#or at least have created one over and over again with each cycle

[hjea]

1899 - The Key

“Tut mir leid, Captain.”

[sunshineandspencer]

Cowboy hat rule, Part 4 (Tyler Owens, Twisters)

A/N: Let’s put it this way, I don’t remember writing this. But it certainly exists so you may have it, I want to rewatch this movie completely legally🏴‍☠️, but I’m not at home and I can’t. Physically weeping as I type this.

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader.

Summary: In between butting heads with Javi’s team and running a successful YouTube channel based entirely around tornadoes, Tyler Owens is introduced to the most interesting woman he’s seen in a good while - and her sister.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: kind of suggestive (honestly not sure, it’s pretty late and my brain doesn’t work), minor swearing, I’m beginning to forget the movie so forgive me, very limited knowledge of America (I’m English).

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

A rodeo, he brought her to a rodeo. 

And not just any rodeo, but one in the middle of tornado valley. For the amount of tornadoes this place gets, there are a lot of people here. It makes her nervous. 

Thankfully, there are idiots on horses to keep her entertained, and reminiscing about her childhood. 

At some point, Tyler leaned over. Pressing his shoulder to hers and ducking his head so she could hear him. His breath just ghosting her ear. 

“Not your first rodeo?”

“Not even close.”

Her eyes flicked to his, grinning up at him. He’s certain the sight of her smiling at him is going to be seared in his brain forever. 

Especially when she shuffled closer, so that she could be heard. Their thighs pressed together nearly as close as their shoulders. He could smell the faint traces of her perfume, he wishes she’d put some on before they’d left.

“Daddy used to compete in rodeos, up until we were eleven. He had an accident, and mom told him that if he ever did it again it wouldn’t be the bulls he had to worry about.”

He loves her mom, right now she’s the greatest woman in the world. Besides the pretty woman that she created, sat pressed against him. 

Her eyes went back to the rodeo, but his didn’t, watching her profile and wondering how he got so.. smitten.

Nudging her with his shoulder, he gave that bright grin - a real, happy grin that people are accustomed to. 

“I’m learning all sorts about you Alpine.”

“That you are, and yet you remain an enigma.”

“Aww, you don’t have to go about using all kinds of fancy words, you can just call me pretty.”

They both laughed at that, hushed and slightly giggled. Like a pair of schoolchildren mucking about in assembly and didn’t want to get caught. 

Leaning into each other, wondering why everything feels so much funnier when they’re together. 

But then she nudged him, telling him to actually tell her something about himself.

“I used to compete too, got stomped in the head a little too much and figured college would do me a little better.” He fidgeted with his watch, fitting it properly to his wrist. “I don’t mean to pry, but since we’re in a sharing mood, what’s up with Kate and Javi?”

She gave a long suffering sigh, and he realised he might’ve just hit a sensitive subject. But before he can tell her not to worry about it, she’s smiling at him. 

She’d leant away now, and he doesn’t like it, leaning with her arms on the back of the seats, her legs crossed and no longer against his. 

Is it selfish? To want her close again? Because he can be selfish if that’s what it takes. 

“He’s always had a thing for her. We used to work together, a group of us. Me and Javi were dating, Kate had her boyfriend, but I knew he loved her. I looked a lot more like her then.. I was a replacement but that was fine because at least I could pretend I was loved.”

Giving Tyler a soft smile, she realised that was probably a little more than he bargained for. 

Not knowing that he was currently cycling through all the ways he could murder the guy and shove him into a tornado to make it look like an accident. 

He could do it, it’s not hard to shove a dead body into a tornado when you drive into them for a living.

“Maybe he’ll finally get his head out his ass and ask her out. I doubt it though, he’s terrified of rejection.”

Tyler nodded, eyebrows furrowed, and then leant back with her. Arms going around the back of the chairs, fingers dusting her shoulder. 

Somehow, even that small touch was enough for her body to become instantly aware of the lingering heat from when they’d been pressed together. 

Then he gave her another one of those smiles, and she could’ve melted straight through the plastic. 

“If you want, I could run him over and send him up into a tornado. Let God and the weather do their things.”

She laughed - thank God she laughed - and he’s certain that he’s found something more beautiful than any tornado he’d ever chased in his entire life. 

And when she calmed down to look at him, smile still playing at those pretty kissable lips, her hands swatted out against his chest. 

“Don’t make it sound like you murder people so often, I have to get back in the truck with you.”

“Ahh, don’t worry about that Alpine. You’re too pretty to murder, can’t have the world bereft of that face now can we?”

Before she can answer, a swirl of leaves assault the audience, including them. Leaves that, really, were too violent to have just been caught up in a gust of wind. 

Picking one up, she crumpled the leaves and then opened her palm. The way they spread out left her nervous. 

“Were you tracking out this way?”

Looking to him nervously, she didn’t like that look on his face. Because they had been, but from the data, even Kate said the one out this way shouldn’t form anything too bad. 

Maybe the conditions for the tornado improved, because it definitely seems like something had touched down. By the way the bleachers are rattling. 

He didn’t answer either, just looking around at all the people here, calculating the tragedies if something did set down. 

But it hadn’t, or else they would’ve gotten—

All at the same time the tornado warnings sounded on their phones, and everyone began to panic, including her. 

Snapped out of it by Tyler taking her hand and getting her up. Pulling her through the crowd. 

“Come on, we need to find shelter!”

It’s hard to hear over the wind, and when she heard shit start flying off behind them, her blood felt sharp in her veins and she kept up the pace next to him. 

Glad he’s got her hand in his or she’s not sure how fast she could run. 

“I don’t- I don’t go into tornadoes, I do the data. I don’t go into the fucking things! I’m not you, I’m not used to this.”

He pulled her to a stop just inside a motel parking area, thankfully covered for now. Grabbing her shoulders and looking at her sincerely, realising that she really was scared. 

He knew she stayed back, he didn’t know why, but the genuine terror on her face said enough. 

“You’ll be alright, I promise. I won’t let you get hurt by this thing. But we need to get to shelter, okay?”

As he started pulling her along, all the noise rushed back to her and made her feel sick. Aware of the crashes and the screams, and the drag of metal on metal as the motel threatened to break apart. 

A woman was trying to get her daughter into the car, and she dragged Tyler to a stop. 

“No! No, don’t get in your car!! Get out, come here!”

They did, thank God, and joined them in the motel. Shoving past the idiot at the desk who clearly doesn’t know what’s going on. 

Everyone talking all over each other about basements or shelters. 

She was going a little haywire, and caught onto the crash of a metal gate swinging back and forth. The pool. It’s emptied and the wall would’ve been opened for maintenance. 

There’d be an alcove for them to huddle in and hopefully things to hold onto. 

Grabbing Tyler’s arm and shouting over everyone else. 

“Come on! We haven’t got time to argue, follow me!”

Shouldering open the door, she knew the woman and her child were close behind. As well as the clerk, while Tyler was trying to convince the two idiots that there was actually a tornado. 

Helping the woman into the pool, both her and her daughter were sobbing, not that she blamed them. It’s a miracle that she isn’t. 

Once the little girl was safely in her mom’s arms, she motioned for them to get to the end of the pool. 

Turning around to look for Tyler, she felt his hands on her waist from behind, easing her quickly towards the ladder to get into the pool. Allowing herself a moment to breathe. 

Until she caught sight of that couple trying to drive away, getting caught up in the tornado that is way too close for comfort.

Hurrying down, she reached up for Tyler, half wanting him to just jump down, and get to safety as quickly as possible. Pressing a hand to his back to stable him as he dropped down. 

Both of them rush over to alcove with the woman and her daughter. 

Showing them where to hold, and that she should keep her daughter’s eyes covered from any debris. And not to let go or look around for any reason. 

As she started to get a grip on the pipes, she heard a shriek from the motel clerk. He had tried to stand up while Tyler was helping him, and was sent to the shallow end. 

Then the idiot tried again and was dragged off into the sky. Her heart was heavy in her throat as she watched Tyler turn and start to crawl back to them. Fighting against the wind. 

Holding on tight to the pipes, but leaning out with her hand as far as she could go. Desperately reaching for him. 

Especially when a bus or something landed in the pool and started to tip over them. He’d be crushed. 

She’s too panicked to really think about anything other than making sure he grabbed her hand. Because she wasn’t losing anyone else - not him. 

As soon as his palm connected to hers, she pulled hard, to give him that small bit of leverage he needed right as the bus fell. 

He pressed up behind her, keeping both her, and the woman pinned to the pipes, holding on as best he could. They got a little more cover from the bus, thankfully, but the wind was still bad. 

With one arm still curled around the pipes, her other reached back to get a handful of his shirt. He was not going anywhere. 

Once it was over, all of them soaked and panting, and pretty injured from projectiles, they finally let go. 

Of the pipes, anyway. She couldn’t let go of his shirt yet, even as his hands found her waist. Digging in, to help her stand and reassure himself they’re still alive. 

Once they’d stood, and stumbled out from around the bus, they walked up to the shallow end to look around. 

The town - the rodeo - had been decimated. 

And with his hands still comfortably on her waist, she eased the grip on his shirt. Finally turning and wrapping her arms around him. Squeezing as tight as she could to try and now reassure herself. 

They’re both alive; they’re both okay. 

He hugged her back just as tightly, and she’s not sure if it’s the adrenaline from surviving, but she never wants to be anywhere but his arms ever again. 

Want more?! Good!

[bookishbrewer]

Cyn - The Disabled Neurodivergent Sibling:

⚠️ WARNING: this post will include discussion of bullying, ableism of numerous kinds, abuse, trauma.

First, let's establish 2 important terms for this post:

Zombie Drone - a state in which a worker drone is improperly disposed of. The WD enters a state of self-reboot as a result of: their core not being properly disconnected, the hardware not physically destroyed or a 606 error is interrupted. In a 0.7% chance, there's the risk of said WD rebooting with a "potential hazardous mutation".

The Absolute Solver - an incredibly advanced monstrous code and supernatural artificial intelligence that mutates in damaged forms of lesser AI.

Neurodivergent:

Cyn is first introduced in a flashback in episode 2, when she is scavenged & brought back to the Elliot mansion by Tessa. Right at the beginning, we the shy drone do something that may be interpreted as neurodivergent - imprinting:

Yes, I may be reading too deeply into this, but the fact that Cyn immediately focuses on the drone with the least threatening position & expression makes me think she may interpret him as the safest person to be around.

Just before this scene, we as the audience got to see the relationship between the main 3 drones Cyn will interact with in the mension:

1. N & V - they are the more meek & submissive types. They're both portrayed as sensitive, and have something of a crush on each other.

2. J - she's more of a mean 'older-bully-sibling' type. Not hasitating to command her peers, even using verbal & physical violence to do so.

So, in a sense, Cyn was right.

In ASD, for example, neurodivergent people might rely on siblings for interpreting social cues, deepening their connection. In addition, siblings may become key figures in routines and shared interests, leading to strong bonds (see for example how N reacts to Cyn showing him "those eyes" referring to her putting a picture of a golden retriever on her visor to convince him to go ask Tessa if they can attend the gala together. Or N suggesting the both of them will watch a movie together).

For another example, ADHD, siblings might help manage impulsivity & help with conflict resolution. We see an example of this in this clip:

After Tessa's abusive mother tells her off, Cyn steps in & exclaims that "they are not broken. We can no longer be thrown out", in direct reaction to the mother threatening to throw out all of Tessa's "dumpster pets".

This, clearly, triggers Cyn's trauma we see a glimpse of in episode 5:

She wakes up in what is essentially a pile of dead bodies, deeply woulded, hurt & terrified. This is what she is referring to, this is what 'no longer' means. It means 'not again'. She doesn't wish what she went through on anyone.

Even though N, Tessa's favorite, protects Cyn, it does not shelter her from Tessa's abuse. Now, let me reiterate, I know that Tessa is an abused child. She suffers from emotional, physical & verbal abuse from both her parents (& maybe other caretakers) and is also just a kid. My point in mentioning said abuse is to merely point put that this is an example to the cycle of it continuing, creating more victims.

Tessa inflicts on Cyn the exact same abuse she suffers at the hands of her parents & more:

She displays blatent favoritism towards certain drones (N & J) over others (neglects V & treats Cyn badly).

She threatens Cyn that something might happen to her if N is hurt for defending her from her mother.

She chains & locks Cyn in the basement with the use of one of her favorite drones (J):

Another example of Cyn's implied neurodiversity is her misunderstanding of Tessa's words. When Tessa threatens Cyn that something might happen to her if N is hurt "because of her" she simply replies:

Cyn does not exactly understand that Tessa is worried that N might die. To her, it is meaningless, because she (or rather, the Absolute Solver) has backups of Ns personality (which is displayed in future episodes, when it is revealed that she is the one to send the murder drones to Copper 9). This is very similar to how people with ASD (& others) may take a statement too literally or misunderstand it at first.

Another tidbit that I like about Cyn, is that she doesn't like being condescended to. She talks back to those who belittle her because of her being 'different'. Not only to Tessa & her mother, but also to her fellow drones:

Cyn: it seems that J forgot to let me out of my basement time-out again.

J: yet here you are.

Cyn (turning to N): annoyed expression.

She also does it to N in her eldritch form:

Another thing I'd like to add is Cyn being quite quirky & unique in her peaceful days, before the Solver took over her entirely:

Physically Disabled

We know that Cyn was sent to be destroyed for some reason before the show began. Her almost being destroyed caused numerous disabilities, some of them were cured (for example: her cracked visor was fixed) but some remained as lasting effects:

Linguistic differences/disabilities -

Cyn cannot talk in a more "smooth" way like her fellow drones. Her voice can be interpreted as robotic & distant (a characteristic some neurodivergent & disabled people may have or may be precieved as having).

Instead of just doing, Cyn says her actions out loud, for example: "sheepish nod", "shuffle, shuffle, shuffle", "tantrum", "jumpscare", "light sip". Some neurodivergent individuals, such as people diagnosed with ADHD may express their thoughts or describe their actions out loud as they are doing them to help with focus, brain fog & organization.

Bodily impairments -

Cyn stands a bit crookedly & doesn't get much support from her limbs to hold her body.

Her head cannot be held straight & has to be supported by something (she usually uses her hand to do that. Even in her eldritch form, before committing the massacre in Elliot mansion):

Though there are many voices of people, both disabled & otherwise that speak against disabled characters being portrayed as villains, I believe Cyn is in no way a disrespectful character. Before she is entirely lost to the Solver her trauma is explored, validated & expended on. She is portrayed as sweet, charming, complex & loving. She is also shown as being bullied, discarded, hurt & abused.

Her disabilities are not the cause of her fall to evil & are not her "trademark" when it comes to her definition (similarly to how, let's say, Darth Vader is mocked for his suit & is known & feared partially because of it). They are a part of her, but they are not the only aspect in her life that define her.

I think Cyn is a pretty good example of what a disabled person may go through in different stages of their lives. As a new sibling, as an unfavored child, as a server/worker, as a friend, as a hero & yes, as a victim of circumstances beyond their control.

I love Cyn, she's very special to me & I can't wait to see where her story will go.

Thank you for reading 🙏💜

[darkmuffinstudios]

[rolls in]

I've always, for the longest time, head-canoned that when Nightmare and Dream ate their respective apples and subsequently fused with them in the process, that they also *became* the apples in a sense?

Basically what I'm saying is that since the tree was cut down/died due to the events of Dreamtale, that they, themselves, became the two sides of the tree. While the tree was in its prime, it regulated all of the emotions and balance in the whole multiverse. However, because of the apple incident, Nightmare and Dream now take on the duty that the tree once had; regulating the emotions of the multiverse individually.

Hence they're constant struggle with one another.

As eternal, long-living beings of their respective roles, I doubt they would stay mad at each other forever- at least to the degree that it was initially after the tragedy in Dreamtale. This would make a truce somewhat inevitable- or at least a mutual understanding and respect for each other's jobs.

(I think this could, of course, vary depending on the way you depict their relationship, backstory, powers, situation, and the story at large)

Anyways, going back to what I was originally getting at before being sidetracked, they are- essentially- the tree itself.

In a weird way, I always thought that it was a little strange that eating the golden apples didn't seem to have any consequences as opposed to the negative ones (example being Nightmare violently being ripped apart and literally dying- but that can be dubious because, from my understanding, that was partially the main antagonist's influence on the apples??).

Again, not addressing canon and what the original had in mind, I think it would be interesting that slowly, over time, the tree starts to grow back through them.

Think of it as a way of aging for these immortals. After all, apples have seeds, so one would assume that they'd eventually sprout after enough time and nourishment (via the abundance of emotions and just generally taking care of themselves). Eventually, they'll have to create their own guardians to carry on their work, and the cycle continues after they die.

What I imagine is a weird mesh of hanahaki disease and the philosophy of cycles, in where when the two twins eventually pass, they will become the new trees in its place. Over time, while doing their jobs and fulfilling their roles, roots may start to sprout from their ribcage, followed by leaves. It would be cute at first, little leaves and branches that are harmless. But then, as time continues, more and more of their body gets overtaken with it.

But again, these changes would happen gradually over the course of their long, LONG lifespans. When it starts getting to the point of detriment to them, then they've probably lived hundreds of lifetimes over already.

I don't know, I just think it's an interesting idea to head-canon about, and a cool excuse to draw the twins with plant-like roots stretching out of them.

(some little examples I have of the idea I've drawn YEARS ago and as of recent. ignore the quality of my old art fosjigjiosjosgijiosg)

(also WIP jumpscare of a Shattered Dream interpretation I have been working on a little oogily boogily osgjiosgs)

[spookmuth]

DOAI AU Masterlist

for a little while we've been all kinda known each other in this little fandom, but we've had a few people are newer and have questions about AUs and the like, so here's a little master post! Its still in the works, please send asks and reblogs about more stuff I can add!

Official DOAI content

Doai YouTube playlist- The official playlist, little under an hour in watch time.

The haunted halloween ost- The banner music that plays in the background of the series!

Pastras official discord-https://discord.gg/75pJEf66- ran by pastra and his mods, this is the official discord for their channel and DOAI! There's more cannon DOAI over fannon and AU content.

AUs and fan comics

-> In no specific order

-> Due to being based on horror media, all the AUs will have trigger warnings that come with the genre as in, blood, gore, body horror, death, and medical horror, if theres a trigger warring not on this list, it will be in the description of the AU

Sitcom AU-

Tags-#sitcom au- #Doai sitcom au

An AU about an what if scenario where after Clyde breaks into Alexes home intending to eat them, but after they offer it a sandwich, it changes its mind, at least for a little while.

Creator-purplechaosguardian was the og poster, community created overall (original post)

Sitcom AU discord sever- https://discord.gg/Uv5t97zd A community ran discord sever, mostly about the sitcom AU, but we talk about all sorts of things!

The long explanation of the sitcom AU

Sitcom AU timeline

Troupe of eldritch horrors/circus AU-

Tags- #troupe of eldritch horrors au-#toeh au-#doai circus au

The @troupe-of-eldritch-horrors- blog

Creator-@redleaderdemon

A AU and fan comic/ ask blog, currently asked closed. -What's the AU about? The main cast of DOAI and the rest of the veldigun work at a circus ran by lankmann, with an underling story and lore.

TOEH AU timeline

Fran bow AU

Tags-#fran bow au

Creator-@redleaderdemon

Crossover AU for DOAI and Fran bow.

Williams foundation/Swap AU-

Tags-#the williams foundation au

Creator-@corrupteddoodles

AU where all the main roles are swapped I.E Alex swapped with lankmann, Clyde swapped with Winfrey. The AU gets its name from the name of Alexes version of the lankmann foundation, the Williams foundation.

Brainwash AU/Caretaker Alex AU-

Tags- #doai brainwash au-#caretaker alex au

Creator-@corrupteddoodles

AU Where Alex is under a mind control state by lankmann, and forced to work as a caretaker.

Fallen angel simon au-

Tags-#fallen angel simon au

Creator-@corrupteddoodles

An AU where simon and others are angels.

Folie a deux AU-

Trigger warring for- possession, illness, and cannibalism.

Tags-#doai folie a deux au

creators-@cardboardclownery/ @cookiecaker

AU where due to longterm exposure to Winfrey while working at the lankmann foundation, Alex forms a mental bond with Winfrey as a form of veldigun sickness, leading to Winfrey being able to control their body at random.

Repeating Cycle au-

creator-@bellatrix-the-leviathan-girl

20 years after the good ending of Sitcom, Alex (now a Veldigun) gets captured by the foundation. Eventually, a girl, whose dad works at the Asylum, stumbles into the room on accident. She comes back the next day and offers Alex a pb&j. Alex immediately realizes that they have unintentionally sealed this girl’s fate.

Little apprentice AU

Tags-#doai little apprentice au

Creator-@silverstudios

“The basis is that William Lewis, one of Clyde's victims, has been promoted to Lewis Williams, brother of Alex Williams, and on that fateful night Alex managed to save him and got snatched instead. Lewis then gets taken in custody by Lankmann, and years pass before Clyde decides to try to get them again.”- @arkaix

(this is version.0.3 of this post)

[dee-writes-smut]

Faded Memories of Monarch Butterflies (Eris Week Day Two)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x Single Mom Reader

SUMMARY you run into Eris at the market and can't help but fall into dark memories, at least, until a monarch butterfly lands on the tip of your son's nose.

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of domestic abuse, child abuse, eris was not a good daddy yall, childhood trauma, angst, hurt slight comfort, fluff (the holy trinity of pain and warmth).

AUTHORS NOTE happy day two of @erisweekofficial!!! Today is childhood and legacy, hope you enjoy! <3

You had seen him yesterday. A chance encounter, really—one you hadn’t expected in the slightest. There, in the bustling market filled with chatter and the scent of fresh herbs and flowers, stood Eris Vanserra. He looked out of place, as though the grandness of his title and position should have set him apart from the crowd. Yet there he was, woven into the mundane, like any other man shopping among the vendors. 

You tried not to stare as you went about your day, selecting flowers to place in the windowsill of your small reading nook. The room needed a touch of life—something to brighten the space that had, over the years, become suffocating in its stillness. Your two-year-old son tugged eagerly at your hand, his energy infectious as he skipped beside you, his bright laughter echoing through the market stalls. 

He had been ecstatic about the trip out, and his wide eyes drank in every sight and sound, marveling at the world beyond your modest apartment. It was rare you allowed yourself the luxury of such outings. After all, money was tight. Your husband had died before your son was even born, taken by the war that had ravaged your court. In the aftermath, you were left to navigate life as a single mother, your budget stretched thin in ways you never could have imagined. 

But today, after weeks of counting every coin and making ends meet, you had finally found a little room in your account. It was enough to buy the potted plant you’d been eyeing for what felt like an eternity. A small indulgence, but one that felt like a victory—a symbol that, despite everything, you were still standing. 

As you harshly tugged the lock on your rundown apartment door before leaving, ensuring it wouldn’t pop open while you were gone, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of weariness. Life had become a constant battle of survival. The weight of it all—your husband’s absence, the responsibilities that never ceased, the never-ending cycle of making do—had left you worn down. Yet here you were, pushing through it, trying to create moments of joy for your son. 

And then you saw Eris. 

You hadn’t spoken to him in years. Not since childhood, really. You both had grown up in the shadows of your powerful families, both burdened with legacies you never asked for. You’d run in the same circles back then—two children navigating the complexities of court politics and expectations, each quietly shouldering the weight of the future. You remembered him as a boy, sharp-eyed and clever, with a kindness he rarely let others see. 

But that was a lifetime ago. Now, he was the heir to the Autumn Court, and you? You were a widow living in a cramped apartment, trying to make a life for your son. 

Seeing him had sent you spiraling back into memories you had long tried to bury, memories as dark and suffocating as the closet you used to hide in. The market had faded away—the bright flowers, the chatter, your son’s laughter—all of it swallowed by the past. 

You were a child again, small and trembling, your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled in the cramped space of your parents' closet. The door was cracked, just enough for you to see shadows moving outside, large and threatening. You could hear them—your mother and father, their voices rising, yelling, screaming in a way that twisted your insides. The words were sharp, cruel, each one punctuated by the sound of something breaking, something shattering. You flinched at every crack, every crash. 

They were supposed to love you. They were supposed to protect you. 

But instead, you sat there, shaking, terrified, praying they wouldn’t find you. You wished for the noise to stop, for the anger that boiled between them to just disappear. But it never did. It would go on and on, until their voices were hoarse and their bodies exhausted, until the house was quiet again, filled only with the aftermath—the eerie silence that came when they were too tired to fight anymore. 

In those moments, you had learned how to make yourself small, how to become invisible. It was a skill you perfected over the years, hiding when the storm inside your home grew too violent, learning to read the moods, the signs. You stopped asking for comfort. You stopped hoping for a kind word or a gentle touch. And though the bruises never landed on you directly, the damage was done. You carried it with you, long after the yelling stopped, long after you grew old enough to escape. 

But even then, you had never truly escaped. The memories clung to you, shadows that never quite faded. You could still hear the echo of your parents’ voices, could still feel the way your heart pounded as you sat curled up in that dark closet, waiting for the chaos to end. 

Seeing Eris again had brought it all rushing back. He, too, had lived with shadows of his own, but in your memories of him as a child, he had always seemed so composed, so sure of himself. You had admired that about him. He never flinched in the face of his father’s wrath, never shrank into himself the way you did. But now, as you stood in the market with your son, the past seemed to blur with the present, and you wondered if he had truly been as unaffected as he appeared. 

Because you hadn’t been. You were still that scared child, hiding from the people who were meant to love you, shaking in the dark. And even now, with a son of your own, you couldn’t shake the fear that you might repeat the cycle, that the shadows of your past would seep into your present and taint the life you had tried so hard to build. 

“Mama!” your son squealed, the pure delight in his voice pulling you sharply from your dark thoughts. You blinked, your gaze drawn to him as he pointed excitedly at the small monarch butterfly perched delicately on his nose. It was a strange sight—out of season, impossible for this weather—and yet there it was, a little miracle of endurance. 

The warmth of his joy stirred something in you, shifting the weight of your memories. The shadows that had clung to you moments ago receded, if only a little, replaced by the gentler glow of a different time, a memory that had somehow survived the harshness of your past. 

“C’mon!” a voice called, filled with that same infectious energy. The boy with fiery red hair, eyes alive with mischief and laughter, tugged at your hand, pulling you deeper into the autumnal forest that surrounded the grand manor. His laughter echoed around the trees, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, as if the shadows that loomed over both of your lives couldn’t touch him. 

“You’re gonna miss it!” he laughed again, the sound bright and full of life. 

You followed him, your smaller legs struggling to keep up, your mind racing to understand how he could be so carefree. You’d seen the bruises on his skin, the way exhaustion tugged at his features, the same weight you carried. You had heard the furious shouts of his father from across the grounds, just as you had heard the angry voices in your own home. But still, Eris always smiled. Always laughed. He found a way to hold on to some kind of light, even when it seemed impossible. 

He perplexed you. 

How could he endure what he did and still find room for joy? You were no stranger to pain, but your instinct had always been to retreat, to hide from it. Yet Eris—he faced it head-on, and even more than that, he shared his light with you. Every time he’d find you sitting alone, curled up somewhere quiet, he’d drag you into this—into the woods, into laughter, into something more. He’d take your hand as if you were the most important person in the world, despite the fact that you were no one. Just the daughter of a councilman, with no great future or title. 

And yet, he had always made you feel like you mattered. His laughter had a way of lifting your heart, of pushing back the dark corners of your world. He gave you something to hold onto, something to pull you out of the nightmares of home. 

“We’re here!” Eris gasped, his voice hushed but filled with excitement. He tugged you down behind a thick bush, its prickly branches scratching against your arms as you both crouched low. You followed his gaze, peeking through the tangled greenery just in time to see a tall, elegant stag stepping cautiously into the small clearing ahead. 

Its movements were slow and measured, as though it knew it was the centerpiece of this quiet autumn forest. The sun seemed to shimmer around its sleek form, the dappled light glinting off its antlers as it paused, ears twitching minutely. It sniffed the air, alert, but content as it lowered its head to graze on the soft grass below. 

You held your breath, mesmerized by the scene. It felt like a secret shared only between the two of you and the wilds of the Autumn Court. Eris was still beside you, his amber eyes wide with awe, a rare moment of peace in his usually turbulent world. 

But that peace was short-lived. 

A sharp yelp pierced the air, and your head snapped to the source—Eris, whose hand flew up to his nose, eyes wide in panic. He scrambled back, nearly falling onto you as he tried to swat at the tickling sensation on his face. There, perched delicately on the tip of his nose, was a butterfly—a monarch. The same one you’d seen with your son earlier, or maybe its distant ancestor, fluttering just as boldly despite the chill in the air. 

The stag, startled by Eris’s sudden noise, raised its head and bolted, disappearing into the treeline in a flash. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as Eris sat there, blinking in surprise, the butterfly fluttering harmlessly away. 

Eris shot you a sheepish grin, the boyish charm that always managed to warm the coldest corners of your heart coming through in full force. He may have been the crown prince, heir to a brutal legacy, but here, in this quiet clearing, he was just a boy—clumsy, carefree, and for a brief moment, utterly at ease. 

And for a brief moment, you felt the warmth of that light he always carried. Even in the wildness of the world, there were moments like this, when joy found its way through the cracks. Moments that made you believe, even if just for a little while, that the shadows didn’t have to win. 

Your son’s giggles brought you fully back to the present, and you smiled softly, the ache of the past easing. Maybe that was the lesson you had needed from your childhood—the one Eris had tried to teach you all those years ago. That no matter how dark the shadows became, there was always some light to be found. 

You watched Eris disappear into the crowd, his fiery hair catching the light for just a moment before he vanished entirely. It was strange seeing him again, and even stranger to feel your heart lighten at the memory of him. Days spent in the gardens and the forests of the Autumn Court came rushing back—days where the world seemed brighter, where the weight of your broken families had been pushed aside by laughter, by chasing each other through the trees, by simply being children. For those stolen moments, you had been free. 

But now, as the crowd swallowed him whole, your heart ached with something deeper, something raw. Guilt crept in, an unwelcome but familiar feeling. You had left him behind, hadn’t you? For the sake of your own heart, you had chosen to walk away from the boy who had once shared his light with you. 

Maybe you had convinced yourself you needed to find your own way, to escape the tangled webs of your family’s legacy without dragging him with you. Maybe you had thought it was the right thing to do, to protect yourself from a life that might mirror the one you had escaped from. But now, watching him disappear like a fleeting memory, you couldn’t help but wonder—had you made the wrong choice? 

What if you hadn’t left? What if you had stayed by his side? Would you have continued to share in that light together, easing each other’s burdens like you had done in the forest all those years ago? 

The thought lingered, twisting inside you as your son tugged at your sleeve, pulling you back to the present once again. You had chosen your path, and you had done what you thought was best. But as the shadows of your past threatened to close in, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been—what might still be, if you ever found the courage to face him again. 

ERIS WEEK TAGLIST

@littlest-w01f @mp-littlebit

(apologies for forgetting the taglist on day one, I wrote it before I got comments on the masterlist for Eris week and forgot to update it T-T)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Off the Page 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: skinny!Steve

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You take a page out of Maria’s book and sleep on the train. The night at the hotel wasn’t long enough. By the time you ate, you were too tired to enjoy the fancy tub and your alarm woke you well before you were ready. As your stop comes, you’re still groggy and barely ready for your evening meet and greet. 

Isn’t this the dream? Running yourself ragged as a bestselling author? Seeing all the fans who love the words that you wrote? Who see themselves in the characters you created? So much a dream that you feel as if you’re falling asleep again. 

Wake up! You splash water over your face in the bookstore bathroom. It’s not glamourous. You have the small space to refresh before you face the masses. You hoped for a smaller crowd given the time of day and the lesser known location. How wrong you are; you can hear the buzz of fans through the walls. 

“Hey,” Maria enters without knocking. She’s like that. You and your agent have gotten rather cozy in those last weeks. A bit too much at times. “Almost ready?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I... is this blouse okay?” You ask as you touch the satin, patterned with violets, “I don’t even know why I bought this?” 

“It looks fine,” she assures, “you’re not a writer if you’re not at least a little eccentric, right?” 

“Oh, and what about book agents?” You challenge, “are they all so stylish?’ 

“Of course. We’re the face that sells the tour. All you have to do is smile and sacrifice your hand to carpal tunnel syndrome,” she teases, “just you wait until the interview. That's the heavy lifting.” 

“Interview?” You check yourself one last time in the mirror. 

“Didn’t I mention? The local station wants a sit down before we’re off tomorrow,” she explains, “I said yes. It’s a decent check and good business. Any publicity is good publicity. Publisher signed off on it too so... can’t back out.” 

“Oh, and you were going to tell me when?” 

“Right now,” she shrugs, “come on, your adoring fans are waiting for their elf queen.” 

“Oof, don’t,” you cringe, “you make it sound so lame.” 

“If it was lame, you wouldn’t be here,” she asserts. 

“Suppose you’re right,” you pack your things up into your bag and shove it in the corner. “Alright, I’m ready.” 

You follow her into the hall and through to the main area of the bookstore. It’s been closed early for the event, a meet and greet exclusive to those who claimed the limited one hundred tickets for sale. Each ticket includes the cost of a free signed edition and bookmark. Funny to think you’d once been on the other side of one of these things. The eager beaver reader aspiring to be the star author. 

As you come into sigh of the audience, they cheer. You’re still not used to that either. You wave and smile out at them. The moderator, an employee of the bookshop chain, calls for their attention over the microphone and introduces you. There’s another softer round of applause. 

You take your seat on the stool and let out a breath. You start with the reading. You try not to do the same chapter, instead cycling through your favourites. Some you even know by rote now. 

Then comes the Q and A session. You know all the answers. You find it’s always the same questions. Besides, you created this world, these characters, if there isn’t anything written, then you get to decide. 

A group a giggly women finish asking their questions about the ‘rumoured’ sequel to which you give your PR friendly deflection. After them, you wait for the next person to appear. There’s some scuffling at the microphone as they lower it. You wait patiently and smile at the slender blond man. He’s vaguely familiar. 

“Hi, um, my question is, whether Emeris is truly the promised knight or if he was just in the right place at the right time?” 

You nod as you listen, your thoughts whirring. It’s not an entirely out-there question. It isn’t what he’s asking that gives you pause. You swear you’ve seen him before. 

“Well, we can’t know for sure. I like to think of the promised knight as not a specific person fated from birth but rather a possibility for all. The promised knight is the one who can step up in that time of need and do what it is needed,” you explain. “I hope that makes sense.” 

The man doesn’t speak right away, himself stalling before he can respond, “yes, I guess it does. Thank you.” 

He lingers at the microphone for a moment as he watches you. He clutches a worn copy to his chest tightly. That’s familiar too. 

Strange. You're sure there’s lots of people who double dip. You have to admit you did it once yourself. Sometimes you just need that thrill.  

The blond man steps back and lets the next person ahead of him but he doesn’t go far. He stays close to the queue of people and you feel him staring you down. Everyone is watching you but his gaze just feels so much more intense. You do your best to focus on the person at the microphone. 

Several others ask their questions or just give their praise. The man remains. You can’t shake the sense of him. He’s like a shadow. You don’t know why you’re so aware of him. 

Finally, you finish up and it’s time to announce the special prize. It’s a raffle set up by ticket number. The package isn’t anything special; a collector’s edition, a mug, and some pens that look like quills. The moderator brings up a box filled with slips and you reach inside. You read out the number and the crowd mutters. 

“Me,” a deep voice rings out, a hand popping up from lower down. The blond man steps forward and waves his ticket, “it’s mine.” 

Strange coincidence. You keep your smile plastered on. You don’t need another Maria lecture about your tired moping. You’re handed the prize basket and you carry it down to meet the man. 

“Congratulations,” you say as he meets you at the lip of the low platform. 

“Thank you,” he beams up brightly, “it’s nice to see you again.” 

You try not to show your surprise, “yeah, uh... you too.” You don’t know what else to say. You don’t remember exactly where you saw him and definitely not a name; you hear too many of those to keep track. 

“Really?” He breathes. 

“Er, enjoy your prize. Thank you so much for coming.” 

“Of course. Always. Anytime,” he avows shakily. “’To you, my queen, I bid my blood and breath.’” 

You hesitate. That’s from the book. Emeris proclaims it to the elvish protagonist on her quest to reclaim her stolen homeland. It’s flattering yet slightly unsettling to have it recited to you. 

“Have a good night,” you say gently and turn to walk back across the platform. You’re tired, you need to get out of here. 

[asmoslverboy]

To love the devil; Dottore x GN!Reader.

He is who he has always been. Despite the centuries he's had to accept and embrace his darkness, though he claims otherwise, he can't help but try to hide away from you. Neither one of you's a saint, but through his eyes, you're an angel. CW! Angst, immortal × immortal, Dottore is referred to as "Zandik", self sabotage on Dottore's part♡, dottore being emotional (ooc tbh, im self projecting on him)??

932 words

Dottore has many sides to him that he'd rather hide off from you. For someone so egotistical, so full of pride, you'd never expect him to be ashamed of who he is, who he has become. And he's not— shame, embarrassment— those aren't emotions that he's familiar with.

But fear, now that's a whole other conversation. It's not like you don't know what he's done, the things he's guilty of, his list of crimes, and of unethical desires he's tried to fulfill. It's not like you haven't personally seen him drown in sin over the 400 years of knowing him.

"Zandik, did I upset you?" You ask him as you're sitting on top of his desk while he's in his chair, looking up at your figure. He's been quite distant lately, more than usual. You could easily assume that he was having one of his isolative episodes, but he doesn't seem to be avoiding anyone other than you.

"Hm?" That's all you get from him, accompanied by a raise of his right brow, but his focus soon goes back to his notes, going over them, rambling about how he needs his next project to be the embodiment of perfection. Creating an aranara, was it? Some things, it seems, never change. He was so obsessed with the idea of capturing one of those little creatures of nature, back when the two of you were still students.

The next few hours pass by in the same cycle of events. You try talking to him, he shrugs it off and continues digging his head deep into his research files.

Do not expect any more of him for the next days, weeks even. It's like your existence no longer matters to him. All you see is the man that you've been with throughout basically your whole entire lives, acting as if you were a mere accomplice. He has repeated this type of scheme in the past, more than once, but it never lasted as long as it did this time.

Each of your attempts of getting a simple response out of him, one that requires actual words instead of some grunt or hum, has gone to waste.

You're unsure of what to do. Should you be more worried for him or for yourself? Is this the time it all ends between the two of you? Should you really just give up on him at this point?

"Zandik," you called out, but not to him, nor to anyone else. Sitting by a lake, all by yourself, no one to your company, other than the thousand microorganisms that lived and thrived in the waters. "I wish you would just speak to me."

It's not like you lack friends to confide in. But would anyone be as understanding towards him— the one who was labeled a monster, by all who've known him and by himself first and foremost— after you tell them about his present behaviors?

You laid your head on the cold, wet grass. Surrounded by nature, the collective of existence. You could never be alone in this world, not as long as you believe that everything around you is as alive as you are.

But are you truly alive? If, in the past, your definition of the word was to express yourself in every way, to feel and to be felt, would you consider yourself alive at this very moment?

Another day has come— it seems you had fallen asleep on the ground. You awoke, a couple ducks quaking as they poke you with their beaks. They didn't mean to hurt you, though. And if you think about it, your beloved is much like these ducks. He does what he thinks would best help you. Even if it has opposing effects.

"You shouldn't stay," he told you, his tone felt like it could cut through metal. You were back at his office again, figuring you could at least help him out at work, if unable to help his inner world. He was taking off his gloves as he was done inspecting some ancient Khaenri'ahn technology items. "Do you want me to—"

"I've given you every reason to leave. Yet you still cling to me like a bloodthirsty eel." He cut you off. He has never spoken to you like this (not whilst he was sober, nor whilst he was in his right mind). He was calm, but he spoke as if you were an object to be dismissed.

"Do you not love me anymore?" You wanted to ask him so, so desperately. But the potential answers to that question shook you to your very core. So you dared not speak.

Such conflict within you. Shall you leave him be? Shall you listen to his words instead of pursuing him any further? You're painfully aware of his nature; to push you away when he needs your presence most.

But it's been going on for far too long, has it not? If he's not allowing you to help him, then really, what else is there to do, if not fend for yourself?

"You deserve better," he wrote to you, in a letter that'll never reach your sight. "Your love should not be limited to one who can not accept, nor react to it," he wrote again. But who is he trying to fool? He knows that this piece of paper, along with all the other ones he's tried to write, will be crunched up and disposed of.

Not even once, for the sake of the person who's loved him through it all, will he allow himself to be heard.

[hinataoc]

It's finally time to share my fic for @shatteredestiny-zine aka Dark Road Zine! I had quite the time figuring out what to write about for this zine. There's so much to explore! It's a part of the fandom I don't think is focused on enough, so this was the perfect opportunity to dive into it.

The entire team was just lovely and there are so many incredible fics and artworks throughout the zine that explore each of the characters. I personally chose to explore none other than Luxu. He's an intriguing one and I've always wondered how his possession powers worked. So that's what I decided to focus on!

Each writer also had an artist or two creating illustrations for their pieces! One of the artists for my story was the lovely @amyhayanora <3 Which I have the permission to share alongside the story! She found the soul of the piece and laid it bare. The combined Stations of Awakening and the desaturation on Bragi's half, it captured the atmosphere perfectly.

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Cycle of Existence (1911 words) by CurryFury13 Summary: Luxu stands amongst the gravestones of his fallen 'friends'. It's not the first time he's been in this position, nor will it be the last. The cycle of his existence continues… There's just one last loose end to tie up before he moves on.

----

Lightning pulsed through the thick clouds, flashing with strikes of whites and blues against the heavy gray. Rumbling thunder followed, roaring with unrestrained fury. It reverberated between the rows of tombstones, echoing and carrying across the cemetery like a wail. Luxu stood on a worn path, silent and listening. He wore a thick black coat. It was long, encapsulating, and concealed his identity beneath a hood that shrouded even his eyes from the world around him. Sharp rain bounced off the leather of his coat, spattering to the cobbled ground below.

He remained perfectly still while the whistling wind billowed the bottom of his coat. His gaze went from one gravestone to the next, reading the freshly etched names—Hermod, Urd, Vor… Bragi. He paused at the final name and for the first time since arriving he let out a noise—a single, breathless scoff that was lost in the wailing of the storm. 

With a single motion, he pushed back his hood. Rain darkened his auburn hair, sticking it to his cheeks. He leaned his head up towards the clouds, welcoming the storm and closing his eyes. Another life, there and gone again. 

“There…” he said softly. “One last time.”     

“So that’s it then?” A voice asked from inside his mind, fleeting as if a stray thought. 

Luxu’s brow raised at the voice, though he wasn’t surprised. With a flick of his wrist wisps of darkness sprouted from the ground. Blues and purples surrounded him, concealing the storm. Then everything went quiet. Luxu took in the silence, letting out a breath before opening his eyes. Stained glass spread out beneath his feet, brilliantly glowing from an ethereal light beneath it. Soft, yet vibrant hues splashed over Luxu’s coat, creating a shimmering kaleidoscope across the leather. He paid no mind to the light display, however. It was a familiar sight—too familiar sometimes. 

He recalled the Master of Masters referring to it as a Station of Awakening—a physical representation of a heart. Or two, in Luxu’s case. Deep fissures webbed down the center of the intricate stained glass, each half depicting a different heart. One belonged to Luxu, the other to whichever hapless host Luxu decided to prey upon that century. At least, that was how his first host, Brain, had put it.

“Guess it’s about time you move on to the next victim, huh?” The same voice from before asked.  

Luxu looked towards the other station. Its colors were fading. White cracks leaked over the faces depicted across it. Bragi sat in the center of it. He was kneeling, disheveled, his skin pasty white compared to the warmth it had in the outside world… when Luxu wore his face. 

Bragi’s tired eyes didn’t even feign Luxu a glance. He stared at the glass, his thin fingertip tracing the veiny white cracks beneath him.  

In return Luxu crossed his arms and scoffed in a playful way he often recalled the Master of Masters doing to him. “Now you don’t have to go saying it like that. Last I checked, I did you a favor.”

A pained laugh shook Bragi’s shoulders. “Fair enough… Still, you didn’t answer my question.”

The sharp edge of Luxu’s smirk dipped and he looked at Bragi, studying him. Seeing him now reminded him of when he’d first chosen Bragi as his carrier, host, whatever anyone wanted to call it. A sick boy — lost, forgotten, nearly on his deathbed. No one would have noticed him dying. Luxu liked to tell himself he gave him another chance at life. Brought him along for an adventure he never would have had the chance to go on otherwise. But it all ended the same way it always did. Back where they started. 

Luxu turned away. He gazed out at the stirring cosmos beyond their Stations. “Gotta move on at some point.”  

Silence was all he got in reply. 

The silence stretched. Their breaths filled the quiet, Luxu’s long and even, Bragi’s labored and hoarse. Luxu’s grip tightened along his arms. The wait never got easier —w aiting for life to fade. He should have been using the time to find another host, but he didn’t move. It ate at him, nagging at the back of his mind as he watched the floating colors against the black emptiness around them. He needed to go, move on, but hearing Bragi’s slowing breaths… leaving didn’t seem right just yet. 

He peeked over his shoulder and Bragi’s eyes averted to his fading Station. Luxu watched him for a moment, seeing the furrowed brows as Bragi’s finger repeatedly scratched the glass beneath him.  

Luxu looked back to the cosmos. “You gonna say it or are you planning on stewing?”

Glass cracked, sounding like twinkling chimes as thin fissures webbed from where Bragi rested. Bragi swallowed thickly. “Why didn’t you do anything…?”

“Why didn’t I —what exactly?” Luxu asked, feeling Bragi’s glare against his back. 

“You knew what Baldr was doing,” Bragi clarified, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you save…?” His voice trailed off and he sucked in a breath. “I thought they were our friends.”

As if…

The thought immediately crossed Luxu’s mind and he winced. Over the years, losing friends didn’t carry the sting it used to. He looked up, even though the same cosmos awaited him in what should have been the sky. 

“Figured by now you’d know the drill,” Luxu said finally. “Can’t draw too much attention, can’t interfere. I’m just here to watch.”

Silence stretched after his words fell to fading echoes. An entire minute passed before Bragi spoke again, “I guess I thought they’d be the exception.”

A scoff escaped Luxu before he could catch it. “You make one exception and suddenly everyone begs to be the next.”

“Speaking from experience?” Bragi asked. 

Luxu chuckled and turned around. The cracks in Bragi’s Station were already thicker and spreading. He walked towards the center fissure, where their Stations met together; it was wider than before. Luxu traced his foot along it, watching loose shards fall away into the abyss below.

“It’s been quite the ride, hasn’t it?” Luxu asked. 

Bragi watched Luxu for a moment, then looked away. 

Blowing out a breath, Luxu straightened out his coat. “Well, I suppose the hunt begins.”

-----------------------------------

Even at night, the flowers in Radiant Garden were vibrant with color. Luxu walked amongst them, his attention on the towering castle in the garden’s center, rather than admiring the beauty around him. He stopped at the bottom of a stairwell that led right up to the main gates, but he didn’t move any further. 

“This is the place,” Luxu whispered. 

“ Are you sure?” Bragi’s voice asked weakly inside his mind. 

Luxu smirked. “Word has it there’s a crazy old scientist in there studying hearts. And he’s got a whole lot of apprentices in there helping.” He turned around and disappeared into the garden, finding a shrouded corner to settle into. “So yeah, I’m sure.”

Bragi didn’t reply right away. A warm breeze whistled through the trees, swaying the flowers and twirling the occasional petal in the air. Luxu leaned back against a tree trunk, crossing his arms and watching the castle. “Now we wait and find the right person for the job.”

“ You seem excited about this…” Bragi muttered. 

Luxu shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

“You’re about to ruin someone’s life,” Bragi started to say before breaking into a cough. 

“Did I ruin yours?” Luxu asked. 

He half expected the silence he got in response. Looking around from his hiding spot, he scanned over the garden and the castle grounds. Two burly men stood guard at the gates, lances firmly in their hands. A giggling couple waltzed along the outskirts of the garden, hands held and the rest of the world invisible to them. 

Then Luxu saw him. 

A man sat alone on a bench, hands linked between his knees as he stared up at the castle. He kept to himself so much that upon first glance, Luxu hadn’t noticed him. Luxu smirked, a familiar fire igniting in his chest. With a flick of his wrist, darkness wisped around him and his black coat transformed into Bragi’s clothes. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of the familiar blue hoodie and came out from the darkness. 

“Mind if I join you?” he asked as he approached the bench. 

The man startled, his brown eyes darting over to Luxu. He ran his fingers through his black hair and cleared his throat, scooting over.

“Thanks.” Luxu smiled and sat beside him. 

He gazed up at the castle and leaned back in his seat. The man watched him for a moment before looking back to the castle as well. 

“Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Luxu asked. 

The man nodded but didn’t reply. 

Luxu continued, “You ever thought about seeing what’s inside?”

The man looked at Luxu from the corner of his eyes, then back to the castle. His brows knitted together before he answered, “I hope to soon.”

“What do you think is in there?” Luxu slightly turned towards him. 

Straightening, the man said. “The sort of things you couldn’t comprehend.”

Luxu chuckled. “Is that right?” He turned to face forward and leaned far back in his seat. “Well, maybe I’ll just have to get in there and find out for myself.”

“Maybe you will,” the man replied. 

“Luxu… ” Bragi said weakly. 

Luxu blew out a breath and abruptly got up. “Nice talking with you.”

The man watched him leave with an arched brow and small wave of his fingers. Luxu waved back with more of a salute, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. Once out of sight, wisps of darkness surrounded him and he reappeared in his Station. 

To his surprise, he found Bragi standing. The color from Bragi’s Station was nearly grayed out completely. Entire sections of the glass were missing, leaving Bragi a single shard to stand on. Luxu met him in the center, both of them standing on their respective Stations. Bragi swayed side to side, and gradually lifted his sullen eyes to Luxu. 

“This is it… isn’t it?” Bragi asked with a hoarse whisper, unable to hold Luxu’s gaze. 

“Seems like it,” Luxu replied, studying him. “You ready?”

Bragi’s brows knitted together and he looked around. Luxu’s Station was brighter than before, pulsing with power and anticipation of the next heart. And there was Bragi’s… shattered and gray, about to be lifeless. Bragi let out a shaking breath. 

“Yeah… it’s time,” he said softly. His eyes flickered towards Luxu, then away again. “This is the last chance I’ll get to say it… Thank you…”

“Thank you?” Luxu repeated. 

“For giving me a second chance.” Bragi’s entire body shivered, more shards of glass falling away beneath him. “The years with the others, my friends, I…” His voice trailed off and he abruptly looked directly at Luxu with a determined glint in his eyes. “Don’t forget.”

“About you?” Lucu asked. 

“About all of us,” Bragi corrected him, standing firm and tall for the last time. “Xehanort, Eraqus, Hermod, Urd, Vor, even Baldur. I don’t care how long you keep this up and cheat death. Don’t forget about us.”

Luxu stared back at him, rendered speechless for a moment. A faint warmth washed over his Station, a warmth he’d forgotten. Swallowing, Luxu placed his hand on Bragi’s shoulder. The corners of Bragi’s mouth curved into a subtle smile and Luxu chuckled. “As if I ever could.”

[insomniac4000]

George Clarke was not your average gym-goer. Sure, he showed up four times a week, right on schedule, but it wasn’t because he was obsessed with bulking up or shredding down. That was just a bonus, the gym was more of a sanctuary for George—a place where he could clear his mind, focus on something tangible, and take a break from the relentless cycle of creating content.

Life as a TikTok and Youtube star had its perks, of course. George loved the excitement, the creativity, and most of all, the connection he felt with his fans. But there was an intensity to it that sometimes left him feeling drained. That’s why he cherished his time at the gym. Here, among the rows of dumbbells and treadmills, he could just be George, a guy trying to stay in shape and enjoy his workouts.

He had his routine down to a science. Mondays were for chest and triceps, Tuesdays for back and biceps, Thursdays for legs, and Fridays for shoulders and abs. He’d plug in his earbuds, crank up his favourite playlist, and get to work. The repetition was comforting, and over time, he’d come to recognize the regulars the same faces appearing day after day, each of them absorbed in their own world.

One face, however, had started to catch his eye more than the others.

She was new, or at least new to George. He first noticed her one chilly November morning, about three months ago. She had wandered into the gym with an air of confidence that suggested she wasn’t a beginner, but George had never seen her before. Dressed in sleek black leggings and a simple tank top, her hair tied back in a high ponytail, she moved through her routine with a focus that George admired. She was strong, no doubt about that. He watched as she effortlessly hoisted weights feeling comfortable while doing so and was engrossed in her routine, not bothered about anyone else at the gym, just like George.

It wasn’t just her strength that caught George’s attention. It was her smile, which she offered to the staff at the front desk as she checked in each morning. It was the way she seemed to tune out the rest of the world when she was lifting or on the treadmill, completely immersed in the moment. It was the way she caught him looking once, their eyes meeting for a split second before she looked away, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

George didn’t know her name. She didn’t seem to be on social media, or if she was, he hadn’t been able to find her. But there was something about her that intrigued him, a mystery that he wanted to solve. He started timing his workouts to coincide with hers, subtly shifting his schedule so that he’d be there when she was. He didn’t want to come off as creepy or overly interested, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon when fate finally intervened. George had just finished his third set of squats and was about to move on to lunges when he noticed her struggling with the leg press machine. She had loaded the plates onto the machine but seemed to be having trouble with the lever that locked it into place.

Without thinking, George walked over. “Hey, do you need some help with that?”

She looked up, surprised, and George felt his heart skip a beat. Her eyes were a deep, warm brown, and up close, he could see the faint freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. She was even more beautiful than he had realised, George often joked he was incapable of speaking to women and he could feel his heart thumping as the adrenaline flowed through him.

“Um, yeah, actually,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I think this thing is stuck.”

George leaned down and gave the lever a firm tug. It clicked into place easily, and he stepped back with a grin. “There you go. All set.”

She smiled, a little sheepishly. “Thanks. I’m usually fine with this stuff, but today it just wasn’t cooperating.”

“No problem,” George said. He was about to walk away when she spoke again.

“I’m Emily, by the way.”

He turned back, surprised. “George,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took it, and for a brief moment, George felt a spark of something more than just a handshake. “Nice to meet you, George,” Emily said, her smile widening.

“Likewise,” George replied, feeling a little awkward but thrilled all the same. “Do you come here often?” He then mentally kicked himself for asking such a stupid question.

Emily chuckled. “Sounds like a line, but yes, I try to come most days. You?”

“Yeah, same here. It’s kind of my escape, you know?”

“I totally get that,” she said, her expression softening. “I work in marketing, and sometimes I just need to get out of my head. The gym helps.”

“Same,” George said, though he didn’t elaborate on his career. Most people either knew who he was or they didn’t, and he found it refreshing when they didn’t.

They talked a bit longer, mostly about their favourite workouts and the best times to hit the gym when it wasn’t crowded. It was a light, easy conversation, and when they finally parted ways, George felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his workout.

Over the next few weeks, George and Emily started to see more of each other at the gym. They’d exchange smiles or brief conversations between sets, and gradually, those moments turned into longer chats. George learned that Emily had moved to the city a few months ago for a new job, which explained why he hadn’t seen her before. She was originally from a small town up north, and she missed the quiet but was enjoying the excitement of the city.

“I didn’t know anyone here at first,” Emily confessed one day as they were cooling down after a workout. “But the gym kind of became my place, you know? It’s nice to see familiar faces, even if we don’t always talk.”

George nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “Yeah, I felt the same way when I first moved here. The gym was where I found my rhythm. Plus my housemates are idiots so it's good to get away,” he joked.

They started meeting up outside the gym, too. It started innocently enough coffee after a workout, a smoothie on the way home. But soon, George found himself looking forward to those moments with Emily as much as he did his actual workouts. She was easy to talk to, funny, and grounded in a way that George found incredibly appealing.

And she didn’t seem to know who he was.

This was perhaps the most surprising thing of all. George was so used to being recognized everywhere he went, his online persona preceding him. But Emily seemed blissfully unaware of his TikTok fame. She treated him like just another guy, a guy she was getting to know, not a social media star.

It was a breath of fresh air.

It was a crisp winter evening when things began to change. George and Emily had just finished a particularly grueling workout as George was now training for a race for charity and were walking out of the gym together, their breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

“Want to grab dinner?” George asked, trying to keep his tone casual. “There’s this great Thai place just down the street.”

Emily hesitated for a moment, and George felt his heart drop. But then she smiled. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Dinner was wonderful, full of laughter and easy conversation. George found himself opening up to Emily in a way he hadn’t with anyone in a long time. He told her about his life, his family, and his love for creating content, though he still didn’t mention the extent of his online presence. Emily talked about her work, her friends back home, and her dreams of traveling the world someday.

As they walked back to their cars, George felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. This wasn’t just a casual friendship anymore—at least, not for him. He was falling for her, hard and fast, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“So, Emily,” he began, his voice a little shaky. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Emily looked up at him, her expression curious. “What is it?”

George took a deep breath. “I—well, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. And I guess what I’m trying to say is, I think I’m starting to like you. A lot.” There was a pause, and for a moment, George’s heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he thought she might hear it. But then Emily smiled, and George felt a wave of relief.

“I like you too, George,” she said softly. “I was hoping you’d say something, because I’ve been feeling the same way.”

George couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Really? That’s—that’s amazing.”

“But,” Emily continued, a hint of uncertainty in her voice, “there’s something I should tell you too.”

George’s smile faltered. “What is it?”

Emily took a deep breath, just as he had done moments before. “I know who you are, George. I’ve known for a while now. My friends sent me your TikToks ages ago, and I recognized you the first day I saw you at the gym.”

George was stunned into silence. “You—you knew?”

Emily nodded, her eyes searching his for a reaction. “I didn’t say anything because, honestly, I just wanted to get to know you as you. Not as ‘George Clarkeey, the guy on TikTok.’ And I’m glad I did, because the George I’ve gotten to know is incredible.”

George felt a rush of emotions—relief, happiness, and something else, something deeper. He reached out and took Emily’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“Thank you for that, Emily. It means more to me than you know. I wanted to be just me around you too, not the guy everyone sees online.”

"I think I would have been drawn to you anyway, famous or not because no one can resist you doing a squat," Emily giggled.

They stood there for a moment, the world around them fading away as they looked at each other. It felt like the start of something real, something that went beyond the likes and comments of the digital world. George had found someone who saw him for who he truly was, and that was worth more than all the fame in the world.

The days that followed were a blur of excitement for George. His relationship with Emily grew stronger with each passing day. They started spending more time together, not just at the gym but outside of it too. They explored the city, tried out new restaurants, and even spent quiet evenings at George’s place, where they could just be themselves.

For the first time in a long time, George felt truly content. He still loved making content and connecting with his fans, but now he had something—or rather, someone—who made his offline life just as fulfilling. Emily was becoming his confidante, his support system, and more importantly, his partner.

One evening, as they were watching a movie on George’s couch, Emily turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. “So, when do I get to make a cameo in one of your TikToks?”

George laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Whenever you want. But only if you’re sure you’re ready for the spotlight.”

“I think I can handle it,” she teased, snuggling closer to him. “But no pressure. I’m happy just being part of your real life.”

George kissed the top of her head, feeling a warmth spread through him. “You’re already the best part of it.”

And as they sat there, wrapped up in each other, George realized just how lucky he was. He had found something rare and beautiful—something that made all the hard work, all the late nights and early mornings, completely worth it.

He had found love, not in the flashy world of social media, but in the quiet, unassuming moments of real life. And he knew that, no matter what the future held, he and Emily would face it together, one set at a time.

[hallwyeoo]

Ellie’s memory of the golfing scene and what it tells us about her.

🚨spoilers for tlou2🚨

I think Ellie’s flashback to Joel’s death is very telling of how she internalized the event and the meaning she applied to his death. It’s also a good demonstration of her relationship to autonomy. Let’s break down the elements that were inconsistent with the actual event:

The stairs/hallway are much longer than they were. This suggests a sense of helplessness, an inability to get there fast enough. Joel is constantly out of reach.

There is blood on the floor outside of the door. Not entirely certain on this one but my hunch is that she blames herself for not seeing more obvious signs of violence/not knowing something was wrong sooner.

The door is locked, another roadblock in her path to Joel. She can’t access him, she can’t help, he needs her and she isn’t there.

Most importantly. Joel yells “Ellie, help me” (which he didn’t in the actual scene, he just screams. He doesn’t say a word in the actual scene)

Ellie hearing Joel scream for her help, calling for her while being horribly beaten, and her being repeatedly impeded on her way to him suggests that what she took away from his death is that she wasn’t enough. They always helped each other, always had each others backs, always got up. Ellie views his death as a failure. She was too slow, too weak, not smart enough to save him. She failed him when he needed her most. She is absolutely helpless to save him, just like she was helpless to save Riley, Tess, Sam, and Jessie (and Marlene, and humanity, and and and-).

Once again, Ellie makes a decision (staying with Riley, going to the fireflies, staying with Joel, being the cure, trying to forgive Joel) and once again her autonomy and ability to find closure is ripped from her.

This is the inciting incident of tlou pt2, this is the moment where Ellie’s whole world shatters the same way Joel’s did at the start of pt1. Ellie enters into the same cycle (which I like to call the “Joel cycle” because… yeah.) that he did, and throughout pt2 she stays in the “20 years later” phase of the cycle. She is changed, she has lost her light, lost what she fought for. She lost her chance to genuinely forgive Joel and rebuild their relationship. She is stuck in a gruelling and violent world that she has no anchor in, at least not anymore. His death is so sudden and so incredibly violent that it practically gave her (and me as well, tbh) whiplash. She’s in a state of total shock.

On another devastating note, this is one of the three times in tlou that we see Ellie beg (that I remember). The first is begging Joel to get up at the university of Eastern Colorado, the second is begging him to get up and for Abby to stop, and the third is begging Abby to not kill Dina because she’s pregnant. (Two times she begs Joel to get up, one time he doesn’t. Two times she begs Abby to spare her family and one time she does. What a beautifully haunting contrast)

To wrap up, every person creates an internal narrative, a story of their life that is crafted from their context and lived experiences. The meaning we derive from those experiences doesn’t always reflect the truth, and that can sometimes bite us in the ass majorly when we experience a traumatic event. We tend to want to find someone or something to assign blame to, some reason or rationale to why it happened. We tell stories. We write them in our minds about ourselves and what happens to us and what that says about us.

But Ellie is wrong. Joel’s death happened in response to a conscious and willing choice he made. It is in no way her fault, and there was absolutely no way for her to know or to stop what was happening. I think Ellie knows that much on an intellectual level, It just doesn’t change how devastated she is over the whole event. It can’t change the fact that she FEELS as though this was all her fault, that Joel did what he did to save her, that she could have saved him. That she should have.

[phantomchick]

The themes of Naruto and how the fact he and Sasuke are reincarnations/part of a cycle expands on those themes

Some guy was going on about how the reincarnation thing in Naruto was an asspull and when people pulled receipts and showed him panels from part one that hinted at it he maintained that it was still terrible because the whole destiny thing ruined the themes of the manga and I'm here like somebody really read the whole manga yet missed out on the themes of peace through absolute power vs peace through understanding that were key to the whole thing.

The Akatsuki's dream of peace is enforced on the rest of the world through the absolute power of the 9 bijuu powered infinite tsukuyomi. Sasuke chases power in order to avenge his family so he can be at peace + not have the threat of Itachi killing any further family he makes all over again hanging over him. Naruto comes to peace with those around him by understanding them whether or not he considers their past actions forgiveable, he chases Sasuke because he understands that Sasuke's motivation of revenge isn't wrong but the way he's going about it is actively self-destructive and hurts both him and those who care about him.

The whole idea of the villages I think are to show that it's a cycle of hatred, between war and peace, between might making right and compassion being the key and Sasuke and Naruto are symbolically representative of it all!

The theme of generational trauma is also all over the world of Naruto! Whether it's the legacy of the Uzumaki sacrificed to become the jinchuriki of the nine tails, a burden his parents pass onto Naruto; Kakashi's trauma stemming from his father's, Hinata and Neji both innocent kids but who are divided by the toxic customs of their family when they should be like siblings to each other, Hashirama and Madara bearing the weight of the brother war the Senju-Uchiha conflict and how hard it is to achieve peace even in a world where neither side actually wants to fight because of all the history and distrust that's built up, the curse of hatred of the Uchiha stemming from Ootsutsuki Indra's madness and willingness to murder his closest friends for the sake of taking power by force, Obito being taken by his own clan patriarch, hurt when he tries to leave and brainwashed and traumatised into buying into the dream of a perfect world - he literally inherits his hatred for the existing one, Gaara and his siblings lives effected by their father's actions but also by the custom of jinchuriki being created in the first place, the children of Ame all orphaned by war, Kaguya the enslaver, Kaguya the dictator, leaving a fragment of her will called Zetsu aka 'tongue' that continues to spread hatred, fear and prejudice and divide the people hundreds of years on. Haku experiencing the results of both the ninja world 'shinobi are tools' belief system and the prejudice of Kirigakure towards those with bloodline limits when he's a child too young to fully understand either with Zabuza the demon of the bloody mist who killed all his classmates to end kiri's killer graduation exams once and for all who can't bring himself to express his genuine love for Haku until he's already dead. I mean I could go on but you get the point.

The reincarnation thing emphasises the themes of Naruto which are generational trauma, the power of brotherhood/friendship and peace through absolute power vs peace through understanding and last but not least endurance in the face of a hopelessly cynical world: aka The will of fire, the will/resolve to keep trying to improve things even a little for the sake of the next generation, to refuse to give up even when it appears hopeless. Like say when you've just gotten your ass kicked by an army of zombies, the remainder of Akatsuki, Obito, Zetsu and Uchiha fucking Madara, you've failed to stop the moon's eye plan and suddenly, things get worse and a literal all powerful Goddess descends on you when you're already exhausted and the rest of the army is comatose.

[fortwitchprincess]

CW: Transphobia, Dysphoria, Eldritch... horror, I guess? and Black Souls, if y'all don't fw it.

-

-

I'm posting for, like, the first time in years because no one follows me here and I'm afraid of posting about Black Souls on Twitter. I don't want my acquaintances, friends, and followers to check out the game only to be greeted by. Y'know. Black Souls. I don't wanna be cancelled or make someone uncomfortable!! 😖

Anyways! I really want to do an analysis of Lizard Bill from Black Souls II through a gender theory lens because not only is Bill incredibly dysphoric and uncomfortable in her skin in Wonderland, but she's one of the only characters that's aware of the loops based on their dialogue in Ending G. She's a formless Eldritch being forced into a flesh prison that she hates, unable to be herself without the outside intervention of Yig/Francis Liddell, and even then, it isn't enough to curb the dysphoria. She want bottom surgery, she wants others to accept her for who she is, she wants to just heckin' be a girl.

The Crawling One created Wonderland so that Grimm would breed with the Outer Ones over and over again, strengthening their numbers as he stumbles through twisted love story after twisted love story. Yet, through each cycle, only Bill is forced to be Different, denied her gender identity over and over again. I wish I could ask Toro about Bill, but I doubt they've put that much thought into it. I hope they're at least aware of the queerness of the character.

I know a lot of the fandom is toxic and awful about Bill's gender identity because haha trans people haha tr*ps, so it's not like I can have discussions about her in English-speaking Black Souls fan communities. Some trans people on Twitter seem to have started fw Black Souls, so maybe a Not Awful community will form soon and I can discuss gender theory without being called slurs.

Be nice to the cute lizard Eldritch horror and give her lots of estradiol and prog 🥰

[heartfullofleeches]

Convenience Store

Yandere Goddess x G.N Reader

Genre/Tags: Comedic Horror, Yandere| Mentions of blood and death

Word count: 1k

-

She's late again.

This is the sixth time in a row that your coworker has shown up late for work. You both work in a crappy convenience store in the middle of nowhere, where you and her are the only employees; aside from constantly changing your manager whom you never hear from unless they're screaming into the telephone.

Ding - Ding

The sliding doors' sensor alerts you to a new arrival with a friendly jingle. You know it could only be one person - since you never actually got any customers. The woman pulls off her coat and baseball cap with the line of "People fear me, Fish want me" crudely drawn on with a marker, and sits both on the floor by the coat rack. She coincidentally happens to be wearing a shirt with the same line and poor penmanship.

She strolls over to the frozen drink machine; creating a concoction of each flavor - and a bottle of an energy supplement. She, at least, makes her way to the counter; finishing the drink in a few gulps. She grins at you, eyes hidden behind red riffs of hair.

"Heya, Y/n. How's my favorite cashier?"

"Hey, Salem."

She scoffs at the nickname. "I told you that's not my name. You know what it is."

You really didn't. She never told you what it was or wore her badge. You started calling her that due to the brand of cigarettes she smoked, and created quite the tab on. You didn't care much either way, especially since you had plans after work.

"Can you hurry up and clock in? I'll be late to my appointment so they can take off this cast."

A day before your first shift, you got into an accident that broke your right arm. They still made you come in the next day, bit Salem was nice enough to draw a skull as well as write her phone number on it. Over the phone your doctor informed you that today was the day. You hope you'll be able to find the hospital in time.

Salem wiping a blood stain off the counter before she leabs against it. "Yeah, it's about that time. I made sure to give the guy who did it an extra swing before I threw him in the woodchipper."

"Thanks?"

She sighs. "I'm gonna miss all this?"

"Are you quiting or something?"

"No, but you are in a way. You're finally waking up."

"What are you talking about?"

Salem pulls out a lighter, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from behind you. "There's something I gotta tell you, Y/n."

"Okay?"

"You're dead."

"...o...kay"

"You were sacrificed by a cult to awake a being of unspeakable power. One they believed could gift them that same power, but it doesn't want that. It just wants to destroy. Been doing that for quite some time now."

"Alright."

"I'm that being, Y/n. I've kept you in this limbo for what feels like months, but has only been 48 hours. It took me a while to figure out how put you back together. It was like working with wet play-doh that kept falling apart and had bones."

"I sorta figured that out by now."

"Right. What you probably haven't figured out is that I'm in love with you. I've done this little song and dance before, but there's something about you that I can shake from my mind. I'm not even technically that God. I'm one of its meals that took over after it was killed. That's how its immortally works. Pretty vicious cycle."

Salem lights her cigarette, taking a long drag as she pats you on the back. "I'm only telling you this as a caution for what you're about to see. It ain't pretty, and I'm not either - but I don't have any plans of letting you go. I've decided to turn a new leaf. Peace and love, and all that. Less someone tries to take ya from me again.. See you in a few, Y/n."

She finally clocks in. You head to the store's exit, a white light beyond its reach. You had questions, but they would have to be left to another time as your body moves on its own. The door chimes once more as you take your final exit.

-

You wake on the floor of a large cabin; a foul stench in the area and piles of bodies around you. An outstretched arm lies in front of you - and nothing more. A familiar jacket is thrown over your body; your own clothes sticky and cold from the puddles of blood around you - one centering from right beneath you. You slowly sit up, remembering what happened before you died.

You were on your way home from work and had to take a side road due to construction. While making your way, a truck plowed into your car; knocking you out cold. You woke back up right before they slit your throat.

A frightened scream draws your attention to the front of the room; the alter where your life was stolen. A cult member is held in the large fist of a near indescribable figure. Its head scraps the ceiling; back turned so all you can see is the tail coat of its attire and the edge of the mask that hides its upper face. The pinkish tendrils that flow from its head weave together in what you could best describe as a lion's mane. It pulls back the mask that covers its face, a multitude of black tongues sweeping across the cult member's face before separate pairs of jaws are clamp around their body. It drops what's left of the corpse like a discarded rag; turning its head upon you.

It steps forward, a mist enveloping its body as it moves. As the fog shrinks and clears, you're left staring at your old coworker who greets you with a wide grin - fixing her cap on her head as she holds out her arms.

"Welcome back, baby! Gathered a welcoming party just for ya!"

Salem walks over, taking her jacket from your lap and putting it on before offering you her hand.

"Hope you don't forget everything I told you. Let's go get something to eat, I'm starving."

[noorthehood]

Until You • 04

Miguel O'Hara/Reader

Ch. 01 Here

Ch. 02 Here

Ch. 03 Here

Faster updates on Ao3!

With a glimpse of a futuristic cityscape and an encounter with a Spiderman seemingly much different from the one you’re used to, you unknowingly find yourself thrust into a web of intrigue and danger as the very fabric of space and time is warping. Who will you trust?

........………………………….…………………......................

“Eight thousand fifty six…Eight thousand fifty seven…Eight thousand fifty eight…”

The voice reverberates from the screen on Miguel’s left, each count punctuated by the sound of a ball hitting a ceiling. He closes his eyes, trying to get the tension in his back to dissipate as he takes a deep breath, hands resting flat on the desk he’s leaning onto.

“She’s been going at it since she woke up.” Miguel finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue, eyes still shut in an attempt to ease the strain.

Jessica crosses her arms and glances at the screen, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I’m sure she’ll tire herself out eventually,” she offers, trying to sound optimistic.

“That’s what I said too.” He looks at her from over his shoulder. “Three hours ago.”

Her eyes widened.

“She lost count around the three thousand mark and decided to just start over again.” Miguel explains, a mix of disbelief and resignation in his tone. “Looks like she's determined to reach ten thousand, for reasons only she knows.”

He lowers his voice.

“She’s aware I can hear her, Jess. It’s psychological warfare.”

“Well,” Jessica mumbles, shaking her head in bemusement. “At least you only have two thousand to go.”

Approaching the screen with cautious curiosity, Jessica’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as she takes in the bizarre sight before her. The live feed revealed a plain, minimally furnished room, where the young woman lay flat on the floor, engrossed in her repetitive task. With each count, she throws a small ball up towards the ceiling, only to catch it and start the cycle anew. But that was not the only thing that caught Jessica’s attention.

“Is that—”

“Paint? Yeah.” Miguel responded with a sarcastic smile, running his hands down his face, exhaustion etched on his features. “Lyla said we should give her something to pass the time with. Quickly backfired, as you can see.”

Jessica's gaze shifts back to the live feed, where every wall of the room aside from the windows were covered in a riot of colors. Abstract shapes and bold splashes of paint adorned every inch, creating a chaotic tapestry of creativity—or chaos, rather. The room, once plain and bare, had transformed into a vibrant canvas, as if a feral toddler had been let loose with tubes of acrylic paint.

“And…how long did you say she’s been in there?” She asks as the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting the ceiling continues.

“Few days. Three, four maybe.” Miguel responds before Lyla promptly interjects with a correction.

“Seven, actually. Seven too many.”

Jessica’s jaw drops, and she immediately turns to face Miguel with an incredulous frown.

“Seven days? You’ve been keeping her in that room for a whole week?” She exclaims in disbelief. “No wonder the girl’s lost her mind! Are you insane?”

“It’s not like we’re keeping her hostage, Jess, she has nowhere else to go—”

“Is her door locked?”

He stays silent for a moment, then sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Then you might as well call her your prisoner.” She scoffs.

“It’s for her own safety. I have to monitor her status while figuring out a way to get her and the other one back to wherever they came from.” Miguel continues. “I’m not doing this for the fun of it, I’m trying to help them."

Jessica adjusts her goggles and places a hand on her hip as he settles on a nearby chair. That man truly had a strange way to go about things.

“How’s the other one?” She asks with a sigh.

Miguel shakes his head.

“Still comatose. But at least she’s quiet.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on the live feed from the room where the young woman continued her repetitive task.

"You know, I've been trying to figure out what happened," He begins, his voice tinged with frustration. "I've studied the data, analyzed the machine—”

“Carmen.” Lyla chimes in.

“Yes, thank you Lyla—analyzed Carmen, reviewed all footage... But I’ve got nothing."

Jessica nodded, her gaze focused on Miguel as he continued.

"And their resistance to the glitches, even without wearing the gizmo— that’s what’s most baffling to me." Miguel explains, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Everything we knew about the interdimensional travel process suggests that without that bracelet, they should have been affected by the dimensional inconsistencies."

"But they haven’t," Jessica mused, her brows furrowing in thought. "So, what does that mean?"

Miguel slightly shrugged, his exhaustion evident in his posture. "I wish I knew. It's like they defy the rules, the very laws of the multiverse. I've never seen anything like it."

He leans forward, his gaze fixed on the screen displaying the woman in the paint-covered room.

"I've considered every possibility, every hypothesis," Miguel continued. "But nothing seems to explain their resistance to the glitches, or why the go-home machine fails to send her—and only her— back."

He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words as he stands up to face her.

“I’m at a dead-end, Jess. Seriously.” Miguel admits in a voice marked with a touch of hopelessness, like a confession of his limitations. “I need your help.”

Jessica uncrosses her arms, her expression softening as she takes in the sincerity in his plea. She knows him well enough to understand that for him to ask for help, he must be truly at his wit's end.

"What the hell do you think I can do that you haven’t been able to figure out? You’re the scientist here,” A hint of skepticism laces her words.

“I’m just a biologist, Jess. There’s only so much I can do.” Miguel retorts. “I need you to ask around, talk to people. You know that’s not my forte.”

“That I know.” Jessica sighs again as she looks up at him.

It was unlike him to show vulnerability, much less ask for help . The man was a logistician, driven by pragmatism, often making decisions based on calculated outcomes rather than emotions. His actions could sometimes lack rationality, but deep down, Jessica knew that feelings were not his strong suit. He had cultivated a reputation for prioritizing the greater good, even if it meant making difficult sacrifices—the type of man who would surrender one individual if it meant saving ten others. But something about the woman on the screen seemed to stir an uncharacteristic side of him, disrupting his usual clarity.

Was he worried ?

“Listen. I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m busy enough as is with the wedding prep and the whole Spider-Woman thing.” She preemptively raises a finger as he opens his mouth to keep him from interrupting. “ But …I’ll see what I can do. I just can’t guarantee how long it’ll take.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Miguel's lips, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. "Thanks, Jess. I knew I could count on you."

She raises an eyebrow playfully as she tinkers on her gizmo, preparing to go back on the field. "Don't get too sentimental on me, now. I'm only doing this to keep you from bringing the mood down on missions with your…domestic problems."

He chuckles lightly. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

As if on cue, an interdimensional portal materializes in the middle of the spacious lab. Jess swiftly mounts her bike, her movements a testament to her expertise. With a flick of her foot, she kicks up the kickstand using the back of her heel, and the engine purrs to life.

"In return," she shouts over the cacophony of the revving engine and the ongoing interdimensional racket, "do me a favor and let that poor girl get some fresh air, alright? She's not a puzzle to be solved or a lab rat…just a woman with poor luck." Her words carry a touch of concern. "I know you mean well, but we don't want her developing Stockholm syndrome, yeah? This is supposed to be the good guys HQ, not Alcatraz ."

Miguel reluctantly nods. She has a point.

“Oh, and Miguel?” Jess puts her bike in gear and revs her engine.

He raises an eyebrow and flinches at the loud noise. “What?”

She smiles.

“Looks like she just lost count again.”

........………………………….…………………......................

A.N: A slightly shorter chapter to kick off the weekend!

Just laying some groundwork, I promise we'll be getting a lot more Miguel/YN interactions from now on.

Let me know how we feel about this update pacing (shorter chapters/faster updates or longer chapters/not-as-fast updates?)

See ya soon for more! As usual faster updates on Ao3!

Ch. 05

[sgiandubh]

Whereabouts

Instead of hijacking @wildfernflower's excellent reblog of this post (https://www.tumblr.com/bat-cat-reader/728749633773404160/cait-looks-hot-happy-and-content-both-her?source=share), I decided to write my own.

But first, I have to quote @wildfernflower, because she is damn right:

'There is a lot of time in his life, far away from his socials, filled with stuff we'll never know about. People read his post one day, learn what he's currently doing or where he currently is (or rather where he wants people to think he is), they're impatiently waiting for the next post that comes e.g. in 2 or 3 days, and have an illusion nothing happened in between. They put these posts one after another on a fictious Sam’s timeline they create in their minds. In reality, these 2-3 days in between is a significant time gap, yet it miraculously disappears.'

You might find me insolent, but: this whereabouts obsession is one of the original sins of this fandom. Where are they right now? And with whom? Alone? Together? When did he/she went online last time, in which time zone and to do exactly what?

Let's face it: we wouldn't do that with our best friends IRL, perhaps and I would not do that with SO or my child(ren) if I had that privilege, which I don't. I remember my mother calling me at 7AM on a Sunday with that question and I also remember my very insolent answer - she understood very quickly it was not a good idea and never tried it again. So while I can see why this online timelines game was cute at the start, I can't, for the life of me, understand why it still apparently is a big deal and why some keep on playing it on behalf of two strangers? Especially when they know, by now, everything he posts is either a) advertising of his own projects and b) latergrams and also that she was never an enthusiastic poster (oh, yes: the banter - that is, I am afraid, long over, now).

This is the surest way to feed a never ending obsessive cycle and this is way above and beyond fandom behavior. This is also why I think timelines always have an agenda, especially when they pretend to explain a context in all its complexity, to a very thirsty and easily bored audience.

Take for example what Miss Marple called The Zanzibar Saga. At least fifty pages of multimedia content, with an almost frame-by-frame découpage and the proper identification of about 20% of the people on that damn boat. All of this in order to cover events that probably unfolded in the space of eight to ten hours tops of a single day.

In which world is this normal and in which legal system is this not stalking? Why is this happening: to feed the Fandom Beast or to further discredit a B-list actor, allowing all sorts of innuendoes, among which the a) high-functioning alcoholic, b) cheap womanizer and c) closeted gay are all 'possible', depending on each faction's (not fraction, Geachte mevrouw: that's algebra) POV? How is that evidence of anything else than an inordinate, obsessive and somewhat worrisome interest for that person?

This is OL. Not The Truman Show:

PS: In case you wonder, I will always stand up if what I consider to be red lines are being crossed, no matter who the person (cast or blogger) is. Yesterday/early morning today (timezones) it happened again and while I admit my reaction was uncharacteristically strong, so was the troll's message.

Next time, it could be anyone of us. Think about it. And next time, I will stand up again in solidarity, no matter who you are or what your shipper/believer take on SC is. And no, I do not expect anyone to do the same for me. It's not how these things work.