#not character death tho lol

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

I’m choosing to ignore the fact they probably wouldn’t have space heaters…

[lord-squiggletits]

Reread/skimmed my oldest Pharma apologism posts (mainly the ones about Pharma not being a functionist) and it just occurred to me that possibly another reason the fandom saddled Pharma with the "functionist bigot" label is because his introduction by First Aid says that everyone hates Decepticons, but Pharma really really hates Decepticons. Mix that with the portion of the fanbase that lionizes and whitewashes the Decepticons, and I can easily see it entering common fanon that "Pharma hates Decepticons -> the Decepticons are freedom fighters wrongly maligned by the Autobots/the franchise -> Pharma must be a bigoted functionist since he hates Decepticons who represent freedom."

The simpler explanation is just that Pharma is an antagonist and therefore gets the "everything about him must be evil and wrong" black-and-white analysis so common in fandoms in general, but given some of the bizarre Decepticon takes I've seen I can also easily see Pharma's Decepticon hatred being taken as a sign of him being bigoted and evil.

Though AGAIN in this case it would still be singling Pharma out as a bigot for crimes/flaws that multiple other Autobots are guilty of like.

Oh, Pharma hates Decepticons? Well a lot of other Autobots hate Decepticons too, First Aid's narration about Pharma even says "we all hate Decepticons"; for that matter, there are a lot of Decepticons who hate Autobots. It's a massive civil war that's lasted for a lifetime causing two groups of people to be stuck in a near-permanent blood feud, you can't assume that every Autobot who hates Decepticons (and vice versa) hates them because they're a bigot. Maybe there's been a war where both sides have been building an ever-increasing mountain of reasons to hate each other, so hating the opposite faction is a social problem caused by war and politics rather than a sign of individual moral failing.

Pharma worked at the New Institute so that means he must be evil/bigoted? Chromedome and Brainstorm also worked at the New Institute, but there's no widespread fandom shunning of them or headcanoning them as bigots.

Hell, even the very premise of assuming Pharma is a functionist bigot for hating Decepticons is ignoring the very premise of Pharma's motives, which are, uh... being blackmailed by the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division, who represents the ultimate form of Decepticon ideals to the point of literally wearing their symbol as his mask? So how were we jumping straight to "oh Pharma hates Decepticons bc he's a posh bigoted functionist" when there was a far more immediate interpretation/headcanon of "Pharma hates Decepticons because he's being tortured and blackmailed by one."

That's not to say that Pharma couldn't have hated Decepticons before Delphi, and I think you could make interesting headcanons/extrapolations based on either idea. But still. It kinda feels like people saw Pharma and just wanted to make him the Token Evil Autobot who's the opposite of our Good Heroic Autobots regardless of whether evidence from canon supported it or not.

Good riddance to bigoted functionist Pharma fanon, I'm so glad that the majority of Pharma fanon these days actually gives him a chance and puts him on equal footing as other Autobots.

[chimerahyperfix]

This loop has to be the one. Nevermind that you said it last loop, and the one before, and the one before that, and most of the ones before that. THIS was the one you'd stop the King in his tracks. You push a few of your many potions to the side to make room on your desk. None of them worked to stop him, so they were useless. He's still about twelve, fourteen? hours away, so you have enough time to make the bomb, eat and take a fat nap before you go pick a fight. Maybe this time, it'll work! It has to!

You've gotten better at making the Craft Bomb. It hasn't blown up on you before you intended to use it in... a long time. You can make it fast enough, now, for it to still be light outside! You've become silent while you work, which Mirabelle has told you is ''worrying'', but you don't see why it is. Are you really that loud? (Yes. You are.)

It's hard work. Soft light bathes your desk, your work, you. You reach out, past your potions, and grab your water bottle. Take a big swig, and

Hmm. That's not water.

How. HOW do you keep making this mistake. You look at the bottle in your hand, and sure enough, it’s one of the potions; your water bottle is shoved in the back of the collection of other containers. The taste is caustic, your throat begins to burn. You shouldn’t be this calm for having just drank something that’ll kill you in a handful of minutes, but it’s happened before. Despite the pain you don't bother trying anything. Just push the finished bomb to the side and lay your face against the wood of the table. Feel the blood start to pool in your mouth and dribbling out, staining the wood. Mirabelle, or Euphie or whoever comes in next, they can use it this loop. It's not the first time you've drank one of the many, many dangerous potions on your desk, and it's probably not the last. Maybe you'll actually clean the crabbing thing off before you work.

Whatever. You have next time. You have all the time.

Perhaps a bit too much, actually.

[43sol]

i can finally go back into the tiger and bunny tag ヽ(*。>Д<)o゜

[lizardkingeliot]

Okay. Trying this again. Maybe a bit more coherently this time as I try to Gather My Thoughts lol...

Armand painted contacting Lestat for Louis as an act of empathy on the surface when in actuality it feels like an extreme act of cruelty?? He was punishing Louis for daring to try and reach out to Lestat via Daniel. He was punishing Lestat with the knowledge he couldn't get to Louis when he was injured. He was punishing Lestat by refusing to relay his words of love. He was punishing both of them at once by being the only one to know where they both are and refusing to relay that information to the other...

And then he just ends up punishing himself by being reminded how deeply Lestat loves Louis. How wholly and irrevocably he LOVES....

And then he decides to just wipe the whole fucking thing from Louis' brain. Not even allowing him to keep the comfort of knowing Lestat is somewhere out there......

[can-of-slorgs]

The other researchers are also here! (magical edition!)

[cr1ms0nesp3ra-ac3]

Hello CRK fans... I had a bit of a concept of something while we must wait for the next chapter of Beast Yeast(Cacao-Kingdom chapter).

Spoilers warning ahead, and this is also just a concept:

I had a tense feeling that in the next chapter.. Dark Choco will show up in each parts,but I also had a tense feeling that he will die.. by tragically sacrificing himself. Get this and hear me out right now—

Dark Cacao is now wandering alone after his warriors that he loved are gone, officially gone but who knows if they'll either get revived or not when Mystic Flour is defeated.. but we'll see.

Til he had stumble upon...a familiar cookie who is also wandering alone. Which concerns Dark Cacao at first..

A cookie so familiar, that he recognized who this was when it turned around!!

"....Dark...Choco Cookie?"

Yep, he is here. Cacao doesn't know why he is here in such concern that he has to himself.. but he must have thought that his son also wanted to restore peace back from the Plague. But now, the two decided that they will save them together.

Father-bonding time montage yippee!!

But until... Right at the boss chapter.

As they reached to where the final boss shall start, Mystic Flour is ready to finish this. So is them.

But little didn't Cacao know... That he is about to witness a tragic sacrifice that made him shocked.

Cacao is now injured we, but Choco... was injured at first.. until.

A new voice calls him out.

...

Dark Choco Cookie, can you hear me?

I know you and your father wanted to stop this madness.

But I know a way to defeat Mystic Flour Cookie.

You had to use your father's sword.

It's the only way for you to have a strength that you must have... Faith.

Faith is a strong word, don't you think? Dark Choco Cookie.

Faith is what importance is all about, to feel what determination is protect your loved ones.

And Faith is where you will save your kingdom.

Good luck.

And with that, Dark Choco knew what he must do to seek redemption despite never deserving it. He slowly wield his father's sword.. that shocked Cacao to witness what his son is doing.

Anxiety is spreading because Dark Cacao lost his warriors, he knew the only way to revive them is to defeat Mystic Flour but NOT THIS!!! He refused to see his son doing a "cowardly" move.. but he was injured, too injured to stop him and now he is forced to watch.

As Dark Choco wield it, he can feel the Soul Jam's power giving him a power of faith. A power to end it, and the power to end this plague and to end the Beast who caused this terrible spell.

It is Dark Choco Cookie's Power of Faith. (costume concept.)

His own scarred eye was open to be glowed in purple, resembling a power of the Soul Jam and the power of Faith.

Bonus! Costume Bio!!:

Dark Cacao Cookie had really witnessed a tragic sacrifice that his son is about to have... He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this at all right now.

And so... Dark Choco had lunged forward.

— —

Dark Choco Cookie sometimes think that he didn't deserve redemption,when he had mistakes. But now... When he heard what he calls "A Voice of Faith".

Perhaps that this is the only way to seek it when he first wields his father's sword to end Mystic Flour Cookie once and for all.

This is the Power of Faith after all.

[strawberryseeded]

i wish we had gotten more of kugisaki nobara. i just watched dis vid and all my contained RAGE abt dis topic suddenly HIT ME LIKE A TRAIN GOD IM UPSET

ive talked like 32893882 times already (and its still NOT ENOUGH) abt how upset i was abt nobara's death cos she was such a good character, with so much potential!! i really REALLY liked her. she was funny, strong, confident and kind!!!! i loved her char design!! her cursed technique and weapon were cool as hell!!!!!!

and her (recently SOMEWHAT(?) confirmed(?)) death sucked so fucking much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

she was just. fucking fridged. as much as it pains me to admit it. from a narrative standpoint, she died so yuuji would get upset and further develop his character & then move the plot along. even mahito admits that he wants her to die to make yuuji suffer. like yeah he also recognizes her a strong opponent (ofc. cos she is) but at the end of the day he wanted to kill her just to wreck yuuji. and he succeded.

nobara has no say on the way she dies. she's just.. slapped, kinda. its so sudden. its so... weird. not that she's accepting of it (we already know that she knows she can die at any moment and she's ready for it (cos she's a freak like the rest of the sorcerers lol)), but its weird bc its like its not a personal moment for her. yeah we get a flashback & her speech about how, even tho she always was a person who refused to let other people affect the way she is and decides to live, there still are people who, by being accepting of her, managed to gain a place in her heart... and she's happy for that. its rly beautiful.

but its the impact her death has on yuuji what the story really cares about here.

and like. thats fine! im not even saying killing nobara is a bad choice or that its bad if her death also developed yuuji's character. but the way it was done, its like her death only had that purpose. its a way too transparent device, that's what i dislike abt it. i dont mind being upset bc a character i love dies? i like feeling strong emotions when i engage emotionally with art/stories.

but i think she was killed off too soon. we didn't get to properly say goodbye to her. both her character arc and her death were rushed.

she could have been developed so much more! it feels like she was taken away way too soon in the story. i wanted her to fight sukuna along the others. i wanted her to use her cool technique to help yuuji nail sukuna's soul. i wanted to see just how much stronger she could get. i wanted her to finally meet saori. I WANTED HER TO HAVE A COOL EYE PATCH!!!!!!!!!!!

why is she barely mentioned after she dies??? she was one of the 3 main, dude, are u kidding me? yuuji's the only one who mentions her but he's almost afraid of talking about her. its like the whole world forgot about her!!!!! and what about maki?????? werent they girlfriends?

what is nobara's LEGACY? why did gege not make her death matter in the narrative? even if she (for whatever reason) came back(??) at the end, id still be rly mad & sad abt it cos i wanted to see her DO STUFF!! i wanted to see her kick some ass!!!! i wanted to see her grow!!!!! to open up with others!!!!! I WANTED TO SEE MORE OF HER. IM SO UPSET I WANT OUT

[whumble-beeee]

Into the Woods and Out of the Woods

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 9

Content: mentioned past capture, angst, mentioned (potential) character death, child in distress (only for a second there tho)

* * * * * * * *

“In this life, you need to do everything in your power to survive and thrive. Supers aren’t allowed to thrive in this world. We're forced to hide, we're forced to serve, we're taken advantage of. If we don't comply, then we're dangerous, we’re feared, then we're subjugated, imprisoned, or killed. Just look at what they did to me because of my power, weak as it is [...] [They] made an example out of me, knowing I couldn't fight back, and time and time again it has been shown that I am not the only one. The current system needs to be dismantled and started anew. And if– when– ‘The Man’ says no? Then he must be taken down too.”

– Supervillain Aurelias “Elias” Byrne, codename “Alias"

**Note: Danger Level Five: Any sightings of this individual should be reported to the police immediately. DO NOT INTERACT.

* * * * * * * *

[~Not long before Stan McKellen’s recapture (the events of Ch. 1)~]

"My legs hurt!" a high voice groaned from just behind Stan. He sighed deeply and simply continued walking, arms and legs burning for rest from the nonstop exertion.

"Yeah I know, mine too. But we're almost there. And you're not the one with a bad knee, you can make it."

"But you have a magic cane to help you! I just have my stupid normal legs!" Chloe stomped on the ground with each syllable to illustrate her point.

"I'm not using my magic right now, so the cane is just a cane and my leg still hurts just as much as usual,” Stan countered. “More actually. Not to mention my wrist is killing me because I didn't have time to grab my crutch. So that's just gone now, I guess."

"You should use your power to make it easier, like you do when you’re fighting. And use it on me too! Just make my legs walk for me!"

"Not happening, I don’t wanna pass out and die from exhaustion on this hill using my powers because your legs got tired."

"But I'm about to pass out and die on this hill from exhaustion because my legs got tired. You should teach me how to use my powers, then I could just do it myself.”

“Squeaks, I don't know if you noticed, but we're basically being hunted for sport because of those exact powers.”

"Chloe, you wanna ride on my back?" Marcus chimed in, exhausted from listening to his beloved fiancé and said fiancé's equally as beloved younger sister bicker back and forth. Nonstop. For the entire trip.

"Marcus, don't encourage her. We're literally almost there," Stan groaned. He actually had no idea how far they were from the 'campsite'. But Chloe didn't need to know that.

“It's fine Stan, she's tired, she's a kid, we've been walking a long time. I get it.”

“Nuh-uh!” Chloe said in an obnoxiously nasally voice.

“Nuh-uh?” Marcus questioned, at the same time Stan reflexively cracked out a “Yuh-huh!” without even knowing what the hell he was “yuh-huh"-ing.

“Nuh-uh, I'm not a kid!”

“You're thirteen actually, so you're a kid,” Marcus laughed.

“Nuh-uh, nope! Thirteen. ThirTEEN! Teen! Teenager! I'm a teenager! Not a kid!”

“You're not a teenager until you're sixteen, actually,” Stan stated, amused smile pulling lightly at the corners of his mouth.

“Sixteen is basically an adult already, you can't be basically an adult and also barely a teenager, Stan,” Chloe said matter-of-factly.

But at least she wasn't complaining about being tired anymore.

“And I am a teenager, or else why would it be thirTEEN!?”

“Well, only kids get to ride on my back,” Marcus retorted with ridiculously heightened haughtiness, nose raised and all. “So no riding on my back for you then, big teenager.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes at Marcus. “Fine, I didn't want to ride on your back anyw–!”

“AND we're here!” Stan announced cheerfully, cutting them off with a mighty huff.

And all fell silent.

Wind whistled through the branches overhead, swishing through leaves with a gentle rustle as the crunching of dirt underfoot came to a grinding halt. The chirps of birds in the distance became audible in their tentative silence, whistles and cheeps and squawks filling the air with a cheerfully chaotic melody. The smell of wet dirt and decaying leaves wafted through the cool air. 

Chloe, of course, was the first to point out the obvious. “Uh. What do you mean?… There's nothing here…”

“Except for the beautiful sounds and sights of nature!” Marcus proclaimed, spreading his arms out and spinning around as if surrounded by the beautiful rolling hills of Austria instead of… Well, the same trees they’d been passing by unheeded for the last hour.

Stan pointed at a dinky circle of rocks on the ground, a slight char to the earth scorching the center of the ring. “Fire pit. This is it.”

“Oh okay, my bad, I guess,” Chloe sarcastically raised her arms in surrender. “Didn't know that a pile of rocks passes for a campsite now.”

“Well, it's what we've got.” Stan plopped his full-to-bursting backpack into the barely-packed dirt. “Hard to be picky when you're on the run from a buncha psycho government crazies trying to torture us or whatever.”

Chloe raised her brow and tilted her head at her brother, arms crossed in that know-it-all sort of way. “Stan. Just because you got a shattered knee doesn’t mean you need to break my back by making me sleep on the best choice owl bones and sharp rocks.”

“Chloe!” Marcus' voice nearly cracked with how high it went, appalled.

“No, no, it’s fine Marcus, she didn't mean it like that,” Stan said. She was just frustrated. “Look, it’s what we got for now. I’ll try to figure out something better for tomorrow. And hey, at least it's not under a bridge or something.”

“Or some mad scientist's lab,” Marcus pointed out.

Chloe shrugged. “I'm just saying, generally it's good to find a place where you don't have to wonder if someone might’ve been burned at the stake.”

Stan had to admit, he felt that same hopeless pit in his stomach that his sister must've been feeling. This was not how he had been hoping to spend his day. Or week, month, year. In fact, he had been hoping he would never have to flee again. Sadly, sometimes it's just not written in the stars that certain people get their way. Ever, apparently.

“... hey Chlo?” Stan called. “How you holding up?” 

She pelted a rock she'd found somewhere into the endless void of the forest. “I'm fine. Wish we had like…” she gestured around, arms wide before throwing them back down to her sides.  “Walls. Or like a roof, or something.”

Ditto.

“Stan?” Marcus called from behind him. Stan quickly made his way over to his fiancé so they could talk in private, as private as you could talk in the woods when the person you're talking about is a 3-second jog away.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Stan whispered quickly.

Marcus grinned conspiratorially at him, eyes flicking around the clearing as if searching for ninjas eavesdropping to learn of his dastardly plans.

“I think it's time–” he whispered dramatically, “for Plan 'Brother-sister-bonding-by-teaching-her-how-to-use-her-powers-and-get-her-out-of-the-mood-she’s-in’.”

Stan scoffed, failing to not let an amused shine crack through features at Marcus’ ridiculousness even as a very real worry took root in his chest. “I guess it probably is time she learned. It’s just hard for her, you know how complicated her feelings are about the powers. But I suppose if no one's around out here to see it, plenty of space…”

“And hopefully it'll help her out of that funk. I can't even begin to think what must be going through her head right now…”

“I can.”

Will I ever see my friends again?

What important things did I leave behind?

Where are we gonna sleep tonight?

When is the next time I'll get the chance to eat?

What if my brother is caught?

What if we're both caught?

Will I finally get to see what mom and dad and Stan had to go through?

I thought we were finally safe.

“It's… it's bad.”

Marcus just nodded sympathetically. The silence was excruciating. 

“... but she's a tough kid, she'll make it through.” Stan finally managed to choke out. “We all will.” 

Marcus pursed his lips, thinking for a moment. “How about this: you both go train, and while you're gone, I'll go back to that convenience store we saw a couple miles back and get some supplies. Y’know, the essentials, marshmallows, some chocolate, graham crackers…”

Stan lit up like the northern lights, eyes full of stars. “S'mores night!”

“Yeah! We can use that crappy little firepit you found!”

“Oh, she would love that!” Stan whisper-shouted, nearly jumping up and down, vibrating with excitement.

Marcus’ eyes glinted. His teasing smile nearly made Stan blush. 

“She's not the only one, huh?”  He poked Stan in the stomach, and Stan nearly squealed as he jumped back out of the way, even almost managing to avenge himself by thrusting the tip of his cane into Marcus’ chest. But Marcus grabbed the cane and yanked it forward, pulling a screech from Stan before he felt Marcus’ strong body pin his arms to his sides in a tight embrace before he fell flat on his face.

“Caught you,” he teased in a sing-songy voice. “Whatcha gonna do now?”

“Oh get off it Silva!” Stan yelled as he halfheartedly shoved to try and get away, secretly wishing he could stay here forever.

Marcus let Stan go, instead grabbing his fiancé's hands in his own and squeezing them tight, looking lovingly into each other's eyes.

"We'll have a nice night tonight,” he reassured. “I know things are horrible right now… but things always get worse before they get better. And hell, they could always be worse.”

Slight flashbacks so kindly reminded Stan of the horrors. Every day away from that hellscape was another better day. 

“Things could definitely be worse.” Stan tossed his arms over Marcus’ shoulders with a cheeky grin. “ Like for example… I could be anywhere else in the world, and then I wouldn’t be with you.”

He pulled Marcus down into a soft kiss, one hand on the back of his head to gently guide him and feeling the warmth of skin against skin, Marcus’ body against his own, supporting him wholly. And in that moment, where the world was just the two of them, he let himself imagine that everything truly was okay. That they weren't being hunted down, that they hadn't just had to flee from their home again, that he wasn't alone in this world. Because he had Chloe, and he had Marcus, and he would always have them forever.

He pulled away just as he heard Chloe shout out an over-exaggerated “Ewwwww! Get a room!” From behind them. Stan rolled his eyes and pushed off of his fiancé, who was now practically giggling.

“You better get going if you want to get back before dark. Meet up in, say, three hours?” 

Marcus gave a goofy grin and started on his way back up the trail with a big thumbs up. “Will do! Be back with yummy treats soon!”

“I'll see you in a bit! I love you!”

“Love you more!”

“Are you done eating each other's faces?” Chloe yelled. “Where's he going? What's happening, what are you planning?”

Then Marcus was gone. That small pang in his heart that came around when he couldn't see those who he loved most returned again. He'd gotten used to it, but it never stung any less.

Stan ignored the questioning as he made his way over to his little sister, who was now balancing with her arms out swinging wildly, stepping around and around from rock to rock of the small ‘fire pit’.

“Hey, Chloe?”

Her gaze shot up to his, sea-foam blue eyes peering into turquoise-green. His breath caught in his throat. The words died on his tongue for a moment as he remembered all that he had done for her. To keep her safe. To try and keep her happy. The times he clutched her in his hold, held her hand, shoved her behind him, shielded her from anything that could harm her in favor of harming himself instead.

And he would keep doing that, every single time. But that didn’t mean he would always succeed, and they needed to prepare for that.

It was finally time, huh?

Chloe tilted her head at him. “Uh… Stan? Why are you looking at me like a serial killer?”

Stan startled. “Ah, right! Sorry. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go train your powers some.”

Chloe’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Really!?” 

She jumped up as high as she could off the rocks and scrambled over to Stan. “I thought you said I couldn’t learn them because they’re dangerous!”

“I never said that!” Stan protested. “We just haven't had the chance to do it because other people want to hurt us over them. That’s why they’re dangerous. Not the power itself. Well, the power itself also can be dangerous... But you need to know it. To defend yourself. In case.”

“...in case?” Her eyebrows creased slightly.

“Uh… well, yeah, in case–”

“Boring! Let's go! I wanna learn!” Chloe interrupted a bit too quickly, grabbing Stan by the wrist and damn near tripping him flat on his face when she started to drag him toward… she didn’t even know, really. To learning powers!

“Augh! Chloe! Stop, I’m gonna trip and die and it'll be your fault!” Stan’s heart jumped into his throat and he struggled to keep his balance.

“Use your magic to fly or something,” she said giddily, though she did let up slightly on the pulling. “It's like a warm-up so you can teach me better! I bet I'll be even better at it than you!”

“Ha! In your dreams you'll be better than me!”

* * * * * * * *

Chloe was unusually quiet on their trek to find a spot to practice. Stan would say something, and then she'd brighten up for a moment, bantering and hollering as usual. But then her jaw would clench, her brows knit together. Staring into the middle distance as they walked, looking at nothing in particular. Thinking. She even ignored various cool-looking rocks and tree formations, never once trying to climb the haphazard structures.

She might be worse off than he originally thought. 

They came upon a clearing in the brush.  Flat ground, no trees or rocks in the way. 

Perfect.

“Alright, Chloe,” Stan started, startling Chloe out of her walk as he took a ready position, feet apart and grounded for a steady base, cane at the ready. No going back now. “Now I've seen you trying to use your powers without permission before and honestly, you did pretty good.”

“Nuh-uh!” She interrupted obnoxiously. 

“Yuh-huh! I've seen it!” Stan bit back without missing a beat. 

“Nuh-uh!!”

“Yuh-HUH!”

“NUH-UH!” she shouted, and Stan barely managed to block when she jumped up and tried to bap him on the top of the head.

“What are you even ‘nuh uh’-ing here?” Stan cried, accompanied by a small screech as he ducked away.

“I thought you were about to say I shouldn't have done that. But then you said something else,” Chloe shrugged.

“So you doubled down?”

A pause.

“Yesssss...”

Stan rolled his eyes. 

“You really shouldn't have used your powers, to be fair…” he considered, tapping his finger on his cane. “Especially since you know what would happen if the wrong people found out. You remember. The– the uh…”

The running.

The raids.

The people in the armored vests.

The guns.

The murder.

Our magic killing just as easily as it lifts a mug into the air.

My disappearance, the experiments I won’t talk about.

Our parents.

Stan cleared his throat. That was all in the past now. 

Chloe’s eyes were downcast, holding her arms close in a self-hug. 

Yeah. 

She remembered. 

“But uh– But I did the same when I was your age, so I can't judge. You did pretty good from… from what I saw. So I want you to show me what you've got so far.” 

Stan lifted himself off the ground in a light float, the bottom of his good leg and his hands glowing a harsh bright blue as they lifted him away from the earth. “Then I can show you how it's really done.”

Chloe’s eyes raised, a tired smile forcing its way to her lips. “Show off.”

“Well, maybe once you learn, you can also get a big head about it.”

Chloe gave a small huff in acknowledgment, her smile slowly falling from her face as she stared blankly at the ground.

Stan carefully lowered to the ground. This wasn't something they could just ignore and hope would go away, was it? 

He crept up to Chloe, the wind rustling the trees overhead creating an almost deafening cacophony in the silent spell that had befallen them like a thick blanket.

“Chlo?...” 

She wouldn't meet his eyes. 

“Talk to me, Squeaks, you’ve been off all day. What’s wrong?”

She took a sharp breath in, face scrunching up, eyes edged red.

“What do you think?” she whispered, hissed, practically. “I hate our powers. This is stupid, they’re stupid, I wish we never had magic. I don't wanna learn, I wanna– I just wa-anna be normal.”

Ah. Yeah.

Stan knew the feeling all too well.

He tried to find something encouraging to say to help lift her back up to normal, to tell her that everything would be okay and that she was perfect the way she was, powers and all. But he found that he really didn't have any words to say to make this better. Nothing that was true anyway. She wasn't wrong.

“... Chloe,” he finally started. “I need you to learn this for me, kid. I need you to be able to… to-to defend yourself in case… In case I can’t.”

Chloe’s body lurched with a held-back sob. “I don’t want to learn! I hate our magic! It’s not fair! I wish we never had powers, then I could still have a normal family. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about you not being able to protect me! I wouldn’t have to protect myself, I wouldn’t have to be strong, I don’t want to be strong! I wish Mom and Dad were still here! I just want my mo-mommy and daddy-y-y!”

She cried freely now, breathing shallow and fast as she tried to catch her breath over the shuddering and the tears, muscles clenched as she hugged herself in some small attempt at security, face scrunched and small and pained as she finally let out all that she’d been holding in the entire trip. For who even knew how long.

He gazed at her with glassy eyes; his sister weeping before him. She’d been through so much. His wonderful, amazing, annoying sister who he’d been through hell to protect. 

She didn't deserve this.

They both didn't deserve this.

He pursed his lips. Tears burned at his eyes now too, threatening to wet his cheeks just as they were doing to Chloe.

He pulled her in close to his chest, heartbeat thrumming against her as he held her tight. A hug she didn’t reciprocate, didn’t need to.

“I know. Me too,” he whispered.

It was unfair. It was incredibly, heart-wrenchingly unfair. Just knowing everyone and everything they ever loved could be so easily ripped away from their desperate grasp as easily as wind blows leaves across the ground. 

“But…”

Stan had screamed and cried about it for many a night and day, mourning the loss of the person he could have been if anything else was different.

“That’s not the hand we’ve been dealt,” Stan murmured into his sister's nappy hair, clutching her even closer as she trembled. “It's unfair, it's so, so unfair. But that's just…”

Screaming.

Crying.

Begging.

Running.

Wishing for something different.

“That's just how it is.”

And that’s why I need you to learn.

She let out a sob into his shoulder. They sat like that for a long while; Listening to the sounds of nature which never ceased around them. The whistle of the wind through trees, the birds chirping all around them. The continuously quieter weeping as the girl in the center of it all tired herself out.

“Those ho-orrible people, Chloe?” he breathed. “They want to capture you. They want to capture me. They did capture me. Tortured me. It’s a… It’s a miracle I escaped, honestly. They captured Mom, Da-ad. And–... and they would do it to you too, if-if given the chance.”

Teary wetness started to soak through the shoulder of Stan’s shirt.

He squeezed her shoulders, breath shaking. “I need you to… I need to know you can defend yourself, okay? A-and as much of a curse as our powers are, they’re strong. So strong, just like you. You can learn how to use them to defend yourself, right? In case I can’t anymore, in case–”

“DON’T SAY THAT!!” Chloe cried out, angry, desperate azure eyes flashing angrily up at her brother as she pushed away from him. “Say that you’ll always be here for me! Always! You can’t get caught again! I need you! Marcus needs you! You’re gonna stay with me and we’re gonna find Mom and Dad and you’re never going anywhere ever again, and neither am I! And neither is Marcus, or Mom, or Dad, and if anyone tries to hurt them again then I'll kill them and then we can all stay together! An’-- an’ I'll get the guys who tortured you too and I'll make them pay.”

Stan felt a melancholy smile overtake his face through the running tears. Maybe not the exact right motivations, wanting to kill anyone who ever tried to hurt them. 

But it was a start. 

He knew he couldn’t promise that he would always be here to protect her. His parents had promised the same thing. And yet…

“Don't worry, Squeaks, I’m–... I’m not going anywhere. Nev-never plan to,” He sniffled. “Also, uh… maybe don't kill them… that wouldn't make you much uh, much better than them, would it?” He winked. “Maybe just maim them a bit.

Chloe nodded slightly, jaw set as she took a deep, shaking breath and a similar smile Stan's started invading her features as well. “Yeah… Jus’-just broken bones. Thr-throw them into the ceiling like you do a little. Pay them back for your knee...”

Stan snickered. “I would love to pay back the person who crapped up my knee…” and he couldn't help the welling pride in his chest as he raised his gaze to look his sister in the eye once more. It almost caused the tears to start pouring all over again.

“And if you were the one to get them, Squeaks? Maybe you let me get in on the action too? God, I would let you lord that over me forever.”

Chloe burst into a little laugh, still marked with the haunting ghosts of sobs. “I would never let you forget it.”

“So… you're on board then?” he asked tentatively. “Gonna learn your powers and defeat the bad guys for me? Marcus is bringing some treats back to camp for when we’re done too, though you’ll get them either way, we all need a bit of a pick me up.”

“Treats?” She looked up at him like an astounded little puppy dog. Stan couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah! So you wanna work the magic a bit? Or you just wanna head back and be lazy?

“I…” She was still shaking. “I… I think… magic. But uh, but… You-you can fight your own bad guys. I’ll be too busy floating around you to help you not get your ass kicked.” 

Her eyes widened slightly when Stan raised his eyebrow at her.

“I mean… Butt.”

Stan scoffed. “Yeah, okay potty mouth–”

“Potty mouth? Are you five years old?”

“Am I five years old? You’re the one who can't say ‘ass’.” 

“That's because you're my brother!”

“Well,” Stan theatrically cracked his knuckles and drew some power up through his cane as he grinned at her smugly. “You know any five-year-olds that can do this?”

He swiped with a grand flourish at the nearest tree across the clearing, a full sweep through air in front of him with all the force he could muster up, bathing the now sunset orange-red ring of trees in a blast of eerie aqua blue. A deafening crackle-pop came from deep within the trunk, as if the wood itself was screaming out in protest, in agony, as cracks started to explode outward, shining through with bright blue light bursts. The side of the tree exploded with a thunderous roaring creak, gnarled and deep and sharp and twisting as it showered bark and wood pulp down on the two siblings as the both screamed in what was terrified joy and dove to duck and cover.

Stan immediately realized his error with a playful screech, jumping in front of Chloe and pulling her in close to shield her from the flying wooden shrapnel machine that the tree had so unwittingly become.

Then once again, the clearing was safe, wooden rain finishing its downpour, a few stray splinters tip tapping into the ground. The only sound to be heard now was the breathless laughter of two siblings as they took in the full breadth of what just happened.

Stan had just exploded a tree.

It looked like a cannonball had been shot through it! But surprisingly, it was still standing. Tilting, sure. But standing.

Stan cleared his throat, blinking against the wood dust. Chloe now stared openmouthed and wide-eyed at the mighty tree, a deep eternal gash scarring to the very heart of the wood.

“I uh–...” Stan coughed with a curt laugh. He had to pant to get enough air into his system “I didn’t expect it to explode that much.”

Chloe’s gaze shifted back to her brother, open mouth and all.

“That. Was. AWESOME!!” She cried, jumping up and down like a child on a trampoline. “I mean, you basically killed that tree… but that was so cool! I didn’t know we could explode things!!”

“Well I mean, I didn’t really explode it, I just kinda hit it hard enough that it exploded. Kinda surprised it's still standing.”

“Show me!” Chloe exclaimed, bouncing over to the tree to examine the damage more closely. “Show me show me show me! Show me how to do that, I wanna hit that hard!”

“Careful, you’ll get splinters!” 

“Shoulda thought of that before you exploded a tree!”

Stan hurried after her as fast as he could go without winding himself even more. He leaned extra hard on his cane as he walked, movements just a bit more sluggish. That had taken so much more energy than he had thought it would, even with the cane helping him along and aiding the power. But hey, at least Chloe was excited again. Happy. For now.

That’s all Stan could ever ask for.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything |

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan

[italictext]

Made a DN oc (Rae, it/its)!! Rae and L work together and here's a doodle of Rae styling L's hair! :3

( @nateriverswife @/ing you because you're kinda the reason I decided to draw them lol)

[mochasucculent]

Yea idk how I haven't shared them here yet but here's some doodles of Tabitha and "Apathy" (she ain't got a name yet), the two protags of my ghost story!

Grieving after the sudden loss of her grandmother, Apathy accidentally becomes bound to the spirit of Tabitha, a young girl who was murdered in the 1870s. Stuck together in unfamiliar circumstances, the two must discover how to send Tabitha on to the afterlife, and if they even can.

UPDATEEEEEEEEE Apathy's name is Naomi :)

[harrowscore]

i love the magic flute's music more than any other opera's i've watched/listened to so far, it's absolutely beautiful. but oh god, the values dissonance + mysoginy/racism combo are something else

[chimerahyperfix]

Run down your list. You are currently on your way to intercept the King, before he gets to the house. Whenever he gets there, it’s a bloodbath; metaphorically and physically. How many more times do you have to see everyone get frozen? See the King smash those who stand before him? You can’t see it again, you can’t you can’t you can’t, so you sneak out to face him instead. If he can’t get to the House, no one has to die, right? Simple as that. The endless night of his approach hangs right over Dormont, so you have to catch him, NOW.

You make a pit-stop at the Favor Tree anyway. It’s tradition at this point.

You did… something, here. Before you started looping. The hypothesis is that whatever you did at the Favor Tree caused the time loop you’re trapped in. You know you wished, a ton— at least ten times, or maybe twenty? All in as many different ways you could think of. Stretching outside the realm of how you know to wish. The desperation drove you to doing random things in hopes it would save you, and— well, it kinda has? You’ve doomed yourself for everyone else’s sakes.

That’s all well and fine enough, you rationalize. One person for many. Who knows what’ll happen if he actually takes the House; you don’t want to find that answer out.

The Favor Tree is huge. It’s a nice tree, lots of leaves, lots of shade. You could probably climb into its branches and never leave, get trapped in a web of tree bark and leaves like a cage, birds and squirrels and other such animals as your jailers. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. You could try that, next loop, if you failed here. You know you’ll fail, because nothing has worked so far. Your mind flashes with images of blood-stained floors, of screams both by and for many, many people. Hands reaching to you, hands reaching out.

Breathe. The memory fades away. Your hands curl into fists.

You depart, to fight the King. To stop the King.

———————

The King is very tall. A couple stories high, you’d reckon. He towers over you, the trees and everything else. The clearing you’ve stopped him in is very close to the House. Too close for comfort. Shouldn’t have stopped at the tree. Everything is swamped with the scent of burnt sugar.

He looks down at you— do you look like an ant to him? One singular ant? Wouldn’t that be interesting. A single blockade to the anthill, standing its ground. One mistake and he’ll turn you into a dark stain, or an icy statue. One mistake is all it’ll take for him to rip through the House like paper.

The Craft Bomb is heavy in your pocket. The backup potions, seven or eight of them, all in little tossable vials, toxic and burning and acidic, weigh down the other pocket of your lab coat. You remember drinking at least three of them. They all killed you. Painfully. Curse your desk for not being clean before you started looping. If you’d just taken a few minutes before you wished, so many deaths would’ve been avoided…

But that’s not important now. The fire in your throat, as imagined as it is now, still hurts. Your voice has taken an odd rasp to it now, the consequences of toxicity and blind reaching for water forever etched into your very being.

“How have you done it?” The King asks. You can’t see his eyes, past his endless, wild mane of hair and his gauntlets covering his face, but he sounds both confused and enraged.

You don’t answer, instead brandishing the bomb you worked so hard on. You made it in record pace, this loop. It too reeks of caramel.

The King simply moves a hand. You know what’s coming, and you move before he does. The curse of being so, so tall, is that you’re faster. The bomb goes flying, and you toss the potions all in one go for good measure before skittering out of the way. The King lunges for you as the bomb explodes, sending waves of fire and craft energy everywhere. Blinding, deafening. Its force knocks you to the ground.

He still moves, though. Not enough. Damn. Maybe you need two bombs… do you have the materials for a second one? You hope, as he swings his giant gauntlet down onto you to mash you like a bug, that he sees the weird shade your eyes have taken lately. A pair of blaring, dangerous warning signs.

You’re not scared anymore. This has happened many times.

You still scream.

His attack hits, and through the veil of absolute agony, there’s a tug on your stomach. Back to the drawing board.

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one part two

Hawkins, Indiana Summer 1995

Steve stares down into the glowing red center of the world. Heat rolls off the gash in the earth in waves. The smell of rotting is stronger here. He’d gone and done a perimeter check of downtown on foot before returning to the place in front of City Hall. He hadn’t found any other gates, no breaks in the asphalt, no cracking brick or crumbled stone. He hadn’t run into anyone else. Hawkins had been abandoned, fast.

Sometimes, now that he doesn’t have the gin to numb his sleep, Steve has these nightmares. They’re the same nightmares he’d been having back in ’86, the same nightmares he’d had for years since they’d first encountered Vecna. It’s the same nightmare, always. Nothing ever changes, nothing ever shifts. It starts slow, a sparkling rain on the pavement, steam rising hot into the air. The sky is always dark, no stars, no moon, clouds dense and angry. He walks through the streets of Hawkins and then the whole world starts to shake.

The world starts to shake as Steve walks past Melvald’s, past the diner where he’d kissed Eddie for the first time, past the two screen movie theater where Jonathan Byers had punched him in the face. There’s nothing for him to hold on to, his sneakers have no traction on the wet pavement. He falls, he drifts, he slides, until he’s at a crack in the world, right down the center of Hawkins, burning bright and red. 

He falls, he drifts, he slides until his hands are gripping at the edge. He’s trying to haul himself back up, but the whole world is still shaking, it’s still damp from the sparkling rain. It’s slippery, hard to hold, but he keeps his grip.

And then, deep in the crack in the world, Steve Harrington hears a voice.

It doesn’t sound like anything at first. Just the slow rumble of the whole world shaking. But then, there it is again.

Deep in the crack in the world, Steve Harrington hears a ghost and loses his grip.

And then he wakes up.

He can never identify the voice, doesn’t know who it is that speaks to him from the center of the world. A part of him doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to examine it too closely. He thinks he wouldn’t like what he found.

~*~

Indianapolis, Indiana Spring 1987

Steve wakes up from a nightmare, sweating and shaking. He remembers burning, he remembers red. He doesn’t remember anything else. He doesn’t need to.

He feels Eddie’s arms tighten around him.

“Nightmare?” Eddie mumbles against the sweaty skin of Steve’s neck, before planting a small, sweet kiss there.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. His voice is shaky, his chest feels hollow.

“Wanna talk about it?” Eddie asks, sounding more alert as he shifts their positions, pulling so Steve is on his back and Eddie is leaning over him.

Steve looks up into Eddie’s face, into his big brown eyes full of genuine concern. 

“No,” Steve says, reaching up to curl his fingers into the front of Eddie’s t-shirt. “Just want you.” He pulls Eddie towards him and doesn’t miss the way Eddie smiles, just before their lips brush.

Steve is held safe in Eddie’s arms for the rest of the night.

~*~

Indianapolis, Indiana Fall 1991

Steve has been home from the coffeeshop for about an hour. He’s showered and tidied up the living room. He’s sitting on the couch in silence when there’s a knock on the door.

He swings the front door open without looking in the peephole. He knows who it is. Eddie smiles at him from the other side of the apartment’s threshold, soft and a little sad.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says, so softly that Steve almost has to lean in to hear him. He feels himself sway into Eddie’s space before he catches himself.

“Hey.” Steve tries to get his voice to sound level, to sound unaffected. Thinks he manages it, from the look on Eddie’s face. “Boxes are in the guest room.” Steve steps out of the way so Eddie can move past him into the apartment. Their shoulders brush and Steve wants to die.

Eddie looks the same, his hair a little longer maybe. His nails are painted black and he’s got more piercings in his ears, but he’s still got the same leather jacket, the same big black boots on his feet. Steve’s mouth feels dry, his throat tight. His hands feel hollow. His fingertips ache with the effort it takes not to reach out and touch.

Eddie had called him last week. The band had just finished up their first national tour, opening for a band much bigger than them. They’d been promoting their debut album. Steve had been hearing about it non-stop from Dustin and Robin, before he’d had to beg them to stop talking about it. With the money he’d made from the tour and the album launch, Eddie had been able to get a place out in LA, something of his own. He’d called Steve to see about getting the last of his things, the odds and ends he’d left behind.

Eddie walks through the space like he lives there still. Steve feels his heart squeeze as Eddie pushes open the door of what used to be Robin’s room, before she’d graduated in the spring and moved across the country. Before she’d left, too. 

“Need any help?” Steve asks from the doorway. There’s only two boxes, but Steve is nothing if not polite.

“Nah, Greg’s got the car running downstairs,” Eddie tells him. Steve vaguely remembers Greg, the band’s bass player, from the shows he’d gone to when the band had still been playing at dive bars all over Indy. He remembers the way Greg’s eyes had always lingered on Eddie, trailed after him as Eddie went to get drinks from the bar or excused himself to go to the bathroom. Steve has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t say anything pathetic.

Steve watches as Eddie squats and lifts the boxes effortlessly, one stacked on top of the other. He moves out of the way so Eddie can move down the hallway, back towards the front door. He waits there, for Steve to open the door for him. Steve doesn’t move.

“Wait, I—” Steve has no plan, doesn’t know what might come out of his mouth. He just knows that there’s desperation coursing under his skin, through his veins, at the thought that this might be the last time that Eddie Munson will ever be here, in this apartment they’d chosen together. He can’t bear the thought that he will never know Eddie Munson again. He feels like his lungs are collapsing, like he can’t possibly suck enough air inside himself. His hand lifts in the space between them, like he might reach out toward where Eddie stands. 

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, shifting the boxes in his hands and taking half a step backward. “Don’t do this, okay? I, uh. I can’t do this. Not now.”

Steve feels the prickle of tears in his eyes, but he nods, numbly. He knows he’s missed his chance, that he let fear overrule everything else.

He doesn’t say anything else. He just grips the doorknob in his sweaty hand and opens the door for Eddie. He watches Eddie as he steps out of their apartment for the last time, watches as Eddie walks down the hallway. When he reaches the stairs, Eddie turns for one last look.

“See you around, Harrington,” he says. There’s no smile on his face. He stares for a long moment before he takes the first step downward. A second later, he’s gone.

Steve stands in his doorway for a long time after that, eyes trained on the last place where he’ll ever see Eddie Munson.

~*~

Hawkins, Indiana Summer 1995

Steve is still staring down into the center of the world when the earth starts to shake. It feels so familiar when it starts that he’s almost resigned to it. The rain starts then too, heavy and hot. It feels like burning blood when it hits the skin of his face and his bare arms in his t-shirt. Steve looks up into the sky, squinting against the water pouring down, but he sees nothing. It’s all black, only darkness. It makes the crack through the center of the world glow impossibly brighter.

Steve’s got hiking boots on, which offer more traction than his sneakers. He manages to stay upright, for the most part, as the ground beneath him continues to quake.

But then he hears it. It’s the voice from his dreams, the one he’s tried not to examine too closely. It’s coming from the center of the world, the gash spread out in front of him. Steve swallows thickly, feels saliva pool in his mouth. There’s a painful lump in his throat, his chest feels hollow, and his fingertips ache where his grips his nail bat so tightly he think it might snap in half.

The voice calls out and that’s when the earth starts to shift, tilting sideways, and Steve has nothing but his nail bat to hold on to. His feet slide against the pavement until he’s there, just on the edge of the center of the world. The ground tips again, pushing him over the edge. With his nail bat in one hand and the other scrambling against the slippery wet pavement, Steve Harrington dangles above the burning red center of the world. The heat envelops him, humid and oppressive, until he can’t breathe. He holds on, tight, his fingernails cracking against the sparkling asphalt.

“Steve,” Eddie Munson’s voice calls to him from the crack in the world. “Steve, come find me.”

And then Steve falls. 

part four part five AO3 link

~*~

Oop okay well inspiration strikes again! I think I have an idea for two more parts for this lil guy :) Thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented on the last two parts!! I appreciate it so much and it encouraged me to think a lil deeper abt this story, so thank you so much for all your kind words. 

Btw if you like the vibes of this, my multi-chapter fic “sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine)” is written in the same style (nonlinear narrative, future fic, post-breakup; I think that one is less depressing though and has a happy ending! (not sure how this will end yet, sorry!)).

Taglist (I hope I got everyone, sorry if I missed you! also sorry if I tagged you mistakenly): @starlight-archer @sly-bananabread @eddiemunsonswife @renaissan-vvitch @gamerdano @n0-1-important @orangeandthefairroadkill @hollysimone @grtwdsmwhr @spkdnailbats @fabledanzel @and-say

[softestepilogue]

y’all keep saying how y’all hope ed becomes redeemable and like who tf cares he did anything wrong lmao. pushing Lucius overboard? hilarious. stranding the crew? hysterical. chopping off iffy’s toes? comedic af. y’all always so worried about a character being redeemable or morally right and it’s exhausting. that’s why modern books are what they are now. boring and lame af. ed is morally gray. he’s always been morally gray. he don’t like killin but he likes maimin and he has anger issues. and he’s hilarious when he does all of it.

[moonstandardtime]

i want to put link in isat. im sure hed do fine. the heros spirit endures