#ttb content | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artsy-hobbitses · 11 months

Note

So for all the TTB couples: who said I love you first?

.... Shit this about to get lengthy.

HoundxMirage: Mirage, mid-war while he’s tending to a Hound who’s becoming delirious from a badly-infected wound and a fever on the field and they have to wait for backup to come get them. Hound tells him to go after they somehow narrowly manage to escape a Decepticon patrol, he’s deadweight at this point, just leave him. Mirage tells him to stop being an idiot, and tries to keep Hound awake (Don't sleep, please don't sleep, you might not wake up, they're almost here) by talking about the first time they met and how this situation mirrors the time Hound braved Decepticon prison camps to find him after the Autobots faced of against the Cons for the first time to free their incarcerate comrades. And how shocked Mirage was to see him there, because Mirage wasn't expecting anyone to come. And Hound asks what he said then, and Mirage repeats his memory of the moment to Hound; That Mirage himself had told Hound to leave before they catch them both, he's just deadweight at this point, and Hound told him to stop being silly, he knows the Bots have their misgivings, but he trusts you, and he's not leaving a friend behind. And Mirage admits how trite that was, but how earnest and sincere Hound made it sound. How profound it was to have someone understand for once that his work requires him to wear masks, to put on airs, and Hound trusted him all the same for it. And how silly it felt in the moment to love Hound for something as mundane and simple as that. By that time, help finally gets to them and Mirage can breathe again, and he figures that Hound (who sleeps for several days recovering) might have forgotten about it, it's a silly notion, he must think the same. But when Hound properly wakes up, the first thing he asks Mirage, who's reading by his bedside, is if it was true. What Mirage had said about loving him. And Mirage is silent for a while, before deciding to throw away the mask of propriety, because Hound is one of the few who have seen him without it, and Hound has ALWAYS been open with him, and he won't give Hound any less than that deserved honesty. Yes, he loves you, he loved you in that fleeting moment, and he's loved you ever since, and he's tired of pretending what he feels is anything less than that... but he understands completely if you don't feel the same way. And Hound laughs weakly because he could never have imagined someone like Mirage--a gentleman, talented, and beautiful, but also braver than anyone gives him credit for and with a conviction to do good that so few have despite his privilege--could fall in love with him, some ex-military farm boy Wulver from Shetland, and he'd been content for the longest time to love Mirage in silence (Plants Mirage's favorite flowers/produce, always volunteers to model Mirage's new works, cares for Mirage's pets personally when Mirage is away on a mission, makes sure no one in his presence badmouths Mirage for literally doing what it is the Bot leadership enlisted him for in the first place). Hound's still a little loopy at this point, but asserts that since they're puttin' all cards on the table now, he loves you too, Merry, and god ain't they gonna be a sight at those fancy parties you're going to have to attend with a Plus One. Mirage laughs and kisses his forehead, and says that if they get kicked out, he'd see that as a plus point. He doesn't let go of Hound's hand as Hound drifts off again, and falls asleep next to him (Ratchet allows it for one night).

SideswipexStongarm: Sideswipe, during a sparring session of all things because OF COURSE THESE TWO WOULD. It would be while Sunny is still absent but after he and Strongarm have established that they Have Feelings for each other, but haven't said the words yet. Strongarm's recovering from an injury and needs the practice because she feels useless and is about get cabin fever and claw at the drywall if she's passed over for field work again. Sideswipe calls her stubborn, she's be like "hell yeah where'd you think THAT rubbed off from, Red?" and he's like "lol touche" and goes with it. He trounces her at every turn though, cause he's got his mojo back and has, with his house arrest, had time to learn a couple of new things, but she's unfocused and frustrated and it's actually clear that he's not giving it is 100% and is careful to avoid aggravating her still-healing injuries. When the slip-up seemingly happens and he immediately drops everything to check on her, she takes the chance to take him down and calls him out for falling for the oldest trick in the book as they're both lying on the floor, and he, without missing a beat says "yeah well, you know what they say about people doing stupid shit when they're in love." Record-screech, and a flat "what" from Strongarm as he repeats it again and she punches him in the arm because DUDE WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM and he just cackles because really, REALLY ?? HEY REMEMBER LIKE, THAT ONE TIME WE WERE ON THE BEACH AND YOU WERE LIKE "HEY YOU THINK I'D PUT ALL THIS GODDAMN EFFORT INTO THIS ZUPPA INGLESE FOR SOME CHUMP I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT", babe it's 3am and he could be in bed but no, he's here bruised and sweaty and prepping for a flying kidney dish from Ratchet when the doc finds out, and you really think he'd risk Ratchet's wrath for someone he didn't love? You really think you get to give him a reason to keep looking forward to another day and be the reason he doesn't feel like half a person anymore without him being stupidly twitterpatted over all 5'6 of you?

Strongarm's got her face in her hands --she'd self-immolate if she went any redder---and bemoans with a small laugh that he's got AWFUL timing---"I love you" in the middle of a sparring session ffs, where's the ROMANCE? THE ROSE PETALS AND CANDLE LIGHT? HARLEQUIN LIED TO HER. Sideswipe's howling at the revelation that YOU USED TO READ THAT STUFF??? but he's got a gleam in his eyes as he turns over so he's half on top of her and offers to say it again, under the right circumstances this time. She turns the tables on him again, gives him the kind of kiss that has him as flushed and gasping for air as she is, and tells him she still can't believe he's got her this messed up over him, but they've also still got three hours before dawn, so they should definitely take his little redo somewhere more y'know, comfortable (Let's just say they find a more pleasurable way to burn off her excess energy).

WindbladexStarscream: The question isn’t who said “I love you” first, it’s how many times these morons decided to say it post-war in their native languages thinking they were being slick before one of them (Windblade) eventually decides to let the game end and explain that hey, listen, you know she’s picked up plenty of Italian since you moved in with her right? And you’re at 499 “Ti Amos” right now so how about you make number 500 special and tell her to her face right now how you really feel? And he’s cackling because he’s Still Starscream and HAH 499! HE PEGGED YOU AT 495 AISHITERUS HE WINS THIS ROUND until Windblade nearly pisses herself laughing (“YOU WERE KEEPING TRACK?!” “YOU WERE KEEPING TRACK?!!”) and shuts him up with a kiss and is all OH MY GOD YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE NEVER CHANGE BUT JUST SAY THE WORDS ALREADY and he does! In English that is! And repeats it three more times interspaced with kisses, because he doesn’t want her to forget this moment. And he thinks he's got her, being suave and heartfelt about it and all, until she asks him, apropos of nothing, if he wants to see the prize he won for those 500 "I love yous" and he's a blustery, squawking mess when she pulls out an engagement ring. By now they've become domestically comfortable friends with benefits, but a part of him still thinks she sees him just as that---a fun fling of a best friend. This is wonderful and all, but she couldn't POSSIBLY want like, an actual married life with him right? The FIRST DELEGATE HERSELF officially, PUBLICLY attached to a feral ex-con gremlin with a rep sheet? And Windblade is all are you kidding? Yes, she ABSOLUTELY wants the world to know that you're hers and there's nothing any of them can do about it, not any more. So how about you stay, and find out if we can reach the 1 million ILY mark together? Starscream can't say no---he has stake in the game now oh man, he wants to see which one of them can get there first, he wants to be there for every milestone, and he concedes that she's won this one. She's won this one, and he's genuinely never been happier that she got him good.

RavagexLaserbeak: Ravage, near end-war when they were caught in Shockwave’s Positive Reinforcement prison and were fed visions of an alternate universe type situation where they’re Completely Normal (Full Human), and Laserbeak is far more entranced with the elaborate illusion of freedom and acceptance than he is (as she looks more ‘monstrous’ /non-human than he does—and cannot pass in society). She finds it very hard to leave this simulation and he hears her insecurities front and centre now, the ones she always hides behind a cheerfully nihilistic grin of “I’m cool! It doesn’t bother me at all!” (Narrator voice: It bothered her deeply), while she’s kind of a snotty mess after she interacts with some of simulated humans/children who don’t sneer at her, don’t pull away from her touch, don’t look at her like she’s a freak because she KNOWS it’s not real she knows it’s too good to be real she knows but is it really so bad to want this for herself? For them? And Ravage tells her that some days when things get really hard out there, it’s that he wants this for her that he continues to fight on. Because he loves her, in a fleeting and dehumanising world where every mission could be theirs last and they were all they had for years; he’s always loved her, and she deserves a world like this, a real world like this, and it’s going to be hard but they’ll get there together. And it snaps her out of it. Because it’s so hard and it’s UNFAIR and CRUEL that they should HAVE to fight so hard to just be seen as worthy of personhood… but Soundwave fights for them, and Ravage fights for her, and to give that real love up for something fake and easy is something she won’t do. Ravage loves her, and she will fight to love him AND herself in an imperfect, but real world, through heartache and joy both.

Dratchet: Drift. Drift already knows he definitely sees Ratchet more than a friend, and Ratchet himself is struggling with that revelation for himself, but they try to keep it professional up until near to the end of the war, when Unicron becomes a massive threat and Drift is picked by by Onyx Prime to become their champion/conduit. Now, Drift can see spirits, and lives with a one-foot-in-the-living one-foot-in-the-grave mentality ever since he survived a neath-death experience which gave him that ability, and Onyx choosing to momentarily fuse with him gives him Psychopomp abilities that allow him to 'dance between the curtain' of life and death. However, this is all very unsettling for Ratchet, who's always 'fought death' as a doctor, and he's gets upset when he tries to touch Drift before Drift goes off for a mission to rally the souls of Sentinel Prime's dead men, and his hands go right through Drift. And he hates this. He hates that Drift is like a ghost now, that they're not on the same plane. He hates that he can't help Drift if something happens there, that Drift is going where he can't follow. And he doesn't want to lose Drift for a third time. But Drift tells Ratchet that there won't be a third time, because he's been dancing with Death his entire life so much so that he might as well be the embodiment of it---all the close calls, all the lives he took, all the souls he's attempted to help find peace in atonement---but every time he steps too close to the edge of the abyss, it's always been Ratchet who'd given him back his will to live and who'd shown him the value of a life when he'd become almost desensitized to it. And he'll do just that. Live. Death's call for him to take that final step and wear its mantle may be strong, but he'll fight to live and fight to come back to you because he loves you, Ronan Chase--the literal embodiment of Life and what it means to fight for it, in his eyes--and Death can wait a little longer, because his last dance will be with you. He manages to focus and phase himself back whole so he can kiss the knuckles of Ratchet's hands--these hands which saved him more times than he can count--before Ratchet pulls him in for a proper kiss and holds him to his word, because we have a lot to talk about, so come home to him when you're done.

#inbox #save for later #windscream #I swear everytime I write for Windscream it's a hot mess that they're 100% here for #SHIT I RAMBLED AGAIN #PICK YOUR POISON I GUESS #MirageHound: We're a classic uptown/downtown romance!#SideswipeStrongarm: We're a Rumiko Takahashi couple!#WindScream: We're an escalating spicy shitpost!#RavageLaserbeak: We're love enduring in the face of societal cruelty and oppression!#Dratchet: We're the living embodiment of Life and Death as lovers in an intimate and eternal dance!#long post #long post holy shit

90 notes · View notes

thingsthatbleedfic · 1 year

Text

SCP-6377 Article

NOTICE: Level Two clearance required for access of the following files of Item # SCP-6377.

>>CLICK TO PROCEED<<

Hello, beloved readers!

Today, along with our normal update, we’re thrilled to introduce the place where all SCP-formatted material for TTB will reside for your very own ease of access!

This “fic” will update periodically to get everyone up to date with the Foundation’s side of this story. Once caught up to the current events of the fic, further updates and additional addendums will be posted as the story progresses. This article may contain content that will not appear in the main body of Things That Bleed. However, everything in this format that appears in TTB, you will be able to find here.

Read now on [Ao3]!

#updates #admin #Danny Phantom #dp x scp #dp x ar x scp #TTB #things that bleed fic #scp foundation #alex rider

55 notes · View notes

astxrwar · 4 months

Text

wrapped in red

SUMMARY: You buy Beck a record for his collection on a whim. It's not a Christmas present, really. The fact that you give it to him on Christmas is irrelevant.

Future-fic oneshot in TTB!verse, courtesy of me writing this non-chronologically.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 4.5K

CONTENT: Christmas fluff. I cut the scene right before the angst because this is a present to Me And My Brainworms and also the three people who care about TTB!verse. Merry Christmas!!!

It’s an impulse decision, really.

The two-hour-drive home from seeing family brings you past Beck’s place before you reach your house. It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s nine-thirty at night and you’ve used most of your critical thinking skills navigating the chaos that is family holidays when you come up on the turn you’d have to take off of the main artery through town to get to his apartment. There’s all of a handful of seconds to attempt to think it through, and what you do end up thinking is mostly fuck it, whatever, and then you hit your blinker and veer off onto the side street.

It’s not until you’ve parked and gotten to the elevator and are at long last standing still, not moving at all, walking or driving, that you start to have doubts. The little red lights on the panel above the door flash to two and then three and then the elevator car stops and the doors open and you have another few seconds to consider just hitting the ground floor button and going home, going to sleep in your own bed for the first time in a week and texting him tomorrow, but—

But that defeats the purpose , an entirely too sentimental part of your brain decries, It’s Christmas today .

And— yeah.

Yeah.

There’s this kind of nervous energy gathering somewhere in your chest as you come up on his door, staticky and frantic and buzzing, pressing up to your throat. You have to steel yourself to even knock, breathe deep and set your jaw and prepare for— well. Anything. Beck isn’t predictable, even now; he hates surprises just in general, and he’d explicitly and profusely expressed disdain and even outright derision for the holiday writ large. There is a nonzero chance he could take this as, like, an insult. Or a manipulation attempt. Or some other entirely negative thing you couldn’t distort your perception enough to even begin to anticipate.

You stand there for at least an entire minute before you work up the courage to knock.

The tension you feel in all of your limbs right down to your fingertips is the strongest it’s been in months, almost as bad as it was the first time you ever came here, or maybe— maybe even worse. There’s an edge to it now that feels nauseous and clammy and disorienting, like you might actually be about to make a massive fucking mistake, a grievous and unfixable error, fuck up in some different and much more terrible way. That part— the miscalculating— that’s not new. What is new is the feeling like it might matter, if you do, in ways unrelated to your pride.

There’s a rustle of movement on the other side of the door and you imagine the jolt that you feel at the sound must have done something awful and entirely unhealthy to your blood pressure, and then the lock turns and there’s your heart rate, too, your pulse thudding somewhere in your throat and your brain suddenly and unhelpfully deciding it’s now convinced this was a bad decision.

Beck opens the door and the feeling doesn’t go away, but something else starts up at the sight of him; you realize dumbly that you haven’t seen him once since the semester ended all the way back in early December, and between his being in the last stages of finalizing his most recent research for publication and a presentation down in San Diego and you just dealing with regular run-of-the-mill finals week shit, you’d really not been alone besides the commute for— what, a month?

And then, even more dumbly, you realize you’d missed him.

He doesn’t say anything to you, just stands there, staring, expression impassive but not displeased, eyebrows raised, just a little; he’s just in jeans and a tee-shirt and that’s kind of another strange shock to your nervous system, because you’d seen him really only in work clothes for the better part of a month, too.

“Hi,” you say eloquently. You’re holding the record up to your chest with your arms sort of wrapped around it, probably too tight, and you have to remind yourself to relax before you fucking break it, or something; that would suck.

“Hi,” he repeats, a little bit mocking, his mouth curving up just slightly at the corners. It’s probably embarrassing how fucking fast even just that tamps down a lot of your anxiety, has you feeling a lot more like smiling and a lot less like you’re exhausted and socially drained beyond recognition and grumpy as hell from being stuck in a car for two hours, but you just don’t care.

“Are you busy?” you say eventually, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet, that nervousness manageable, now, but not gone.

That gets this disbelieving almost-laugh, a sharp exhale through his nose and a more obviously raised eyebrow, “No,” he replies, like it’s a stupid question.

He steps to the side and gestures for you to come in; he doesn’t move, when you do, except to close the door behind you, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is, how your shoulder nearly touches his chest as you balance on one foot and then the other to work off both your boots

“I thought you were with your family,” he says, his tone mild and expression unreadable.

“I was,” you stack your boots in the tray next to his and follow him when he turns and moves deeper into the apartment; it looks the same as ever, impeccably organized and display-catalog clean, darkened except for the light on in the foyer and one tableside lamp in the living room. “I left after dinner, I just got back.”

He pauses at the edge of the kitchen by the bar counter to shoot you this odd look that you can’t parse. “Have you even been home yet?”

“Well–“ you furrow your brow and prod at the inside of your cheek with your tongue and in no way attempt to manage your expression with whatever extremely limited amount of social awareness you still have access to after the elaborate and draining performance that is Family Holiday Gatherings, “No, I was on the way, and I–“ you trail off with a wordless shrug, feeling incredibly awkward again.

He does actually smile at that, one of those effortlessly smug and self-assured ones that used to annoy you and still kind of does, just less in a caustic and frustrated way and more just— fond. “And you what,” he says, resting his weight back on the counter and appraising you with this amused warmth in his eyes; he’s so relaxed, and it’s fucking distracting. He looks good. He always looks good. “Just missed me that much, honey?”

“Actually—“ you sidestep the question because it’s safer than attempting outright denial when it’s almost kind of halfway true, and you instead just bite the bullet and say, “Actually, I have something. For you. That I wanted to— give you.”

That languid openness to his posture becomes something neutral and impenetrable so fast that it would be disconcerting, if it were anyone else. “Told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

His expression is unreadable again, and he folds his arms over his chest, and you have to tap into some of that deep-seated and instinctual stubbornness and reactive spite to keep yourself from just saying nevermind.

“It’s not a Christmas present,” you reply, defensive. “And look,” you’re still holding the record close to your chest, half-hidden in the draping edges of your unzipped and too-big winter coat, and you unfold your arms and hold it out flat in front of you. “It’s not even wrapped. So it’s not any type of present at all, Christmas or otherwise.”

Beck raises an eyebrow and stares at you for a long moment, before his eyes flick down to your outstretched hands.

“I was just at the store doing shopping for my family,” you say, talking before you even really mean to, that flighty and awkward nervousness driving you to fill the stretch of seemingly endless silence, “And I saw it, and you said once that you like Jeff Buckley because he’s a phenomenal guitar player, and so I just figured— I mean, I didn’t think I saw it in your collection. And I thought you might— like it. Like to— have it.”

He looks up at you again and it’s too dark in the kitchen for you to be able to tell if there’s warmth in his expression or if you’re just hoping for it; there’s not anything outwardly negative, at least, though that really doesn’t do anything to ease that anxiety, clammy and slimy and cold like a chunk of half-thawed dirt in your stomach, the kind that’ll sometimes get pulled up by the snowplows and just melts into gross muddy slush on the side of the road.

He takes the record from your hands; it’s still wrapped in that thin sheet of plastic, and it glints a little as it moves, catching the low light from the living room.

“I don’t do gifts, either,” he says finally.

“Okay, well, it’s not a gift. I’m not— gifting you anything, I’m just— giving it to you.” You can feel your expression furrowing deeper into a frown, and you reach your arms out again, motioning for it, “If you don’t want it, that’s fine, I have the receipt, I can just return it—“

“You know, you’re not supposed to try to take it back,” he says, and there— it’s obvious enough that you can see it, now, the faint beginnings of a smile, and something in your chest does this kind of traitorous and horrible flip at the sight of it, all that tension melting out of you, frost in sight of the sun. “Your etiquette is abysmal, honey. Frankly, it’s an affront to the spirit of the holiday.”

You can’t manage to hold onto your frustration at all of his stupid and entirely predictable mind games for more than a handful of seconds and you’re smiling a lot wider than you mean to be, “I can’t believe you were able to say any of that with a straight face.”

He scoffs and turns to set the record on the countertop, “Yes you can.”

Beck doesn’t say thank you. You don’t really expect him to, and it doesn’t even matter to you, anyways; your brain had responded with this terrible jolt of what felt like pure unadulterated dopamine just at the fact that he’d wanted to keep it at all, and for all that you know that’s probably a bad thing to be feeling, it still doesn’t register as one.

No, it feels—

It feels good.

He’s still turned, hands on the countertop, and he drums his fingers against the stone surface for a moment with this little pensive frown and then he looks at you, shrewd and searching, then finally says with this deeply aggrieved sigh, “All right, come on,” and turns back towards the foyer.

You stare after him for a long moment, uncomprehending. “What?”

He glances back at you with this indulgent and long-suffering expression, like he’s reluctantly entertaining a child. “I’m taking you somewhere, come on.”

“What— I literally just took my boots off,” you say, plaintive, still walking back over to the entry hallway anyways, nudging one of them in the shoe rack with your toe.

“So?”

“So now I’ve gotta untie them and retie them, and it’s tedious .”

“This would be a non-issue if you’d untie them in the first place to take them off, like you’re supposed to,” he says, patronizing, prodding at you as he shrugs on his coat, and you know you must be doing a terrible job at suppressing your smile as you crouch to lace your boots up, but you just can’t bring yourself to care.

“Where are we going?” you ask, once then and then again as he locks the door behind you, okay but really where are we going, and then again in the elevator, come on just tell me where until he finally levels you with this vaguely frustrated look.

“Nowhere, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop asking,” he says, snappish and irritable, and you laugh aloud at that without even really meaning to.

“Okay, so—“

“If you ask again I’m turning around.”

It shouldn’t be funny, probably, because you can’t tell if he’s serious or if this is one of those illusory and affected bits, but it is, maybe just because you’re really tired or maybe because you’ve missed him, Beck, the person, and this is just how he is. Not even pleasant, kind of an asshole, and it seems almost impossible to try to remember how it fucking bothered you, before, when now really the only things you feel are this kind of exasperated sense of affection and an entirely nonsensical desire to laugh. it’s bizarre and it’s bizarrely endearing that he can manage to be this abrasive on fucking Christmas, of all days, and that just makes something inside of you feel warm and bright and remarkably fucking fond.

“I was going to ask why, not where,” you say, stifling the sound of another laugh you fail to entirely repress in the sleeve of your coat as if it’s a yawn; he notices, you can tell by the brief glance that he shoots over, his eyes breaking from the road for a second and his expression shifting to something more exasperated than actually cross. “If that’s allowed. Why are we going somewhere?”

He frowns and says nothing for a moment and then flicks on his blinker to take a turn down this residential road you’ve never been on before. “Because you can’t follow fucking directions,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be acerbic but it doesn’t quite get there.

You open your mouth to say something back probably along the lines of okay what does that even mean, except then you round this bend and the scene outside— which had mostly just been this murky field of gray-black broken up by the darker shapes of trees and houses and occasional glow of lights still on in the windows and on porches— the sky takes on this sort of whitish glow, on the horizon, getting brighter as you get closer to cresting the top of this gently sloping hill, and then—

“Oh,” you say, when you do, “Oh, wow.”

It’s got to be somebody’s yard, just another large, sparsely-wooded property with a house somewhere on it like the dozens of others you’d passed on the street, but it’s like the inhabitants had gone out and purchased a fucking neighborhood’s worth of Christmas lights— there are these long strings of those classic teardrop-shaped bulbs in red and green and white wound around the trunks of trees and then up through the branches, but then there’s other ones in purples and blues and oranges and yellows. there’s so many of those complicated little light-up images, too, scenes of reindeer hitched to sleighs and scattered around the yard that flash in a way that’s supposed to make it look like they’re moving, and there’s this big glittering Santa Claus over the tiny iced-over pond in the center of the yard and that’s gently flickering Merry Christmas overhead, glowing smiling snowmen and mismatched arrangements of presents and gently swaying snowflakes and even this toy train on a track that winds out and around the edges of the property. it’s all so fucking disorganized and overdone and bright and probably ridiculously fucking expensive and it’s just—

“You’re such a child,” he says, with another irritated and entirely overdramatic sigh; you’re not really paying attention, turned to look before he drives too far past it, but what he does instead is pull over to the side of the road and unbuckle his seatbelt and crack the car door and look at you, expectant and still vaguely aggrieved.

“Oh,” you say again. “Are— is this allowed?”

“Yes.” Beck gives you another one of those looks that’s meant to be insulting, like you’re being especially stupid. He pockets his keys and gets out of the car and you follow him, catching up before he crosses the street.

“The town had to put up signs to designate parking,” tells you, gesturing in the distance to a post further up the road, the contents facing oncoming cars and turned away from you, “These people have been doing this for years, drawing crowds and creating all this annoying fucking rush-hour traffic and— “ he shoves you out into the road to cross it when there’s no cars coming in either direction and rolls his eyes when you glare back halfheartedly, “—and giving me migraines.”

There’s hardly anybody here, now— nine-thirty on Christmas Day, the majority of people are probably overfull and half-asleep with blood alcohol contents on the wrong side of the limit to be driving— and you hurry over the salt-stained asphalt to the edge of the lawn, where there’s a strip of muddy grass to stand in, the rest of the yard cordoned off with rope.

“This must be insanely expensive,” you say absently, when he comes to stand next to you.

His expression twists in distaste. “I’m sure it is,” he says.

You’re looking at the lights, watching the train work its way back around the track, and when it rounds the bend you realize it must have a shitty little speaker system inside because it makes these tinny chugging noises that you can hear as it gets closer, and you laugh aloud, delighted. “Oh my god, that’s so cute.”

Beck makes this derisive sound under his breath; you can see him, out of the corner of your eye, and he’s watching you. “Yeah, of course you’d like this stupid shit,” he says, still with that sort of long-suffering undertone, like this entire ordeal is exhausting; but there’s something else, too, beneath that.

You realize with this pang of uncomfortable warmth that this was intentional— he wasn’t going to drive past, he’d meant to do this, and this was it. The point. He’d brought you here on purpose.

The lights are beautiful, in a kind of haphazard and vaguely gauche way, reminds you of how the holidays used to feel when you were a little kid, like they had a little bit of magic to them, even with all of the chaos, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t share that opinion in any way. So the idea that he must have seen this and just thought of you— It makes something in your chest twinge and ache like a stress fracture, or like a strand of muscle pulled just a little bit too far.

“Wow,” you say, after a while, your voice wavering just a tiny bit, “I thought you were actually incapable of ever just, like— doing something nice. Unprompted.”

He scoffs. “Unprompted. You got me a fucking Christmas present, even when I said that I wasn't going to get you anything, and now I’m — how the fuck was I supposed to level with that.”

You frown. “You don’t have to level with anything, it wasn’t a Christmas present.”

“It was, and now we’re not even, and it’s—“ he sucks in a breath through his teeth, “— annoying. ”

“Even,” you repeat, momentarily stunned, “That’s not— oh my god. It wasn’t like that. And it wasn’t a Christmas present, I didn’t even wrap—“

“It’s not a Christmas present because it’s not wrapped,” he cuts you off, bordering on outright ridicule in a way that doesn’t even feel mean, just makes you want to laugh. “You are so bizarrely fucking pedantic. you bought me a present, and it’s Christmas— you can’t talk your way out of that.”

“What, so, that was a Christmas present and this— isn’t?”

“It’s somebody else’s lights, it’s not anything,” he says, dismissive, “There’s no actual gift involved, honey.”

“Oh my god,” you tell him, rolling your eyes, “I’m not getting into an argument about the fucking scientific definition of what constitutes a gift—“

“Yeah, and that’s because you’d be wrong, obviously it’s—“

“- like there’s a consensus on what qualifies—“

“-- yes, it’s anything that can be physically given to someone, according to—“

“According to who? You?” Your volume has raised a not-insignificant amount and your words are laden with exasperation and he’s just as unaffected as ever.

“Yes,” he says, entirely too smug. “According to me.”

You let out this deeply aggrieved sigh, your breath pouring out in these little clouds of steam that glint multicolored in the glow of the lights. “Now who’s being fucking pedantic,” you tell him, and you try to keep yourself from smiling, but you only half-succeed. “I’ve given you two outs, and you refuse to take either of them.”

Beck says nothing for a moment. There’s this upturn to his mouth and this lightness to his expression; amusement, just a little bit. He looks back out on the lights and shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs, effortlessly casual.

“It irritates you, that I won’t,” he says, after a minute— an observation, a statement, not a question.

A muscle ticks in your jaw. He hums, considering, still just studying you. “You don’t want me to feel like I owe you anything,” he continues, and this— it’s phrased like a statement, but it doesn’t register as one.

“No,” you say, rocking forwards onto your toes and then back again, the grass beneath your feet soggy and muddied by the runoff from the street, the top layer kept melted by the road salt and giving slightly until your heels make contact with the frozen ground underneath. “No, I just— saw something I thought you might like. You’re my friend, that’s allowed. It’s not transactional, but even if it was, you— this is—“ you gesture out at the landscape, the glow of the lights bright enough that your eyes can’t adjust to see past the edges of the display, everything outside the yard just this amorphous and unfocused gray. “You did the same thing.”

“Except I didn’t have to pay for this, honey, and you—“

“Oh my god,” you reply, exasperated, “If you want to run a fucking tab— I don’t pay you back for groceries, or gas, and I didn’t pay for anything when I came with you in November.“

“Well,” he says, like he’s considering it, and then he moves closer to you and his mouth twitches a little, “When you put it like that, now it kind of sounds like you’re the one who owes me.”

He’s got that wolfish and serrated-edged smile like he does when he’s walked you backwards into another stupid trap, and that’s it, really, you’re done, and you don’t even do a convincing job of scowling as you turn pointedly away, back to looking at the lights. “Fuck off, “ you grumble, “I can’t believe I really thought you felt bad.”

That grin takes on a satisfied slant that you can recognize even just looking at him as you are, sidelong, in glances, and you’re struck out of nowhere by how badly you want to kiss him.

There’s no snow, but it’s still really fucking cold, and when the wind picks up you shiver and shove your hands in your pockets.

“Zip your coat,” he tells you. “You always get cold and you still never zip your coat, I don’t know what you expect to happen.”

“You’re so—“ You do zip your coat. “— irritating.”

“And yet here you are,” his mouth twitches again, another almost-smile like maybe he can’t help it, “So either I’m not all that irritating or you have some kind of– dysfunctional masochistic impulse.”

“The second one,” you say, not missing a beat.

Beck grins, and when he moves towards you your pulse does something ridiculous and inexplicable like this is still somehow new, at all, him touching you and drawing you into him and his arms around you, his chin on the top of your head— it’s not fucking new, and it’s been a year, it’s been over a year— and it feels like something inside of you is losing essential structural integrity like your ribs and your muscles and your organs are made of wax, weak and warm and melting.

You lean into him and rest your cheek against his chest and look out over his arm at the lights, your vision slowly slipping out of focus until the garlands wrapped around the pine trees and the little flashing reindeer and the circling toy train as it rounds the track again all blur into this shimmering mass of color, and when you breathe in the air is warmed by his body heat and everything smells like him, spearmint and camphor and just like him, the person, and it’s—

“I missed you,” you say, without meaning to.

Something happens to his posture and his breathing that’s different enough for some subconscious pattern-seeking part of your brain to notice, but so miniscule and so brief that you can’t even describe what it was. “Aw,” he says, that oversweetened condescension in his voice, “That’s cute, honey.”

“Shut up,” you reply, and then, with an almost-subconscious sense of urgency that feels a lot like fucking damage control that the more complex parts of your brain actively refuse to acknowledge, “I missed my friends, and you’re my friend, and— I got to see everybody else before I left, except you. I haven’t really seen you since—“

“Since the end of the semester,” he muses quietly; there’s a gust of wind as another car hurtles past, and you shiver from the chill; he adjusts his arms around you, drawing you closer, and you burrow deeper into his coat gratefully. He’s always so fucking warm.

“Not even,” you say, after a minute. “More like Thanksgiving break.”

He huffs out a breath that might have been a laugh. On top of the tallest pine tree, a golden star twinkles on-off, on-off; you wonder idly how the hell these people even got that thing all the way up there. “I saw you almost every day for three weeks after that.”

And he’s right, technically, because you’d seen each other in passing and in the lab and he’d still sometimes give you rides if your schedules aligned so that you didn’t have to walk all the way from the student commuter lot in the cold. But you’d both been so busy, then, and half the time there were other people around and even when you were alone it was only for these brief and limited moments— it wasn’t the same or even really comparable to how it had been for those few days in November, or even just back when either of you had the time for you to be spending nights. And then the semester was over and he was swept up in finishing everything for the debut of his latest research and then he was out in San Diego and then by the time he got back you’d already left for your family’s place for a week. It’s not like you’d ever really stopped talking, but you’d still missed it. Him. Hadn’t even realized, really, until you’d seen him, hadn’t understood the scope of it until now.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, after a while, “But— I dunno, we were both so busy.”

He just hums in response, the sound lost to the noises from traffic in the distance and the whistle of the wind as it shakes the bare, skeletal limbs of trees and sways the strings of lights across the branches, but you can feel it still, vibrating in your head with the way his chin is resting on it.

You turn your head from the lights until all you can see is the flat, monotone black of the fabric of his coat; you’re buffeted by a rush of air as another car barrels past, the wind strong enough to have you shivering, again.

“All right,” he says, “All right, let’s go, before one of those idiots sideswipes my car.”

He says that, but he doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” you say, “Okay," but you don’t move, either.

#quentin beck x reader #ties that bind #mysterio x reader

10 notes · View notes

artistfingers · 1 year

Note

What was the biggest inspo for things that bleed?

Oh, anon. I am so glad you asked.

Hands down, our first and biggest inspiration was the fic series Of Madness and Mammals by Brairwitched. Specifically, we cite the fic Dysthymia in the first chapter of Things That Bleed.

Mammals is the very fic series I'd landed on after my AR novel reread—back when it was still updating, mind you!—and I was pretty much losing my mind just rattling the bars of my cage all alone. It was very, very much Mammals that gave me the setting and framework for my initial TTB proposal: that Alex, while on the run with Yassen someplace through the US, should run into SCP!Danny.

So I inflicted it upon Kei and Kkachi. They actually both read Mammals before any canon AR content, so a lot of our early TTB brainstorming referenced Mammals before we overhauled it and took a closer look at the books themselves, as well as the Alex Rider show. (...and then decided we have selective hearing and did our own thing HJKAGSD)

I asked Kei and Kkachi if they wanted to pitch in on answering this ask, so here's a little more from them!

@dp-belongs-in-a-hoodie said:

This fic was also inspired by Shadow of a Doubt! The whole "Danny on the run from a dark and traumatic past, helped out by unlikely strangers" is a genre that I honestly can't get enough of. The secrets!!!! A boy clearly haunted and rough around the edges but still gentle and kind. What's not to love??

We were also "inspired" I guess you could say, by my own fic Something's Wrong With Danny Fenton! At least in the sense that we used many of my hcs that I established for it! It gave us a really good jumping off point for pushing Danny even further into the the horror territory needed for a fic like this that crosses over into the SCP!verse.

@kkachis said:

devil and the deep blue sea inspired some of the more granular and darker elements in the alex rider part of TTB! some parts and characters of TTB are heavily influenced by the tone, manipulative strategies, and political machinations that you can observe in DatDBS. we won't claim to be as good as pongnosis at manipulating those threads, nor will an endgame like DatDBS be our end goal, but as the story develops and as we uncover more of alex's past, you'll be able to see more of its influence seeping through.

Thank you for reading and asking, anon! (o゜▽゜)o☆

for anyone who's curious, you can find TTB over on Ao3 and @thingsthatbleedfic 🖤

#honestly i'm sure we could drum up a hundred other non-fic inspirations as well but those are the most direct ones i think!!#things that bleed #danny phantom #alex rider #scp foundation #dp-belongs-in-a-hoodie #kkachis #ask #anon

58 notes · View notes

takearisk-xo · 1 year

Text

2022 Wrapped

tagged by @displayheartcode & @hinnyfied 💖

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

confessions should be better planned this little oneshot really challenged my storytelling and how to convey my sense of humor. i’m very proud to say that it ended up exactly how i wanted.

enough of both another oneshot that i put together for ttb summer soireé, the idea of harry and ginny as newlyweds is so so interesting to me and i like the idea of them writing letters during their brief bouts of long distance

what we had become (before we ever had begun) this was a brain worm that Would Not Leave Me Alone until i finally wrote it all down. it was my first contribution to jilytober (even though it’s jilypad) and i think i’m most proud that i not only wrote it but had the courage to post, because it is not my usual content.

already gone i dove headfirst into the angst, which has never felt like a strength of mine, and decided to fully commit to the bit. this one surprised me so much, i have no outline, no real plan, i am pantsing the shit out of it and i love it so so much

the path from you 104,000 words, two spin offs, and twelve chapters later, the universe that lives in my mind because of this fic has completely taken over my life. and we are only half done. i love the journey harry and ginny are on and i love that so many other people love it too

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

the path from you PART 2 - i really want to finish part one by april and kickstart part 2 (neville/pansy & ron/padma) by the second half of the year

spring fever - a contribution to @hpknotfest that is self-indulgent smut and i’m not gonna be ashamed about it LOL

ginny potter and the honeymoon of horrors - i’ve mentioned this one in passing several times and i really *really* like it. it is so stupid and so fun.

a crack fic that i am writing with @nuatthebeach ... no comment

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

drafting - though i still want to get better at drafting, i am miles ahead of where i was a year ago. i have really embraced the imperfect first draft and my writing is so much better for it

plotting - i used to be a pantser through and through, but tackling a multichap action fic forced me to actually outline.

prose - this is so general but i really feel like the rhythm and emotion in my exposition has improved. i’ve found new ways of saying things and added so much depth to my characters because of it.

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

i really want to be a better problem solver, i know i have a good imagination but when what i outlined doesn’t immediately work on the page i get really discouraged, so i want to be more creative in working through my bouts of writer's block

along the same lines, i’d like to be able to *trust* my decision making and not constantly need outside reassurance for my story decisions.. (i really need to thank @narukoibito @nuatthebeach and @fairsquare16 for helping me through this year. i could not have done any of this without them)

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year

My favorite line that i’ve written this year hasn’t been posted yet... it’s from a later chapter of the path from you:

Harry kissed her the way he’d always wanted to, the way he should’ve the moment Tom Riddle’s body had crumpled to the floor.

Tagging @thedarkestgreys @dammitgranger @seriouslysam8 @theresthesnitch

#tag games #2022 wrapped

44 notes · View notes

whatiwillsay · 1 year

Note

just wanted to say that i’ve been listening to your kaylor series and i really appreciate you talking/spreading awareness about ttb there and in general

i used to follow her new account and some other people who know her (i’m not a late stage kaylor fyi, i just find it interesting to keep up with some late stage kaylor’s content) and after hearing about ttb from you, i’ve completely distanced myself from them

anyway i’m just grateful to have heard about them from you before getting too involved, and i’m LOVING the kaylor series so far, super excited to hear both of your takes on it

also i totally understand if you don’t want to share this, i just wanted to let you know

awww so glad you're enjoying it!

for anyone who wants to jump in and enjoy here are the first three episodes of the series on spotify:

part i

part ii

part iii

and on apple podcasts:

part i

part ii

part iii

and here are the photo references for part iii

#kaylor #gaylor swift #gaylor

22 notes · View notes

zzztlk · 6 months

Note

Do you have a patreon? I’d love to support you on there if you do!

Nope but ty! Maybe when the webcomic finally starts up it'll be something I'll do for early updates and extra stuff. I have a bunch of abandoned versions of scenes and episodes (which is why I keep delaying lol..) so there'd be a decent amount to post haha

#ttb #asks #Don't mind me just rolling my big old stone up the hill day after day #To the few who still donate to my last attempt at sub-based content thank you thankyouthsnkoyou #eternally indebted to you #nat #regan #may change my goalpost to hitting the roughs for the first half of act 1 before starting instead of the entirety of act 1 #rest in peace fall 2023 release..

214 notes · View notes

ofallthingsnasty · 4 months

Note

Do you have any rdr2 stuff planned this year? I am starving for messed up cowboy content. _(´ཀ`」 ∠)_

I don't know if its just me but there is a serious drought of dark rdr2 fics lately lol No pressure of course! I know things get busy :)

Only lately? 😭 Back in 2022 I already struggled finding dark fic, I remember combing the ao3 tags to death ajsjsjs (but to be fair, I was mainly looking for reader-inserts, that might've been it.) Do you have any recs? 🥹🫶

In general, I wanted to write two little follow-ups to through the briar - one immediately after the plot of the fic happens and one where reader runs from Micah some years later. These two scenarios really tickle me, I just need to find my muse for them again (= replay rdr2 lol)

Also, back when I started through the briar, I also had the idea for a a/b/o noncon fic with Micah, and wrote a decent amount for it. I got some very insightful comments on ttb, though - especially regarding my characterization of Micah and I have wavered on the concept ever since. Mainly because it's just straight up hard noncon, with little build-up. I honestly don't know if I'll ever finish it BUT I have felt that way with multiple fics that are now up on my ao3 ahjsjs

So yeah, anything dark for rdr2 would probably be with Micah because I can't, for the life of me, write Arthur from a dark angle (he is so husband-shaped 🥹)

#ask #anon

2 notes · View notes

catchingbigfish · 8 months

Text

author ask tag game

thank you so much for the tag @doublegoblin! i'll soft-tag @words-after-midnight, @ragnarokproofing, @horrormama, @winterandwords, and anyone else who wants to participate!

i'm gonna use these questions to introduce a new wip i'm working on! i don't know the name of it yet lol but i'm tagging it "wip: ttb" because i was calling it i tried to bury you but you wouldn't stay dead. a rough synopsis: novella-length, depressing af, dual-POV (duet-POV?), second-person litfic about a preacher's son and a town outcast who fall in love and tell select stories of their relationship before the preacher's son went missing.

(1) What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?

i don't really write lessons into my work, but as far as themes go: what we replace it with when we lose religion, sex-as-religion, the limitations of identity and our struggles to break out of them, hauntings, ghosts-as-wishes, and the brutality of religion

(2) What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?

i'm always a little unsure of how to answer this because it's not fantasy, but the setting is a small town i spent a lot of time in during my childhood in the south! it was a rural, 50k population, churches on every corner sort of place. i'm trying hard to nail that vibe as well as possible, including exploring it on google maps a ton

(3) What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, help readers grow as a person?

i think both main characters are mostly concerned with closure; i'm really just trying to tell the story, tbh!

(4) How many chapters is your story going to have?

i have a very specific vision in mind for this wip -- i have plans for 9 chapters, around 6k words apiece, each centered on a biblical place and a related theme from southern baptist teachings. it'll be somewhat evenly split between the MCs' versions of the same story with an interlude i'm tentatively calling lamentations, which is a very short "dream" the woman has of a way the man dies (hence its tentative title)

(5) Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

original content! not sure yet -- i'm contemplating whether i want to try trad publishing or potentially release it here on tumblr.

(6) When and why did you start writing?

i'm not sure if this means generally or this story -- so you get both answers. i don't remember when and why i started writing, but my earliest clear memory of writing is when i was ten. it feels like scratching an itch tbh. for this story, i would say it has roots in a similar story (another dual-POV, second-person, man disappears type story) i wrote for my first ever creative writing course which coalesced into this via various pieces of media i was consuming at the time -- way too much lana del rey, some david lynch (particularly blue velvet), and the book of eve, to name a few. the why, though, is because it just sort of popped into my brain and i'd be itchy if i didn't, to continue the previous metaphor

(7) Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers of Tumblr do you follow?

stop caring about the market, tbh. to borrow a line from community, caring is lethal. just write the story and find the audience later

#writeblr #wip: ttb #about elle #sorry my drafts is apparently where posts go to die

4 notes · View notes

thethreebroomsticksficfest · 1 year

Text

The Three Broomsticks Pride Fest

Attention pub patrons, Madam Rosmerta is utterly delighted to announce The Three Broomsticks Pride Fest! This fest is all about celebrating the LGBTQ+ community, and we welcome any writers old and new to join in the fun! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

But Rosmerta, how do you write canon-compliant fics about LBGTQ+ characters when there’s no explicit representation of that community in the books?

I’m glad you asked! TTB is a canon-compliant Discord server and therefore hosts canon-compliant fests; however, that’s not meant to be restrictive. Just because a character is not stated to be gay or asexual or nonbinary doesn’t mean they’re not! All that canon-compliance means at TTB is that the fic doesn’t alter canon events, including endgame pairings mentioned in the epilogue.

Here are some examples of LGBTQ+ characterisations and ships that would be considered canon-compliant by TTB definition (these aren’t prompts or an exhaustive list by any means, just some examples):

Harry, Ginny, Hermione, or Ron discovering bisexuality later in life (men and women being married isn’t inherently heterosexual, afterall)

A next gen character being trans or nonbinary

Asexual Charlie Weasley

Same-sex ships that don’t alter endgame couples; there are too many to list, but here’s a few: Dean/Seamus, Minerva/Poppy, Sirius/Remus, Lavender/Parvati, Katie/Alicia, Albus/Scorpius

Harry and Hermione having a conversation/realisation about Grindeldore

Everyone has their own slightly different definitions of canon-compliancy, so if you have any questions or suggestions, please don’t hesitate to send us an ask or reach out to any mod. We also encourage you to join our Discord server (click here to join), which is active during and between fests with mini-events, writing chats, an HP book club, and general shenanigans.

Fest submissions will be due in late May and posting will begin on June 1st (see important dates below for more details).

🌈 Rules:

At least one LGBTQ+ character must be prominently featured

Submissions must be canon-compliant (see FAQs below for more details!)

Each submission should be at least 1000 words

No sexual content featuring minors (this doesn’t include kissing or vague references with no actual description)

🌈 Important Dates:

May 26th – submission deadline

May 29th – writers informed when their fic(s) will be revealed

June 1st – first fic is revealed

🌈 FAQ:

What counts as canon-compliant?

Canon-compliancy has a broad scope and we’re not here to gatekeep! For the purposes of this fest, we consider the Harry Potter books 1-7 as canon and the “end game” pairings. The rest is up to you - for example, if you wish to write a post-Hogwarts story, you do not have to take Cursed Child or post-Potter interview information as canon if you don’t want to, but you should follow the pairings established in the epilogue.

Can I submit a multi-chapter?

You can absolutely submit the start of a new multi-chapter; however, you cannot submit a new chapter from an already published WIP.

How should I submit?

Submit to the AO3 collection and/or to Tumblr with the following information:

Title:

Author:

Main Character(s):

Pairing(s):

Rating:

Warning(s):

If you are submitting to our collection, it will be private and anonymous until we release your story.

How long will the fest go? What days of the week will fics be posted?

That depends on how many we get! After all fics are submitted, the mods will make a schedule, and we will contact you on May 29th to let you know when you can expect your fic to go up. The first fic will for sure be up on June 1st though!

I have another question!

No problem! Drop us an ask and we’ll get back to you.

#ttb #pride fest #ttb pride fest #harry potter #harry potter fic fest #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #canon compliant

74 notes · View notes

mantleoflight · 7 months

Text

//OK! SO! I'm doing a lot better and am coming off Hiatus to Semi-hiatus and will be putting asks and threads in the queue. I'm in a much better head space and have been absolutely buzzing on ideas inspired by this season's content.

//Namely extensions of Echo's Hive!AU in which she tries to talk terms with Savathun and ends up as one of her Oubliette experiments instead.

1. Weapon of Sorrow

//The first is "Weapon of Sorrow" au in which Echo is discovered/revealed after being defeated by a trio of guardians and is brought back for examination. It runs on the idea that Hive Magic is meant for infecting and transforming living biological beings, not inorganic life forms like Exos and Ghosts. Yet it still affects inorganic materials, as seen in the Weapons of Sorrow. //This also runs on my HC that all Exos have Alkahest running in their bodies, maintaining their minds and humanity while also adding a biological component to their beings, albeit minimally. //Thus, when Echo is retrieved and her chitin (courtesy of @bandit-prince's hive OC, Taûryx) is removed, her main body is revealed to have been heavily modified by the terraforming ability of the hivified Alkahest (modified/refined radiolaria, IE the exo's blood/only biological component). Where once was the sleek, human-like model of Clovis Bray's exo design, now lay something looking like it was made of knives and bone, much like the Necrochasm and Osteo Striga. //Naturally, Echo's ghost, Whisper, beseeches the Vanguard for help in bringing Echo back as a guardian and cleansing her of the Hive magic Savathun and Taûryx used on her. With some help, they are eventually successful in cleansing and restoring Echo, yet she still feels some effects of being an exo acolyte. This AU actually extends to another AU, a "Bad Timeline" au that combines "Weapon of Sorrow" and "Ties of Binding" which will be detailed in a section below.

2. Bad Timeline AU

//In this second au, "Bad Timeline" mixes the WoS and TtB verses with one of the Bad Timelines where the Exo Stranger came from. In it, Echo becomes her "Weapon of Sorrow" self by design, submitting herself to Hive!Eris Morn as a way to get close to her and Savathun. She does this in order to find the Hive God ritual and use it herself. In this, she would try to become a rival to Eris in the pantheon of hive gods and give the remaining guardians not completely lost to the darkness, a chance at retaking their world with or without the Traveler. //This would be tricky though, since she'd know that she'd need a Worm in the pantheon to do this. So she gets the only one she could find on hand: the one inside the YW's gun. Using different magics, including the Essence Transfer magic utilized in the Scarlet Keep, Echo speak with Xol, contending with him that he was the weakest of his pantheon because he didn't live up to his name. Because up to that point, he hadn't been the Will of thousands, only the will of one. But if he made a deal with her, she would make him the will of thousands, and his tithe would be greater than had ever been for him. //So through this, she becomes Ehkos Ahnan, Hive diety of Ties and Binding, taking strength from bonds between her brood (the guardians who accept her offer). Her first act of binding was binding Xol to his physical form, remaking him and gaining strength from the bonds of love, hate, rivalry, etc. made with and extended to her by other sentient beings. To other's surprise though, she had not relinquished the Light, only hidden it until the time to reveal it came. //Now the Deep and Sky battle within her as she runs against the clock, seeking to become the one Blade willing to carve its place in the universe and allow to shelter beneath her in exchange for obedience to her terms and tithes of Light and violence in defense of their new kingdom.

//We are the ever-grasping hands. Those who accept us are bound to us by our Mercy. We are the ever-shaping truth! Those who reject us are cut down by our blades and bonds! For Mercy can only be given by those Strong enough to carve it from the hands of their enemies! And those whom you gain and bring to me by Mercy are yours by right of Submission. Through this bond, they must tithe and prove themselves worthy of your efforts, your protection, and their place in the world. As well, you must prove yourself worthy to keep them! Carve their place into the chasm that is your domain, claim, and grow! Prove yourselves worthy to be called mine! Aiat!"

3. Ties that Bind

//The second AU is set after her Hive verse in which she isn't made into a Weapon of Sorrow but is still discovered and recovered from being an Acolyte. After providing all the information she has and being aided by Eris in her recovery (specifically during and after Season of the Haunted), Echo goes on as usual during the rest of the year. //However, in hearing the call to aid to help Eris with Immaru, Echo defies strong recommendations of her leaving the situation alone and goes to aid Eris. Ikora has strong reservations about letting Echo continue to aid Eris, but Echo insists that with her experience the previous year in the Hive, she would be the best suited to help Eris in her current endeavors. Ikora's fears prove founded as Echo begins to slip into her old Acolyte patterns as she fights and tithes to Eris. //However, despite their efforts and how fruitful they've been, Echo's discovery of Ahsa's involvement puts a huge damper on her efforts. She knows the corrosive power of hive magic and fears they can't last much longer without hurting, or worse, killing Eris and Ahsa. Thus she begins to prepare a secondary plan, which in reality is a terrible idea but what else can she do when good ideas don’t show themselves? //So she contacts an "old friend", and whether by bonding with him as a Darkness Risen ( @aurea-fide) or raising his essence from the weapon of his own destruction, she calls on the weakest of worms with an assertion that he was weak because he hasn't lived up to his name, and a promise that if he abides this new contract with her, he will become that which he claimed to be: the will of thousands instead of the will of one. //In this line of action, she intends to pick up where Eris left off and join the hive pantheon -- not as villain or antagonist to humanity, but as a paracausal advocate and contender against greater powers. //"If the Traveler is the Gardener then I am its guard, for I know by right, all who are born in this universe have a place in it. If this is a garden, then I will tend it and carve a place for all things in this universe.”

Addendum to Ties that Bind is that it would be a precautionary plan. One that is likely discovered and not acted upon since Eris seems to have things well in hand. Seasonally, this is Eris’s journey and our goth girl deserves some good things. UuU

Echo: “and this is why Eris is doing this. Because she won’t fall to the temptation of the Deep like I would. She’s the Stronger Truth, a true light in the blanketing dark. A friend, a protector, a guardian. aiat.”

#thoughts #ooc #ooc || out of light #season of the witch spoilers #spoilers #sotw #destiny 2 #destiny spoilers #au #echo's au #hive aus #Weapon of Sorrow || alt!hive AU #Binding Ties || Hive god!au #Bad Timeline || Bad end au #// hhh apologies if this sounds precocious #//sometimes you just gotta marry sue your character in an interesting way when they spin at Mach speed In your head #rp

3 notes · View notes