#but i think the chaos would be interesting to rearrange

[goatsghost]

i’m not going to pretend to understand reverse robin AUs, but i do think it’s funny that when you add steph to the mix, tim just stays as red robin and that’s infinitely funnier to me

[blackenedsnow]

If you’re lookin’ for requests could we get a continuation of your Beetlejuice fic? Like, what sorts of things does Beej do through the house/apartment to prank you? What’s he do when/if you have to leave to go to work? I imagine he’d tag along incognito sometimes. How would that go? (I don’t send many fic requests so if this is a weird way to do it I’m sorry. But I figured if you’re asking for them I can brainstorm a little 😅)

dead guys got it made

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: No need to apologize! I love the direction you're taking with this. I'd be happy to continue the story!!

SUMMARY: Chaos ensues, of course

PART ONE: Here

The days after your reluctant agreement to let Beetlejuice stay in your home were, in a word, chaotic. He seemed to take your "don’t destroy the place" comment as more of a suggestion than an actual rule. Sure, he didn’t tear down walls or summon any maggots (yet), but there was plenty of mischief to go around.

You woke up one morning to find your living room furniture rearranged—your couch upside down on the ceiling, the TV somehow playing reruns of sitcoms from the ‘80s, and the floor covered in what looked like tiny plastic insects. You groaned, rubbing your temples as Beetlejuice appeared next to you, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Pretty good, huh?" he asked, looking up at the couch hanging from the ceiling. "Took me all night, but I think it really adds to the ambiance."

"BJ," you muttered, staring at the mess, "how many times do I have to tell you? No messing with the furniture."

He cackled, snapping his fingers. Instantly, the room righted itself—couch back on the floor, TV back to normal. But the plastic bugs? Still there. "Alright, alright, no more redecorating. But I gotta keep things interesting, babes. Can’t have you getting bored, now can we?"

You bent down to scoop up the bugs, sighing. "I’m starting to think my life was less stressful before you showed up."

"Ah, but way more boring," Beetlejuice quipped, following you into the kitchen as you grabbed a coffee mug. "Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to spice things up."

You ignored him, focusing instead on your workday ahead. “I’ve got to head to work soon,” you said, mostly to yourself, as you filled your mug. “You’re staying here today, right?”

“Sure, sure,” he said with a wave of his hand, leaning against the counter. “I’ll be good. Maybe I’ll watch some TV, raid your fridge, haunt your neighbors—you know, normal dead guy stuff.”

You shot him a look, trying to gauge how much of that was a joke. You were still figuring him out, trying to balance how much you could tolerate and how much you liked having him around. It was… complicated. But lately, the thought of leaving him alone in your home was almost more stressful than having him tag along. Still, you weren’t sure you could handle Beetlejuice at work, of all places.

"Alright," you said, setting your mug down, "I’ll trust you. Just… try not to haunt anyone this time, okay?"

Beetlejuice smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Cross my heart, babe,” he said, drawing a line over his chest. You didn’t trust that for a second, but you had no choice but to leave him behind and head out.

At Work

Everything seemed fine at first. You settled into your routine, the normalcy of it all providing a brief reprieve from your unusual houseguest. But then, halfway through the morning, you noticed something off.

Your pen was missing. And not just missing—floating midair, inches from your hand.

"Beetlejuice.," you hissed under your breath, scanning the room for any sign of him. Sure enough, from the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar flash of black and white dart behind a filing cabinet.

Of course he’d followed you. You should’ve known.

“Get back here,” you muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else saw the floating pen.

Suddenly, Beetlejuice appeared right next to you, leaning against your desk with a smug grin. He was dressed in some sort of disguise—a ridiculous pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap that didn’t hide anything. “Nice place you got here, babe. Real lively.”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I told you to stay at home.”

“Yeah, well, I got bored,” he said with a shrug. “Thought I’d see how my favorite breather spends their day.”

“This is not going to end well,” you mumbled, already dreading the inevitable..

The At-Work Antics

Beetlejuice, to his credit, tried to behave—for all of five minutes. Then the pranks began. It started small: pens going missing, your keyboard typing random words on its own. But as the day wore on, he grew bolder.

At one point, your boss, Mr. Thompson, came by to drop off some news. You tried to stay focused, nodding along as he talked, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Beetlejuice sneaking up behind him, his eyes full of mischief.

"Don’t," you mouthed, but it was too late.

With a flick of his hand, Beetlejuice made Mr. Thompson’s tie start dancing—literally. The fabric wriggled and twisted as though it had a life of its own, and you watched in horror as your boss froze, staring down at his tie in confusion.

“What the—” Mr. Thompson muttered, tugging at the tie, but it kept moving.

You shot Beetlejuice a death glare, mouthing “Stop it” as discreetly as possible. He just winked, looking way too pleased with himself, and finally let the tie drop limp again.

Mr. Thompson blinked, bewildered, but seemed to shake it off. “Must be static or something,” he muttered before walking off, completely unaware of the ghostly trickster behind him.

You exhaled in relief. “Beej, I swear…”

“Hey, I didn’t get caught, did I?” Beetlejuice cackled, clearly enjoying himself. “Lighten up, honey. You gotta admit, that was funny.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” you hissed, though you couldn’t completely stifle the laugh bubbling up in your chest.

For the rest of the day, Beetlejuice stayed close, pulling small pranks here and there. A co-worker’s coffee inexplicably turned neon green, another’s stapler kept vanishing from their desk. Every time you saw that flash of stripes, your heart raced in equal parts anxiety and amusement.

After Work

By the time you made it home, you were exhausted. Beetlejuice had finally vanished, likely slipping back to your home long before you could leave. When you walked through the door, he was sprawled across the couch as usual, looking far too smug.

“Fun day at work?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re a menace,” you muttered, dropping your bag on the floor. “A complete and utter menace.”

“And yet, you didn’t banish me,” he shot back, his grin widening. “So… you really do love having me around.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t quite argue with him. As frustrating as it was having him tag along—and as much as he drove you crazy—you had to admit, life was a lot less lonely with him in it.

“Maybe,” you muttered, flopping onto the couch beside him. “Just… try not to get me fired next time, alright?”

Beetlejuice chuckled, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “No promises, toots. But I’ll try not to ruin your life.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

[outmakingmoonshine]

I was just writing a post about the Carmy/Faks scene & how it's really just Carmy talking to himself. For this scene the two Faks represent his inner voices/subconscious (which might only apply to this scene idk), but then I decided to see what all these scenes looked like together and wow am I glad I did!! Seeing these 4 scenes side by side is very interesting.

The first two scenes in 3x05 & 3x07 mirror each other, the last two scenes in 3x09 mirror each other and all 4 of them tell their own story together. The first scene is Carmy's talking to himself but shouting & aiming it at anyone who's listening. The 2nd is Syd talking to herself but mostly mumbling so only she can hear. In the Faks scene Carmy's having an "imaginary" conversation out loud with two people, just like Syd's doing in the last scene rehearsing what she might say to both Adam Shapiro and Carmy.

And if you rearrange these scenes & put the first 2 after the Faks scene, if we saw/heard those sarcastic "that makes sense" comments after we saw the "Claire is peace" scene in that exact same location, it would've been a lot easier to figure out what they're really referring to!

There are lots of layers to unpack here but I'm gonna talk about the main things that jump out at me. This is probably gonna be a bit chaotic with different ideas and breakdowns of what things could mean so I hope it's not too confusing. Anyone else feel free to jump in with your thoughts.

Below the cut

Notice how in all these scenes, except one, Carmy and Syd are alone talking out loud to themselves, vocalizing their inner thoughts. Mute the video and just read the subtitles if you need to. The scene with the Faks reads like a conversation with imaginary friends or like the two funny inner voices of a character in a comedy movie. All these scenes are like they're from a comedy movie tbh.

In the first two scenes Carmy & Syd act the same way they both deal with their problems (Carmy shouting about it to anyone who'll listen and Syd pissed but mostly keeping it quiet/to herself). They're the only ones actually inside the dumpster in all the scenes which makes me think it represents their minds and the boxes are the mental chaos & thoughts they're trying to sort through. The Faks are technically outside Carmy's mind/the dumpster so they don't speak from the mind or for the mind but they're close to it, communicating with it & "helping" sort through the chaos. Maybe the dumpster represents the conscious mind and the Faks are Carmy's subconscious. It sounds like The Faks are encouraging Carmy to fall back into his base programming, which people often tend to do when they're lost and don't know what to do. They're trying to convince him to call Claire bc Carmy's base programming from his family is "Claire is good". That's what safe to him bc it's a "truth" he's always known & believed. Idk there's many possibilities. It's also Interesting how later this episode The Faks go to Claire and speak directly for Carmy like they know for sure what he's thinking & feeling.

Lets get into the dialogue of the first two scenes:

"[Carmy] That makes sense. [box clatters] Boxes full of bullshit. Put it on the f*cking list. Oh, it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it."

Just a side note: The next line in the script is "I don't know wha-what I'm supposed to do with all this stuff" from Marcus in the next scene where he's clearing out all his mum's stuff with Syd.

"[Syd] 'Cause why would you do it? I mean, you're supposed to do it. This is-- This is fine. This is good. This makes sense. This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking-- Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"

I don't even know where to start, there's so many ways to read this!

Carmy said one specific thing in the Faks scene that very clearly "didn't make sense"...Claire is peace. He knows that's not true but I think the point is he's been avoiding thinking about who his peace actually is all S3*. Carmy & Syd are both sarcastically saying "that makes sense" like it's subtly referring to that scene later in the same place. Was the panic attack scene by the same dumpsters? Idk someone let me know please.

*Carmy said in 3x07 he tries to avoid thinking about legacy. The only legacy we know of is the one he's trying to build with Syd both professionally and personally. His realization that Syd's brings him peace in the panic attack in 2x09 is the reality of his legacy that he's been trying to avoid all S3. He's working to get her his star and creating dishes inspired by her so Syd's cearly on his mind but the one thing he should be thinking about and talking to her about, he's avoiding.

There are many different layers of possible meaning and/or foreshadowing in this dialogue, but one layer it can be read is how they're both thinking/feeling about the Claire situation bc even tho Syd didn't mention it all season it's still there between them. Maybe none of this is about Claire, but if it was:

Carmy: "[sarcastically] that makes sense"...claire is "peace". "Boxes full of bullsh*t"...he's full of bullshit that Claire's his peace?!! Or maybe Claire is in the boxes of bullshit aka his baggage and past trauma he needs to sort through? "Put it on the "f*cking list"...put Claire on the list of his stress & baggage? And a very sarcastic "Oh it's good. I'll do it. I got it. I got it." He'll do what he's "supposed to do" with Claire & call her/apologize/maybe even be with her even tho it clearly sounds like he doesn't want to..?? He's "got it"...even though he clearly doesn't. "It's good" but she's clearly not The Good Thing™.

Syd: "Cause why wouldn't you do it? I mean you're supposed to do it"...why won't carmy just sort himself out? why wont he just call claire/be with claire since Syd thinks that's what he wants & she acts in front of him like "it's not her place to be [beside him on a personal level]" almost direct quote from her in 3x09. She's probabaly confused why Carm just wont be with Claire. From Syd's perspective he changed his mind about her and chose Claire in S2, so the next logical step is he'd be with Claire. "This is fine. This is good. This makes sense."...carmy saying claire is peace & also probably how she'll react out loud if carmy/claire get back together. "This is f*cking… F*ck. F*ck. [pants] [muttering] F*ck. [growls] fcking--"...this is how she really feels about the whole Claire situation & Carmy just ditching her & "changing shit" (that came up a lot this season), which ultimately led to him not treating her like a partner in their professional relationship. "Where are the fcking Faks? F*ck!"...a direct lead in to Carmy's scene in the exact same place 2 episodes later.

Sydney's dialogue in 3x07 scene also reads like a run-on of Carmy's dialogue in 3x05, continuing his thoughts trying to convince himself of what he should do with Claire but he's panicking so he calls for the Fak's, his imaginary friends/inner voices, who are there with him the next time we see him in that spot. From the dialogue it makes sense but idk if we've ever seen the show do that with Syd before so idk. Sydney is clearly definied as her own character but she is definied as a mirror of Carmy too so it's a possibility.

Of course this is all interpretation, some or none of this could be directly about Claire but idk. The location (esp if it's in the same place he had the 2x09 panic attack), all the "coincidental" dialogue, the way all these scenes tie together...and with the panic attack scene and the opposing realizations Carmy comes to about Syd & Claire in 2x09 & 3x09. It wasn't a "realization" about Claire in 3x09, he didn't even look like he believed what he was saying tbh. It looked like he just made it up on the spot.

It's also interesting that these scenes by the dumpsters are the quivalent of S1 & 2's walk in scenes where both Syd & Carmy go for a moment of peace to clear their thoughts and "cool off". We don't see those this season but we do get these which is more like them sorting out all the chaotic thoughts & feelings inside them, separating the "trash" from the good stuff, "the bad from the good" like Carmy said he wanted/needed to do to achieve his legacy in 3x07.

In the Faks scene listen to all the "we" and "us" talk;

"If we did it when it was scheduled. We do though. We do it, Carm. All we do is break down boxes. We break 'em down and we have to do it again. Who would wanna haunt us? Who's pissed at us? Sammy's pissed at us."

Until Claire is mentioned (a sobering thought for Carmy) and it's suddenly "Not us. Just you. Not us." Reality hit for a moment and the imaginary friends want to separate themselves from him because they're not "real" & they didn't upset Claire so she can't be mad at them. I think Carmy is the only "real" one in this scene. The Faks are the imaginary friends/inner voices that seem like they're helping the main character but they're really just causing more chaos and leading him down the wrong path because they're misunderstanding what he wants based on what he's forcing himself to think about; Claire. (I lowkey think Carmy's forcing memories of Claire to stop himself from thinking about Sydney.)

The transition of Carmy talking to himself with The Fak's representing two parts of his mind aka "two minds" going straight into Syd talking to herself & voicing out loud what she'd say to both Shapiro and Carmy like she's having a mental conversation with two different people and that she's in "two minds". "I wanted to start off by saying I'm grateful" sounds formal and directed at Adam Shapiro. "Ok so I wanted to talk to you..." sounds more personal and directed at Carmy. It's a similar concept of being in two minds used in a slightly different context but in this show and the writing specifically, context is all over the place anyway.

Also the transition into the Syd scene is to drive home the point that Carmy was just having a conversation with himself, trying to convince himself that Claire is peace, she's "good" etc. For this scene (and possibly this scene only) Theodore is the stubborn part of Carmy that doesn't like to be pushed around who thinks stuff like "Yeah but I'd see his ass" about Sammy Fak. And you know there's a part of Carmy that would have that attitude but the conscious part of him is smarter than that. Neil is the more sweet, anxious side of Carmy that is kind of "away with the fairies" a little bit, in his own head a lot. Carmy is the regular, conscious, "real" Carmy trying to figure out the mental mess he's in.

I think transitioning into that Syd scene was also to callback to the only other times Syd or Carmy spoke aloud to themselves. I might be forgetting something but I think all these scenes are the only times we see either of them have full conversations with themselves out loud in S3..? Someone let me know if that's wrong please.

Side note- From one perscpective: Carmy's reaction to Theodore calling Claire "a piece of ass" was so...unaffected??! Could you imagine if someone said that about Syd?? He bit Richie's head off for calling her "sweetheart" in 1x01 and physically put himself between them so I can't imagine he'd take it that lightly if it was about Syd...From another perpective, if this scene is all about Carmy's inner thoughts, is he asking himself if that's how he sees Claire? I don't think he does intentionally but it's a valid question considering the show seems to use physical intimacy as a substitute for any real connection between them. If Claire & Carmy never kissed or had sex, would anyone see that relationship as a romance?? I really don't think so tbh, the physical initmacy is the only thing about their scenes that confirms it's supposed to be seen as a romance. Meanwhile SydCarmy are drowning in real connection before any physical intimacy.

Anyone please feel free to jump in and add your thoughts, I'd love to know your perspectives on seeing all these scenes together @thoughtfulchaos773 @sydcarmyfan @yannaryartside @currymanganese @vacationship @afrofairysblog @greekyogurttragedy @tvfantic87 @moodyeucalyptus @gingergofastboatsmojito @ambeauty @whenmemorydies @brokenwinebox and anyone else who wants to jump in is welcome to.

[griffonsgrove]

General Dating Headcanons | Dr. Flug

Dr. Flug X GN!Reader

fandom: Villainous/Villainos words: 1457 cw: none!! just cute tooth-rotting fluff!

a/n: aaa!! following the theme with villainous, I HAD to do our favorite scientist!! Also I'm open for requests!! I'd love to see what yall would send in!!

(Platonic): 

Dr. Flug was the one initially responsible for hiring a new employee for the organization after he had groveled at Black Hat’s feet, begging for an assistant to help lighten his workload.

Reluctantly, Black Hat agreed, but not without scaring the daylights out of the poor doctor first.

Flug thanked the high heavens.

And thus began the search for a new assistant, he sent out multiple ads and flyers, and in little to no time, there was a flood of applicants. Having to sift through each applicant only added even more stress to his ever-growing mountain of work. Most of them didn't really seem to stick out.

That was until he got to yours.

He wasn't quite sure what drew him to your application, maybe it was your astounding track record, accomplishments, and references, or maybe it was because he thought your appearance was pleasing to the eye, something about the gleam in your eyes told him that you were a reasonable, logical and pleasant person to be around.

Which is exactly how you ended up at the front gates of the manor, ready for an interview.

Of course, the first person you met was the doctor himself, he had to disable the alarm system to the manor before letting you in. It’s there that he gives a very brief, albeit awkward introduction.

He unfortunately doesn’t socialize much. 

Everything about his energy, to his stature just screamed nervous wreck. It's from there that he leads you to the Lord’s Office. Surprisingly the interview went well!! If getting demeaned and thrown insults was a norm. But! You got the job!

Now you’re in Flug’s hands, you follow alongside him as he leads you to his lab, listing off all the responsibilities he wanted you to be in charge of some of them being: Organizing files and client paperwork, taking calls from new clients and scheduling appointments, also taking customer reviews, and some minor tidying and organization.

And based on the state of his lab you had a LOT of work to do…

I know some people think Flug is an anxious mess 24/7 but that could not be further from the truth. He’s actually quite egotistical and snarky from time to time, and of course a know-it-all.

He's like the “erm actually ☝️ 🤓” guy in physical form.

IS NOT afraid to correct you over minor errors. He’s very particular about how his things are organized in his lab. He likes to call it his organized chaos. So, if anything gets misplaced, he will get snippy or irritable. 

SO..as long as you inform him of how you do things and WHERE you put them, then all is good!

Overtime as you work alongside him though, he genuinely does start to appreciate the work that you do, he's pleasantly surprised when he finds that all his files and blue prints have been organized alphabetically and by color, or that his tools had been rearranged neatly on his workbench by size and shape, and overall his lab was so much cleaner and tidy than he ever could imagine it to be.

No surprise here but, the doctor is AWFUL at taking care of himself.

Which is why you step in to do small little gestures to help him out.

Whether it be bringing him another cup of coffee or making up a small snack for him to eat throughout the day, he even noticed you had draped his lab coat over him when he fell asleep at his desk one night.

He had to admit he wasn't quite used such small acts of kindness; it was a foreign feeling to him.

Did I also mention he’s tired like 24/7. Let this poor man sleep!! 😭

Believe it or not, he’s grown to quite enjoy your company, maybe it was your relaxed nature, but he felt somewhat at ease whenever you were around.

You’ve both actually held some decent conversations from time to time, both sharing your interests that lead into a ramble about his favorite airplane models.

(Romantic):

His confession was actually quite a funny story, and he wasn't even the one to do it! It was 5.0.5 surprisingly. The sweet blue bear wasn't blind, he began to notice that his papa would longingly stare at you, that he would mumble to himself in his sleep, secret confessions he would never dare say consciously. So, the bear came up with a little plan.

5.0.5 loves to draw, Flug practically keeps every drawing he’s ever given him. He decided that he’d make a love note, from Flug to You. He spends a generous amount of time on it, putting such care into the cute little card, and when he’s deemed it perfect enough, he drops it off to you, happily growling.

You're taken by surprise at first, but then you open up the heart shaped card covered in glitter and are pleased to find an adorable childlike drawing of you and Flug, surrounded by a bunch of pink and red hearts. How sweet!

When you confront the doctor in his lab, showing him the card, he flushes, and at first denies such feelings, slightly embarrassed that his fuzzy son was the one to do it instead of him. It’s then that he decides there's no going back and spills out everything to you.

Which is why he’s shocked when you tell him you reciprocate his feelings. What?? Him?? Really????

Things start if really awkward btw, the doctor has been without physical contact for so long that WASNT being beaten down by his boss, that he honestly forgot what it was like to experience affection, aside from the crushing hugs that 5.0.5 would give him.

He’s very fidgety, doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, where to put them or how you’ll respond to his touch.

Please give him a hug :(

He’s also very respectful of your boundaries, as you are with him, he’s not quite comfortable taking the bag off his head, which you don't mind in the slightest.

Things seem to continue almost as normally, but the two of you spend more and more time with each other, taking your breaks together, having lunch and spending your evening time hanging out when neither one of you are slammed with work. He quite enjoyed having movie nights with you, the sci-fi films are always his favorite btw. He heavily critiques the machines and inventions.

You both try to keep your relationship on the down low, Black Hat would blow a gasket if he found out. Demencia on the other hand was a huge tease. She frequently mocked the two of you, mostly Flug, however. You’d stick up for him of course and tease her right back, much to the doctor's surprise.

Queue the heart eyes.

Dr. Flug expresses his affection through small, thoughtful gestures, like leaving little notes of encouragement or surprising you with inventions tailored to your interests.

Speaking of gift giving, he prefers to hand make your gifts. His ideology is that there's no point in getting you a meaningless gift that you’ll throw out in a couple of weeks, so why not make you a meaningful one that you can make your life easier???

Which btw he's VERY observant, it's actually quite endearing from time to time, and he takes note of all your special interests, favorite foods, etc.

Mans is touch-starved. Sorry I don't make the rules. 

PLEASE HOLD HIM. 

He’s pretty hesitant to touch at first, but the second he gets a feel for physical affection he's latching onto you like a koala-bear. He likes holding your hand, his hands are surprisingly soft underneath his gloves. 

When you’re both hidden away in the evening from prying eyes, is when you can finally cuddle and be more affectionate with each other. SPOIL HIM PLEASE.

You become one of his biggest supporters, encouraging him and giving him the long-deserved praise, he aches for. When he’s with you, he’ll admit that you have substantially helped boost his ego and confidence which really pays off in his work. Not that Black Hat would ever give him the satisfaction.

Overall, Dr. Flug really is a sweetheart on the inside, especially with those he's grown to love and care about and getting him to open up to you about his insecurities is one of your best accomplishments, he feels like he can be vulnerable with you and that really says a lot. The man has a lot of inner demons and has willingly put his life down the path of villainy, but he feels with you by his side, that things will be a little bit better...

[commsroom]

it's always kinda been a headcanon of mine that the way hera operates the hephaestus - how she thinks, how she keeps track of and organizes and prioritizes tasks, how she executes those tasks, the way she files information, etc. - is highly unusual and would be impossible to parse for another AI. the equivalent of an 'organized chaos' workspace where it looks like a complete mess, and a lot of the steps she takes are convoluted and unintuitive, but she knows where it all is and can't find it if it's even slightly rearranged.

like, the fact she's deemed "flighty and mercurial [with] poor impulse control" while also having "record response times, unique problem-solving abilities, and highly original thought patterns" is such an interesting and significant part of her character. hera is smart, and she's creative, but she isn't smart in a way that can be standardized and made useful by goddard. and that's why she wouldn't have survived, if cutter hadn't needed to put together a functionally disposable crew. with regards to neurodivergence, i think there's something to be said about differing types of intelligence in a society that only values a certain kind of productivity and compliance.

[p4p1l0nn]

the great paperback avalanche of ‘23.

it all started with a mischievous cat, and an unexpected book avalanche, setting the stage for a story that would unfold just across the way, where books met brews and two worlds collided in the great paperback avalanche of '23.

PAIRING: taeyong x barista!reader

GENRE: romcom, friendship, a bit of fluff

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

y/n pushed open the door to taeyong's bookstore, the gentle chime of the bell announcing your arrival. “hey, i've got that hot coffee order for taeyong,” you called out, scanning the cozy bookstore for a familiar face.

taeyong emerged from behind a shelf, a stack of books in hand. “right on time. you're a lifesaver on this chilly day.”

you grinned, handing him the cup. “well, someone's gotta keep the local bookworms warm.”

taeyong chuckled, “guilty as charged. thanks, y/n. how's the cafe holding up?”

casually leaning against the bookstore's counter, you shrugged. “same old coffee spills, but customers seem to love our latest pastry. how about your literary haven? any new arrivals?”

taeyong smiled, setting the coffee on the counter. “oh, you know, the usual mix of classics and some hidden gems. there's this new mystery novel i think you'd enjoy.”

“really?” you raised an eyebrow. “maybe i'll borrow it once things calm down at the cafe.”

while taeyong excitedly described the plot twists of the new mystery novel, the door to the bookstore stood ajar, allowing a small, curious cat to slip in unnoticed. its sleek fur blended with the warm tones of the shelves as it strolled through the open entrance.

as taeyong painted a vivid picture of suspense, you leaned in with interest, “a mystery novel, huh? you'll have to recommend it. i could use a good page turner.”

he nodded, “absolutely, it's a real nail-biter. i'll make sure to set one aside for you.”

their conversation continued, blissfully unaware of the feline intruder prowling along the book-lined aisles. the cat's gaze fixated on the tantalizing heights of a ladder, and with a graceful leap, it ascended, its nimble paws making the ascent seem effortless.

“so, any plans for the weekend?” you asked, your eyes scanning the cozy bookstore.

taeyong shrugged, “probably just getting lost in a good book. the usual.”

the cat, now perched on the ladder's top rung, observed the scene below with keen interest. you, still engrossed in conversation, failed to notice the feline spectator above.

“sounds intriguing,” you remarked, a playful glint in your eyes. “i'll hold you to that book recommendation.”

just then, a sudden crash echoed through the bookstore, drawing their attention. both of you turned to see a cascade of books tumbling from the ladder, the mischievous cat darting away in surprise.

taeyong let out an exasperated sigh as he surveyed the scattered books. “seriously? why does it always happen when i'm alone in the morning?”

you couldn't help but grin at the sight. “looks like the cat's on a mission to spice up your day.”

taeyong shot you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “spice it up? more like turn it into a disaster zone. do you see this mess?”

the cat, now innocently grooming itself in a corner, seemed unfazed by the chaos it had caused. taeyong began stacking the fallen books, muttering under his breath, “of course, it had to be the top shelf. why not the ones i can actually reach without a ladder?”

you chuckled, “maybe it's a literary critic, demanding you rearrange your collection.”

rolling his eyes, taeyong continued grumbling, “great. now i’ll be fixing this for the next hour. my coffee's probably cold by now, too.”

noticing taeyong’s visible frustration, you stepped closer. “hey, it's not the end of the world. i might have left the door slightly open when i delivered your coffee. my bad.”

he raised an eyebrow, “your bad? i should've known. first, the cat, and now you're confessing to sabotage?”

you chuckled, “okay, maybe i was trying to sneak in some mystery into your morning. my apologies, detective taeyong."

he couldn't help but smile at your attempt to lighten the mood. “well, detective y/n, you're now a prime suspect in the case of the fallen books.”

“fair enough,” you teased, “but how about we solve this case together? i'll help you clean up, and we'll blame it on the literary cat burglar.”

taeyong hesitated, concern crossing his face. “y/n, i appreciate the offer, but what if you get in trouble? i can't have you risking your job for a mess caused by a mischievous cat and an open door.”

you laughed, gently patting his shoulder. “taeyong, it's just books. besides, if i get fired, we'll open our own bookstore and cafe combo. problem solved.”

his eyes widened at your playful suggestion. “you're not serious, right?”

“of course not,” you grinned, “but seriously, let me help you clean up. it's the least i can do for the great paperback avalanche of '23.”

as you worked side by side, laughter echoing through the bookstore, taeyong couldn't help but appreciate your willingness to lend a hand. “you know, this is the most excitement my morning shift has seen in ages.”

you winked, holding up a dustpan full of fallen bookmarks. “who knew cleaning up a literary crime scene could be this thrilling?”

taeyong grinned, “maybe we should make it a weekly event. 'messy mondays' has a nice ring to it.”

you chuckled, “as long as it doesn't involve toppling bookshelves every time.”

as the two of you finished restoring order to the once-chaotic bookstore, taeyong couldn't help but feel grateful. “thanks, y/n. you turned what could've been a disaster into . . . well, a mess, but at least a fun one.”

you nudged him playfully, “anytime, detective. just promise me you'll keep the mystery novels away from the top shelf.”

with the last book neatly back in place, taeyong and you exchanged a satisfied glance. you shared a secret handshake, a quirky dance of intertwined fingers and playful twirls that had become your signature move.

taeyong grinned, “our special handshake is getting smoother. we might need to trademark it.”

you chuckled, “we'd be millionaires in handshakes. who knew it could be such a lucrative business?”

as you continued to joke, taeyong couldn't resist a mischievous smile. “you know, y/n, in some cultures, a kiss on the cheek is a common way to seal a deal.”

you rolled her eyes, giving him a mock disapproving look. “smooth, detective. but no cheek kissing deals here.”

taeyong chuckled again, “what about a handshake deal . . . with an option for a kiss?”

before you could retort, taeyong earned a gentle pull on his right ear. “ouch! okay, okay, just kidding!”

you giggled, “you're lucky i have a soft spot for bookish detectives.”

your banter was interrupted by your boss yelling from across the street, “y/n!, we've got a line forming! move it!”

you waved, “duty calls. until next time, detective smooth talker.”

and as you hurriedly headed toward the cafe, your boss's call still ringing in the air, taeyong couldn't resist one last playful remark. “hey, y/n! you owe me a date for the sabotage!”

you turned with a smirk, “sabotage? taeyong, you're delusional if you think i'm taking you out for cold coffee and a cat-induced book avalanche.”

taeyong chuckled, catching up with you, “i mean it, y/n. consider it a thank-you for the unexpected excitement.”

your eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, “is this your way of getting a free coffee and a mystery novel recommendation?”

taeyong winked, “okay, maybe i owe you a coffee for the trouble. but seriously, let me take you out. a detective owes a cafe worker at least one date, right?”

you couldn't help but laugh, “fine, detective smooth talker. but if there's any more chaos, you're buying dinner too.”

you and taeyong exchanged a quick handshake, sealing the deal. you headed into the cafe, leaving taeyong with a playful promise hanging in the air. little did both of you know, amidst the spilled coffee and book chaos, a charming chapter of your story had just begun in the small cozy town.

[3pirouette]

Fic: Timeless (1/1)

Title: Timeless

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: Loki Season 2 (especially Episode 6), MCU through Endgame, Several of my own Steggy Fic

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3/Tumblr  Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: for @behindthelabels for Steggymas2023/Steggy Week 2024 Day 5 “Inspired by”! Hauhet spends her days languishing in the Decoding and Intelligence office at the TVA, but when things start to unravel into chaos, she finds she, too, had a normal life on the timestream as one Agent Peggy Carter. 

AN: Inspired by the Taylor Swift song Timeless (Which is irrevocably Steggy) and Season 2 of Loki and the character of Oroborus. This was put on the back burner once I found out Behindthelabels actually HADN’T watched Loki season 2 and would understand none of this. I wrote her another fic, and said she’d get this as the non-returnable stocking stuffer she never asked for. Almost a year late, but, here you go! Thanks @steggyfanevents

Also, I decided to be REALLY self indulgent and reference a bunch of my own fic as AUs. I tried to include some of my "Greatest hits."

I highly recommend either listening to this song or looking up the lyrics before reading the story. From a random lyrics website: "The song is ultimately about a love so powerful that it would still come to fruition even under circumstances that made it close to impossible to exist."

Hauhet- Egyptian goddess of infinity

Tenses jump back and forth between past and present on purpose. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I felt it would be an interesting way to portray that everything is happening all at once and yet over and over again… 

Also see notes at the end of the fic…

~*~

Read below or HERE on AO3

~*~

It was, in a word, chaos. Time was branching, and without the branches being snipped, she didn’t know what would happen. 

That wasn’t her department, though. The little sign that said “Decoding and Intelligence” on her door kept her separated from the rest of the TVA and though she felt the need to jump into the fray, there was also a deep fear that she’d done that before and it had come to no good. 

That she’d suffered great loss. 

Some days, her little isolated office of books and codes felt like home. People so rarely needed her or visited her, but when she was needed to decode messages or break complicated cyphers, Hauhet knew she was appreciated. 

Yet, sometimes, her little office felt like a prison. 

If she thought too long, she couldn’t remember, exactly, how long she’d been there. She couldn’t remember when or how she’d gotten her job. She couldn’t quite remember what her home even looked like. But those thoughts vanished like the ether, quickly replaced with the urge to update her codex or rearrange her shelves of gadgets. The impetus to think never really left her though, and she spent most of her time alone feeling unsettled, like she was meant for more. 

She just knew she had to be ready, available, for when a time agent would come to her, needing help. Those were the times she felt like she was doing what she was meant to do: breaking cyphers, deciphering codes, solving mysteries. They never let her outside of the TVA, never took her with them on site, but she felt just a hint of value inside her. 

She had so much more to give. She knew that. She just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. 

Not that anyone asked, anyway. 

But the chaos outside of her door today stirred something deep inside her, and within a few minutes she hacked her data pad, listening to the conversations of those agents floors and floors away, discussing things that shocked her. 

They had been people. People in the time stream. 

She wasn’t just a worker at the TVA. She had been someone before that. She’d had a life and a family and she had had something so important that felt just out of reach to her into the annals of her mind. If she closed her eyes and concentrated she saw smart clothes in army green and bright blue and fiery red. High heels and dramatic hats. 

Red, white, and blue Stars and Stripes that made her heart flutter. 

All she ever wore was drab TVA khaki with her sensible sneakers and her hair in a tight knot at the top of her head. With a sudden burst of longing that had to be from something real, she missed the feel of soft silk on her legs and the powerful sound of high heels clicking on tile floors. 

There was a smile. 

She missed a smile. 

If she closed her eyes she could see it: bright teeth that were straight, but not too straight, soft pink lips, a little hint of a quirk on one side so genuine she could feel her heart melt. 

She’d had someone. 

Hauhet stood and paced her little room, running her hands over the bookshelves lined with thick tomes, new and old, chewing at her lip as she tried to get the nervous energy out of her body. 

It was a loss and a gift all at the same time: she’d had another life, but she didn’t know if she could find it or get back to it. 

Did she even want to?

What if… what if that life wasn’t as exciting as this one? What if she’d contributed even less? She picked up her Data pad, rolling it over and over in her hands. There was only one way to find out. 

Hauhet sat at her computer and pulled out a small set of tools, slipping her magnifying glasses on. It took longer than she liked, but eventually she had her data pad wired into her computer. 

With a deep breath, she input the search and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and watched…

~*~

“Well, what do you think?” Steve turns in a circle in the empty living room, pointing at the stairs to the second floor. “Three rooms and a full bathroom up there, half bath, kitchen, a den, and a living room here. Plenty of space downstairs in the basement for a washer and a dryer and a home office…” He shrugs, smiling. 

Peggy sighs, bouncing Mandy in her arms. “You don’t think it’s too big?” The baby giggles, reaching out her arms for Steve. Peggy passes her over before wandering away into the kitchen. “It just seems like a lot…”

”It is,” he quickly agrees. “It’s more than I ever had, that’s for sure.” He steps over to her, looking out the window over the sink, past the back porch and into the green expanse of the back yard. 

“More than I’ve had as well,” Peggy mutters, turning back to him. She taps her fingers on the stove before walking a slow circle in the kitchen, eyes roaming over every surface. “I’m used to barracks and hot plates now.”

Steve nods, his hand running over the downy hairs on Mandy’s head as she snuggles into his shoulder. “Yeah, well, there’s room to spread out,” he says gently, looking up with warmth in his eyes, “Room to grow.”

Peggy pauses, thinking about all the things they’ve said to one another, all the promises they’ve made, and for once, there’s about to be peace in their lives with little else to do but think about the future. The ring on her left hand is still new, and she turns it with her fingers anxiously. 

There will be time to think about growing. 

“It’ll be tight,” she starts, turning pragmatic as she moves past him and towards the front door, “on our pays.”

He follows, a bright spring in his step as he knows she’s made her decision. “I’m pretty sure they’re keeping us on the payroll, Peg.” He smiles at Mandy, bouncing her in his arms as he follows her out the front door. 

“And there’s going to be plenty of work to do to keep it up: mowing, gardening, taking out the trash…” she pauses, tilting her head as if she’s just thought about it. “We’re going to have to do our own grocery shopping. Cooking.”

”I’m sure Jarvis will take pity on us once in a while,” Steve chuckles. He joins her on the front step, closing the front door behind him and looking it over before turning back to her. “So?”

Peggy turns, still serious, looking at the door and all it represents. “What do you think, darling?” She reaches over and tickles Mandy under the chin. “Ready to have your own room? Leave the little government apartment we’ve called our own for a few months now?”

Mandy’s squeal and giggle are a resounding positive. 

“Alright then, darling, we’re all in agreement,” Peggy smiles up at Steve. “We’re going to be homeowners.” She leans up, kissing him quickly, but stopping him when he starts to speak again. “We’re not getting dog.”

~*~

Loop 1

Hauhet stood and paced her little room, running her hands over the bookshelves lined with thick tomes, new and old, chewing at her lip as she tried to get the nervous energy out of her body. 

It was a loss and a gift all at the same time: she’d had another life, but she didn’t know if she could find it or get back to it. 

Did she even want to?

What if… what if that life wasn’t as exciting as this one? What if she’d contributed even less? She picked up her Data pad, rolling it over and over in her hands. There was only one way to find out. 

Hauhet sat at her computer and pulled out a small set of tools, slipping her magnifying glasses on. It took her less time than it should have to wire her data pad to the computer, she was surprised at how easy it seemed. 

With a deep breath, she input the search and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and watched…

~*~

The music swelled, and Peggy couldn’t quite stop the welling of emotion in her chest. 

“I promise I’ll write ya,” Steve says loudly, loud enough that his voice carries all the way to the back of the empty auditorium. 

“And I’ll write you, every day,” she answers under the hot stage lights in her best American accent, stepping forward and putting her hand on his arm. “Just promise you’ll come home to me.”

He looks at her, stares at her for longer than he should, before saying his next line. “Hitler himself couldn’t stop me from coming home to you, Betty.” There’s a lilt in his voice she’s never heard before, a catch before he says her character’s name. 

The music swells again, and when the lights go out and they hurry off stage, she can’t quite seem to catch her breath. 

“You okay?” Steve asks as soon as they’re off stage, the lights raising again and filling the wings with warmth as the girls take center stage to sing. 

Peggy turns back to him, nodding and forcing her breath to even out. “It just…”

”Seemed almost real, right?” he nods, pulling her deeper into the wing and out of the way of the stage hands setting up the next scene change. He almost crowds her into the corner in his effort to give her some privacy while she composes herself. 

Peggy nods at him, wiping away tears that aren’t quite shed from the lash line of her eyes, the dark black stage eyeliner coming off on her fingers. “I almost lost you once, Steve, and I will not go through that again.” 

He leans down, taking her into his arms and letting her melt into him. “You won’t have to, Peg. I promise.”

”You don’t know that, you just can’t-“

”You won’t, I-“

”I hate to break this up,” Angie’s voice, full of her own thick emotion, floods over them, “because I’m sure you could use a minute.” She sniffs, wiping at her own stage make up carefully to lift the tears away. “I mean, you got me crying, too!” She reaches over and pulls Peggy from Steve’s arms gently, “But if we don’t move our asses we’re gonna miss the quick change again and you heard him- if he has to stop the show we’re gonna be here all night and I do not have another 15 hour rehearsal in me!”

Steve watches Peggy go, his arms feeling empty as Angie hurries her away to the little dressing screen they have set up for her. 

He felt it, too. Maybe it is the music, or the costumes. Maybe between the lights and the costumes, the backdrops and the speakers, it makes it feel like hyper reality. But whatever it is, something is different. It isn’t hypothetical anymore. She’d almost lost him once already, and as soon as they’re done here he’ll be on the front sooner rather than later, and she’ll be there, too, in just as much danger. 

And yet, his arms feel empty without her. 

He doesn’t want to write letters. 

He doesn’t want to go months without seeing her. 

He doesn’t want to go to bed one single night without her next to him. 

It is an amazing feeling, swelling in the sadness that had just filled him from their little, poorly written scene. 

He loves her, and he knows now he isn’t letting go. 

~*~

Loop 114

Hauhet stood and paced her little room, running her hands over the bookshelves lined with thick tomes, new and old, chewing at her lip as she tried to get the nervous energy out of her body. This felt like it had happened before. 

Could that be? 

Could time have repeated? Here? In the TVA?

It was a loss and a gift all at the same time: she’d had another life, but she didn’t know if she could find it or get back to it. 

Did she even want to?

What if… what if that life wasn’t as exciting as this one? What if she’d contributed even less? She picked up her Data pad, rolling it over and over in her hands. There was only one way to find out. 

Hauhet sat at her computer and pulled out a small set of tools, slipping her magnifying glasses on. The ease with which she was able to connect her data pad to her computer, something she’d never done before, told her that time was indeed not running correctly. 

It didn’t much matter right now, though. 

With a deep breath, she input the search and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and started to watch…

~*~

The rain pounded the top of her canvas tent, the little light she had flickered in and out as the storm raged. She couldn’t seem to get dry in her little tent, but then again, nothing had been dry in days. 

It felt like the war had come to a stand still. Both sides were trying to fight trench foot and keep people warm and alive. They didn’t have time to fight one another. Hydra seemed farther and farther away every day that kept her in camp and away from the front. 

Instead, all Peggy could do was pull out her little nub of a pencil and write. Again. 

Not that Steve minded. She was sure he didn’t, just like she didn’t mind any time she got a letter from him back in New York. She opened the little tin box she used to keep her paper dry and ran her fingers over the little picture of Steve she kept taped to the top. He’d obviously posed for it, had someone else snap it and gotten it developed just to send to her. It was the only thing she really cared about keeping dry, that and his letters. 

She ran her fingers over them, filled with stories from home and all the things he wanted to do with her once the war was over, all the things he wanted to say to her in person but would have to suffice in the written word. 

They were an ocean part, with only the vaguest of promises between them, but she knew, deep in her heart, that the frail boned man would be her destiny. She’d known the first time he’d smiled at her. 

She pulled out his last letter and started reading. It still astounded her that he liked her, that a smart, interesting, funny man like him could find something in her. She’d always been told she was too bold, too brash, for men to like her. All her life her mother had tried to get her to play a part to attract a suitor, and now, after Erskine’s experiment, she knew she wasn’t what most men would find attractive. 

Steve? Steve looked at her with love in his eyes and it astounded her every time. 

She read about the war effort and his experiments with Stark, his art projects and how much he hated watching the kid in the neighborhood have to go without birthday cakes because of rationing. 

She read his letters over and over again until she could recite them by heart. Some days, deep in a foxhole or shivering in the rain while she waited to raid a Hydra strong hold, reciting his words in her head were all that gave her hope. 

She loved him, and she was pretty sure he loved her. 

She just needed to put an end to this damn war, and then she’d be able to show him just how much. 

~*~

Loop 872

Hauhet stood and paced her little room, running her hands over the bookshelves lined with thick tomes, new and old, chewing at her lip as she tried to get the nervous energy out of her body. This seemed… familiar. This action, this moment. 

She’d lived it before.

The emotions weren’t new. They were old and worn in, even if she couldn’t remember ever feeling them before. 

She picked up her Data pad, rolling it over and over in her hands. There was only one way to find out. 

Hauhet sat at her computer and pulled out a small set of tools, slipping her magnifying glasses on. In seconds the interface was working. 

With a deep breath, she input the search and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and started to watch…

~*~

“Skinny Bastard,” Phillips mutters, shaking his head as he enters. 

Steve laughs, climbing down the ladder and out of the rafters of the stage. “You’re gonna have to stop calling me that one day.” He holds his hand out once his feet are on the ground, smiling when Phillips shakes it firmly. 

Phillips works hard to hide his smile. “You’re a day late.”

”Don’t go blamin’ him!” Angie’s voice carries through the empty auditorium. The building is almost unrecognizable to what it was a few years ago when they put on their first show. She weaves her way through the rows of seats, carrying garment bags of gowns in her arms. “All this one’s fault! 

“Now that’s just-“ Bucky’s words fall away as he sees Phillips’ stern look. “sir. Yes sir, I was just-“

”Dawdling? Like always?” He holds his stare for a moment, watching the way the poor man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows before shaking his head and laughing. “I’m not your commanding officer anymore, Barnes.”

”No,” he responds, moving into he room with his arms full of stacked crates, “But you do put us up for the whole winter while put together a new show so I figure I should still, ya know.”

Steve pulls the crates from Bucky’s hands, stopping his rambling. “Go get the rest of it, will ya?”

”Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, dropping his head and heading out to Phillips’ amusement. 

Phillips follows Steve to where he drops the crates by the edge of the stage. “So what’s the big to-do? Ana’s been looking like the cat that swallowed the cream and won’t give any of us a damn hint.”

Steve smiles to himself as he starts to unpack the stage lights from he crates. “Peggy won’t be in the show this year.” 

Phillips watches him carefully. “I’d ask if there was trouble in paradise, but you’re still wearing your ring, and you’ve got that stupid, suspicious as hell smile on your face that I don’t like.” He leans back on the edge of the stage, watching as Angie weaves through the seats to head back out and help Barnes with unpacking the rest of the truck. “You let that wife of yours get a better offer from a club in the city?” 

Peggy’s voice rings out from the wings. “Oh no, I promise you, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He looks over, but can’t see her in the dark. “Well then, what’s the damn secret?”

Peggy moves out, less graceful and less lithe than she was last time she was on this stage, hindered this time by the way her rounded belly leads the way. She lets her hand run over it, her dress tightening for just a moment so Phillips can see it. “Not much of a secret anymore, I’m afraid.”

”Skinny Bastard knocked you up!” he can’t help the smile that slides along his face. He claps Steve on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you two!”

Peggy waddles over to the edge of the stage, letting Steve gently lift her down. “I’m afraid I had to tell someone. Looks like our little one may be making an appearance before we’re done for the season. She’s helped me find a local midwife.”

”Good, good,” Phillips mutters, watching the way Steve absentmindedly stokes her lower back as he inventories his crate, the way her hand smooths over the rounded bump of her stomach. “Makes sense why he wouldn’t put you in the show.”

”Absolutely does not,” Peggy bites out, eyes narrowing. 

“Does too,” both men reply at the same time. 

She huffs, but doesn’t make a quip back. This is an old fight, and one she doesn’t want to rekindle now. 

“Jarvis!” Phillips calls, and the mana pops his head in the auditorium comically fast. 

“Yes, sir!”

”Did you know Carter was pregnant?”

”I believe she goes by Mrs. Rogers now, but yes, Ana had let it slip that-“

”Well, why in the hell are you still standing here? We have work to do!” Phillips stars moving away, despite Steve and Peggy’s protests. “we’ve got to make sure that cabin’s draft free, and that their hot water heater’s been checked and re-checked. Get that midwife on the phone for me, she’ll be staying here until that baby’s born. And another…”

His voice fades as he and Jarvis disappear from the room into he main part of the inn. 

“I told you,” Peggy mutters, leaning back on the edge of the stage. “He’s going to make an insufferably big deal of this.”

”Of course he is!” Barnes pipes in, carrying another set of crates in. “In my opinion, Steve is being way too cavalier about my godson being born.” 

“Or goddaughter,” Angie cuts him off quickly. “And he’s just being sensible, aren't you, Steve?”

”I’m trying,” he sighs, turning to Peggy. “I really think you should have stayed in the City. I could be back as soon as you go into labor and-“

”Absolutely, under no circumstances, will you miss the birth of our child because of show.” She raises her eyebrows at him. “Especially one you won’t let me in.” She softens, taking his hand and settling it over her belly where he can feel the soft kicks. “This is a family act, Rogers. Get used to it.”

”Yes, Ma’am.”

~*~

Loop 2,467

She didn’t think about it anymore, just let her body run on instinct. She’d been here before, she’d done these things before. 

With a deep breath, she input the search and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and started to watch…

~*~

“Damnnit, Rogers, run faster!”

Steve pumps his legs, jostling Peggy on his shoulder. “I’m running for two here, Jones!” He calls back as they move through the cavern, the walls shaking and collapsing around them. 

“Care would be appreciated!” Peggey called from over his shoulder where he was carrying her, her arms and legs still tied tight to her sides, a high pitched squeal leaving her throat as Steve narrowly jumped away from a tumbling boulder. 

“Speed might be better!” Jones called, hysteria creeping into his voice, jumping over a crack that appeared in the ground in front of them. 

Steve took the same widening crack, now nearly a full chasm, easily as dirt and pebbles started to fall from the ceiling. 

“Is this standard Hydra?” Jones called, slowing and climbing over a pile of rubble that stood between them and the exit. 

Steve took Indy’s hand, keeping one arm around Peggy and letting his friend boost him up and help him navigate the rubble. “Not really, no,” he replied loudly, never missing a step as the path cleared out in front of them once they were over. “But then again, I’m not that surprised, either.”

”Implosion or explosion?” Peggy asked, looking up at Jones from over Steve’s shoulder as he took the lead, using his nearly photographic memory to wind them back through the shaking catacombs. 

“Could be either,” Jones huffed, trying to keep up, “but I’m betting implosion. Easier to set this low in the ground.”

”Either one is bad,” Steve bit out, moving faster.

Peggy dropped her head, unable to hold on with her hands still tied to her sides. “Bit of an understatement, darling.”

”Are we having a chat?” Indy bit out sarcastically, overtaking Steve again as the dying sunset shone through the small entrance of the cave. “I’d like to get as far away from the bomb as possible, please!”

Jones shimmied out of the small hole, then reached his arms back in, carefully grabbing Peggy around the hips as Steve set her down and wiggled her through the opening. Jones had her in his arms, though a little less gracefully than Steve, and was running as soon as her feet left the ground. 

“Steve!”

”Steve will be fine,” Indy puffed out, breathless as he moved across the empty desert terrain. “He’ll be better than us if he’s close.”

”Won’t be close,” Steve called out, just a step behind, “Let’s move!”

 He reached out, pulling Peggy from Jones’s arms and both men pushed their legs even farther and harder. 

They felt the explosion before they heard it, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Indy and Steve tumbled to the ground, both men wrapping themselves around Peggy as they tumbled, working to keep one another safe. 

They skidded to a halt just in time to turn and look at the small mountain they had just been under crumble in on itself, spewing dirt and sand into the air. When the cloud settled and the ground stopped shaking, when they could blink their eyes open again and when the dry coughing from the dust-laden air stopped, there was only a crater filled with rubble where there had once been a secret Hydra base. 

“Implosion,” Indy muttered, humming. “Told ya.”

Steve sat back, pulling his helmet and gloves off, wiping at his face where stark lines of dirt streaked where his helmet hadn’t covered. “Told ya It’d be bad.”

Indy pulled his hat off his head, hitting it to get the dust dislodged. “Well of course it was going to be bad, Rogers, it was a self-destruct.”

”Hydra doesn’t always-“

”Well of course they always-“

Peggy huffed, lifting both feet and slamming them back down in the dirt, getting the attention of the men as they talked over one another as they let off the adrenaline of the last few hours. “I’d get up and leave you two to your bickering,” she started, wiggling in place as the ropes that tied her together were still laced across her chest and down around her legs, “but I seem to be having some trouble. Care to help?”

She raised her eyebrow at them, waiting as they both stared at her, jaws hanging open. 

“Well?” She asked again, wiggling her hands at her side when they still didn’t move. “Untie me!”

Indy leaned back, smiling. “You know, you're the one who ran off and got captured. Seems it’s in our best interest to keep you from running off again, don’t you think, Steve?”

Peggy huffed, but Steve shrugged, sitting back. “I think slowing her down a little bit isn’t a bad idea.”

”You wouldn’t dare!” Peggy bit out, starting to get truly incensed. 

Steve shrugged as he and Indy stood, wiping the dust off themselves. “I could use to know where you are for a bit, Peg.” He smiled in a way that was usually cheeky and charming, but only served to increase her ire. He reached down, even as she started squirming, and hoisted her over his shoulder again. 

“You put me down and let me out of this right now!” She wiggled, but didn’t fight against his tight grip too much as he started walking back the mile and a half to the jeep in step with Jones. 

“You heard him, Peg,” Indy said, his voice full of smug teasing. “We gotta know where you are.”

Peggy lifted her head, throwing Indy a harsh look before she flopped back down. “Don’t think I won’t forget this,” she muttered. 

“Don’t think I’m gonna forget you scaring the shit outta me,” Steve replied, “by intentionally getting yourself captured.”

”Language!” Indy interjected with a smile. 

“Well, it worked,” Peggy muttered, her fight gone. “Hydra’s lost another base and we have a lead on Schmidt.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but she felt more than heard his grumble. 

After a few quiet minutes, Peggy finally spoke again. “Well, joke’s on you, darling, I’m getting a lovely break back here, with a lovely view, and you’re doing the work for both of us.”

Indy laughed next to them. “If you want to leave her here, Rogers, I won't tell anyone.”

”Nah,” Steve responded, gently tightening his hold on her as the Jeep came into view, “I’ve grown a little attached.”

~*~

Loop 12,356

Hauhet could hardly breathe. She couldn’t remember anything, not really, little foggy memories and ideas of lives before this, of painted nurseries and undercooked hams and missions in snowy communist countries. 

All of those half formed memories seemed much, much more real than her time at the TVA, than whatever illusion of a life she had here. 

With a deep breath, she input the search into the data pad and waited only a few seconds for it to blink upon her screen. She pulled her glasses off slowly and started to watch…

~*~

“Steve! You’ve come back!” 

He takes her hand, holding tightly from the side of the bed. 

“Yeah, Peg, I’m here.”

She could feel the emotion welling up in her chest as she tried to sit up, but he just smiled down at her, leaning forward and helping her sit. Always the gentleman. 

“Easy, Peg,” he whispers, his voice thick with his own emotion. 

“How?” She whispers, reaching up and running her hand over his cheek. She pauses, looking at the dissonance between their skin: his as young as the last time she saw him, and hers, withered and wrinkled with a lifetime lived. 

He lifts her hand from his cheek, holding it in both of his as he sits on the side of her bed, smiling sweetly. “It’s a long story for another day.”

She can’t help but be maudlin, can’t help but say all the things she’s thinking. “I missed you every day, my darling.”

His eyes flutter shut, chin falling to his chest. “I-“

”Don’t apologize,” she whispers, “I came to terms with what you did long ago.” He looks up at her, and this time, his eyes are filled with tears. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t love you, didn’t miss you, every day.”

He swallows, hard, and threads his fingers in with hers. “Didn’t mean to stand you up for our date,” he croaks out, fighting to force a smile. 

Peggy smiles up at him, holding his hand tighter in hers. “You’re here now. you always were just a little late, weren’t you?”

~*~

Loop 300,465

She doesn't think, she just does. Hauhet has learned to trust her intuition in her time with the TVA, but something screams in her that she’s simply remembering now. Something screams to her that this was a skill she had before.

This was something she’d done without thought. 

Agent.

Even the seconds it takes for her to connect the Data pad seem too long. 

She needs to know…

~*~

“Peggy, this is my choice.”

Peggy holds the microphone tight in her hand. She wants to say something, anything, but no words come to her, nothing swells but the feeling of loss, bigger than anything she’s felt in a long time. 

His voice comes through the line, tinny and resigned. “Peggy, I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

”All right,” She takes a deep breath, desperate to hold on to whatever time she has left with him, uncaring of who is still in the room, uncaring of the tears running down her face. “A week next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

”You got it.” His voice is tight, strained. But not afraid. 

Never afraid. 

Steve has never, for one moment, been afraid of what he’s thought he’s had to do since she’s known him, even when he was small and skinny and jumping on grenades.

”Eight o’clock on the dot,” she continued, trying to take some of his bravery, trying to steal some of his damn assuredness, “don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

”You know I still don’t know how to dance,” he rushes out, his voice starting to shake. She pretends it’s just the shaking of the plane. 

She can’t help but smile, can’t help but think maybe… maybe… if there is a God in this world, he won’t let this good man die on her today. “I’ll show you how,” she rushes out, hoping he can hear how much she needs him, how much she wants him to survive this in her voice. “Just be there.” 

His voice is raising. It’s not much, but she can tell it’s there. Nervousness. “We’ll have the band play something slow.” The ship shakes over the line, the sound of shivering metal something she’s heard before in transmissions just before disaster strikes. “I’d hate to step on your-“

The static, a low rumble in the room, is deafening. 

“Steve?” She pleads across the line. “Steve?”

She’s lost him. 

She can only pray, as the tears fall, that there’s still a chance to find him. 

~*~

Loop 1,475,692

Hauhet sits heavy on the floor of her office.

No, not Hauhet. Peggy Carter. 

Agent Peggy Carter. 

She’d had a life once. 

The memories flood into her, stronger than whatever force is being used to keep her complacent. This day has happened over and over. She sees herself, sitting at that desk, over and over. Hundreds of times. Millions of times. 

More than any sane person could handle, she’s sure, if they could remember. 

But she does remember now. Because she met him in every single branch. Every single universe. Every single timeline. 

Steve Rogers. 

And no matter when or how they met, it felt like home. 

She could feel him, sitting in her heart, like a beacon. She had her own Steve. There was a man with that little boyish lopsided smile and the courage of a lion out there somewhere, waiting for her. 

And she’d been languishing in this pace for millennia, doing the tedious desk work she’d fought so hard to get away from all of her life. 

She hadn’t found her Steve yet, she knew that. None of the branches, none of the stories she had seen so far gave her anything more than a longing. 

She’d feel it when she found him, when she found her timeline and her world. She knew it. 

And as long as this day kept repeating, she’d find him. She’d find their life together. 

They made each other better. Even in the timeliness when they lost one another, even in the timelines when there was only a short period of time left together, they made one another better. 

They were timeless, finding one another again over and over, no matter what the world looked like, no matter when their souls showed up. 

Even if he was gone in her timeline, she wanted to be a place where he was, where he had been and she could find and recover and languish in the memories. 

She was ready to give up this drab, rote existence. 

Saving the universe meant nothing in here. Saving it from out there? With her heels and her gun and the love of her life? 

Well, that was something that had real value, and Peggy was going to stop at nothing to find it. 

Without even thinking she let her hands fly over the wires, connecting her Data pad to the computer. 

She was going to find him, and she was going to get back to him. 

~*~

End A/N: 

While we have our MCU Steggy and What If…? Steggy, I couldn’t HELP but throw in my favorite Steggys in there from my own fic. (Yes, it’s a little *cough*lot*cough* self indulgent) They’re all Extra Scenes that don’t show up in the main fic and they’re inspired by the lyrics to Timeless. In order that they show up in the story:

1- Nobody’s Baby (Two lovers laughin’ on the porch of their first house)

2-The Captain and the Missus (On a Crowded Street in 1944 and you were headed off to fight in the war)

3-What if…? (I would have read your love letters every single night)

4- A Red, White, and Blue Christmas (Which brought me back to the the first time I saw you Time stood still)

5-Interested Parties Series (Indiana Jones Crossover) (Down the block there’s an antique shop)

6- Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Time breaks down your mind and body, don’t you let it touch your soul)

7- Captain America: The First Avenger (Story of a romance Torn Apart by Fate)

[itsyourstarboy]

Freebound

(Redacted Audio fanfic—1247 words)

Summary: Its the moonbound solstice, and Freelancer is freebound. Watch them cause chaos, on accident and on purpose.

Read here on Ao3

—

I.

The sunlight streamed through the curtains above the bed, cascading a golden glow across the room. Gavin, still dazed with sleep, stretched out an arm to pull his deviant close. His outstretched hand met cold sheets, and his brow furrowed as he felt around, cracking an eye open in confusion.

“Deviant?” He softly called.

When he was met with silence, he got up. It wasn’t like them to leave him in bed all alone. Quickly finding his pants that were discarded the night before, he exited their bedroom. Where were they?

As he neared the kitchen, he picked up on their aura. It was bouncing off the walls, feeling strong one minute, and practically nonexistent the next.

“Deviant?” He softly called, again.

They turned to him, a small smile on their face, “g’mornin’.”

The kitchen was… well, it wasn’t a mess, per say. It was… different.

“What are you doing in here, love?” Gavin asked.

“I’m rearranging the cabinets.”

“At 7am?”

Freelancer stared at him for a moment, “yeah.”

Gavin suppressed a chuckle, “may I ask why?”

“Well, I woke up this morning and I felt like I had bees in my bones, so I went to the grocery store down the street to buy six pounds of butter. Then when I got home, I accidentally set the couch on fire. Went shopping for one online, but I think I ordered 20.”

Gavin was speechless. “H-how long have you been awake?”

“1:14 am,” they laughed out in a sigh. They looked so tired.

“When you told me the solstices were often… interesting for you, this is not what I expected.”

“There is never a way to predict what may happen, I am a slave to my core for the remainder of this solstice. I think I just caused the large oak tree outside to become an even larger oak tree.”

At that, the ground shook, and Gavin’s eyes went wide.

“How about we go back to bed for a bit?”

II.

Lasko was doing paperwork on his coffee table. Nothing too strenuous—he was sunbound after all—just some stuff to keep him occupied while he felt like a dry apple slice.

Freelancer walked in the door, “hey, Lasko-babe.”

“Wh- oh. Hi, Freelancer. What are you doing here? And why didn’t you knock? N-not that I’m upset you're here, I mean, I-I’m always happy to see you, it’s just that you’re not exactly the type to just invite yourself into someone’s apartment… At least- at least I think you're n-not… are you?”

They sighed with a tired smile, “yeah I know, m’sorry. I would’ve knocked, but it’s too… too much. Too noise. M- no- that’s not… words.”

Lasko stood as his friend swayed on their feet, “are- are you f-feeling? Alright? Pft- no, what am I saying? Of course you’re not, it’s the solstice. Com- come sit down, how did you even get here, anyway?”

“Mmm,” Freelancer hummed as Lasko forced them to sit on the couch. They immediately sunk into the cushions, “I was feeling up, an’ I wanted to come hang out with you, but halfway here I felt not-up.”

“Not-up?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean- I guess that makes sense? Y-you are a freelancer, so you’re going to feel all kinds of… ‘ups’ and downs. M- Magically, anyway.”

“M’yeah, my magic has been ups and downs,” they mumbled, leaning into Lasko as he sat next to them. “I used psychokinesis to launch my phone into orbit.”

III.

Huxley was laying on his side, his head propped up on his arm, and his fingers threading through Damien’s hair. He was happy taking care of him like this. Right here, in this moment, with his boyfriend curled up next to him.

There was a knock at the front door.

“Are you gonna get that?” Damien mumbled when Huxley made no attempt at getting up.

“No,” he sighed contentedly, “whoever it is can just come back later.”

It would turn out that Huxley wouldn’t need to get the door, as whoever had knocked opened it for themself.

“The heck…?” Huxley said, sitting up slightly.

A familiar voice rang through the house, “Huuuuux? Damiiii?”

The two boys sighed in relief, glad that the home intruder was just Freelancer. Sweet, innocent Freelancer-

“Are either of you here? I think I drained the town's water supply.”

Huxley immediately sat up, telling Dames that he would be right back. The fire elemental could only let out an affirmative hum in response as he tiredly laughed at the freelancer's antics.

Entering the front room, Huxley found Freelancer hovering by a window.

“Freelancer? Dude- why are you all wet??”

They turned to him, panting heavily, “I was walking here from Damien’s place, and the Dahlia Spring decided to start chasing me, so I started running, but that made the water faster, so I jumped into your neighbor's pool to escape.”

Huxley slowly approached the window, “holy shi- Freelancer, the entire street is flooded!”

“I knowww,” they whined, “I’m sorry. I would clean it up but I’m afraid I’ll level the entire neighborhood.”

“Okay, well… let- lets just get you dried off,” Hux said, taking Freelancer’s hand to lead them to the bathroom.

“Wait, wait,” they pulled away, “is Damien here?”

“Uh- yeah, he’s resting in the bedroom.”

Freelancer made their way to the room and peeked their head through the doorway to see Damien all bundled up, “oh god that’s adorable. Is he wearing your sweatshirt??”

“Shut up,” Damien groaned, his voice all muffled from the blankets. “Why are you here?”

Huxley appeared next to them with a towel, “jeez, dude. You’re freezing.”

“It’s the solstice,” Freelancer answered, stubbornly trying to push Huxley’s hands away as he desperately tried to dry them off. “I remembered that you’re sunbound, so I was like ‘Fireboy must be feeling like shit right now, and I, too, feel like shit,’ so here I am, to feel like shit with you.”

Freelancer paused, hissing in disapproval, as Huxley ruffled their hair dry.

“I went to your place first, though. Let myself in. I cleaned everything.”

Damien sat up a little, propping himself against the pillows, “you… cleaned everything?”

“Yeah,” they wavered, leaning against the wall, “and then I remembered I was looking for you, so- oh god-” they keeled over, “I’m gonna throw up-”

Before either of the boys could react, Freelancer had run to the bathroom.

IV.

Damien’s phone buzzed with notifications from the group chat.

Gavin: does anyone happen to know where the freelancer is? I swear I left them alone for five minutes

Lasko: yeah don’t worry they’re here at my place

Lasko: they randomly showed up and eventually passed out on the couch

Lasko: sorry I would have told you but I was doing paperwork

Gavin: it’s alright as long as they’re safe

Damien: Lasko, I think you should check your couch.

Lasko: what?

Lasko: why?

Damien: Just do it.

Lasko: um…

Gavin: ???

Lasko: I’m so sorry

Lasko: they’re not there

Lasko: I lost them

Gavin: how did you lose them!?!?

Lasko: how did you???

Damien: Calm down, they’re here at Hux’s place.

Damien: They showed up a couple minutes ago.

Damien: They’re puking in the toilet.

Gavin: oh thank god

Huxley returned to the room, a sleeping Freelancer in his arms, “Dames, they tried to escape through the window, and when they couldn’t they said, ‘I’m going to stop existing now,’ and passed out.”

Damien looked back at his phone.

Damien: Please come get them.

—

[always-coffee]

Thoughts for the New Year, As It Approaches

The bravest thing anyone can do is to care. To invest in something, someone—even if that someone is yourself. (Invest in yourself, damn it. You’re worth it.)

To care is often not without risk, without danger. Because it’s an investment, an act of faith, an extended hand. It has been considered uncool by certain people, but that's not something I’ll ever understand. Caring is why we’re here. To connect. To lift each other up when we need it. To cheer each other on and cheer each other up.

I remember coming home from school as a kid, completely flummoxed and hurt, because someone didn’t want to be my friend. I was a sensitive kid—hypersensitive, even. And I genuinely approached everyone as a potential friend in a very eager, Golden Retriever kind of way. My mother explained—and would re-explain throughout the years—that isn’t how people work. Not everyone is going to want to be your friend.

As an adult (or reasonable facsimile of one), I’ve grown to understand that. But I still have that Golden Retriever tendency. Because I like people. I like seeing who someone is, beyond the surface. And I find most people very interesting. Has that led to some misadventures? Yes. Do I regret them? No, not really.

But back to the point: I think it’s important to care more these days. Because the everything **gestures broadly** is a lot. And there’s something wonderfully defiant about connection and hope. About loving life, even when it’s a messy. About loving this moment or someone else. To love the mistakes and mess—the myriad things we don’t talk about. The chaos and the terror of the possible.

It’s brave to embrace it all fully, regardless of the past. In defiance of the old pain, the old aches, the old ghosts. In favor of what might be, could be if only. Because honestly, why not? Why not you? Why not this? Why not now?

We are all a map of what and who we loved. But what if I told you that map is always changing? Every brilliant sunset. Every night sky full of stars. Every perfect cup of coffee (or tea). Every laugh shared over a meal or late at night. Every small, kind gesture. Every big leap and outstretched hand. Miracles, all of it. Small or large—beautiful.

Love is terrifying, in any form. It’s vulnerability and power all in the same breath. Because the funny thing about love is that it does, in its way, make you invincible. You can become the best version of yourself, because of it. I know, in the past, it has made me braver. And that, in turn, showed me just how strong I am. Love undoes and rebuilds, rearranges and soothes. But the best love—in whatever form—is soft when it needs to be. Not tentative, but firm. A calming heartbeat. Steady.

It’s the steadiness that matters in the end, with so much of the world easily swayed and fickle.

My wish for you, as the new year approaches, is that you know both bravery and love—love for who you are. That you take a chance on yourself, because you’re here and not dead yet. So this moment is an opportunity, an invitation. That you find someone who sees you in the middle of the chaos, who calls you out on your shit with love. That you laugh more. That your smile reaches your eyes. That you remember your own worth. That you remember it is not measured in what you can do for people.

And kissing would be good too. There’s never enough of that.

The world is wild, darlings. Be wilder and kinder and fiercer than it.

XOXO

[12pt-times-new-roman]

some observations on the recent lore drop:

It's definitely very interesting to note which provinces were left behind by the consumed gods. Darkness and order are both covered pretty thoroughly by the rest of the pantheon (by Tharizdun and Erathis, respetively), but fate and winter are both entirely absent from the rest of the pantheon until we get to the Matron of Ravens, eons after Ethedok and Vordo were consumed. So it sounds like to me that the Matron, when she ascended, got the scraps of what those gods left behind -- winter from Ethedok, fate from Vordo, and death from the previous god of death. If those domains were considered "taboo" or "tainted" among the pantheon, that could help to explain why the Matron was sort of scorned by the rest of the gods.

Given its description, I think Predathos is definitely an elder evil, or something even older than them. But if it is capable of entirely consuming and destroying two whole-ass gods, who knows.

Predathos, Vordo, and Ethedok all appear to be unique creations of Matt's. Their names don't match anything from existing D&D or Pathfinder lore like the rest of the pantheon.

Predathos was referred to multiple times as being, specifically, from "beyond the stars." Which is the exact wording that Evandrin used to describe the power Zerxus drew from and the power that he himself would seek out to bring Zerxus home. And if Zerxus is at the right hand of the Lord of the Hells and the only way to break that bond is to destroy the Lord of the Hells, well then... you see where this is going.

It's also worth noting that Ruidus' influence seems to incite things having to do with all three entities' domains, not just Predathos'. And this makes a lot of sense, given that, from C1, we know that gods aren't just creatures, they tend to be entire swaths of planes; so if that is the case, Predathos would've had to consume both the gods themselves and their domains.

Ruidus flares started becoming exponentially more frequent in the past decade, but the Verity only knows this because more Ruidus-born people had been showing up at the Omen Archive. This suggests that the flares increased in frequency around 30 years ago, so it could correlate with Vecna's ascension to godhood. (That's not to say that Vecna is involved, 'cause I don't think he is, but the cosmos rearranging themselves to accommodate an entire new god had to effect some things.)

The Nightmare King apparently revels in chaos, which is something I might've missed but that the cast seems to have picked up on. And that's certainly Something. Because guess what? The only elder evil besides Tharizdun we really know anything else about is Ceratos of Many Minds, who is a lesser idol (CN, great old one) who instructs their followers to incite chaos in the world so that they may reunite their many minds deep within Exandria and who teaches their followers that "chaos brings clarity and destruction brings rebirth."

and some etymology:

Vordo is an obsolete plural conjugation of the Swedish varda, "to become." It could also be related to the Catalan bordar, "to incite."

Ethedok is more obscure and I can't really find anything on it.

Predathos is probably derived from predation and variants. Given this, I think it's fair to assume that no one knows what Predathos' name actually is, only that the gods called it what it was: a predator.

[topazadine]

One day, perhaps while reading 9 Years Yearning, you may ask yourself ....

Who the Hell Is Cerie Korviridi and Why Am I Slowly Falling in Love with Her??

It's a good question, and one that suggests you have poor taste in women. Regardless, I'll give you a quick brief of who this awful chaos gremlin is.

Cerie Korviridi is a Bremish High Poet, meaning that she can use poetry to enact physical change in the world. For example, she might drop a coconut tree on someone because said person has trapped her good friend on a desert island to be eaten by dogs. Or maybe she'll just light something on fire, who knows.

A quick rule of thumb, though, is that if Cerie starts reciting High Poetry, something horrible is probably about to happen.

She is an Inculcated Poet, rather than one naturally blessed with the power (a Bestowed Poet). Cerie started studying High Poetry at age 8, after her parents were killed in a raid on the family farm. At age 21, she had her fingernails pulled out and the nail beds emblazoned with magical sigils to demonstrate her devotion to the goddess Poesy.

One can imagine that a woman who willingly lets someone torture her is ... a bit strange. She's intense, snarky, but also emotionally closed off. If you didn't know her well, you'd imagine her an absolute ice queen, and she is - but for a good reason.

This poor lass often feels like the entire world is on her bony little shoulders and frankly, she hates it. She'd much rather live a normal, chill life with her brother Uileac and brother-in-law Orrinir, where her most pressing issue is that Orrinir yelled at her for yet again putting a teacup on the end table without a coaster. And worrying about Uileac and Orrinir dying in battle. Pretty normal stuff for a woman whose country has been in conflict for centuries with a more technologically advanced country.

But alas, she chose this life for herself by agreeing to enter the High Poet Society training program when she suddenly found herself orphaned as a child. Damnit, girl, you should have had some foresight as an 8 year old.

Unlike most High Poets, Cerie does not live at her local meronym (essentially a monastery) in Goldnin, a suburb of Breme's capital. Instead, she lives at home with Uileac and Orrinir, who are both soldiers in the Bremish Army.

Well, she used to live there. Then some stuff happened. She met a horrible woman named Haniya and fell in love with her. The world was rearranged. She got some fancy titles. Attempted coups fucked her life up. Kingdoms were destroyed. That's for later, though.

Cerie is like a more irritable form of Bilbo, really. Of course she wants to help her country win the eternal war, but she wants to do that in a less ... active way. You know, enchanting weaponry with High Poetry so it never misses its mark? That kind of hands-off stuff.

So you're probably wondering now ....

Cerie sounds awful. Why would I fall in love with her?

The same reason Haniya did, really.

Cerie doesn't pretend to be anything she's not. She doesn't care about power, doesn't care about status, doesn't care about anything but the people she loves and the country she fights for. Uileac and Orrinir (and later Haniya) are her entire world; she'd destroy whole continents if they needed her help.

This girl is the kind of woman who would talk back to royalty because she has absolutely no interest in unwarranted authority. You have to earn her respect through action, not titles. But once you do earn her respect and love, she'll do damn near anything for you, even at personal cost.

Another reason that Cerie is lovable is because she's very pragmatic. She's the kind of woman you want around in an emergency situation because, as a High Poet, she is used to thinking of creative solutions for problems. That's her entire job: coming up with poetry that specifically matches a certain circumstance, because High Poetry can only be used once.

She has trained for years to draw from generations of canon and adapt it for a given situation, sometimes with just a few minutes to figure it out. While she's not a soldier and couldn't fight to save her life (nor is she very comfy having swords aimed at her), she is still an excellent resources during times of stress.

After a disaster, Cerie immediately gets to the basics: triage people, stabilize structures, get food and water. She does what needs to be done, no matter what it is, and leaves the breakdowns for later. This can be annoying sometimes, especially when other people are freaking out and she tells them to shut up and get to work, but it's also an invaluable asset.

That practicality is such a strength; she's not going to rush into danger right away or make the most catastrophic decisions under pressure, though sometimes her temper gets in the way and she pops off a vicious comment. Instead of flailing around, she thinks, considers, plans, and executes with ruthless efficiency.

In stories including her, you can expect that there will be no idiot plots, even if the idiot plot would be more dramatic and interesting. You will not be rolling her eyes and groaning about her bad decisions, which is something I personally hate in books. Of course, this doesn't always mean she makes the right choice, but her decisions are logical and, for the most part, well thought-out.

With so many terrible situations, sometimes the most practical option is best, even if it results in tragedy. You can rely on Cerie to make those choices, no matter the cost to herself. She justifies the sacrifice by knowing that she is part of a larger whole that will live on after she is gone. Her faith and loyalty make it possible for her to find peace even when it's painful and she feels she can't go on.

So, why should you love her? Because she tries her best.

[kingofthewebxxx]

"You are far more than just an inquisitor. The name alone in saying its wretched word has made me ill..you are a damned sith. Weather the fool who looks down on you believes it or not."

(Inquisitor boi!)

“My my I didn’t expect you to become so upset about the idea so quickly my dear! Yet you do seem so much more sentimental than I am. That may be so but ever since the rule of two was introduced we cannot be with, to even be considered so would cause so much chaos, can you imagine the Emperor and Lord Vader rearranging the structure of the Empire to fit all of us in, wouldn't happen, my dear, if you would like to tell them that they have it all wrong then be my guest, just be sure to leave my name out of it, I have been thinking you know, perhaps I should come back in time with you, I promise I would make it interesting.” To hear so much vigour in another was truly refreshing for the inquisitor

[kxllerblond]

NPC: An'll Yu-Sholei "Anne"

Considering Lovecraft is a bastard, I've mostly just taken vague concept inspiration as well as some from Supernatural's (TV show) concept of Purgatory and the creatures trapped there.

Anne (pronounced like Ann, not Annie) lies somewhere between Lovecraft's Outer God and Great Old Ones. I have her officially titled simply as "a creature of Purgatory". If I had to give her some sort of title, she'd likely just be called The Clean God or The Great Organizer or something like that.

I've not mapped out how she's awake and don't really plan to and as far as her being here on the human plane...she wanted to be and willed it so.

Anne currently resides as a human-presenting lawyer that seemingly came out of nowhere and began to quickly dominate the scene thanks to her incredible efficiency, steadfast determination, and a near inhuman ability to pick out patterns and arrange them and spin them into winning arguments for cases where rooms of lawyers could not.

On the side, she does the same thing but for the supernatural world. She renegotiates bad demon or otherwise deals mostly but she'll represent just about anything and fix any sort of dispute.

In terms of how she and Clark interact, she's his main lawyer. In really tough situations, she'll represent him personally but for the most part any legal situations he gets into are delegated to her team of handpicked lawyers. To her, he's a neat little thing (she feels about him what one might feel about an interesting polished rock) and she appreciates his own commitment to tidiness.

Misc. tidbits:

-— Her body is of her own creation. I like to think the only reason she can keep her unfathomable form contained is because she is so strict and neat and, well, the Clean God.

-—I can't exaggerate enough how big of a deal is she is in the world of law. She is the top of the top and all of that equates to more or less organizing colored candies to her. One would think she'd get bored but she's found it quite peaceful.

-— If left to her own devices in Purgatory, I have no doubt she would have somehow organized it in some capacity.

-— Where many of her 'siblings' are meant to destroy and bring about chaos, her motives seem to be to organize and rearrange. For better or worse, she seems to be the sort that will pick up the broken pieces once the other awaken.

-— Like any super powerful being, she's not really Good or Bad. She is more or less docile but her need and tendency to organize to her stupid god-like standards is probably going to result in like...a destruction of free will. Like, yeah, maybe she'll fix the toys her siblings are going to break but it's still not going to be an ideal outcome for the human world. Currently, she's kind of taking a break. This whole lawyer thing and playing human is like, I dunno, the unfathomable god equivalent of zoning out and doing Sudoku over coffee.

-— She doesn't like her 'siblings'. None of them. While I wouldn't say she's hostile, she will not interact with them willingly. She might give information on them, but if asked to interfere in any capacity that involves one of them....nah. She's going to tell you to handle it yourself or too bad so sad.

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒕. 36

change however necessary.

“The All is alive.”

“Man is a piece of the universe made alive.”

“There’s only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that’s your own self.”

“The ultimate stuff of the universe is mind stuff.”

“The universe displays no proof of an all-directing mind.”

“There is nothing uncultivated, nothing sterile, nothing dead in the universe; there is no chaos, no confusion except in appearance.”

“Considered in its concrete reality, the stuff of the universe cannot divide itself but, as a kind of gigantic atom, it forms in its totality the only real indivisible.”

“The universe is so vast in relation to the matter it contains that it can be compared with a building twenty miles long, twenty miles wide, and twenty miles high that contains a single grain of sand.”

“The universe ought to be presumed too vast to have any character.”

“It’s embarrassing that 90 percent of the Universe is unaccounted for.”

“The universe: a device contrived for the perpetual astonishment of astronomers.”

“All places are alike in the universe.”

“We do not really ‘come into’ the world; we come out of it, as leaves from a tree.  As the ocean ‘waves,’ the universe ‘peoples.’”

“That the universe was formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms, I will no more believe than that the accidental jumbling of the alphabet would fall into a most ingenious treatise of philosophy.”

“I do not pretend to understand the universe.  It is a great deal bigger than I am.”

“The only carrots that interest me are the number you get in a diamond.”

“A cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out as good for nothing.”

“On the subject of spinach: divide into little piles.  Rearrange again into new piles.  After five or six maneuvers, sit back and say you are full.”

“Lettuce is divine, although I’m not sure it’s really a food.”

“I have no truck with lettuce, cabbage, and similar chlorophyll.  Any dietitian will tell you that a running foot of apple strudel contains four times the vitamins of a bushel of beans.”

“An onion can make people cry, but there has never been a vegetable invented to make them laugh.”

“A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins.”

“If there is one vegetable which is God-given, it is the haricot bean.”

“I confess that nothing frightens me more than the appearance of mushrooms on the table, especially in a small provincial town.”

“A mind of the caliber of mine cannot derive its nutriment from cows.”

“I won’t eat anything that has intelligent life, but I’d gladly eat a network executive or a politician.”

“A vegetarian is a person who won’t eat anything that can have children.”

“You put a baby in a crib with an apple and a rabbit.  If it eats the rabbit and plays with the apple, I’ll buy you a new car.”

“Caesar’s armies marched on vegetarian foods.”

“I was a vegetarian until I started leaning toward the sunlight.”

“I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian because I hate plants.”

“Vegetarians have wicked, shifty eyes, and laugh in a cold calculating manner. They pinch little children, steal stamps, drink water, favor beards.”

“If we aren’t supposed to eat animals, then why are they made out of meat?”

“I’m a student of violence because I’m a student of the human heart.”

“Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor; and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and their freedoms.”

“Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life.”

“Always do right.  That will gratify some of the people and astonish the rest.”

“He that does good for good’s sake seeks neither paradise nor reward, but he is sure of both in the end.”

“Virtue has its own reward, but no box-office.”

“Search others for their virtue, but yourself for your vices.”

“I have found that the best way to get another to acquire a virtue, is to impute it to him.”

“A healthy appetite for righteousness, kept in due control by good manners, is an excellent thing; but to ‘hunger and thirst’ after it is often merely a symptom of spiritual diabetes.”

“Nothing is more unpleasant than a virtuous person with a mean mind.”

“He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.”

“To be able under all circumstances to practice five things constitutes perfect virtue; these five things are gravity, generosity of soul, sincerity, earnestness, and kindness.”

“War is God’s way of teaching Americans geography.”

“No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country.  He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his.”

“War is cruelty.  There’s no use trying to reform it.  The crueller it is the sooner it will be over.”

“To a surprising extent the warlords in shining armor, the apostles of martial virtues, tend not to die fighting when the time comes. History is full of ignominious getaways by the great and famous.”

“One of the main reasons that it is so easy to march men off to war is that each of them feels sorry for the man next to him who will die.”

“I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they’d never expect it.”

“War is not nice.”

“Dulce bellum inexpertis.  War is delightful to those who have no experience of it.”

“There are only three principles of warfare: audacity, audacity, and AUDACITY.”

“One who conquers himself is greater than another who conquers a thousand times a thousand on the battlefield.”

“The world began with war and will end with war.”

“The condition of man is a condition of war of everyone against everyone.”

“There has never been a kingdom given to so many civil wars as the Kingdom of God.”

“The Lord is a man of war.”

“It takes fifteen thousand casualties to train a major-general.”

“Battles are sometimes won by generals; wars are nearly always won by sergeants and privates.”

“My dear, the noise!  And the people!”

“There will never be a nuclear war; there’s too much real estate involved.”

“As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination.  When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular.”

“To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.”

“Being in the army is like being in the Boy Scouts, except that the Boy Scouts have adult supervision.”

“I don’t know what weapons World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones.”

“Water is H2O, hydrogen two parts, oxygen one, but there is a third thing that makes it water and nobody knows what that is.”

“Thousands have lived without love, not one without water.”

“Water is the only drink for a wise man.”

“Ever wonder about those people who spend $2 apiece on those little bottles of Evian water?  Try spelling Evian backward.”

“You know when you put a stick in the water and it looks like it’s bent but really isn’t?  That’s why I don’t take baths.”

“Expect poison from the standing water.”

“I bought some powdered water but I don’t know what to add.”

“Wealth is like seawater; the more we drink, the thirstier we become.”

“There is no wealth but life.”

“It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating.”

“Who is rich?  He that is content.  Who is that?  Nobody.”

“No one can earn a million dollars honestly.”

“It isn’t necessary to be rich and famous to be happy.  It’s only necessary to be rich.”

“I will tell you the secret to getting rich on Wall Street.  You try to be greedy when others are fearful.  And you try to be fearful when others are greedy.”

“It’s years since I gave a mink coat to anyone except a member of my own family.”

“To suppose, as we all suppose, that we could be rich and not behave as the rich behave, is like supposing that we could drink all day and keep absolutely sober.”

“At the back of every great fortune lies a great crime.”

“Never esteem men on account of their riches or their station.  Respect goodness, find it where you may.”

“Riches appear to me not at all necessary; but competence, I think is.”

“One can see the respect God has for riches by the people he gives them to.”

[ofdragonsdeep]

The Weight of Eternity

For those we can yet save.

When presented with the imminent destruction of the crystal which contains Hephaistos's essence, Ar'telan makes a choice.

(Part 1: Quiet Desecration)

Ar’telan had made the journey to Elpis many times, and each time it felt stranger to return to the present than the last. He took the briefest of moments in the Ocular, then dove back into the Rift to return to the Source, and wondered that it did not feel better to ruminate on it.

The gloom was thick in the air in Mor Dhona, as it so often was. Ar’telan walked the stone and gravel up to what was left of the paths from the first Revenant’s Toll, nodding in greeting to Deryk, idling under the trees, as they passed. Ar’telan had grown skilled in hiding his discomfort over the long years as Warrior of Light, and that was perhaps the only reason Deryk did not notice the cloud that followed in his wake.

He had promised those close to him that he would stop hiding it, though, and that was why he approached the Rising Stones with trepidation building in his chest. It was not the hurried rush to Sharlayan that he had felt obliged to do when the worst had passed, but it was the first time he was bringing this news back to anyone who was not a researcher in Labyrinthos.

He was afraid of it.

---

The Rising Stones was more empty than it had once been, but it was far from a graveyard even now. In one corner, Tataru was stitching with a hum on her lips, and in another, Mitron had submerged himself in an aquarium to rearrange the decor. As Ar’telan arrived, the door to the Solar closed with a quiet click of the latch, and Elidibus smiled at him.

“I sensed your return,” he said, walking across the room. Tataru offered a wave of greeting, but her focus - and Mitron’s, for that matter - were on their respective tasks. “You were gone for some time. Is all well?” Ar’telan’s grimace told Elidibus all he needed to know, and with a sigh he directed the pair of them to one of the empty tables nestled in one corner, an illusion of privacy provided by the wooden dividers. Elidibus watched as Ar’telan sat, suffused with indecision, carbuncle butting its head against his leg, and then sighed.

“I did not expect good news when you spoke of Pandæmonium, Ar’telan. But you must tell me. I do not remember.” Ar’telan closed his eyes and attempted to calm his nerves. He had told Elidibus everything with no trouble of the first time he had delved into Pandæmonium, for though the events had been dire, they had not been so difficult to deal with as this.

He picked up his hands.

“Lahabrea,” he said, and Elidibus inclined his head.

“It seemed inevitable that he would arrive eventually. He never did trust important tasks to me entirely,” he responded. “Not that he did not trust me, of course, but…”

“Worried for you.”

Elidibus blinked in surprise at the statement, then sighed.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. A haze of darkness lies over it, and if I think overlong on the weight I begin to miss it,” he responded. “But you must have anticipated this yourself.” Ar’telan nodded, unease still in his chest.

“Yes. I told Erichthonios…” The name meant nothing to Elidibus now - he acknowledged its familiarity, and had listened to Ar’telan’s talks of the way Themis had treated him with undisguised interest, but it had not survived to the present day. In a way, Ar’telan thought it kinder. “We thought perhaps, that he-”

“Responsible? No, not Lahabrea,” Elidibus said, before he could even finish. “I know you do not well like him, and I cannot dispute your reasons, but the chaos you have described? The senseless death, the loss of work? He would never do such a thing.” Ar’telan stared down at his hands.

“Themis said the same.”

“Yes, I imagine that I would. It seems my lot in life to come to his defence.” 

“He was right. But so were we.” Elidibus frowned at that. “Lahabrea, I… I had expected to find him. Knew it was coming. He was…” Ar’telan paused, considering his words carefully. “Different.”

“As was I,” Elidibus said, and Ar’telan flinched at the reminder.

“Yes. But… not like this.” He made a frustrated noise, although no sound left his throat despite it. “He was… kind is not the word. Respectful.” The frown had not disappeared from Elidibus’s face, but he nodded slowly nonetheless. “He said… I was interesting. I represented… something strange. But I did not give him the truth, and… he did not demand it. Erichthonios made to vouch for me, but he did not need to.”

“Of course not. You are a fragment of Azem,” Elidibus said. “That much is clear to all who meet you. Before Zodiark, this would have meant a great deal to Lahabrea.” He drummed his fingers on the table, a thoughtful noise on his lips. “He was ever a driven, dedicated man. But-”

“Do you remember Athena?” Ar’telan asked. Elidibus paused. The frown on his face became, for a moment, a look of abject horror.

“...Athena,” he repeated. There was a disdain laced into every syllable that Ar’telan had never heard from Themis, even in the depths of Abyssos. “A little. I know that she hurt him. Lahabrea.” Ar’telan stared back down at the table. “The specifics escape me, I fear, but it must have been a grievous wound, for the name to feel so reviled in my mouth.”

“He broke himself,” Ar’telan said. “Lahabrea. To escape her.” Elidibus’s frown deepened.

“Thorns about the soul…” he murmured. “Tell me all that you know. I would hear it from you rather than the past.” Ar’telan considered his words. The name still made him flinch, even after all this time. The damage that Lahabrea had done to him - it seemed so little, against the weight of the years that followed it, but it still gripped him like a vice at the sound of the name. But even in the height of his Tempered insanity, Lahabrea had never been like Athena.

“She sought immortality,” Ar’telan said. “Meant to use Erichthonios for it. Manipulated Lahabrea. He loved her.”  The memory of the smile on her face, the certainty of her voice, made his stomach turn. “Offered him the truth. He took it.”

“No love to be found,” Elidibus said, his voice quiet. Ar’telan nodded.

“They joined their souls. She used it… She…”  He hated how it made it all make sense. Lahabrea in Thancred’s skin, whispering ‘do you love me?’ into his ears. The air of desperation. The long years of loss, his finer points drowned in Zodiark’s will, seeping into the cracks and pushing them open wide.

Elidibus touched his fingers to Ar’telan’s trembling hands, jolting him back to the present. There was a kind smile on his face, even as worry reflected in his pale eyes. Ar’telan took a breath. 

“He cut her out of himself. Sealed it away. He… She planned for it. He came back. Hephaistos. But…

“But?” Elidibus echoed, surprised by the word. “You found this twisted mirror in Pandæmonium, bound to her will, and put it to the sword, surely.”

“Him,” Ar’telan corrected, and in a moment confusion changed to understanding. “Hephaistos, he… he was trapped. Twisted out of shape. It reminded me of- of Tempering.” Elidibus frowned.

“There are similarities, yes, but the source is different,” he responded. “Rather than a… stillness of the soul, this is the opposite. A direct infiltrator, enacting constant change.”

“But with our knowledge, we-”

“Did you not destroy him?” Elidibus asked, and Ar’telan flinched and tried not to think of Agdistis.

“No. When I freed Erichthonios from his clutches, he and Lahabrea sealed him away. Lahabrea has kept the crystal, but…”

From the bag at his side, Elidibus took a pale blue crystal, placing it on the table between them. The constellation on it glimmered in the candlelight.

“His grip upon such things faltered as the years progressed, but Lahabrea believed in logic,” Elidibus said. “As with all things, Zodiark twisted the meaning, but the core remained. The true course. The optimal course. So long as Hephaistos persists, Athena does, in some small manner. The horrors you have clearly witnessed are proof of that. He will… he did… he must have destroyed it.”

“Him,” Ar’telan said again, and Elidibus sighed.

“I understand your reticence,” he said. “It is akin to your own state, in a way. A fragment of a soul, persisting but for tenacious determination, considered naught but a passing concern to those dealing with it. But Lahabrea would not have torn himself in half lightly.” He frowned. “The idea of melding souls was considered… The specifics escape me, but I remember it being frowned upon. Unwise. Taboo, perhaps?” He shrugged. “The soul was a sacrosanct thing. That was why Hydaelyn’s actions hurt so deeply, on top of all we lost.” 

“But he is still a person. Isn’ t he?” Ar’telan asked. Elidibus had his eyes on the crystal, rather than Ar’telan’s words, but he caught the gist nonetheless.

“He is. But he is an amalgam,” he replied.

“But we could fix that.”

Elidibus picked up the crystal, holding it up and considering it. The reflections in his eyes almost made them shine like Themis’s did, just for a second.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But it is not me that you want for such an undertaking. Nor even to ask the question. Mitron!” Their companion, who had likely not heard a single word of their conversation while absorbed in building his aquarium, surfaced from the water.

“Yes, boss?” he asked. Elidibus made a weary noise.

“I told you not to call me that. Ar’telan has a conundrum for you.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Mitron replied, hopping out of the aquarium as Elidibus shook his head in despair. “What’s the problem?” Ar’telan regarded the slowly growing puddle at Mitron’s feet with trepidation.

“It is… A soul problem. Could you reverse a merge gone wrong?”

The change in Mitron was immediate, and a little disconcerting. His face went from jovial, to deep and sincere thought, and Elidibus waved a hand to evict the worst of the water as he sat down at the table. Mitron was so happy to throw himself into his new life of fishing and aquarium arranging that it was easy to forget that, in another life, he had been a scholar. 

“So the answer depends on how you define wrong,” Mitron said. He glanced at Elidibus, who still held Lahabrea’s crystal in one hand, and did not comment on it. “You don’t just… meld with someone without purpose. Without reason. It’s difficult to convince anyone to do it unwillingly.” 

“But Gaia?” Ar’telan said, and Mitron grimaced.

“The girl wasn’t willing of her own volition, but my magic had done enough of a number on her fragile mind that it was easier to call to Loghrif,” he replied. “That’s why when you returned her to her senses she had the strength to sever it of her own accord.” He sighed. “So, you can break it two ways. You can employ strategically placed violence, or someone can withdraw.”

“And what if neither works?” Ar’telan asked. “What if one half left, but intentionally…” 

Mitron frowned. He traced lines upon the tabletop, which began to glow faintly in blue and red. Two souls, or a metaphor for them.

“To do such a thing to someone who willingly bared their essence to you would be malicious in the extreme. A hideous betrayal of trust,” he said. The two lines merged to purple, then drew apart, each coloured a little with the other’s shade.

“No. Only one.”

Mitron’s frown deepened. A gesture left the red line unmolested, but peppered the blue.

“It isn’t impossible,” he said. “I’d need more details. Who, where, what, why. The soul was never my area of expertise. I just know how to do it. How to break it. How it feels.” He glanced to Elidibus again, and received a placid look in response. “I can tell you the core of what we’ll need. Something to contain what we… remove, definitely, if the original donor isn’t there to receive it.”

“They are not.” Mitron raised an eyebrow at that.

“You’ll have to tell me eventually, if you actually want me to do this,” he said. “Anyway. I’m going to need help. Lots of it. Your smart friends in Sharlayan, if I can swing it. Maybe the Thavnairian alchemists, they always knew a lot more than they should have about this sort of thing. You’re not off the hook either, boss.”

“I doubt that I will be of much use, but I shall endeavour to provide,” Elidibus allowed, inclining his head. “Ar’telan, the details, if you would.” Ar’telan fought back the grimace.

---

To his credit, Mitron waited until the end before he began his litany of issues.

“So, first point. Lahabrea - the old one, the grumpy one, the one twelve thousand years in the past - he has this crystal,” he said. Ar’telan nodded. “And you’re… expecting that he will give it up?”

“I can be very persuasive when I need to be,” Ar’telan replied. Mitron ran a hand back through his hair.

“Alright, so we’ll ignore point one, which is where this will be stonewalled, by the way. Point two - you want me to try and extract the remnants of Ethierys’s original recipe mad scientist from the ragged ruins of part of his soul?”

“That was what I was hoping. Yes.”

“And you think that Lahabrea will let you do that?”

“I can be persuasive.”

Mitron shook his head, leaning back in his chair and considering his red and blue lines of aether as if they would offer him a route out of the madness he had been signed up for.

“Alright, so we’ll ignore point two as well. Point three, a very important one, is that this is not just Lahabrea-”

“Hephaistos.”

“Not just Hephaistos and Athena,” Mitron corrected. “It is Hephaistos, Athena, some sort of snake, a really weird dog, a bunch of… creepy eyeballs, some kind of plant, and wherever the hell he got those tentacles from, if your description is accurate, which - given the extremely specific nature of it, I unfortunately must assume that it is.” Ar’telan nodded in confirmation.

“I will show you, if you like,” he offered. He did not have the command of the Echo that had allowed Agdistis and Lahabrea to project the past upon the present, but he trusted Mitron enough to offer him a glimpse into his memories, at least.

“I would really rather not, if that’s all the same to you. Not even a little bit fishy. Never had any taste, Lahabrea,” Mitron complained. “I’m still half convinced it’s his fault Hythlodaeus rejected my really good sharks.”

“It is not Lahabrea’s fault that Hythlodaeus possesses eyes, Mitron,” Elidibus disagreed, the first comment he had made the entire time. Mitron sighed at that.

“Alright. So. I cannot promise you that this is actually possible,” he said, rather than address that complaint. “With the knowledge and experience I have, I strongly believe that it is, but I do not know. So even if you do manage to get this crystal and its highly insane occupant from Lahabrea, and smuggle it through space and time, we might not be able to save him. Are you ok with that?” Ar’telan glanced to Elidibus, and unlike Mitron, got a nod.

“I know the movements for the binding magic that they use in Pandæmonium,” he said. “I don’t have the aether to cast it, but Elidibus does, even now. If it fails at the final hurdle, we can seal him again. And I will… take him back to Lahabrea. It will be kinder than the alternative.” Mitron nodded.

“Alright. Well, if you’re sure, I suppose I will be taking a trip to Sharlayan,” he said. “Tataru! I need you to feed my fish!”

Ar’telan and Elidibus watched as he left, Elidibus turning away first with a sigh on his lips and his eyes closed in quiet despair. Lahabrea’s crystal was returned to the others, back out of sight, and he gave Ar’telan a level look.

“Far be it for me to dissuade you from the course you have chosen,” he said, “but it is a perilous one. For many reasons. For all that Hephaistos has rejected the mask, he is yet Lahabrea in a way. Not the man who hurt you, certainly, but a part of him all the same. Are you certain?”

“I am the only one who can help him,” Ar’telan said. “My feelings, they… it isn’t that they don’t matter. They do. But I would rather wrestle with knowing him alive than knowing I all but sentenced him to death.”

“It is Athena who carries that guilt, not you,” Elidibus disagreed. “Though I know it will not change the feelings in your heart. Very well.” He sighed. “I will confess that my first instinct was to call for Thancred, but I do not know if it will help or hinder. I did not… know enough. Of what happened.” Ar’telan forced himself to sit with the memories conjured up by Elidibus’s words. He would need to, if this worked.

“Even if he is angry, he deserves to know what we are trying to do,” he said eventually. “I don’t… don’t think he will be. Angry. We’ve been through enough to know the difference.” Elidibus nodded slowly, considering that.

“Then I shall ask for him, and explain to him what it is you mean to try,” he said. “In persuading Lahabrea to part from the crystal… I can but wish you luck. To convince him would be difficult enough, to do so without revealing what is to come seems nigh impossible.” He smiled at that. “Still, you are quite fond of the impossible, as I have learned. Go well, Ar’telan.”

“I will be back with news, one way or the other,” he agreed, and steeled himself for what had to be done.

—

Bright sunlight and the sound of singing birds greeted Ar’telan as he materialised in the courtyard of Anagnoresis. Each time he made the journey, Ar’telan was left to wonder if this would be the last time, if the portal would close at his leaving - or worse, spit him out to the devastation of the Final Days, leave him stranded in nightmare made manifest. Each time, he wondered which of the three woes would claim Erichthonios at the last. 

It did not help that he knew the answer for Themis. 

He rode the aether to the aetheryte at Poieten Oikos, then walked to the neus. It was hard to escape the feeling that he should be rushing, and harder still to ignore the horrible, artificial void of a sky above him. The pulsing lights of the weather control towers made him shiver, and Lily sat herself on his shoulder to try and ease the anxious beating of his heart.

Elpis. Azys Lla. Amon had, in that aether-scarred madness, recreated the scenes of his trauma in distressing detail. Ar’telan wondered where Elpis had come to rest, on the Source. If anything was left of the islands that had once cradled hope.

—

When he arrived in Pandæmonium, he was struck by how quiet it was. Not the pressing quiet of their time struggling to regain control of the wards, but a calm, broken only by the faint sound of clanking chains - the wards working as they should, as Ar’telan understood it. It was perhaps the closest he would ever come to seeing Pandæmonium as it was supposed to be.

Themis saw him first, his face lighting up in a smile as Ar’telan approached the doors to Asphodelos proper. He did not wear that heavy strain on his face that had come from fighting with the wards, and Ar’telan hated that he had grown so used to the weariness on Elidibus that he had not even noticed before all was said and done.

“Ar’telan! I will confess when you arrived I had to be sure we were not beset with issues,” he teased, and Ar’telan sighed.

“Perhaps I am the issues this time,” he replied, a faint smile on his face. Themis raised a curious eyebrow at that, and Ar’telan grimaced at the scrutiny. “I need to… to talk to Lahabrea.”

“Is that so?” Themis replied. “How strange. I had thought you glad to put malms between the two of you, whatsoever your reasons may be.” Ar’telan wished that he could argue with that. Wished that it had been easier to accept Themis’s opinion of Lahabrea, before the man had walked into Pandæmonium himself.

“It’s… complicated,” Ar’telan said. Themis gave him a searching look. Even after so long spent helping them reclaim Pandæmonium, he was still not quite used to how bright and blue they were. 

“I shall accompany you, then,” Themis decided. “Lahabrea is working with Erichthonios to aid the Warders. We have made some small strides with freeing their minds from the magic which controlled them, I am pleased to report.” Ar’telan smiled at that.

“Good. I would… rather talk in private,” he said. Themis nodded.

“Take yourself to the Keyward’s office here in Asphodelos. I shall bring them to you,” he promised.

—

The Keyward’s office lay empty in Asphodelos, though not, like Tartaros, for want of its occupant. Ar’telan was still unsure if what they had done for Hesperos truly counted as saving him, still tied to the aether-thirst of the Vrykolakas as he was, but it had been something. And, like Hegemone, in time it would be more. He tried not to think that he had helped to save them only to have them witness the end.

For those we can yet save. Half of the mantra which had powered his steps across a desperate realm, but Elidibus had told him that he should not, could not save those here. This now was sacrosanct, necessary as it was for their present to exist at all. And yet, when Ar’telan had spoken of Hesperos, Elidibus had remembered death. Ar’telan had seen it, in the Echo, a sword driven through the heart. Was this the same? If Elidibus reached to the stones at his side and the memories within, though he had sworn not to take his own, what would he see of Hephaistos? Would it matter? If time had seen him destroyed at Lahabrea’s hands, what difference did it make if Ar’telan instead took him from history instead?

Dangerous questions to ask. But he had to know the answer.

“Ar’telan!” Erichthonios’s excited voice startled him from his thoughts. The Warder, normally far more surly than Themis, all but sprinted across the office floor to pull a surprised Ar’telan into a hug. “I have news! Quite a lot of it, in fact. We-”

“I see your public decorum still leaves much to be desired,” Lahabrea cut in. It was not chiding, not quite, but Erichthonios rolled his eyes regardless and stepped back.

“As I was saying. We think we’ve found a way to undo the transformation,” Erichthonios said, brushing the creases from his robe and rearranging the crystals on his belt. “Well. Themis, mostly, I’ll admit.”

“Please, I cannot take all the credit,” Themis disagreed, closing the door behind him as he entered. “And that is not what Ar’telan is here to learn, I believe.” Ar’telan made an uncertain noise at that.

“I am interested,” he disagreed. “Perhaps after?” He could feel Lahabrea’s eyes on him as he signed. While most of those he spoke to in Eorzea knew the basics of his signing by now, there had been no way that the Ancients would, and so the Echo had translated his words as it always did. Ar’telan did not like that so many people found it ‘intriguing’.

“Elidibus said you wished to speak to me,” Lahabrea said, his voice level. Between them, Erichthonios whispered the word ‘Themis’ with an irritable look on his face, then retreated to join his friend.

“Yes. It’s…” Ar’telan had promised persuasiveness, but in truth he had no idea how to approach this particular issue. “About Hephaistos.” He saw Lahabrea stiffen, as if on reflex. Saw the pain in the lines on his face. Remembered the echo of it, on Thancred, and tried not to shudder.

“He is dealt with,” Lahabrea said, his tone clipped. “I have not destroyed the crystal as of yet, as we have more pressing concerns, but he will provide no more trouble.” Ar’telan swallowed down his nerves.

“I know,” he said. “I want… I want to take the crystal.” There was a moment, brief though it was, of stunned silence. “I think that I can help him,” he added, seeing all three of his hosts open their mouths at once to reply.

“That’s… bold,” Erichthonios managed. Themis relented from his comments in the face of Ar’telan’s addition, but his eyes were on Lahabrea.

“That is hubris,” Lahabrea said. “If there was aught to be done for him, I would have found it by now. There is none.” Ar’telan shook his head.

“None with the knowledge that you have, but you are not the only one who knows of the soul,” Ar’telan replied. “Corruption like his… I’ve seen it before.”

“Tempering,” Erichthonios said. Lahabrea glanced to him, a frown on his face. “That’s what Ar’telan said about Keyward Hesperos. It was Tempering.”

“A malady of the mind and soul,” Themis said then, his voice quiet. “The very aether stilled and twisted to suit a specific design. All that did not aid it stripped clean, and that which did brought to bitter prominence.” He hummed thoughtfully. “It was not entirely accurate, where the Keyward was concerned, but it was enough to allow us to forestall his desire to impede our progress by means of his demise. Ar’telan is not entirely uneducated.” Lahabrea made a surprised noise at that.

“It was your knowledge?” he repeated, and Ar’telan wilted under his keen gaze. 

“It is… an affliction of my people,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Our aether is weaker than your own. More susceptible to such things. For a long time we, too, thought it incurable. But not so any longer.” He shook his head. “I know that it’s not the same for Hephaistos. I spoke to… some friends. They said his condition was more like… constant change, rather than a stilling of the soul. But we can do it. We can get her out.” He saw Lahabrea hesitate. It was a strange thing to witness on him, even if Ar’telan had never seen the true Lahabrea, with his suits of borrowed skin. He had pushed, always. He had never held back.

“If this is true,” Lahabrea said, his voice quiet, “then how have we not found it?”

“Have you looked?” Ar’telan replied. “You have. Alone. But has anyone else?” Lahabrea was silent at the challenge, a frown settling into the lines on his face. “You told no-one of what she had done. The idea of melding souls is one not spoken of in polite society. You are a master creator, yes, but you are not a master of the soul.”

“And you claim that you are?” Lahabrea countered. Ar’telan shook his head.

“Not I. But I have very smart friends.” If he could have but invoked Emet-Selch’s name, perhaps the statement would have held more weight. Mitron, Elidibus, Emet-Selch, with their weight of knowledge. Y’shtola, Alisaie and Alphinaud, Nidhana and her alchemists, with the things the tragedies of the Source had forced them to become achingly familiar with. 

And he himself. Warrior of Light, beacon of hope. Even down here, where Lahabrea had locked his darkest, most shameful secret, he had shone the light.

“I don’t think he’s lying, Lahabrea,” Erichthonios said, and Lahabrea sighed.

“The risks are… too many to count,” he said. “If there is even the smallest chance that you fail, that Hephaistos is free once more to do her bidding… I cannot allow it. I will not allow it.”

“I know someone who could bind him,” Ar’telan replied. Themis made a thoughtful noise at that.

“The interment spells, even those used by the Keywards, are not beyond anyone who knows them well, given the right amount of aether. This we proved with Erichthonios,” he said. “Certainly I would offer to accompany him myself if I could, but I cannot imagine why he would lie about being able to chain Hephaistos anew. He did not precisely enjoy their first encounter.” Ar’telan flinched at the memory despite himself. Lahabrea noted that, but did not say anything. His silence lasted long enough for the room to grow uncomfortable under the weight of it before he spoke again.

“...Even if all of this is true,” he began, folding his arms. “If you have the means to… save him where we do not. If you have friends at your disposal who can enact it. If you have the means to rebind him if it goes awry. Even if this is true - why would you offer it?” Ar’telan blinked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he replied. Lahabrea sighed.

“I am not a fool,” he said. “I have seen how you look at me. Some part of you despises me, and some other part fears me. When you confronted Hephaistos I was more concerned for your mental well-being than your physical.” The idea that Lahabrea had been concerned at all was still strange to Ar’telan, though he did not voice the thought. “You share an aetheric signature with Azem, even if you are clearly no familiar. You…” Again he hesitated. Again Ar’telan wished he could be honest. “You are more akin to what Hephaistos is than any familiar might be. A fragment, torn from a larger whole. I know, to the best of my knowledge, that Azem has never had need to do anything like what I deemed fit to do. But I wonder if that does not influence your opinion of Hephaistos.”

“Even if it does, I’m still a person, aren’t I?” Ar’telan replied. “I’m no aetheric construct. I think. I feel. I care. Does it matter that I am a fragment? Does it matter that he is?”

“So in spite of this - in spite of your fear and your hatred, in spite of your weak aether, in spite of the very rules of nature as we understand them… you would save him?” Lahabrea said.

“In spite of Athena, I would,” Ar’telan replied, and Lahabrea - laughed.

It was not the manic cackle of who Lahabrea would become. Not the desperate exultation of a broken man. He seemed amused. Reserved, as he always was in this now, but amused. Not mocking.

“Are you ok?” Erichthonios asked, looking extremely alarmed by this state of events. “You shouldn’t dismiss him. He-”

“Peace, Erichthonios. I know he believes what he says,” Lahabrea responded. “You are a curious man, Ar’telan.” Red eyes regarded him, the curiosity benign and unfamiliar. “When first we met, I was struck by how… different you are, to Azem. How you spoke only in defence. How you shied away. But you are more similar than I had imagined.”

“Compassion is a fine trait to share,” Themis said, the smile easy on his face. Lahabrea sighed.

“...Despite my better judgement, I will acquiesce to your request,” he said. “On the condition that should you fail, you will return the crystal to me. I trust you to do all in your power to aid him, but I do not trust you to destroy him, should it come to that.” Ar’telan nodded.

“You have my word,” he promised. “But if I succeed, you will have to trust me. I can’t… I won’t bring him back here.”

“I doubt he will wish to have aught to do with me, even with Athena’s influence purged from his soul,” Lahabrea responded. “It is… difficult to consider, after all this time. That something could be done. That I have failed to find it, and left a piece of myself, however small, to avoidable misery.”

“We cannot hold blame for the past when new knowledge is presented to us,” Themis disagreed. “You did what you could. Given the circumstances, you can be forgiven if it is not perfect.” Erichthonios grimaced at that, but didn’t say anything aloud. Lahabrea simply held out his hand, the red crystal glimmering in his palm. There was a palpable aura of malice about it, one which Ar’telan hoped was only the result of Athena’s inescapable presence. Even if they succeeded, he didn’t know if he would be able to stay around a fragment of Lahabrea for long.

He took the crystal in his hands, and Lahabrea watched him, an unreadable look on his face.

“Be sure that he does not manage to manipulate you ere you entrust him into the care of those who will deal with his… issues,” Lahabrea said. “His magic is a subtle working.”

“We can undo it, if someone gets you back to us, though,” Erichthonios said. Ar’telan knew that would be impossible, but offered a smile nonetheless.

“The thought is appreciated,” he said, after he had secured the crystal in a bag at his side. He could feel the presence within it, festering with hatred, but even if Hephaistos managed to reach beyond the wards that Lahabrea and Erichthonios had fastened around him, he would not be able to pierce the Blessing of Light. He hoped.

“Let me tell you about our work, then,” Erichthonios said, his voice as eager as the look on his face. To finally be able to help those he worked with must have been a great weight from his shoulders, and so Ar’telan listened with eager ears.

Perhaps it would help Hephaistos, too.

[spamsandsuch]

i know i said i wouldnt headcanon more abt mike (and i dont think i will outside of this cuz i think i want to wait and see what toby has in store for ch 3) but tbh i cant rly stop thinking abt this in particular

although implied we know its most likely that tenna will be the tv guy (e.g. various references to the “cathode” crew, tenna possibly being short of “antenna,” the tv imagery, etc.), and is also quite possibly the next major boss of chapter 3 (like Queen and King)

which leaves mike, who spamton has strong feelings for. I’ve been seeing tenna and mike’s relationship being compared to the song “Video Killed the Radio Star,” which is interesting because the initial song was released in 1979 and a cover by Ken Laszlo was relased in 1997 (the latter being an obvious association w/ spamton, though its rly curious how 1979 can easily be rearranged to 1997 in this context). A lot of people have been saying Tenna mightve overshadowed Mike for this reason, though I’m wondering more if this might be more of an allusion to Mike possibly being the next secret boss.

I doubt im the first person to think this, but it would definitely be interesting. So far the two secret bosses have been characters introduced in isolation—separate from the rest. If toby does decide to allude to “Video Killed the Radio Star” having Tenna (a tv, which presents video) overshadow Mike (possibly a reference to a microphone, which can be associated with radio/radio-hosting) to the point of defame and eventually isolation would make Mike an interesting candidate for the next secret boss, as he would fit along with Spamton and Jevil. I feel it would explain Spamton’s association w/ Mike as well, since Spamton references Mike at multiple points including during the NEO fight (similar to Jevil, who’s voicelines slightly allude to Spamton NEO when he says “THE TRUE AND NEO CHAOS.”).