the chest of the tight tropical dress she wore. I slid my hand over her thigh and gave it a squeeze to get her looking back at me. Her brown eyes were shimmering in anxious tears.

“I want to go back to the hotel.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I promise. I’ll be right beside you.” I assured her, capturing her chin in my hand to pull her lips onto mine for a quick kiss before reaching for the handle on the car door, “Come on.”

Thinking about these things only made me realize how much we actually argued. Maybe how dense I was to her feelings. Did that make me selfish? Well, I’m no perfect man. I can only push that fact on you so much, dear reader.

Jonah and I stared up at the brick bank building in front of us. The few steps to the ATM seemed like a mile. I took out my wallet from my jeans pocket and flicked through it to pull out my credit card with a sigh.

“5k?” Jonah suggested.

“Yeah, sounds about right.” I mumbled, adjusting the cap on my head as I scanned the curb we were parked in front of. “I’ll be quick.”

I stepped out of my car before I could psych myself up anymore and hopped up onto the sidewalk towards the ATM outside the building. I stood close to the machine, head down, and slid my credit card into the slot. I typed in my pin number with shaking hands and waited for my withdrawal request to go through while I tried not to think about what I was hiding in my car just behind me.

The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I hunched over the ATM, trying my best to keep myself in the shadows. It felt like ages had gone by until the machine slid out a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and returned my card. I kept my head down as I turned on my heel and crashed right into a man walking towards the front doors of the bank.

He must have apologized – I remember him saying something to me – but the fear that our sudden collision injected into my veins had me bowing my head and rushing off to my car a few feet away without a word. I was breathless when I closed the door behind me as if I had just hiked up the Hills and back and I tried to play it off as I flicked through the bills in my hand.

I held out half the stack to Jonah so we could split the total just in-case anything happened to either of us, “Twenty-five-hundred for you. Twenty-five-hundred for me.”

“Great.” Jonah reached into the backseat and grabbed his wallet from his back to tuck the cash safely away and I slipped my half into the glove box of the car.

We had to keep moving so I pulled out of the bank parking lot back towards the main roads while Jonah brought up the address of the motel in the GPS and set the route navigation on. We drove in silence, not even bothering to put on any music, and he scrolled through his phone as we hit some traffic on the freeway.

“The place looks musty as hell.” Jonah said casually.

I glanced over to his phone screen to see him checking out the Expedia site.

“It’s like 1 out of 5 stars. Reviews say bed bugs, broken furniture, unfriendly staff. Why would Avalon want to go within five blocks of this place yet alone meet someone inside?” Jonah mumbled and he set his phone back down to charge.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think the interior design what she was particularly worried about.” I muttered as I switched lanes towards the exit for Pasadena. I couldn’t help but let the jealously come out through my tone of voice.

My phone rang through the Tesla speakers and I glanced at the screen to see Christian calling me for at least the third time since the night before. I declined it.

“Fuck. Why does he need to know where I am so badly?” I grumbled.

“Maybe you should just tell him you’re busy at work.” Jonah suggested.

“It’s none of his business where I am.”

“It’ll get him off your back.”

“It’ll get him asking questions. We really don’t need that.” I sighed tiredly.

Jonah kept quiet.

The Lincoln Motel was right off the freeway and was so closely built under the underpass that it could have passed as a troll under the bridge. Honestly, it sort of felt like that same sort of sense as I pulled into the cracked parking lot of the nearly crumbling orange stucco two-storey building. My white Tesla looked like a diamond in the rough beside the motel and I would have been worried about it being stolen if it wasn’t for the body in the trunk already depreciating the car.

I parked in the spot closest to the building and Jonah and I took a moment to prepare ourselves for not only the person we were going to meet uninvited but also to face the decrepit building firsthand. I leaned forward to see up to the second storey balcony – all the rooms being outdoor entry – and located number nineteen. This certainly was not what I had planned when I woke up that morning.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

[isolaradiale]

The dark hues of the evening blended to lighter, softer blues of dawn. With every minute, the creatures of the museum began to slow until they stopped altogether, all at once. Whatever they were doing, they dropped it, and began to move their way to the places they had been before the museum took a turn for the lethal.

The artwork climbed back into their frames, stepped onto their pedestals, and walked back into their display cases. A light rain outside washed all the street paint away, color emptying into the drains in the city. Landscapes let their prisoners out, shutting the windows to their world.

Those unlucky enough to earn a spot on the Wall of Shame reappeared in the lobby, their wounds appearing as colorful splashes of paint, and nothing more.

As the oranges and golds of the sun trickled in through the ornate windows of the museum, a blaring voice interrupted the stillness as the intercom museum sparked to life.

"Goooood moooorning, my lovely little visitors! The door to the museum will be opening shortly. Please make your way back to the lobby in an orderly fashion, and be sure to grab all your belongings!"

As Capella promised, the large wooden doors opened once again, releasing all the prisoners of the museum.

"Thanks for visiting the Tempus Museum! Janus, did you want to say any parting words?" "I'm mortified enough as it is, thank you." Came a muffled voice from behind, sounding much less enthused.

"Aww, somebody's cranky... Well, suit yourself!"

As if to add *Extra Enthusiasm*, as everyone exit the doors, they passed by Capella's invulnerable form as she personally waved everyone goodbye, stickers glittering in the morning sunrise. Janus was still sitting at the reception booth, head in his hands and rubbing his temples.

"Bye bye! Goodbye now! Goodbye! Buh-bye! Bye now!" was the chorus that trailed off as she spoke, bidding farewell to the museum's visitors...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Thank you, everyone, for participating in our recent event: Canvas! As a reminder, you will receive event participation IF:

You've written a starter, thread, mini, or interacted with someone else using the event setting for parts 1, 2, or both.

You've written a 500 word drabble using the setting of the event for parts 1, 2, or both.

You did not have to participate in both parts to receive event credit (so if you only wanted to participate in part 1, it still counts!)

Remember that for participating in the event, you can give yourself 100 stars to use in the marketplace!

A few things have changed as a result of this event, also:

The Tempus Museum has decided to make its home in the Archimedes ward, for now, not far from the Theater of Calliope. Its structure and function is largely the same, but the Optimized Tools won't be there. The artwork won't come to life and attack you, either... during the daytime, that is. You can check out its full description on Archimedes' page!

Janus still takes his place as the museum's curator, and does his best to accommodate guests of the museum. It's not uncommon to see him taking and teaching courses and workshops in the museum, either! He's still polite and eager to help with anything involving the museum and its activities, but if asked questions about the Stars or Spirale, he'll politely explain that he doesn't want to get anyone into trouble. As in the event, on the odd chance that someone is hostile and violent toward him, they'll instantly be killed, and will respawn back in their room.

Thanks again for participating in Canvas! We hope you had a great time!

Frequently Asked Questions:

"Do the things we made turn back to normal?"

Yup! If you didn't destroy it in Part 2 of the event, whatever you made will turn back to normal.

"Will our artwork try to kill us at night?"

Nope! If you took it with you, it's of no danger to you. If you kept it on display at the museum, it's also no danger to you (or anyone else for that matter.) Only the original stock monsters of the museum come to life at night. But unless your muse breaks into the museum, you have nothing to worry about.

The monsters still have their damage invulnerabilities, so unless your muse has a death wish, maybe don't break into the museum without some serious planning. Shady art theft rings will buy your stolen artwork for a hefty price, though, so whether it's worth the risk or not is up to you.

The more often your muse breaks into the museum, the more the monsters will recognize their patterns. Breaking into the museum more than two times is almost impossible, and should be reserved only for the most cunning of thieves.

"What if we made weapons or jewelry? Can we take those back home too?"

Sure! Just know that the weapons will go back to being fragile, and will shatter if used in combat. Any jewelry will look very convincing, but if you try to sell them to anyone, they'll identify it as a fake. Not that they won't buy what you have anyway, but it certainly won't be worth the price of actual precious stones and minerals.

"Can we go back to the museum?"

Yes! It's open to the public from sunrise to sundown, unless there's a nighttime gathering at the museum (which you're free to come up with on your own if you'd like to use it in a setting for a thread.) You could also theoretically break in or sneak in, or hide until the place closes, but you run the risk of running into the guard patrols... or worse.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ (Epilogue)

As the visitors left the building, Capella skipped over to the front desk. Caelum emerged from the darkened corner of the lobby to join her, with the rubber stopper on his cane making soft thumps on the elaborate stone tile.

"Well, that was fun! Thanks for letting us use your museum, Janus." "You're... welcome, I suppose." "Good good! I'll come back here when I make more pieces to show off to the lovely people of our Spirale."

Punctuating this, her hands went up to playfully pat his cheeks.

"Ooookay! Well, until next time! And as for you, Dr. Caelum, I'll see you at this afternoon's meeting or whatever, right?" "Aha, yes I'll be there."

Saluting the both of them, her form vanished into a series of pixels, leaving the other two at the desk. Now that she was gone, the AI turned to give a pointed look at his father.

"...Mmm. Still angry, eh?" Came a chuckle, but the other didn't look so amused.

"You know, at one point, I would have congratulated you for feeling slighted. And I would have celebrated you experiencing such a thing. But you've been around for so long that these things come naturally to you now, don't they? Feelings like being angry... Now I just feel bad when you're upset like any other human."

Another more cheery laugh, and he walked himself over to the doors, motioning the other to follow. With the crowd gone, he could finally step outside and stand on the steps.

"...I am sorry for causing you trouble." "I know." "Good, I'm glad that came across." "I'm still irritated, don't get me wrong." "Yes, yes. I don't doubt it." "And I'm not sure if anyone will come back after such a thing. I wouldn't blame them. I just wanted a place to contribute to this whole thing, and now it's all..."

Sighing, he sat on the first step, watching the rest of the street illuminate in the warm glow of the sunrise. He only realized the old man beside him was trying to sit down when he gave a little huff of effort, and immediately helped his father down beside him.

"Ahh. Much better, thank you." "I could have gotten you a chair..." "Haha, that's alright. If you can sit on the steps, so can I."

For a while, the two sat in silence, watching the streets of Archimedes begin to wake up. Cars stirring, cafes opening, people walking their dogs.

"...Are you doing alright over there?" Janus asked, not turning his head.

"About as well as I can, mmhm." "You still have your migraine medicines down there, right?" "Mmhm. Dr. Lyra has been taking good care of my health, don't worry." "She's the nice one, isn't she? That's a welcome change from the other facility..."

A hand went to the Ai's shoulder, patting it reassuringly.

"Instead of worrying about my health, you should direct that concern inward, Mortimer. You have a place where you can walk around, do all sorts of things humans do. Talk to people, make friends. Play games, read books, paint your lovely canvases. You're not confined to the life we lived three years ago."

Silence followed for a little until the young man leaned against the older one. He must be pushing 70 at this point, right?

"...Are you in a place where you can refer to me by my name? And not that Star code that they made?" "Well, no. Not really. But I don't think anyone's listening. So I don't care~" "Ha! Rebellion got you into this mess, didn't it?" The AI replied with a laugh, earning another from his father.

"Well. Messes that they were, I can still sit with you without you being stuck behind a screen. So even after all the hells we've been through, I'd call that a success. Wouldn't you?"

A smile cracked on his face. They have gone through a lot.

"A success... it's nice to finally call something a success again, father. It's very nice."

[ask-those-dumbasses]

Lore Post About The Gods

There are many gods in this universe, we are only going to be talking about the relevant ones. Otherwise this is gonna turn into the Greek God family tree very fast and trust me we don’t want that. So, let’s talk about some gods!

The God of Time - Avus Tempus (Grandpa Time)

General information: 

The oldest god and the god that interacts with people the most, Avus Tempus is the most well known. He is the keeper of time, making sure it passes normally with no great disturbances. He watches as time passes, but does not interfere with mortal disagreements, even if he disapproves. He says that it is not his job to interfere.

Avus is older than time itself, and is the creator of the other gods. Avus was also the creator of the first Time Demons - which he calls his children with great glee. He has been given many nicknames over the years, with the most common being “Grandpa Time.” The limits to his powers are unknown, but is it commonly known that he can control the flow of time, and can open portals to different dimensions or various periods throughout time by roaring. People also know that he, with the help of his two direct children, Moíra and Apeiro, killed the Titan of War during his rampage.

(Bonus: Grandfather clocks were named after him)

Appearance: 

Avus appears as a long serpent like dragon with no arms or legs, green scales, golden horns and eyes, with long white hair down his spine and on his chin, making a beard of sorts. Legends say that his body extends forever, able to loop around the earth. Avus himself jokes that he has not ever seen his own tail. His fur is said to be as soft as clouds, and his scales are so tough that no spear could pierce it. However, despite being immortal, Avus himself is not completely immune to the effects of time. His eyes are pale and milky, showing that with age his sight has gotten very poor. Today he would be considered almost legally blind.

Where they live:

Avus lives in a huge palace on the top of the largest mountain on Earth. The mountain is called “Mortum Manga,” and is on the “Multi Ossa” mountain range. Inside his palace are intricate carvings on the walls that tell the history of the world, from Avus’ creaton on to current day. There is also a fountain which is called the “Fountain of Youth.” Contrary to popular belief, this fountain does not make you immortal or young, but instead heals all sicknesses. It was named the Fountain of Youth because it was used to cure a large plague that was mostly killing children. 

Along the side of the mountain is a small village called “The Village Of Lights.“ These people often interact with Avus directly. In fact, every 5 years they hold a festival where they light various sky lanterns and send them into the sky. Afterwards, Avus comes down to the village and talks to them. He specifically likes to meet with all of the children - who he likes to call his grandkids. 

Personality: 

He is an extremely friendly and passive god, often inviting people to come and have tea with him in his palace. Overall, Avus is very polite and is more than willing to shelter anyone if they ask. However that is difficult for most - since not only does he live atop the highest mountain, he also does look very intimidating. In reality he just wants to talk about how your day has been going. Avus is most certainly the kindest god that mortals can talk to. 

He tries his best to keep up with new terms, words, controversial topics, etc. Because of his old age it can be hard for him to keep up. He ends up coming across as that overly supportive and sweet grandparent that doesn't understand but is trying to. (Ex: “Are you a boy or a girl? I cannot tell. My vision isn’t what it used to be. Oh wait - are you one of those non-berries? Not binaries? So sorry I don’t remember.”). Because of his age he is also considered very knowledgeable and wise, and people will sometimes come to him or pray to him for advice and counsel. 

Avus is mostly considered to be extremely patient and calm, however there have been reports of him being fiercely protective of his “little village.” Those who have dared to harm those living or seeking refuge there have mysteriously ended up turned to stone. 

The God of Life, Death, and Fate - Apeiro

General Information:

Apeiro is the god of life and death, which means it’s their job to make sure life is balanced. Apeiro can keep populations down through plagues, famine, natural disasters, or other means. Aperio can also bless certain times with good crops, more births, or other means to make sure populations stay up if need be. It is important to remember that Aperio’s job is NOT to make life/death fair.  Apeiro also makes sure that spirits end up in their proper afterlife. Apeiro can also tug on the strings of fate, not manipulating them completely, but pushing them where they want it to go.

They stand against large acts of necromancy, however, they made a deal with Alita long ago. In this deal, Totems Of Undying were allowed to be created and sealed deep inside Jungle Temples. It is unknown exactly what Apeiro got in exchange for allowing this to happen but people have speculated that it has something to do with the existence of Wither Skeletons, which guard Nether Fortresses, and Withers, which can be made with a combination of three Wither Skulls and Soul Sand. 

Apeiro also assisted Avus and Moíra in taking down the Titan of War. 

Appearance:

They have a dark gray cloak/robe that wraps around them and flows dramatically to the floor. It drifts behind them, rippling and waving like there’s constantly a breeze. At the edges of the cloak there are dozens of tiny white stars. They don’t have a face, just a black shadow that flickers around the edges when you look directly at it (which is something you should never do). They do have hands that look like skeleton talons that float separately from their body since they do not have arms. They also have horns that used to merge as a sort of crown above their head. Now, from previous battles, those horns have been splintered and broken in two.

Where they live: 

Apeiro lives inside a castle, which has the foundation of the skeleton of an ancient colossal dragon. They live with their younger sister, Moíra. Apeiro specifically lives in the head - which has been remade into a massive throne room mixed with a fancy ballroom. The neck leading up to this room is a very long hallway that has many statues of many different people. These people are referred to as “Champions,” and they are previous winners of the Champion’s Cup. 

This skeleton castle is called the “Fossa Palace” and it can be found in the middle of the “Decaying Wastelands” desert. It is unknown what killed the colossal dragon, but rumors have spread that Aperio did it themselves and decided to make it their home. Regardless, when the wind blows in the cold of night, people say they can still hear soft roars and hums of the dead dragon. 

Other than living with Moíra, Apeiro lives completely alone and does not normally travel outside of their castle. They only do so in big emergencies such as universal threats or large acts of necromancy. 

Personality: 

Apeiro is very dramatic and adores big and grand theatrics. The Champions Cup itself was created out of boredom since messing with mortal lives from the sidelines can only entertain a god for so long. Speaking of which, Apeiro finds great entertainment in watching mortal lives, and loves to play with them. Whether this is good playing or bad playing, depends on their mood. Apeiro finds it amusing to poke and prod at people’s lives from time to time, and is considered a being of madness from a few of their victims. Apeiro laughs as a witness to human wars, and sees all mortal conflict as beneath them. They will sometimes even find glee in watching other gods squabble over petty things. 

The Goddess of Karma, Justice, and Fortune - Moíra

General Information:

Moíra is the goddess of karma, justice, and fortune. This means she mainly watches over humanity and tries to keep people’s lives fair, even, and balanced. She gets very angered when there are big atrocities happening in the world, or even just when excessively unfair things happen to good or bad people. She is often the judge and jury and innacts justice as she sees fit. Moíra is a very patient force as well, and ensures that eventually, in one way or another, that good things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people. karma is a patient force. 

She also blesses those she sees fit with various fortunes (whether this be money, something more spiritual, or something emotional will depend), or will take away from those who have committed horrendous crimes, 

Moíra also helped Avus and Apeiro kill the titan of war, and was the main one leading the charge against him. 

Appearance:

Moíra wears an extravagant white robe with golden patterns of leaves as an accent. She appears as a youthful human woman with dark skin and curly hair, but is very unnerving to look at. Her eyes are pure gold, dripping liquid gold down her cheeks. She has large curling goat horns which are decorated with various gems. Moíra also wears a laurel headpiece as a crown, with a bright red ruby in the center. She constantly floats just above the ground in order to keep herself clean. 

Where they live: 

Moíra lives inside a castle, which has the foundation of the skeleton of an ancient colossal dragon. She lives with her older sibling, Aperio. Moíra specifically lives near the top of the rib cage - which has been remade into a large fighting stadium. This stadium is where a tournament called the “Champion’s Cup” is held once a decade. There is an observatory hanging from the top of the dome ceiling, this is where Moíra resides. However she can also commonly be found with Aperio, or in the castle's library. Moíra does travel outside the castle for business purposes and works with people a lot.  

Personality: 

Moíra is much more careful about keeping balance then Apeiro is, and is much more responsible with her powers. Moíra also tends to scold her older sibling very often and is not very trusting of them. People think that the only reason Moíra lives with Apeiro is because she wants to keep a close eye on them.

By and large, Moíra is a very patient and slow god. She takes her time and thinks her actions through for a long time before acting. She thinks, a lot, and makes very calculated decisions like some sort of gamemaster. Moíra is willing to play the long game and waits for the pieces to fall into place so she can enact her plan properly. 

Moíra is also very vengeful, and remembers all of the little wrongdoings people have done. However she is very fair with her punishments, at least, she sees what she has done as fair. 

The Goddess of The End and the Keeper of The Void - The Enderdragon 

General Information 

History says that long ago there were Colossal Dragons; dragons that were born small and slowly grew throughout their lives until they were bigger than mountains. They have largely gone extinct because food became scarce and they were unable to eat enough to maintain their size. Some of their skeletons can still be seen to this day.

People know whispers of an old tale, about a dragon larger than mountains who rules The End as queen, and controls the Endermen as slaves to her will. That long ago she attempted to wipe out all life on this planet, but failed due to an intervention from Moíra, along with Avus who both banished her away from the Overworld. They say that one day, The Enderdragon will return, and have her revenge on everyone who dared forget her name. 

The majority of people don’t even believe she’s real, and some have never even heard of her. Most people believe The Enderdraon is a made-up myth tale that was made by man to explain the unknown creation of Endermen. Some people see The Enderdragon as a sort of boogeyman figure, a tale Dragon Riders will tell their children to get them to behave; Others believe she’s just some rumor made to prevent people from exploring The Stronghold. The only thing people know for certain, is that people who have dared to enter The End have either been never seen again, or come back with horrifying stories and with their children being cursed and becoming Endermen hybrids.

Appearance:

In stories she is illustrated as a large black dragon, bigger than mountains, with large grey horns and wings. The wings are usually torn, along with many scars from various battles decorating her body. The most prominent feature is her bright purple eyes. It is said that she breathes hot purple fire. 

Where they live:

In the End, one of the many different dimensions in this universe. It is mostly illustrated as many floating islands made of pale yellow sand. There are various crumbling purple buildings, along with purple plants that grow an odd fruit with teleportation abilities called “chorus fruit.” Endermen in the overworld are sometimes seen holding these. In the center of these islands are 10 tall obsidian pillars- each with an odd crystal that contains healing abilities, but only for The Enderdragon. 

Underneath the islands of the end is an endless void of darkness. It is unknown what could possibly be down there. Those who have tried to find out have never returned. 

Personality: 

In the legends, The Enderdragon is painted as an angry, vindictive, and spiteful dragon who wants nothing more than to watch humanity burn.

The Goddess of Magic - Alita 

General Information:

Alita is the keeper of all the different types of magic. There is Protection Magic, Elemental Magic, Combat Magic, Enchantments, and Necromancy. Alita is the higher power that can control all of these types of magic over others, and because of this is considered very dangerous. She can grant magic to people if they sacrifice something of great value. If she gives you magic then your spells will always appear as pure black.

Alita can also freely travel through the different dimensions - The Overworld, The Nether, and The End. She also creates permanent portals that are scattered all throughout the world. One of these portals is The Stronghold - which is a permanent portal to The End. It is unknown where others may be.

Alita is also the mother to all Kitsune, each born under a different type of magic. Kitsune are made to help Alita watch over the Overworld since she lives deep underground in The Nether. However, it is not uncommon for Kitsune to diverge from this purpose and instead do their own thing. Alita does not see a problem with this, since not only can she freely make new ones, but if she really needs to she can force her will onto the Kitsune that rebel against her wishes. 

Appearance:

Alita appears to be wearing an elegant masquerade mask that looks like a peacock. You can barely see one white eye and a small beak peeking out from the mask. Nobody, except for a few other gods, knows what she looks like under the mask. Anyone who has seen does not remember. Alita generally appears to be avian-like, being part Peacock. She has peacock tail feathers that fan up whenever she gets angry. However, the eyes seem a little too real, and people have reported getting headaches from looking at them for too long. Over her body is a beautiful silk purple dress with silver accents on the ends. She also wears many different rings and necklaces that have been given to her. 

Floating around her are five multichromatic flaming orbs that flash different colors. Each one stands for a different type of magic. Protection magic is represented by an icy blue, Elemental Magic flashes between red, dark blue, and light green depending on the element, Combat Magic is represented by royal purple, Enchantments is represented by orange, and Necromancy is represented by a dark green.

Where they live: 

Alita lives very deep underground in the nether, in the darkest caves surrounded by bubbling lava. Various bones decorate the entrance to her cave and she has a massive throne made of gold.  

Personality: 

Alita is described as the cruelest of the gods. While Aperio may mess with fate, that is their job and they ultimately keep some semblance of balance. Alita will play games with the mortals who dare to visit her simply for the fun of it. She is very playful and likes to toy with people, forcing them to make extremely difficult decisions and pay the price for their hubris. 

Alita can be won over with attention and praise however. She adores it when people grovel and give her positive attention just for a silly favor. While she may not often go out into the world, Alita is always open to visitors of any kind. After all, the visitors are often very entertaining. 

The Titan of War, also known as The Blood God - Sanguineous 

General Information:

Not much is known about the Blood God. He has mostly been lost to ancient legend. They say he was an old titan that became more powerful the more he killed. So, he became power hungry and so full of bloodlust that he attempted to wipe out all life on Earth. Because of this, he was killed by Moíra, Avus and Apeiro. His name is only known from old tapestries and ancient texts; Sanguineous.

Some say that he is not dead, but is simply resting for the right time to strike again. Some say his bones are what made the Multi Ossa mountain range. Some say that his presence can still be felt to this day. Some people do know that those who have been touched by his presence have pure red eyes. Other rumours tell of pockets of underground lakes that still hold the old Titan’s own blood. There are whispers that those pockets hold unimaginable power, if only someone could find and harness them. 

Appearance:

Old paintings and tapestries depict the Blood God as a creature made purely of bone - but only an upper body up. His chest is shown to be a human skeleton, with the hands mutated into large claws. His head, however, is depicted as a large ram skull, with humongus black horns and glowing red eyes. Sometimes, he is depicted holding a large netherite axe which he attempted to split the earth with.

Where they live: 

Since the Blood God is dead, he does not live anywhere. When he was alive he did not live in any particular place. He simply wandered the Overworld.

Personality: 

The only thing known is that he wanted nothing but for blood to be spilt from each end of the earth. 

[bibislut]

Merlot and Meddling

I present to you; a fic born from the inspiration at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

Synopsis: Maybe Pansy could be right for once, maybe this is the closure Draco needs. Or maybe they’ve both just had a little too much to drink. After all, nothing bad ever came from drunk advice, right?

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2494

Find it on Ao3 

-----

Draco took a large swig of his wine, swilling it around his mouth as he thought over Pansy’s idea. The two had already finished their second bottle and were now well into their third. The blond was laying languidly on his best friend's sofa, the raven-haired witch in question haphazardly strewn across the neighbouring armchair.

“Not a chance.” Was he slurring?

“Why the fuck not?” Pansy’s high squeal of disbelief echoed in draco’s ears.

“Because it's a moronic idea.”

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It. Is. Not.” Pansy enunciated each word harshly, pushing herself up. Draco flicked his eyes over to her, meeting her determined gaze. “This will be good for you, Draco. And even better for me, when I read it sober tomorrow.” She grinned.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he resigned himself to the whims of a stubborn, drunk heiress, with a loud groan. “Fine.”

Pansy squealed, a horrific noise that only Draco ever got to hear. Sometimes he wished that being her best friend was a bit quieter. She clapped her hands eagerly. “Wonderful. It’s about time you got some of this mess-” She waved her hands at him, “- out.” 

Draco sat up, enjoying the slight spin of the room as he downed the rest of his glass. “Top me up then, gorgeous. I’ll need my strength.” He drawled.

“In your dreams.” Pansy scoffed, placing her own empty glass on the coffee table. “I’m going to grab some parchment. Top me up too.” 

If Draco was lucky enough, he’d wake up before Pansy tomorrow, and could burn the blasted thing before she could bully him about it.

----

Harry yawned widely, scratching his head as he plonked himself down at the staff table. Neville nudged the pumpkin juice towards him, shooting him a sympathetic look.

“Remind me why I took this job again, Neville?”

“Because you’re good at teaching people and making them believe in themselves?” The herbology teacher took a bite of his jam-laden toast.

Harry huffed. “Well it certainly wasn’t to stay up all night grading mock exams.” He pulled a plate of pancakes towards him. “I had more than enough of my own bloody OWLs and NEWTs.” He grumbled. “Should’ve thought this through more.”

Neville hummed. “Do you want me to pour some cold water on you?”

“Don’t even try it.” Harry smirked. “You can’t just throw water on The Saviour of The Wizarding World.”

“Did you forget I’m the one who stood up to Voldemort?” Neville raised an eyebrow.

“What has happened to you?” Harry shook his head jokingly. “Where’s the shy boy I grew up with?”

“Still bloody here.” Neville chuckled. “Just a bit more comfortable now.”

“Teaching suits you.”

“It suits you too, most days.”

Both young men turned back to their food, Harry reaching for the pot of coffee he’d asked for. The noise in the hall rose, and he looked up just in time to catch the post before it hit his plate. Being a Hogwarts alumni and a seeker definitely helped during breakfast.

It was just the usual, a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet, a copy of The Quibbler, a letter addressed in Hermione’s writing, no doubt reminding him of the Weasley spring get-together, and...another letter. He didn’t recognise the handwriting. He pried open the seal curiously, unfolding the letter inside:

-Dear Mr Potter,

The most famous, most brilliant, most bravest man to ever exist. Who’s arse we must all kiss, and lick, and fondle, though that may be just me. It really is a nice arse you know. Have you ever looked in the mirror? A truly fine specimen. You wouldn’t think it spent so much time on a broomstick being a bloody show off, but here we are, you with a nice arse and me with a picture of it in my head. How delightful.

I have been told to write this letter to get my feelings out. And though I would usually deny these feelings, everything must end - including these ridiculous thoughts. “What thoughts?” You may ask. Well, let me tell you.

 I hold a rather large grudge, fuelled almost completely by my own damaged pride. Pride bruised by a lack of you in my life, and pride bruised whenever you are in my life. It is quite the conundrum, I tell you.

A lot of my feelings are unnecessary, some unscrupulous, some unwanted, unfounded, but most of them unreturned. For when have you ever looked into my eyes the way I do yours? When have you lain in the dark, retracing our encounters? Or remembering the colour of your eyes, or the pattern of your freckles, or the way you thin your lips in rage, or lick them with anxiety or when, perhaps, have you thought of me at all? Outside of your obligation to that is? Your obligation to hate me, despise me, distrust me. Please tell me that’s what it is; an obligation. Or at least tell me that you don’t anymore, don’t resent me, loathe me. That’s what I need to believe.

I certainly did you. I hated you, it's true. For many reasons. For stealing the limelight, for bettering me, for dismissing me. But I also admired you, envied you. Resented you, and myself, for my cowardice, for my choices, for having the family that I did, that I do. 

I could go on and on, but the point is this- you still plague my thoughts. You still fill my head. You’re in my dreams, my nightmares, my desires… 

And this is not healthy, it can’t be. Progress is healthy, moving on is healthy. And perhaps just imagining you reading this will contribute towards that.

So let me leave you with this, Potter: I feel so many things for you, and none of them can be resolved, or come to fruition. This is my attempt at goodbye. This is my attempt at starting anew. -

The writing is messy, the ink smeared in places, a stain of some kind in the bottom right corner. But Harry knows this handwriting, spent his teenage years seeing this writing, obsessing over it some nights. And he knows the writing on the front of the letter doesn’t match. 

Which means Draco Malfoy did not intend for Harry to see this.

---

“Fuckkk…” 

“My thoughts exactly.”

Draco’s eyes shot open, focusing on Pansy as she sat on the armchair, hair brushed, face washed, sitting in a fresh set of pyjamas. “Why the fuck are you okay?” He groaned, rubbing his face. 

Pansy shrugged. “I had a pint of water and a sandwich after you passed out. Woke up feeling perfectly fine.”

“You bitch. Why didn’t you make me one?”

“And wake the beast? No, thank you.” She motioned towards where a mug of steaming tea sat under a stasis charm. “Cuppa?”

Draco hummed thankfully, sitting up carefully so as not to anger his throbbing head further. “Less of a bitch.” He murmured. He sipped at it, the warmth of it easing a bit of the tension in his body. “What time is it?”

“Just past eight.”

“So, really-fucking-early.” 

“Yeah.” Pansy picked up her own mug. “I’m glad you’re awake though.” 

“And why is that?” Draco sat back against the cushions, easing his shoulders as he took another sip.

“What do you remember of last night, love?”

Draco offered an exhausted chuckle. “Some of it.” He tried to think back. “We finished the third bottle of merlot, right? Or was it the fourth? And your dancing, that was great.” He snorted. “Merlin. You do squeal when you’re drunk Pans, I thought my eardrums- OH FUCK!”

“And there it is.” Pansy smiled at him. 

“Oh Merlin, Pansy. Please tell me you burnt it. Please, Please.”

“I’d love to, Draco, I really would. It’s just…” She paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I mean, I was drunk too.”

“Oh no, please tell me you didn’t send it to Blaise!”

“Okay, I didn’t send it to Blaise.”

“Pansy Bernadine Parkinson. What. Did. You. Do?!” 

“Don’t use my full name!” She whined. “You know how much I hate-” 

“Pansy!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It might go well, you never know. I do sometimes have good ideas, and honesty is always the best pol-”

“PANSY!” Draco lurched forwards, his stomach doing the same. Merlin, anxiety and alcohol did not mix well.

“I sent it to Potter.” She whispered, eyes wide.

“WHAT!” Draco stood up so quickly he spilt his tea.

“You never know-”

“At Hogwarts?!” The blond slammed his cup down on the coffee table, standing over his friend.

“Yes?”

“Merlin’s tits!” Draco’s hand flew to his hair, running them through nervously as he began pacing. “Merlin’s fucking tits!” 

“I mean, it's not so bad, right? You could still make it.”

“Make it?” Draco spun around to face her, his mind racing. What had he said? He didn’t even remember half of it. He was pretty sure he mentioned Potter’s arse, and maybe his father? The memories were returning slower than he’d like. Had he signed it?! “What time is it?”

Pansy cast a quick tempus. 8:11. 

“Maybe I can get there before the post does?”

“Not looking like that, you can’t.”

Draco dashed over to the mirror, taking himself in. His hair was knotted and sticking on end, his trousers wrinkled, his shirt untucked and half buttoned, and he probably smelled as bad as he felt. “Shit, right, okay." He bit at his lips nervously, his head racing. “I’m going to go back to mine and shower and change.” He turned to face her. “Can you send a message through firecall asking McGonagall if I can meet her at the end of breakfast? Say something about a tour of the new quidditch pitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Wish me luck, Pans, or it’s gonna be you who’s in the shit.”

“Yeah, I get it, I’m dead to you.” Pansy waved her hand nonchalantly, as if she was already over the mess she'd created. “Just go and sort yourself out.”

-----

Harry read, and re-read the letter at least five times, barely even tasting his coffee. Was it true? Did Malfoy really care for him? He couldn’t deny that the slytherin had been his thoughts since the end of their eighth year, but to think he had been in his? That was insane, unbelievable. And yet, here he sat, holding the letter. 

Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wasn’t Malfoy. Sixth year had certainly proven that he wasn’t the best at handwriting. But it added up, the ‘limelight’ , the ‘cowardice’, the ‘family’. And who else had been close enough to him to comment on his freckles, or lips, or eyes, and still matched the things that had been said like Malfoy did?

Fuck, what was he going to do? 

“Come on Harry, you don’t want to be late.” He looked up at Neville. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just some unexpected news.”

“You sure? You look a bit frazzled.” Neville’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

Harry pulled on a smile. “All good. You alright?”

“I’m good. Got a whole day of first years today, you’d think they’d be better behaved this far into the year, but they can still be a bit tricky.”

“You’ll do well with them, you always do.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Harry.”

The two men headed out of the Great Hall together. Harry was so distracted he almost didn’t recognise the head of white blond hair standing just outside the doors.

“Malfoy?” 

Draco Malfoy spun around, meeting Harry’s gaze with a look he couldn’t decipher. 

“Potter.” He nodded.

“What are you doing here?” Why was his heart beating so fast?

“I’m meeting Mcgonagall for a tour.” Malfoy wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He looked good, his hair falling softly over his forehead, no longer slicked back. He was dressed in an all black suit, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket. He looked handsome and confident… except for his other hand, which was tensing and untensing over and over again.

“I’ll catch you later, Harry. Malfoy.” Neville waved goodbye, nodding at the Slytherin. 

“Why are you really here?” Harry asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. 

“Well,” Malfoy’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I suppose I wanted to apologise, for the, um, letter.” He looked down, finally conceding his nervousness.

Harry nodded towards the doors. “The kids will be out soon, follow me.”

“Look, Potter. We don’t have to make this bigger than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to forget about it.”

Harry stopped, turning back to face him. “Why would I do that?” Malfoy finally looked at him. Harry lowered his voice, taking a step closer. “I don’t hate you, Draco.” He licked his lips, terrified of what he was about to say. “It was nice to know you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, before drawing together again. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Potter.”

“I’m not joking.” Harry took another step forward, until they were only a few feet away from each other. He summoned his Gryffindor courage. “I’ve been thinking about your arse too.” 

Malfoy’s jaw dropped, and he shoved Harry in the chest. “That’s not funny.”

Harry laughed, catching his hands. “It kind of is.”

“Oh shove off, you great big git.” Draco gave a small smile, trying to pull his hands away.

“Make me.” Harry whispered, holding on tighter. If you had told him two hours ago that he would be flirting with Malfoy outside the Great Hall, he would have told you to go and get your head checked for wrackspurts. He felt almost giddy with excitement and disbelief, and most of all, anxiety. He was just riding on the wave of adrenaline at this point. 

Draco snorted. “Good idea, Potter. The hallway is about to flood with students.” The Slytherin didn’t look away though, his silver eyes holding Harry's with a hopeful look.

Harry finally let go of his hands, but neither man stepped away. “Take me to dinner then.”

“You’re asking me to ask you to dinner?” Draco shook his head in disbelief

“Yeah, why not?”

“Very romantic.” He drawled.

“Hey! I’m the one who had to decipher your horrific handwriting.” And read your half-lusty, half-sad ramblings on four hours sleep, he thought.

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco winced. “Fine. Do you want to come to dinner with me?”

“You could be a bit more enthusiastic.” Harry mock-pouted.

“I’ll bloody take the offer back if you’re not careful.”

“Alright, okay.” Harry looked over Draco’s shoulder to see students starting to pour out of the Great Hall. He grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Owl me the details.” 

And with that, Potter dashed off down the hallway, leaving Draco’s fingers tingling and his stomach fluttering with butterflies. They were both doomed, surely, so why were they both so excited about it?

[singledarkshade]

Rip Week Fics

It’s almost Rip Week 2021 and time for the brilliantly talented Rip fans to show us what they can do.

Before that though I thought I would look back at the fics I’ve done for Rip Week since I started joining in back in 2018.

2018

I only managed one fic for RipWeek for 2018 (only the first chapter was written for RipWeek which blossomed into a multi-chaptered story and a three story series).

Day 6 – Rip & The Future.

In The Dark - To his surprise, Rip doesn't die when the core explodes but instead is sent back in time with no way to contact anyone. Alone he has to make a life for himself but, as usual, Rip can't catch a break and there's still a fight to win.

2019

Day 1- The Many Faces of Rip Hunter – Rip wasn’t always Rip, he’s been Michael, Phil, Evil, a Time Master and Director of the Time Bureau. This is a day to explore all his facets and personalities.

Bedtime Stories, Breakfast and Being Together - Rip goes home to see his family.

Day 2: Crossovers, Fusions, and AUs – Do you have ideas for what happens when Rip meets Pikachu? Or perhaps you’ve plans for Rip hanging out with the Avengers. Alternate Universes are also welcome, from coffee shops to rock stars to ancient mythology, anything goes.

Thief- Gideon Ryder meets a very unusual man at a party thrown by Queen Consolidated but is he what he appears to be.

Day 3: Unusual Friends – Rip has had some interesting relationships with the Legends and people he’s met on his travels. This is a day to focus on all those unusual friendships, canon compliant or not.

What's A Little Time Travel Between Friends? - Rip recruits John Constantine for a mission but won’t give him any details.

Day 4: Ship Rip – It’s ship day. Romance is in the air. Give us content for Rip and the significant other or others that you’d like to see him with.

Reunited- “What are you doing here, Rip?” she asked softly. He swallowed nervously, “I wanted to see you.”

Day 5: Fix-It – Set right what once went wrong, re-write those episodes to make them better, fix those broken characters and generally turn Legends of Tomorrow into the show it should be.

A Bad Plan Is Better Than None - Sara let out an annoyed sigh, “Rip, you realise for someone with not much time to explain you’re talking a lot and not getting to the point.”

Day 6: Rip lives! – Rip survived overloading the time drive but how and where is he now?

Escape - “You called your dog, Tempus?”

Day 7: Free Day – Anything goes, so do your own thing and give us whatever you like.

Scarred By Time - Gideon awakes to find Rip alive, she is now controlling a building instead of her ship and that time has been changed so there are now no Heroes or Legends in the world. Their new mission is to fix everything but they’re going to need some help.

2020

Day 1: Friends and Family – We’re starting off the week with two things that Rip doesn’t have a lot of, or perhaps he does and he just hasn’t realised it.

Worth Something - Lifting a purse proves to have bigger consequences than Michael realised. Now in a world he doesn't understand he wants to trust that Miss Xavier cares for him. But no one ever has before, why would she?

Day 2: Perfect Episode – Rip left the show too soon, so give us the ideal episode that we never got. Alternatively, you can fix something to make it better, or give us that perfect scene that we never had. Canon compliance optional.

Nightmare Scenario - How do you live in a world you don't belong to? Rip does his best to survive while running the Time Bureau, while Sara does her best to make sure he doesn't disappear into his work. Danger however is on the horizon and Rip's life is about to be torn apart once more. A Season 3 rewrite.

Day 3: Playing Favourites – Pick your favourite moment, favourite line, favourite costume, favourite headcanons or anything else that you love and inspires you.

More Than A Coat - It was just a coat, but it held more memories than anyone could ever know. It wasn’t just a piece of cloth. The duster told the story of who he was.

Day 4: Time for Romance – Rip is a romantic at heart, ship him with whoever you think is right for him. Any pairing goes.

Stress Relief - Stuck with the annoying Lieutenant Coburn on a mission, Rip is being driven crazy. But it's a mission that will change his life forever.

Day 5: Infinite Earths – The Arrowverse may have collapsed the multi-verse, but imagination has no bounds. It’s Alternate Universe day.

Always A Team - Time Masters no longer work alone and Rip, Eve and Miranda are the best team they have. But there are still secrets in the Vanishing Point.

Day 6: No Body, Not Dead – Rip is definitely not dead, so where the hell is he? Is he on his way back to sort out the timeline or has he retired to a nice cottage by the sea?

The Only Title I Care About - Rip Hunter has been called many things in his life, but after everything that has happened, there is only one he cares to be called.

Day 7: Free Day – You’re free to give us anything you like, so let your imagination run wild.

Finding The Lost - Rip used the Time Core to stop Mallus. Waking from his coma this act put him in, Rip has no idea what surprises are waiting for him.

Enjoy and from tomorrow there will be more fics joining the list.

Happy Rip Appreciation Week

[sweetheartyoongi]

Super Junior Scenario: Shirts

Leeteuk: supreme MC has been signed on for another variety show, and you get to tag along to the first episode taping. You’re both in his dressing room when wardrobe comes in to try and figure out what Lewk™️ would be best. He tries on outfit after outfit, mixing and matching all sorts of tops, bottoms, and accessories. It’s fun to watch...for a while, but fashion shows are only enjoyable for so long. When he and his dressers are preoccupied, you sneak over to the reject rack and play dress up on your own. You’re enjoying yourself so much you don’t notice your boyfriend has returned and can’t take his eyes off of you. You finally notice his stare in the mirror as you’re in a large printed dress shirt. Before you can defend your actions, he moves closer, wrapping his arms around you and placing a kiss on your temple.

“I love when you wear the things I wear,” he whispers in your ear.

Heechul: “Come on, we’re going to be late!” You exclaim.

“No,” your boyfriend retorts from the closet, “I don’t look beautiful yet!” You roll your eyes. You were just going to meet some of his friends for a casual dinner, you have no idea why he has to look any special way. Heck, you’re wearing one of his hoodies, that’s how nonchalant this outing is.

“You look beautiful in anything, honey, so just pick something please.” After a few more minutes that felt more like an eternity he walks into the living room, finally dressed. You’re so excited to go you almost didn’t notice what he was wearing - an oversized hot pink shirt that’s extremely familiar because it’s yours. Sharing clothes was common in your relationship, but it had never really gone both ways before now.

“Is that my top?” You ask.

He points to your outfit, “Is that my top?”

“I think it’s cute on me.”

“And I think this is beautiful on me. Now let’s go, you’re making us late.”

Yesung: it’s your seventh date (not that he’s counting or anything), and the first one taking place at his home. You’re cooking together, and he’s insanely nervous, so you turn on some music and start dancing around to try and calm his nerves. However, he’s not always the most coordinated dancer...and before he can stop it, he’s bumped into you while you’re holding a pot of sauce. Obviously the sauce gets on your top, and Yesung’s not sure what’s redder - the stain or his cheeks. He can’t think of what to say, so he just reacts instead, and runs to his room, returning with the first shirt he could find. You nod in thanks, and leave to change. Yesung is head in hands mortified, and it breaks your heart to see when you come back.

You pull him into a hug, and hope to cheer him up by asking, “Was this just a ploy to get me in your clothes?”

He eyes you in his shirt before mumbling “No but I’m not mad about it.” You laugh at his cheeky reply, which in turn makes him smile.

Shindong: as we know, he has a history of people borrowing his shirts, and it’s not a terribly positive one. Moving forward, he vowed to let people know when he didn’t want them doing it anymore. And he’s fully ready to now, in his hotel room during tour, when he sees that one of his favorite shirts is missing. He’s about to storm into Donghae’s room (number one repeat offender) and demand it back, when you walk out from the shower wearing the clothing in question. The way it hangs off of your body, your wet hair dripping onto the shoulders, leaves Shindong speechless.

“Something wrong?” you ask. He chuckles softly and shakes his head.

“No, you just look really cute.” He still won’t tolerate his shirts being taken, but for you, maybe he could make an exception.

Eunhyuk: “We’re just going to have to go through it, you know.”

Unfortunately your boyfriend’s right. Walking to the restaurant seemed like a good idea at first, but now that it’s pouring rain and you have no umbrella or coat, you have regrets. The fact that you’re in a fitted white top isn’t ideal either. But you just sigh, grasp your boyfriend’s, and brave the storm. To say you both are absolutely drenched once returning to his place is an understatement. It’s also an understatement to say seeing you in your wet white shirt doesn’t completely thrill Eunhyuk. He’s about to take you in his arms but you quickly run to his room to dry off and change. You come back out, now in one of his comfy hoodies, and are instantly pulled into his embrace.

“Only you would find something sexier than a wet shirt,” he says before capturing your lips with his own.

Siwon: he’s such a traditional guy, and the trope of his s.o. wearing his shirts turns him on makes his day. You know this, of course, and use it to your advantage. After a late night dance practice, when he’s totally sore and spent, he comes home to see you tried and failed to wait up for him on the couch. He finds your snoozing form endearing, but gently shakes you awake to get you into bed. When you open your eyes and see his handsome face you smile and sit up. In doing so, your blanket falls to the floor and reveals that you’re in nothing but one of his white tshirts. The sight stirs something in Siwon, and all the aches and sores are forgotten as he throws you over his shoulder towards the bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed, mumbling a “love seeing you baby, especially like this,” while kissing your neck. You smile a devious smile. Works every time.

Donghae: “Oh come on, I just washed this one,” you sigh at your nine month old son, who had just let out a baby barf while you held him against your chest. You’re still amazed at the vile things that can come out of such a cute baby. “Okay,” You say, quickly strapping your son into his nearby bouncer, “Mommy’s going to be right back, after I burn this shirt.” Your son giggles as you quickly leave.

And of course, in that split second is when Donghae comes home. “Hey there buddy,” he coos, crouching down to kiss his son’s head, “what are you doing here all by yourself? Where’s your mom?”

“Finding something else to wear after your son so kindly puked all over my shirt.” You say as you come back into the living room, now wearing one of your husband’s many Tempus sweatshirts. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Donghae, who stands back up and tugs at his sweatshirt until you’re securely in his arms.

“You know, I think our son is lonely and wants a sibling. Maybe we should go make him one.” You playfully smack his shoulder, earning a happy babble from your son. “See? He agrees, majority rules, let’s go make another.”

Ryeowook: no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to hold your alcohol the way your boyfriend can, based on his composed nature and your inability to walk in one direction. You stagger into his flat, loudly recounting all the fun you had that night. “That was so fun,” you slur, unaware that your boyfriend was moving from room to room, “but it’d be way more fun if you were as shitfaced as I am.”

Ryeowook chuckles while tossing clothing at you, “I’m sure it would be. But now it’s time for bed, so get dressed.”

“Asking me to strip for you? Kinky, Wookie.” He smiles while ignoring your drabble and heads to the bedroom, getting ready for bed himself. He’s already laying down scrolling through his phone by the time you finally walk in. His breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you in his Super Show 6 tshirt.

“Planning on taking advantage of me?” You ask cheekily, incredibly aware of his lingering stare.

“If taking advantage means holding you until you inevitably need to puke, than you better believe it.” You smile and jump onto the bed.

Kyuhyun: he is obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, to the point where he will literally steal hide your clothes so you have no choice but to wear his (bc Evil Maknae is Evil). Today really isn’t the day, though, because your parents are going to stop by and the cute outfit you had planned on wearing is nowhere to be found.

“Kyuuuuuu,” you groan from your bedroom, “I’m serious, where’s my dress? I’m not answering the door in nothing but your ratty old shirt.”

From the kitchen, Kyuhyun smirks and calls back, “Keep calling my stuff ratty and see if you ever get your dress back again.” You sigh in frustration, trudging into the kitchen and resting your head against your boyfriend’s back in defeat.

“Babe, please, I’m begging you. This is my parents’ first time seeing our new place. I can’t look like I was freshly fucked.”

“But you were just-”

“Keep hiding my dress from me and see if I’ll ever be freshly fucked again.” You stare each other down, seeing who will crack first. Finally, he gives in.

“Pantry, top shelf.” You smirk, planting an obnoxiously loud kiss on his lips.

[devilrising]

Fallen Draco, Pt. 16

This story is following a prompt set by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 16): 3,015

Word Count (Total): 51,359

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic), coming out (kind of...)

***

27th April, 1998

Alarms blare loudly, ringing throughout the dark house. Why can’t I ever seem to get any sleep?! I scrub a hand down my face and groan. Something warm moves against my cheek and I’m instantly awake, reaching for my wand on the bedside table. But as my eyes adjust to the dark, I see that it’s Harry. Warmth rises up my face, a deep blush covering the skin.

“Using me as a pillow, were you?” Harry teases gently as he kisses my forehead. I melt against him for a second. Then the alarms register once again with a loud chime.

“What’s the alarm for?” I ask Harry in the dark, my voice scratchy and groggy with sleep.

“Shit!” Harry shouts, leaping out of bed and tugging me after him. “It’s Narcissa! She’s awake.”

“Mother’s awake?!” I yell out too and rush to put on my dressing gown. Harry kisses my hairline swiftly and tugs me more firmly out of the door.

Mother has been put in my old room—which of course I already knew, but it’s weird to be walking in that direction and expecting to see someone else in it—and my heart skips multiple beats as we walk ever closer. ‘Walk’ being the operative word. Harry’s strong grip on my arm is the only thing stopping me from running, but he thinks that that would probably startle her a bit too much at this hour.

“Harry?” I ask, coming to a rather absurd conclusion about exactly what hour it must be. “What’s the time?”

“Oh, um,” Harry pulls his wand out from his pyjama bottoms and casts a quick Tempus charm. I chuckle as the colour drains from his face. “It’s, uh- thirty six past seven…”

“We slept through the entire day,” I groan. It’s what I’d suspected. Harry, apparently wanting to make up for the lost day, quickens his pace and pulls me after him.

There is a dim light peeking out from under the bedroom door, and I force myself to count to four and just breathe for a second. There’s no telling how Mother might be on the other side of the door, and I can’t allow myself to believe that she’ll be fine. I need to be prepared for bad news, as much as I’d like the opposite for once. Harry pushes me in front of him and nods to the handle. He wants me to open it. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to say to thank him, but then decide that there aren't nearly enough words to convey it properly. So I lean close and capture his lips in a kiss, morning—or, evening?—breath be damned. Harry snakes his arms around my waist, but instead of pulling me closer like I’d expected, he pushes me away.

“Narcissa is much more important, you can thank me properly later.” I ignore the smirk behind his voice and turn the handle.

Light pours out of the room into the corridor, and my eyes instinctively shut with a snap to avoid going blind.

“Draco?”

“Mother,” I breathe out, relief flooding my thoughts. I step into the room, Harry’s hand finding a spot on my lower back. “How are you?” This is the first time I’ve spoken to her, with a chance she’ll actually respond, in weeks. Sure, talking to her unconscious body was communicating of a sort, but she couldn’t actually reply. It was more of a one-sided information dump than a conversation.

“I’m well, actually,” she stands up from where she was sitting on the bed and meets me in the middle of the room. Despite the fact that a little while ago she was fatally wounded and fast asleep, she looks very healthy right now. Her pale skin is no longer cloudy, but much more like porcelain, and her hair looks vibrant against her face. “How are you dear?”

I feel a warm blush creep up my neck. “I’m good, Mother,” I say, as I pointedly ignore Harry’s creeping hand roaming around my belt. “I have quite a lot to tell you though…”

“I can see that,” she responds with a matter-of-fact tone and raised eyebrows, as she looks at Harry with a thoughtful expression only visible through her eyes.

“Good evening, Mrs Malfoy,” Harry says with a smile and a nod. “I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered nicely.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter. I believe you had a lot to do with my rehabilitation.”

Harry nods again. “It’s no problem.” He then looks over at me and grins. “I should let you have some time with your son,” he suggests, still facing me but obviously addressing Mother. His hand pulls away from my back, and I force myself not to react at the loss of contact.

Mother looks at me with a knowing gaze, a small smile setting in place as Harry leaves the room. “Now, tell me everything dear.”

I swallow hard, wondering where on earth to start. Eventually I settle on unwrapping the glamours around my wings. I didn’t even know they were in place until I had to remove them. Harry must have set them up, so as not to bombard Mother when she has just woken again. I wait, my nerves digging into my heart and clawing at me. As I feel the first brush of air against my feathers, Mother gasps. Unfortunately, I also hear the sound of fabric ripping open. There goes my dressing gown and Harry’s shirt. Distantly, I think to myself that I must remember to mend them.

“Draco!” She murmurs in amazement, awe evident in her voice. “Oh Merlin, they’re gorgeous!” She places her hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes with a joyous gaze. “They are so white,” she murmurs. “Can I touch them?”

I could never deny her that, not when she’s looking at me like I’m her entire purpose in life. “Of course,” I whisper, terrified of shattering the moment and making her turn away. I’ve always hated her shields, the way she hides everything from the world. So now that they aren’t there, I don’t want to make her raise them.

Mother smiles, her eyes twinkling in the dim bedroom light. She spins me around, her hands switching shoulders as I face the doorway.

“Wow…” she breathes, running a reverent hand along the top of my right wing. The feathers tickle and twitch, eliciting a shudder at the odd sensation. I might never get used to it, but I will always allow it. “They are so soft, Draco.”

I hum in agreement, and her hand traces lines towards the outside of my wing. She runs it down the outside arc, smoothing down feathers as she goes. Another hand joins in, and now I have hands on both of my wings. My left is definitely more sensitive, I realise as Mother gently caresses it. I nearly moan out loud, but catch myself in the last second. That would have been embarrassing.

“I’m so proud of you, Draco,” Mother confesses when she turns me back around to face her. Her eyes are shining, a smile firmly pressed onto her lips. She’s willingly letting me see her, letting me understand her emotions. I pull her into a crushing hug, uncaring of the fact that we haven’t ever done this before.

“I thought I’d lost you,” I finally concede. A tear tracks down my cheek, leaving behind a shining trail.

Mother’s hand finds my hair, and she runs her fingers through it. “I’m here, Draco. Very much present, dear.” Her own tears fall out of her eyes, but I pointedly ignore the wetness I feel against my cheek. We don’t talk about things like this, so I don’t want to scare her off by acknowledging it. I might not be able to cope with that either.

“Why don’t you tell me about how you Rose?” Mother pulls away from the hug, rapidly turning around and walking back to the bed. She takes a second to compose herself as she sits, before offering me the armchair in the corner. “And about Mr. Potter, perhaps?”

I can hear the teasing in the second part of the question and stifle a groan. “Mother,” I whine.

“Now now, Draco. It’s perfectly natural.” I cringe at her tone. She only ever uses it when we’re talking about embarrassing subjects. “So, you’re a Risen Angel now. How did that come about?”

I heave a sigh of relief as the tone shifts and becomes more inquisitive. “As you know, I Fell in the Manor earlier this year,” I start.

Mother nods. “Yes, Lucius loved telling me all about it.” Her lips curl into a sneer of disgust. I’m sure that one day my parents loved each other, but those days ended when we were abused and tortured by his wand.

“Well, I managed to get a letter out to Harry, and he was able to bring me here,” I gesture around vaguely at Grimmauld Place. “Ever since then, I’ve been helping him win this war. The right side, this time,” I chuckle nervously. “With each piece of information I gave, or each mission we succeeded in, I slowly started Rising.”

Mother takes a minute to digest that, swallowing hard and wrapping her mind around it. “What was the Rising process like?” She asks eventually.

“Awful,” I laugh. “It started with growing the skeleton out of my back. It didn’t just slide out like in folktales, but my skin was torn open. Very painful.” I end the description there. Mother never has been good with blood, which I thought was rather ironic considering she prided herself on her pure blood. Prided, not prides. There is nothing to be proud about if that same pride results in genocide. “After that the feathers started to grow. Each time the skeleton folded back inside my skin and then re-emerged. It never became any less painful,” I say. “Actually, my feathers only became this white yesterday,” I explain. “I’m still quite sore, but Harry healed me quite well.”

“Is there anything different about it? I always thought that if an angel Fell, the chance of them Rising again was quite slim.”

It’s a good question. Once she found out what I was, she had been confused. For a start, being an angel is very rare. But even more so, being a male angel was one in a million. Probably more than. Mother had taken it into her hands to discover as much as possible in order to protect me. When I Fell, it had seemed like all of her hard work had been for nothing. Now that I’m sitting here in front of her, very much alive and healthy, she wants new answers. Ones that will explain our situation properly.

“Harry took me to a bookshop a few weeks ago, I believe it was the twelfth. Anyway, it was massive, with an even bigger collection of books. There was an entire section on Magical Creatures, and Harry managed to find a couple on Fallen Angels.”

Mother’s eyes widen, surprised to hear how easily we found information. That only lasts a moment though, replaced quickly with suspicion. “What is it, Draco? There’s something you’re not saying.”

I sigh. She always manages to pick me apart without much effort. “Yes. Last night Harry and I stayed up researching specifically about Risen Angels. We found that certain, uh, types of Risen Angels have unique abilities. Harry managed to narrow it down to about five types, and then I figured out which one I am.”

“And which one would that be?” Mother looks anxious, awaiting for my answer.

“I’m a Blackout Angel,” I explain. “I can control and warp light in any way imaginable.”

“Draco, do you know what this could mean for the war?” Her eyes have lit up now, like she’s delighted with this turn of events.

I sigh. “I do, but I’m not sure I’ll manage.” It feels weird, saying these words aloud. Harry would swat them away and assure me that we’ll figure it out, but Mother will be honest.

“Of course you will!” She exclaims. Well there goes that idea. “Draco dear, you were the top of all of your classes—except for that Granger girl who, let's be honest, won’t ever be beaten—and no one else has the ability to learn at the speed you do.” Mother shifts her hand to rest on my knee. “You will do fine, dear.”

I nod absentmindedly, not quite agreeing with her but not wanting to argue.

Mother breaks the silence, a random question filling the quiet. “Can I see?”

I tip my head to the right, eyebrows furrowing. “See what?”

“The skin. I want to check the healing process.” Ah, of course. Mother has always been rather adamant about checking injuries. Especially if they were caused by the man she married, or anyone else out of that group of monsters. I’m amazed she managed to sit through an explanation without jumping out of her skin.

“Well, you can try to look I guess. I can’t promise you’ll see anything.” I stand from the armchair and untie the dressing gown I’d put on a few minutes ago. It falls to the ground after a second of twisting it around my wings, leaving me in Harry’s cozy shirt. I feel a pang of regret as I spell it off me, the holes ripped in to compensate for my wings glaring up at me, but fold it neatly regardless. I take a second to pull my tracksuits up slightly, making sure they don’t ride down too low on my hips. Happy that I won’t accidentally flash my mother, I spin around and crouch before her.

Her cold hand gently touches my back, letting me know she’s started. From there, it slowly crosses my skin, inching towards the base of my wings. The inch of bare bone still juts out sharply, but now there is some kind of leathery skin covering it. Mother prises the feathers back and peers at my skin. Her fingertip traces the fragile skin, spiralling ever closer to the base. I flinch at a sudden twinge of sharp pain, and the hand instantly withdraws.

“Are you okay?” Mother asks in a quiet voice.

“Fine,” I reply. “Just a bit tender.”

She hums, but turns me around all the same. “You’ve got some bruising, but it should go down with time,” she says. “It seems that Mr. Potter has done a lovely job.”

I smile to myself at her casual approval of Harry, and redress quickly. After spelling the clothes to fit over my wings without tearing them—any more than they already are—I sit back down in the armchair and look at my mother.

“On the topic of Mr. Potter,” she starts. I stifle another groan. “What exactly is happening there?”

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat trying to prevent me talking. I shake my head and work out an answer that won’t give too much away immediately. “We’re close.”

Mother rolls her eyes in a display very unlike her. “Draco, dear, we both know that’s rubbish.”

I open my mouth to try to argue, but she gives me a pointed look. Sighing, I say, “Okay. We are very close.”

Mother looks on the verge of breaking. “Draco, you’re dating. You can’t disregard the way you look at each other.” She tips her head, analysing me in a rather unsettling way. “You also can’t ignore his hand on your lower back, and the way he tried really hard to make sure I was alright.” She pauses. “Plus, he truly has done a marvellous job on your back.”

Heaving a sigh, I crack. “Okay, yes. We’re together.”

“Perfect!” Mother exclaims.

“What?!” I ask. “Aren’t you angry? I’m gay, Mother!”

“Of course you’re gay dear, I was never questioning that.” She looks surprised at my outburst, like she thought I was insane for thinking she didn’t already know.

“Then why were you so insistent on marrying me off to a pureblood bride?”

“Oh Draco, that was what Lucius wanted, not me. I always thought that was old-fashioned.”

“But you never said anything!” I’m confused, not able to absorb any of the information.

“Correct. I couldn’t possibly refuse him, he would have put plans in place for the marriage regardless of what I said.” She pauses again, a glint taking over in her blue eyes. “Now though, he has no say over your life.”

I feel a small bubble of joy well up in my chest, and I allow a grin to spread over my mouth. “Thank you Mother.”

She smiles softly, and shuffles over on the bed so she’s sitting closer to me. Her hand rises and moves to my cheek. She smooths it over my skin in a way she hasn’t since I was a young child. “I am proud of you, Draco,” she says. “Proud of the fact that you managed to Rise, proud that you’ve finally found someone who makes you happy, and proud that you are helping the right side of the war win. You will single-handedly turn your fate away from the path your father and I put you on.”

Tears threaten to fall from my eyes, and I rapidly blink them away. Mother has never said that before. “Th- Thank you,” I stutter out.

She offers me another smile before standing from the bed. “Now, I’m hungry and am going to fix myself a meal. Would you and Mr. Potter like one too?”

I grin back. “Harry and I would love to join you for dinner.”

She accepts my correction of Harry’s name with a nod and a smile, and turns to leave the room. As she gets to the doorway, she pauses. “Would you mind giving me directions to the kitchen, dear?”

I chuckle beneath my breath and tell her how to get there, as well as where the bathroom is in regards to the kitchen. She nods once more and makes her way down the hallway and then the stairs.

***

A/N: Two days late... Sorry for the delay, but I was really tired and didn’t want to put something out that I wasn’t happy with. I hope you’re doing well and that you’re staying safe Xx

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[phoebehalliwell]

I loved your cataloguing all of prue’s potential kids!! Like the detail that went into it is *chef kiss* I can’t wait to see what story you come with with Sheridan and Warren! Also, that post got me thinking, what do you think would have happened had Andy become a whitelighter and come back? How do you think that would have effected his and Prue’s hypothetical kids? Like would one of them been the twice-blessed do you think?

it’s 2.2k under the cut bc idk how to shut up

okay so for a whitelighter!andy & prue i think The Move would be like in the s3 finale the source has tempus reverse time but then like idk knocks out leo or whatever because he knows that without him there both prue and piper will die from their injuries what he doesn’t know is that there’s a certain other whitelighter who will watch from the fringes check in but not interfere for risk of being caught going against the rules but when he sees piper and prue inches from death and no way leo can get to them in time, andy has to make a choice. he has to heal them. oh but now we have the elders all pissy because whitelighters are only supposed to work with their own charges their not supposed to run around freelance healing other people’s charges that’d be chaos so clearly there needs to be some consequences and andy’s ready to like gracefully take whatever’s dealt out to him and prue’s like I Think The Fuck Not and like goes to bat for andy talking about how she would have been dead without him how the charmed ones would be gone without him really rains hell down on the elders so they’re like ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᶠᶦⁿᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵉ ʷᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰ ʰᶦᵐ ᶦᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ʳᵘᵈᵉ blah blah blah so prue and andy talk in the heavens and it’s sorta awkward at first bc prue’s like so. you’re not dead. that’s good. bc you know. you’re not dead. and andy’s like yeah. but like he’s reading the subtext here bc he Knows prue and she’s saying i’m so happy your alive but i’m really hurt that you never told me. that i mourned you and thought you were gone forever but you weren’t you were right there. and andy’s not entirely sure what to say bc like. what was he supposed to do. and he understands how prue feels but he couldn’t have just orbed in like hi i’m a whitelighter and you’ll never see me again it was better for prue to mourn and move on so she that had a shot at happiness but now he’s face to face with her and what i thought it would be better for you? it sounds hollow so instead of trying to explain himself he just says the first thing that comes to mind i never stopped loving you and he’s ready to orb back into the ether or whatever bc while the elders won’t punish him for saving prue & piper they’re still not jazzed and he’s still not allowed to interact with them when prue kisses him and tell him like i lost you once i’m not about to do it again marry me. and like they’re married within the hour bc by now the charmed ones have done this before they can do it on a speed round mode and the elders are like hey we said- and prue’s like sorry i can’t hear you over the sound of holy matrimony suck my balls blah blah blah like end season 3 i’m not sure when prue would have her first child though and if it would predate wyatt bc like. y’know her career’s still very much in its early stages she’s still on the up & up and her and andy haven’t actually like been together in a minute so there’s a lot of catching up to do whereas like piper and leo have consecutively been together longer she’s owned p3 longer than prue’s been a photographer so she’s already p locked in on that & she can do her job sitting down which is a plus. so i think in a whitelighter andy au wyatt will still be born first but patricia will be born within the same year, maybe six months after wyatt and i don’t think wyatt would really be like the twiced blessed bc like patricia would be Right There and he’s just no longer special enough to really warrant a prophecy y’know? i also think in this au it would take longer for prue and andy to move out bc y’know like again they just got andy back but i think she would still be out of the house by the end of season four beginning of season five ish i also think like the thing they really didn’t consider is that their kid’s gonna be half whitelighter so when piper’s like yeah have you vomited orbs yet lmao prue’s like wait. especially bc like andy’s only been a whitelighter for like a year or two and they’re both like oh word what does this mean and like they have leo and sorta piper to answer their questions but it’s sorta like they’ve got this vibe that no matter what happens like we’re in this together we have each other’s back we can do anything real power couple vibe they’re very like sappy like they’re aware they’re sappy & they’re not gonna stop.

& then a bit on sheridan & warren bc in the specific au i’m gonna write them in it still starts the same as it did here but i am keeping prue’s canon death in s3. and so like s4 the twins are still toddlers and i think piper and phoebe would still offer to watch them on like weekdays or whatever bc they still have a bedroom in the manor and jack still sorta lives in a bachelor pad and like the kids do have magic powers and jack definitely is there more and shows up more bc those are his kids and one day he shows up and there’s a demon attack and he like knew prue fought demons but he had never y’know. been in the line of fire so to speak and he’s like does this happen a lot and piper’s like yeah sort of and phoebe’s like there’s no need to worry warren and sheridan are totally safe here and jack’s like really because the scorched wallpaper begs to differ and piper’s like we understand your panic but like we can keep them safe and jack’s like no i don’t think you understand my panic those are my sons they’re my only kids and they’ve already lost prue i’m not. i’m taking them with me. and like the girls get where he’s coming from (paige is also here she just doesn’t really know jack so she’s hanging out with leo in the kitchen like 😐) basically they bind warren & sheridan’s powers and phoebe modifies the dominus trinus (now the dominus dualis ig) and tells jack that when they’re ready this will give them their magic back. and so like he moves them into his place but it’s not built for kids and so he’s on the hunt for a new place but also like a new jobs bc like bucklands blows without prue and almost everything there reminds him of her and he really just needs a fresh start so when he gets a job offer in japan he packs his bags & the three of them are off and then it’s like maybe four years in japan and then we’ll say he goes to new york and that lasts maybe two years and now warren and sheridan are like in elementary school and he knows the hopping from place to place isn’t like good for them and he really needs to settle down for a place that’s gonna be like Home and he knows he has to return to san francisco. so 2007 he’s back in san francisco he does not cross paths with the halliwells again and he sorta feels like he should bc like sheridan & warren Are Witches that’s like part of who they are and like he and prue had agreed before that they would raise them with magic because prue wishes she had known she was a witch she had always thought that had she had come earlier to the craft she could have done more good maybe not lost as many people and jack knows he has to unbind their magic eventually especially bc that was what prue wanted and like prue was always right but like. fuck dude. his kids were wizards. witches, whatever. like how is he supposed to raise kids with magic. like should he just go back to the manor and be like hi raise my magic kids for me he doesn’t want to do that those are his kids he doesn’t want to dump them off somewhere much less the place where their mom died so basically he keeps postponing it he keeps blowing it off and the kids are growing up normal & safe but still it’s gnawing at him bc it’s not what prue wanted and he doesn’t want to send them into the world unprepared and like sheridan & warren are like sixteen now and he’s like fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. what am i doing what am i gonna do i don’t know a goddamn thing so he’s like fuck it. hi god it’s me jack. i don’t believe in you and i don’t really believe in praying but here i am on my knees bc i’m lost. i think i’ve fucked up but i don’t know how to make it better, i want to do the right thing but i don’t even know what that is, would love some like. guidance. or something. i guess. and he like waits because like magic is real so like. hey god. do something please. and nothing happens and he’s like whatever this is why i never went to church blah blah blah That Night he dreams he’s at p3, which is weird because it’s been closed for like eight years and jack hasn’t thought about it in like twice that long but that’s where he is. and it’s like empty and a bit messy like there’s been a concert but now it’s late and everyone’s gone home. everyone except him, and the raven haired woman at the bar. prue. and listen jack doesn’t cry okay he doesn’t saw marley and me and like didn’t even sniffle (lie, he cried) but he sees prue and well uhh he’s crying a lil bc like fuck. he misses her. and he misses her confidence and the way she always seemed to have the right answer and could always manage to save the day and he misses her. and he’s like i hope you’re here to answer my prayers and she smiles at him bc he’s always so glib and stupid and it drives her up the wall but she still loves it about him and she’s like actually, i am. and idk she talks with him and quells his fears and he’s like how do i even bring that up to them he guys you’re wizards -witches. yeah that. like how do i even broach that. and prue’s like get the spell. and be ready. and she just sorta vanishes and he’s like cool are you gonna save the day like you always do but he can already feel she just isn’t there anymore and he’s like okay :/ and he wakes up and it’s like three am and he wants to go back to bed the whole magic thing is just niggling at the back of his mind so he gets out of bed and hunts down his old briefcase he had from all the way back at bucklands and finds just like a blank unlabelled folder and takes a deep breath and in it are some old photos of prue and him from the 90s and a thick folded up piece of paper with a torn edge and he carefully unfolds it and in like a really nice script is the unbinding spell and then like warren and sheridan are like dad? why are you awake right now and he’s like why are you awake right now? and they twins sorta share a look and warren’s like weird dream and sheridan’s looking over his dad’s shoulder and sees the pictures of prue and is like is this mom? and he takes the pictures and jack’s like yeah those are from. they’re from a long time ago. and sheridan and warren are looking at these pictures and like they wanna ask something but aren’t sure how to say it so jack goes first and he’s like your mom wanted you to have this and hands them the spell and they’re like what. is this? and he’s like its a spell. to unbind your powers. magic powers. i know i should have told you earlier and i’m sorry but i- are ghost real? what? like. can dead people... y’know... and jack breaks into a smile bc he’s so glad that they actually got to like. meet prue. have at least one memory of her. and so sheridan and warren take the spell and are like. so do we read it? and jack’s like idk i’m not a witch yeah i guess so y’know  hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night. the oldest of gods are invoked here. the great work of magic is sought. in this night and in this hour, i call upon the ancient power. bring your powers to we brothers two, we want the power, give us the power. and like the apartment shakes and idk the lights flicker and the brothers are like cool. now what. and jack’s like i don’t know. guess we’ll find out.

[superfluouswit]

A Stranded Star - Chapter 1

Rating: M Timeline: AU season 4 Category: Angst, Drama, Mulder/Scully, Scully/Pendrell, Cancer arc, Canon Divergence, More Angst, Work in Progress, MSR but It’s Complicated, Even More Angst, Pining, Rift, Romance, Scully POV, Pendrell Gets His Chance, And Angst Summary: As Agent Pendrell recovers from the injury that almost cost him his life, Scully finds a new way to confront her mortality. (Post Tempus Fugit/Max)

***

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea --e.e. cummings

***

I.

Scully stood in front of the apartment building almost twenty minutes before deciding to go inside. She wasn’t sure why she felt so indecisive. It wasn’t like her. But she’d been debating the visit for the better part of a week, pretty much ever since Pendrell’s doctors announced he should be well enough for discharge by then.

She’d driven past the place twice—a sort of practice run that she told herself wasn’t as crazy as it seemed by virtue of the fact it was on her way home. She never realized that before, that they were practically neighbors. He lived just a few blocks away, in a pretty brick front two doors down from a Shakespeare theatre. Scully had gotten his apartment number from Skinner, who didn’t seemed at all surprised when she asked for it.

“Are you planning to see him home?” was all he said. Some of the other agents apparently were. But Scully never considered joining him on his first evening home from the hospital. The gaggle of friends and family that surrounded him in ICU had made her uncomfortable, although she wasn’t sure just why. But she could only assume they would be eager to celebrate his homecoming, and she didn’t want to interfere with that. It felt too private, too exclusive. An event for the people who knew him best. Who was she to intrude?

She wondered, as she entered the lobby, if merely visiting him counted as an intrusion. After all, she didn’t know him that well; she certainly hadn’t been invited to his home before. Or now.

She only visited him in the hospital three times. She was ashamed of that, even now. Three times in three weeks was a pretty poor ratio by anyone’s standards, and he’d been ventilated and unconscious during the first two visits. The third time, she brought Mulder, which was arguably even worse given how he’d dominated the conversation. Not that he meant anything by it; she knew that. In fact, his boasting and teasing had gone a long way in making the usually taciturn Pendrell smile. But it was the principle of the matter. Mulder had kept the discussion moving—he’d kept it light—but he had also kept it focused squarely on himself. And Scully hadn’t wanted to talk about him, damn it. She wanted to talk to Pendrell. She wanted to tell him—

Well—

What would she have said to Pendrell if given the chance? Scully wasn’t sure she even knew, which might account for her current state of indecision. But she knew that she had to say something. She owed him that. You had to acknowledge when a man saved your life, even if he did so as a drunken accident.

As she stepped in the elevator, Scully couldn’t help wondering what had led Pendrell to the Headless Woman Pub in the first place. She had seen him there before, of course. Its proximity to FBI Headquarters made it a popular meeting spot for agents, so she had seen pretty much everyone there at some point or another. But Pendrell had always been part of a group. It seemed out of place for him to be there alone, and so obviously drunk. Had he been waiting for her to show up that night? Had he been throwing back shots to bolster his courage before asking to buy her a drink? It felt almost narcissistic to believe that, but Scully couldn’t help but wonder. He flagged her down so quickly that night—almost the minute she walked in the door. Surely that meant he had been looking for her.

And if he had been looking for her that made it doubly her fault, didn’t it? Because not only had she led the gunman to the pub in the first place, if it hadn’t been for her, Pendrell wouldn’t have been there at all.

She owed him something, then. Some type of apology.

The elevator doors creaked open and Scully exited into the fourth floor hallway. His apartment was all the way at the end. It wasn’t difficult to spot: a dry-erase board hung on the door with WELCOME HOME printed on it in brightly colored block letters. Scrawled around this message were the signatures of people who had stopped by. Some of the names Scully recognized; most she did not. It reminded her of the crowd of people standing around the ICU waiting room at the hospital, and she felt ashamed of herself all over again for being surprised that Pendrell had so many friends.

Careful not to disturb the Welcome Home sign, Scully rapped on the door. It opened at the second knock, which startled her so much it left her momentarily speechless. But it wasn’t Pendrell who greeted her. Instead, a woman stood there, blinking tiredly into the dim light of the hall. She was small and squat and she had eyes like Pendrell’s. Scully recognized her from the hospital. She was his older sister. He had a big family, she remembered, all with those eyes and varying degrees of red hair.

Scully forced herself to smile at the woman, who seemed to be looking at her a little warily.

“I hope it’s all right to show up without calling first,” she said politely. “I’m here to see Agent Pendrell.”

The woman’s expression soured. “He isn’t well enough to think about work yet,” she began. And immediately Scully realized her mistake.

“It isn’t about work,” she said quickly. “Although we do work together. But I’m here because—because—I wanted to see him. I wanted to tell him—”

The woman’s eyebrows lifted slightly as Scully faltered. Her look became appraising.

“You were there that night.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re the agent—the doctor—who helped him.”

“Until the paramedics arrived,” Scully agreed. “But I’m afraid that I’m also the reason he was shot. The intended target was a man in my custody, and I wanted to tell Agent Pendrell…Well, I wanted him to know how sorry I am that it happened.”

Pendrell’s sister didn’t look at all surprised to hear this, which led Scully to believe that he must have explained to her what happened that night. Yet, she didn’t look angry, either. If anything, Scully’s admission seemed to soften a little of the anxiety in her expression. She glanced over her shoulder into the apartment.

“Sean, there’s someone here to see you. Are you up to it?”

There was an indistinct answer to her call, which his sister appeared to catch even if Scully did not. She nodded at Scully and opened the door a little wider.

“Come in. He’s in the bedroom...at the back there.” She indicated the door with a jut of her chin.

Pendrell’s apartment was a little smaller than Scully’s own, and it was painfully neat. She looked around at the inexpensive furniture, the shelves lined with books. It amused her to see that he had a framed copy of a phrenology chart on one wall and a print of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man on another. A Todd MacFarlane statue of Spiderman sat in the middle of his coffee table.

Smiling a little to herself, Scully started across the tiny living room, but Pendrell’s sister spoke up and stopped her before she reached the halfway mark.

“Will you be here long?” she asked.

Scully paused, trying to weigh the meaning behind the words. The phrasing sounded almost accusatory, but the woman’s eyes looked nothing but tired.

“I hadn’t thought.” It seemed like the safest reply.

The woman shifted. “It’s just that...I have to run to the drugstore. He needs a prescription. I thought...since you’re here…”

So that’s what it was: sisterly concern instead of suspicion. Well, Scully couldn’t blame her for that. The bullet that invaded Pendrell’s chest had collapsed his right lung, and his heart stopped twice during the thoracotomy performed to repair it. There was a time—days, even—when the doctors seemed certain he would die. The thought of leaving him alone must be horrifying to his family.

“I can stay with him until you get back,” she offered.

Pendrell’s sister smiled with obvious relief. “Well, if you’re sure,” she said, as she pulled on her jacket. “But don’t tell him I asked you to do it,” she added. “He’s the baby of the family, and we’ve been driving him a little crazy with our coddling.”

She went out, leaving Scully to cross the last few steps to the bedroom alone.

The door was partially ajar. Through it, she could see a sliver of his bed, as well as a glimpse of bare feet. Television jabber and canned music drifted from inside the room, but Scully barely noticed that. Her attention was caught, suddenly, by the sound of his breathing: a labored sort of rasping that told her he wasn’t as far into his recuperation as she might have hoped.

She tried to prepare herself for that before pushing the door wider and stepping into the room. She prepared herself for his sickroom pallor and the dark smudges that ringed his blue eyes.

But she had not prepared herself for how sunken those eyes would be, nor for his lost weight. When she saw him in ICU, tubes and wires had masked the thinness. It hadn’t been terribly noticeable. But this….

Scully stood in the doorway a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Because he didn’t even look like Pendrell. All the boyish roundness was gone from his face, and his frame looked lost in the loose t-shirt and pajama pants he wore.

He saw her, though, and a familiar smile lit up his face.

“Agent Scully!” His voice was a hoarse whisper—a result of the long stint with the bronchial tube—but she detected genuine pleasure in it.

She heard surprise, too, and that made her own throat ache with a renewed rush of guilt. Did he really believe she thought so little of him, she wondered. Had she really shown him so little regard in the past that he would be surprised to see her now?

“Is Mulder with you?” His gaze moved to the hallway behind her, but Scully knew only politeness made him ask. More than ever, she was glad she had not asked Mulder to come with her. She was gladder still that she hadn’t told Mulder that she was coming.

“No, it’s only me this time. And it’s Dana,” she reminded him. “We talked about that at the hospital...remember?”

“Oh.” His sheepish expression told her he didn’t, but Scully didn’t mind. Given the amount of opiates he was on at the time, it was a wonder he remembered seeing her at all.

“So, unless we’re at work, you’re welcome to call me Dana.” It came out awkwardly, like a badly read bit of script, but Pendrell didn’t seem to notice. He looked pleased.

“And I’m Sean?” He said it like a question, so she answered it as one.

“Unless you would rather remain Agent Pendrell.”

It was a joke, of course. She knew he wouldn’t want that. But Pendrell wasn’t familiar with her sense of humor the way Mulder was; he took the dryness of her tone at face value.

“I like Sean, myself,” she added, noticing his crestfallen expression. “It suits you.”

That smile again. As sweet as ever, although something about it made her suddenly want to cry. Because he looked so young lying there in his pajamas. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that. He was always so competent at his work she had forgotten how young he was. How—well, it seemed odd to call a grown man, an FBI special agent, innocent, but there you were. She had no other word for it. What else would you call a man who smiled like that? Who blushed when he invited you to sit down on the edge of his neatly made bed?

He blushed deeper when she actually did it. As if, despite everything that had happened to him, he couldn’t quite help reverting to type.

Of course, neither could she. She hadn’t sat there ten seconds before she asked him if she could take a look at his stitches.

Pendrell seemed a little shocked by this, but he nodded a yes. And he leaned forward to make it easier for her to pull the tail of his t-shirt up to his shoulder.

“It looks really good,” she murmured. And in a way, it did. The thoracotomy incision was on his side just below the armpit, an angry-looking red divot zigzagged with black thread. It stood out rather appallingly against the backdrop of his otherwise smooth skin, but it was healing well. Scully forced herself to focus on the positive.

She moved her hands a little higher to his right pectoral. She wanted to examine him there, too. But it would mean unwinding his dressing and pulling the gauze not just from the bullet wound on his chest, but also the exit wound at his back, which would be, at the very least, uncomfortable for him. So she didn’t ask. But she probed gently, feeling for signs of heat or swelling in the area surrounding it.

“Are you having any pain?” she asked.

Pendrell shook his head and gulped. No pain at all.

An obvious lie, but not necessarily a deliberate one, Scully thought with amusement. Because whatever pain he might be feeling clearly came second to the novelty of her hands on his torso. Yet, it warmed her, a little, to see how much of a gentleman he remained in spite of it, and how valiantly he tried to hang on to his reserve. There were no innuendoes, no jokes, no attempts to take advantage of the situation—the last time she’d seen a man hold himself so still for an examination, it was a corpse.

Pendrell has a crush on you.

Mulder often teased her about it, but Scully had never given the matter much consideration before now. Pendrell was just…well, Pendrell. The lab guy. She never thought of him as a man, not in that way. If she were being honest with herself, not in any way at all.

But now, as her fingertips trailed over the rise of a too-prominent ribcage, she found herself startled by the depth of her own concern for him.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, Sean.”

He shrugged as if unconcerned. “Well, I had a little pneumonia.”

The way he said it made Scully want to laugh in spite of herself. As if anyone could have a “little” pneumonia. Still, the answer worried her. Hospital-acquired pneumonia could be a killer, particularly if his doctors made the mistake of discharging him too soon. She wished she knew what his chest x-rays looked like. She wished she had thought to bring her stethoscope.

She smoothed his shirt back down and looked at the jumble of medical supplies on his night table. Sure enough, a pulse oximeter lay amongst them.

Pendrell gave a crooked smile when he saw her reaching for it.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Really. I’m keeping an eye on it. I have a chart and everything.”

Nevertheless, he held out his finger so she could clip it on. She liked that about him. The easy, obliging way he had, which was so unlike anyone else in her life. Especially herself.

“Your oxygen saturation is a little low.”

He tilted his head and peered down at the monitor. “Ninety-three percent. It’s hanging in there.”

“That’s usual for you since you got home?”

He nodded, and Scully persisted. “Is your doctor aware of that?”

“She’s aware. She’s a good doctor,” he added. “I mean…government insurance, best in the world, am I right?”

He was smiling again, trying to draw a smile out of her. But Scully refused to be drawn.

“I need to tell you something, Sean. I came here to tell you something.”

He widened his eyes a little at her leaden tone. “You say it like that, and I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“No, it isn’t anything terrible. I just…want to apologize to you.”

“For what?”

He seemed so genuinely puzzled it made her angry. Stop being so damn nice, she wanted to tell him. Stop letting people trample all over your good will before it gets you killed.

Except, of course, that niceness was the very thing she liked most about him. And Pendrell's current state of injury was her fault, not his.

“Has Skinner talked to you about that night?”

He nodded. “A little. They took a statement at the hospital after I woke up.”

“Then you know that the man I was with that night was a federal witness awaiting transfer. He was in my custody and I…I made a mistake.”

Pendrell frowned. “What kind of mistake?” he asked.

“I brought him to a public place. I left him alone when I went to the bar. I let you get involved with it all. Actually, thinking about it, I made a lot of mistakes. And you got hurt as a result.”

“Oh, well…” He shrugged.

“You saved my life that night, Sean.”

At that, he finally met her gaze. But he didn’t seemed pleased. He was shaking his head.

“Don’t say that. I didn’t do anything. I was drunk—it was stupid—”

“It was stupid. And a waste. It was…” She shook her head, overcome by the enormity of what it had been. “I just want you to know how sorry I am about it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “I might be a lab rat, but I’m still an FBI agent. Getting shot isn’t outside the parameters of the job description. You know?”

Maybe not, but that didn’t do much to alleviate her guilt in the matter. It occurred to her to tell him that things hadn’t ended too well for Frish, either; but she didn’t want to burden him with that. Instead, she reached down and plucked the pulse oximeter from his finger.

“I hope you don’t mind me doing that,” she said, nodding to the instrument. “I guess I can’t help myself. Medicine…”

“I get it. My sister is a dental hygienist. She’s always asking to look at my teeth.”

Scully surprised herself by laughing.

“Is that your sister I just met?” she asked.

“No, that’s Finola; she’s an attorney. Cara is the one who works in teeth.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Four. And two brothers.”  He smiled at the look on her face. “My mother is Irish, in case it wasn’t already obvious by the hair.”

“Your father isn’t?”

“He’s English. I mean, originally. He was born in Boston.”

“You’re from Boston?”

He shrugged. “I’m from everywhere. Army brat.”

That surprised her. He seemed too well adjusted to be an Army brat.

“I was a Navy brat.”

“I know. You told me before.” He saw her curious expression and added, “In the lab. We were waiting for reports to print…remember?”

She didn’t, and it amazed her that he did. Had she asked him about himself during the same conversation? If so, why didn’t she remember any of his answers?

“Your sister seems like a good nurse.” It was all she could think of to say.

“She’s great, isn’t she? They’ve all been taking turns with me since I got home. It’s Finola’s turn tonight. Everyone else is staying at a hotel. If I had the room, I guess they’d all be here.”

Scully thought so, too. Everything about him screamed big, happy, loving family. It scared her a little to realize how close she had come to shattering that for them. Sean, the baby of the group, dying in a puddle of beer after a gunfight.

“I should probably go.” She spoke without thinking, but she knew the impulse was right. She should go now that she’d apologized. She should leave him to the safety of his family and his normal life. She had no right to poison him with her presence. Or, rather, with her proximity to the X-Files, which poisoned everything in their orbit.

Pendrell was staring at the television set as if he hadn’t heard, although she knew he had. She watched the knot of his Adam’s apple move up and down as he gathered his courage to say, “You shouldn’t have come just because you feel guilty.”

She felt her face heat at his words. “I didn’t.”

“You don’t have any reason to feel guilty. You’re not obligated to do anything.”

The earnestness in his tone unraveled her in the strangest way. If he’d sounded the least bit angry—or even hurt—she knew she could have left with her resolve intact. But he didn’t. If anything, he seemed determined—if a little unwilling—to absolve her of responsibility. She could walk out today and never look back, and she knew he wouldn’t think less of her for it.

Which was exactly why she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Her eyes traveled the line of his gaze to the television. Two men in white coats striding down the hall of what appeared to be a hospital.

“Is that Dick Van Dyke?”

She felt, rather than saw, Pendrell’s eyes turn toward her.

“Diagnosis Murder,” he said. “You ever watch it?”

She shook her head.

“It’s pretty good. See, Dick Van Dyke is a doctor who solves crimes in his spare time. His son is a police detective.”

“Sounds interesting.” It didn’t, really, but that didn’t matter. It was something to talk about, something on which to focus her attention so she didn’t have to go.

When the show broke for commercial Pendrell nodded at the ad—Red Lobster—and asked her, “Have you eaten dinner?”

“Not yet.” She knew what he was gearing up to do. And while she wouldn’t exactly encourage him, she couldn’t bring herself to impede his efforts, either. She stared at the flicking television screen and waited.

And sure enough.

“There’s a really great Chinese place down the block if you like Sichuan.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And they deliver.”

Scully turned her head a little to hide her smile. “That must be convenient for you,” she said innocently. “Especially now.”

“I was thinking…if you’d like to stay…”

She liked the tone he used—low and just a little tentative, as if he were coaxing a cat out of hiding. If he’d been Mulder, he would have just ordered the food and expected her to enjoy it.

She looked over at him.

“Are you asking me to have dinner with you, Sean?”

His face reddened, although he met her eyes bravely when he said, “Well, I still owe you a birthday drink.”

“Yes.”

“Only I’m not allowed to drink with the medication I’m on. So I thought I’d treat you to a meal instead.”

She couldn’t look into those blue eyes anymore. They were too eager, too without guile. She shifted her gaze to his hands, now fiddling nervously with the remote. For a small man, he had surprisingly long fingers, like a piano player. His left hand had an ugly bruise on the dorsal side, as if the nurse had been too rough removing his IV catheter.

Scully reached out and touched the bruise lightly with her fingertips, surprising them both. She could feel Pendrell watching her, the question written all over his face. But she didn’t look up to see it. Not even as she said, “I would love to have dinner with you, Sean. Thank you for asking me.”

To be continued...

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of September 18th, 2019

Best of this Week: House of X #5 - Jonathan Hickman, Pepe Larraz, Marte Gracia and Clayton Cowles

The X-Men have conquered their greatest enemy: Death.

After the events of the last issue, it was a wonder just how Hickman would write the X-Men out of the predicament that has stopped them so many times before. In the standard Hickman way, he made retcons that enhanced the usefulness of lesser characters and provided a way out that not only makes sense, but can be used for just about anything in regards to all of our favorite dead mutants.

Goldballs had one of the dumbest powers for the longest time; the ability to propel golden balls from his chest, but in this book we learn that these balls were actually non-viable eggs that, with the help of Proteus, could be made usable. After they’re injected with mutant DNA and given life by Elixir, Tempus ages the eggs to maturity and thanks to Hope’s powers, all of them operate at peak efficiency. This allows the mutants to effectively resurrect their dead friends as husks until Xavier implants mind engrams into the bodies with their past memories.

In House of X #1, one of the first things we see is Charles Xavier meeting the reborn forms of Scott Summers and Jean Grey as full adults after they emerge from egg sacs of some kind. Initially, I thought that this was just some sort of strange symbolic rebirth thing and while it still is, it has become far more literal and intriguing because of five mutants - Goldballs, Elixir, Hope Summers, Proteus and Tempus.

Everything about this scene was immaculate and well done to a point where I almost want to cry. What coloring there was felt low and hushed, almost as if we were seeing something miraculous, the gift of light. Camera angles were mostly downwards, to capture the harmony of the group before they began their work. They stood silent and acted on instinct, indicating they'd done this before, showing us that they were absolutely sure of their process. 

Xavier leaning down, cradling his children and asking them to not die again as it kills a part of him every time that they do is heart wrenching, but joyous when he gives them their memories back. There's no hesitation, only love, only care. 

The gravity of the event as it happens and seeing someone like Goldballs become one of the most integral mutants in the revival of the mutant race brought me to an unknown level of joy. There was so much weight to their actions with the excellent narration by Magneto as to what exactly they were doing while talking to Polaris, making the point that when they are apart, they are still strong mutants, but together they are even more powerful than previously imagined. 

I’m almost certain they used the exact same pages from House of X #1 as we watch the resurrection of the dead team, but this time we have a whole new perspective of how we got there. In an absolutely beautiful celebration of life, we see the mutants of Krakoa praise the Five for bringing their mutant family back to life and a confirmation of those mutants by Storm. Under the purple leaves of a tree of Krakoa with a bit of sunlight shining through. Purple usually symbolizes nobility, passion and authenticity and with the use of dynamic angles and heroic posing, we can be absolutely sure that these are the same mutants.

Angel, Husk, Mystique, Monet, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Cyclops and Jean Grey all died to ensure that the Mother Mold didn’t come online and destroy the mutant race. In two nine panel grids, Storm greets hew newly reborn friends, questioning how she knows that it’s truly them. After they give their answers from the somber to the cocky to the… Monet, Storm asks what they are and the crowd answers with one word: Mutant. 

This message also acts as a bit of foreshadowing for the end of the book and as the theme for this issue as a whole; the idea of togetherness, something that the human race has denied mutants for all of their existence. 

The level of solidarity among the mutants is inspiring, the love and pride they have in themselves in infections and makes me want to see them do nothing but succeed. However, I do have something of a concern with the level of reverence they seem to be getting. As they walk naked down the stairs to interact with their fellow mutants, the other mutants reach their hands out at them as the sun shines brightly behind them. They seem as saviors, messiahs, people standing above their fellows and that’s a potentially dangerous path for them to go down, especially since Krakoa is performing so well and don’t need egos to ruin it.

On top of their resurrections, Xavier and Emma Frost are also trying to get the world's governments to accept Krakoa's pharmaceuticals and accept the Mutant Utopia as an independent nation. With a few notable exceptions from Russia, Latveria and Wakanda (among a few other countries that also would not accept Mutants or their cure alls) most of the world is very into the prospect of life giving drugs in exchange for giving mutants diplomatic immunity and recognition.

In many ways, this is the progress that they have always strived for. Some people aren't reticent to their acts of kindness out of ideological differences, but others see the benefit of siding with the new Nation as long as they can see the benefits. They may be alliances of necessity or fear, but the point still stands that their autonomy is being recognized. They're not being actively hunted, at least since Orchis was stopped from activating the Mother Mold and with their population in the cusp of becoming what it was in the past, they are flourishing and don't NEED human support, but they find it better that they receive it.

With the world coming together for mutants, there's only one more group left to truly unite the houses: The Villains. In my opinion, most of House of X has been leading up to this, the day when even mutant villains will come in full support of Xavier's new mission to save the race and there are some nasty ones here: Mister Sinister, Lady Mastermind, Mesmero, Selene, Sebastian Shaw, Emplate, Exodus, Gorgon, Black Tom Cassidy and Azazel.

But these villains pale in comparison to the final arrival in Apocalypse. In more than one way, Apocalypse's dream has finally come to fruition as well. Mutants have risen above and finally become the dominant species that he always believed they could be. They have evolved past their petty and weak natures and embraced their strength in both numbers and power. With Krakoa welcoming him with some lovely birds, Apocalypse speaks on behalf of all of the evil mutants when he says that they will obey the laws of Krakoa as they are written and cements this new alliance with a handshake with Charles Xavier.

This blew my mind. Apocalypse's whole deal was that he would absolutely destroy the weakness in the mutant gene pool and was only able to do so with Charles Xavier dead in the Age of Apocalypse timeline. He tore the world asunder, but as we learned from one of Moira MacTaggert's past lives, even this would not have lasted. If Moira's been in contact with Apocalypse, then he too knows that following Xavier right now is the only true path to mutant evolution and supremacy.

I have never been so elated, surprised and anticipating of a comic in so long. 

Pepe Larraz and Marte Gracia are a match made in heaven and this book has a cinematic quality through and through. Larraz allows the characters to appear overjoyed, happy and proud with beautiful facial expressions. With faraway shots and ever changing angles in the panels, there's such a grandeur in the story being told. The sun is always shining in this particular issue, much like it was in House of X #1, signaling a brand new day and bright future for mutantkind.

Gracia's colors are bright and vibrant, emanating with a hopeful glow. Their lighting effects are on JJ Abrams levels of shiny and somehow The Five characters stand out apart from the clothes that they used to wear. Tempus' blue pops out perfectly against Goldballs gold and black. The purple of the tree leaves in the Confirmation is absolutely beautiful and awe-inspiring and the darkness during Apocalypse's arrival set against the shining God rays is the perfect contrast.

I have never been more proud to be a fan of the X-Men. Knowing their history of death and rebirth, it's relieving to see that they now have the means to finally conquer their mortal enemy. There's so many that can be brought back to life (provided their deaths haven't already been retconned). John Proudstar, the original Thunderbird, Jamie Madrox, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Sean Cassidy, Blindfold and many others that either died so long ago or died at the hands of Matthew Rosenberg's Uncanny X-Men.

House of X has gone above and beyond and rejuvenated a portion of the Marvel Universe that has been a chaotic mess for the better part of almost 20 years by this point. There's finally unity amongst all of the mutants in the Universe, from 90s villains to even recent ones from Brian Michael Bendis' run. 

Jonathan Hickman is proving that almost anything he touches turns to gold as he's crafted an amazing tale in only nine issues, counting Powers of X as well. I find myself, for the first time in a long time, not just going through the motions. I feel as though I'm witnessing a revolution occurring, an actual brand new era for some of my favorite super people. 

The series is set to conclude in about three weeks for X-Men #1 and I am already so very excited. Highest of recommends.

What are we? Mutants.

[comicsnsuch]

Tales from the Dark Multiverse

Hi! Thanks for finding this tumblr. The plan is to share and write about comic books, comic book art, other things that interest me and such, thus the name of the tumblr. Maybe you share some of the same interests, or maybe you’ll discover something new.

I’m going to try to post as frequently as possible, but that frequency will vary depending on what real life is like week to week. On slow weeks, there will be more stuff, on busy weeks less.  You get it.  Hopefully if you check in now and then you’ll find some new content.

I work (worked?) in a comic book shop, but as I have been recently reminded, due to the COVID-19/Coronavirus epidemic, I am non-essential.  Thanks State Government! Always good to have a self esteem boost! 

Anyway… I love comic books, reading them, talking about them, (thinking about) making them and so on. Always have, always will. I wanted to have an outlet for sharing that while I can’t be in the shop doing it face to face with customers and random strangers. 

I’ll be writing short reviews for what I’ve been reading, new stuff, old stuff, posting pics, etc.  

 Feel free to comment, but please keep it friendly. Assholery will not be tolerated.

To start with I just finished reading all of DC Comics Tales of the Dark Multiverse one shots. 

                                     I made this in MS Paint!

These started coming out in 2019 and the last one was released in early 2020. The idea behind each is Tempus Fuginaut, a sort of Watcher type character for the DCU (who I think debuted, or at least I fist remember seeing in the Sideways ongoing, a Dark Nights Metal spin off) observing the multiverse and introducing a story that takes an important moment in DC history and asks “what would have happened if things had gone differently?” DC’s version of What If?  in a nutshell.

       That’s Tempus Fuginauts big ol’ head in case you were wondering

 As the “Dark” in Tales of the Dark Multiverse might imply, these are not happy stories.

The first one shot that was released was Tales of the Dark Multiverse Batman Knightfall by Scott Snyder and Kyle Higgens with art by Javi Fernandez.  

This was probably my least favorite of the five issues. Since the “No Justice” mini series event I’m over Scott Snyder. I feel he has so many ideas rattling around in his head that he begins one story, gets too excited about the next one and leaves you underwhelmed with the current arc but dying to read the next. (That being said I of course checked out Batman Last Knight on Earth, having read his and Capullo’s entire New 52 Batman run I didn’t want to miss their “final” word on Batman, but have not read his just wrapped run on Justice League which I hear was quite good). 

I read this one right when it was released a few months ago, so my memory of it might not be the best.  

This one centers around the Knightfall event where Bane breaks Batman’s back and Jean Paul Valley/Azrael takes on the role of Batman. In this reality Bruce never recovers and Jean Paul remains Batman becoming Saint Batman, a Bats Azrael mash up. Javi Fernandez does a great job on the art and Snyder loves chopping people up. 

                                                      Gross.

Definitely worth the read if you’re interested in it or are a fan of Batman or just the Knightfall era. If you grab this series in collected format it’s not so bad that I recommend skipping it, just not my favorite from this batch of books. 

Next up is Tales of the Dark Multiverse Death of Superman by Jeff Loveness with art by Brad Walker and Andrew Hennessey. I really enjoyed this one, it was a good quick read and had a nice arc to it. One of the better issues from this series if you’re asking me.

Right after Superman dies defeating Doomsday in the Death of Superman story arc, the rest of the Justice League shows up, literally as the blood is drying.Ten seconds too late. Lois Lane blames Supes’ death on the heroes for not being there to aid him. 

She makes her way to the Fortress of Solitude and thanks to the Eradicator gets herself all the powers of Superman. She then goes about dishing out justice, with extreme prejudice, to the villains the heroes normally let the revolving doors of the DC justice system handle. This involves a couple of great scenes with Batman and Lex Luthor. Loveness nails the dialogue and the character arc he puts Lois on is great to read. 

                                  Walker and Hennesey do it again!

There’s more to this story than I’ve put here, but I don’t want to say too much and ruin your enjoyment of it if/when you read it.

Special shout out to the art team of Brad Walker and Andrew Hennessey. I feel like they don’t get enough love. They killed it on the Demon Hell is Earth mini, and from what I can tell are crushing it on Detective Comics. Dudes can draw. Spread the word!

Then we move onto Tales of the Dark Multiverse Blackest Night by Tim Seeley and Kyle Hotz. 

This one was a bit wordy, but a lot of fun! I would put this one in the middle of the pack. 

Seeley brings together an interesting bunch of characters including Sinestro, Dove, Lobo and the New Gods! The plot is a little complex, but basically after the Color Corps lose the battle against Nekron in Blackest Night, Sinestro is looking for a way to undo the damage done and becomes a pawn in Scott Free’s plot to do the same. 

Give Seeley a Lobo book or a Hawk and Dove book, or a Mister Miracle book!. He gives each character a unique voice which makes their joint travels through the plot that much more fun to read.

Kyle Hotz’s  art in this issue reminds of a 90’s Image Comic in the best possible way. Lots of detail and cool poses. I also see a lot of Bernie Wrightson in there with Hotz’s heavy use of black and the sinewy musculature of the characters. The book is worth the price of admission to see his renditions of Dove and Mister Miracle. 

                                                          kewl!

 I’m glad to see Hotz working more or just seeing more of Hotz’s work. I don’t know if he fell out of the industry after drawing the original The Hood mini for Marvel with Brian K. Vaughan, working with Eric “The Goon” Powell on Billy the Kid’s Old Timey Odditys, doing art on Carnage Mind Bomb and more I’m sure ( I just can’t remember it all), or I just wasn’t paying attention to what he was working on. If it’s the later, shame on me, if it’s the former, welcome back Mr. Hotz, you’re crushing it and I look forward to seeing more from you. Check out more Kyle Hotz work by following him on Instagram @kylehotzcomics.

Let’s not neglect the oft overlooked inkers! I’m not sure who inked what, but on a guess, Dexter Vines and Walden Wong brought a smooth, cleanness to the proceedings with lots of nicely tapered lines. Again just guessing here, because I don’t know for sure, but Danny Miki used a finer line bringing a scratchy-ness the others didn’t but also amazing detail and clarity on some of the portraiture in the later half of the book. 

Who’s next? Why it’s Tales of the Dark Multiverse Infinite Crisis!

This one may have been my favorite. When the original Infinite Crisis series came out it was a period  where, due to personal lack of enjoyment, I wasn’t reading much of DC’s output, but I did read the Countdown to Infinite Crisis one shot this issue takes as it’s jumping off point. After having read this issue, it makes me want to go back and read Infinite Crisis. I would say that’s the sign of a good issue.

In this alternate reality Blue Beetle, Ted Kord, kills Maxwell Lord instead of vice versa, making himself the head of Checkmate. He then goes about trying to prevent the coming crisis. It’s kind of a tale about absolute power corrupting absolutely, it’s also an underdog tale about getting in over your head.

                Sorry if these images aren’t the best, I’m new at this!

James Tynion IV does a great job catching you up on any old DC continuity plot points you may have forgotten or never knew about in the first place.If you’re reading Tynion’s current run on Batman, or his work on Detective Comics and Justice League Dark, you know he can handle a complex plot like this and does a great job condensing it all down to a single issue.  Aaron Lopresti and Matt Ryan handle the art and they do a great job. Always happy to see Lopresti’s name on a book I want to read.

Bonus points: You can never have too many Ted Kord, Blue Beetle comics, especially when Booster Gold pops up, even if only momentarily. 

If this series leaves you wanting more Blue and Gold action may I direct you to Booster Gold (2nd series) #32 thru about 38ish for some quality comics.

Final one, Tales from the Dark Multiverse the Judas Contract!

I’m not as old as my writing may imply so I had to read the Judas Contract in collected format about 20 years after it was originally released and after having seen it on many a fanzine’s (Wizard) best of list.  When I finally got to read it I wasn’t super familiar with the Titans of the era and already knew the big twist in the story, so it just washed over me without any great effect. None of the shock that someone who was reading it fresh in the 80’s might have experienced. 

I ended up liking this twisted take on the Judas Contract much more than when I read the original. “Sacrilege!” I know, I know, but like I said there was no surprise when I first read it, while this one zigged instead of zagging multiple times and kept upping the ante in scale. 

Kyle Higgins and Matt Groom do a great job reinventing a classic that I’m sure many people had high expectations for. This was a fun faced paced tale.  I enjoyed the hero moments Dick Grayson and Wally West were given. Like the Knightfall one shot Higgins co-wrote with Snyder there’s no shortage of dismemberment and disfiguration, which is neither a plus or minus in this situation, just thought it was worth noting.

Tom Raney handles the art chores here and he does a fine job.  Some of the figures seem a little squat, and their heads are too big in certain panels. Could I do better? No, so who am I to say anything? I just noticed it, here and there, it took me out of the flow of the story every now and then. That’s all. Big fan of his work on Stormwatch and Outsiders with Judd Winick. I also hear he’s super nice, so if you’re ever at a convention where Tom Raney is, seek him out! 

                                      They seem squat, right?

It’s worth mentioning these books are all done in DC’s prestige format and are extra long at about 48 pages each. All covers are by the fantastic Lee Weeks. A nice way to spend the afternoon.

There’s the first post. A little longer than I thought it would be. If you made it this far, I hope it was clear and you understood what I was saying and I hope you liked it and want to return for more. 

Until next time!