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trensu · 18 days

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Heyyy, long time no post, huh? I'm dropping another chunk of stasis in darkness for you guys! And I wanted to remind people that these posts are basically rough drafts. The final product will hopefully be more polished but in the meantime please enjoy!

After Steve convinced the old man he meant no harm, he’d been allowed into the home. The Lord of Night hadn’t been super specific about the purpose of his quest, only that Steve had to bring him to Wayne Munson. Steve discreetly looked around the home as he entered it. The old man was obviously unwell and had been for a while, given the state of the house. Steve had the creeping suspicion that the time limit the Lord of Night mentioned was linked to the man’s health.

“What are you doing?” Wayne Munson asked suspiciously once he had returned to the kitchen with Steve in tow. He had sat heavily in one of the old worn chairs at the table but Steve, instead of joining him, began to clear the table on impulse. Steve halted awkwardly.

“This ain’t your house, boy,” Wayne said with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Steve did his very best not to look at the scattered mess in the kitchen or living room. It was not the mess of a dirty, careless person. It was the mess of someone tired and overwhelmed. It was the mess of someone in pain who was too proud to ask for help. Steve took in Wayne Munson’s watery eyes, wan skin, and the clothes that were plain things, tattered from use, but mostly stain-free. Steve quickly added all these details and came up with a plan of attack. He set the plate back down.

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed easily. “I’m aware, but I serve the Lord of Night and he sent me to you specifically. In our god’s name, I must assist you in any way I can.”

Wayne’s expression wavered. Steve pushed again. He lowered his gaze in a slightly embarrassed manner, letting a note of uncertainty color his words.

“I don’t know what else to do until nightfall,” Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “I don’t want him to think I’ve neglected you.”

“What happens at nightfall?” Wayne asked.

“It’s when the Lord of Night wants to see you,” Steve said. Wayne blinked.

“Me? He wants to see me?”

“Yeah! So, if you could please let me,” Steve said, putting on his most endearing smile, “I’d like to take care of you until then. You know, make sure you’re comfortable and get the place ready for a divine visit. If it’s not too much trouble, sir?”

“Uh, no, that should be fine. Is…is there anything I should do?” Wayne asked dazedly.

“Not really. All I know is he really wants to see you tonight. Oh, maybe you’d like to rest until then? A nap, so you’re not drowsy when he arrives.”

Wayne nods, still in shock at the news. He didn’t protest when Steve helped him out of the chair and let him lean his weight on him as they navigated to the bedroom. Wayne sat on the bed as Steve drew curtains closed over the room’s single window. The curtains were thick enough to dim the sun to a pale yellow glow.

“I didn’t know there was anyone else who followed him,” Wayne said as he lay himself down over the covers.

"He told me you’re the only one left, besides me,” Steve told him. “And I only discovered him a month ago by accident.”

“By accident?” Wayne asked with a wry grin.

“My friends found a holy text when we were researching other gods. It was the only one of his in the city's whole library. Then we had a hell of a time trying to find his last shrine. When I finally found it, it was falling apart. He’s been forgotten,” Steve said. At Wayne’s troubled expression, he hurriedly added, “But now that I’ve pledged myself to him, I’m going to make sure people know him again.”

Wayne did not appear convinced, but he finally settled to rest after Steve promised to wake him before sunset. Steve took the opportunity to clean. He hadn’t been lying to Wayne when he said he wasn’t sure what to do until nightfall. It didn’t help that Steve also liked to keep himself busy. Being idle made him itch.

The house was small. Aside from Wayne's bedroom, there was only a cramped kitchen and a modest living room. From the small window of the backdoor, Steve could see a short, worn path to an outhouse.

Given the size of the house, though there was a mess everywhere, it didn’t take Steve very long to clean it all. When it was done to his satisfaction, there were still a few hours left until sunset so he wandered outside. The porch railing was covered with broad green leaves from intertwining vines but Steve left that alone when he saw the small garden nearby. It was full of ripe vegetables that Steve assumed Wayne had been unable to pick himself given his condition.

By the time Steve had picked the vegetables, pulled the weeds, and watered the garden, the sun hung low in the horizon. He cleaned himself up the best he could in the kitchen sink and took one of the chairs from the table to the bedroom before waking Wayne.

He told Wayne what he accomplished during Wayne’s repose. While Wayne expressed his gratitude politely enough, it was still apparent to Steve that the old man was irritated at having needed the assistance at all. To keep Wayne from dwelling on that, as well as to satisfy his own curiosity, he coaxed Wayne into conversation.

“Can I ask, uh, how you–I mean, how did you know? How did you know the Lord of Night existed?"

Wayne laughed at Steve’s befuddled tone. The laugh turned into a coughing fit. Steve quickly fetched him a glass of water and put it on the bedside table after Wayne had a drink.

“My family’s a bunch of no-good criminals,” Wayne croaked. “Were. It’s only me now. But before, each generation of Munsons took it up. Like a family tradition.”

“Criminals?” asked Steve cautiously.

“Thieves and con men. Some ladies of the night, if you catch my meaning. They knew of our Lord of Night and passed the knowledge down,” Wayne sighed sadly. “The life of a criminal ain’t what you call stable. We lost bits and pieces of him with every generation. Like his name. No one’s known his name for a very long time. Is that why he wants to see me? Did I fail him?”

There was genuine distress in Wayne’s question so Steve hid his disappointment. He had hoped the Lord of Night’s last worshiper would at least have a clue about where to start the search for the lost name. He focused, instead, on reassuring the old man.

“I don’t know why he wants to see you, but he wasn’t angry when he sent me. He sounded excited.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Wayne said uncertainly.

“Definitely,” Steve assured. Before Wayne could sink into his gloom again, Steve said, “I know you said you’ve lost some knowledge, but do you know if the Lord of Night has any prayers? I haven’t…I mean, I’ve tried to worship him but I don’t think I can do it right without a prayer. I’m kind of new at all this.”

“My ma used to say our Lord didn’t have patience for formalities,” Wayne said, brow furrowed. “They bored him so he only had a few official prayers. There was one where we’d thank him for any dreams he gave us. I think there was another one that asked for dreams to bring inspiration or something of that sort. I don’t really remember those–ma would be boxing my ears for that if she was still around. I remember the one for protection, since we used that one a lot. It goes:

Lord of Night, Guide us through all phases Of the moon; May the dark be free of All dangers, While your many stars burn.

Wayne’s voice cracked into a coughing fit near the end. Steve hurriedly offered him water again once Wayne had caught it again. Wayne took a few mouthfuls and repeated the prayer again so Steve could learn it. It took a few tries, but Wayne was patient and by the end of it, Steve had it memorized.

“Is that the only one?” Steve asked, hoping to learn more. Wayne grimaced.

“It’s the only one I really remember. The Lord of Night prefers stories. My ma would tell us the best bedtime stories. Said they were for our god as much as for me and my brother. I was never good at coming up with new stories, so I retell my favorites or tell our Lord about my days and give him a little offering.”

Steve wasn't much of a story teller. He supposed he could do as Wayne did until he met up with Robin and Dustin again. They constantly chatted about books they’d read. Steve couldn’t help but notice how, once again, his friends seemed a better fit for his god than he was; all Steve could give his god was his shield and sword. It was discouraging. He had to figure out a way to make up for it somehow.

“What kind of offerings?” Steve asked.

He wanted to give his god more; he wanted to give the Lord of Night something he’d actually like. It wasn’t lost on him that the Lord of Night took him under duress. Who else would’ve been able to complete this quest?

“When I was young, it was horse shoes,” Wayne chuckled at Steve’s confusion. “Thieves are supposed to give him a part of their loot but my ma and pa were horse thieves. They got horseshoes and would leave one for each horse they stole, tied with a braid made of the stolen horse’s mane.”

“You stole horses?” Steve said, unable to fight off a grin as he remembered the conversation he had with the Lord of Night about it.

“Me and my brother, before he passed,” Wayne said with a weak nod.

The sky had darkened by now. Steve pulled the stone out of his satchel. He carefully unwrapped it from the cloth and set it gently on the bedside table next to the glass of water. Wayne eyed it quizzically.

“It’s from his shrine,” Steve explained. Without any further fussing, Steve stood up and went to the door.

“Don’t leave,” the Lord of Night said.

Steve turned to see the god, hooded in his cloak of constellations, sitting in the chair Steve had vacated. The Lord of Night had not even glanced Steve's way when he spoke to him. The god’s attention rested solely on Wayne.

Steve hadn’t seen or spoken to the Lord of Night since he’d been accepted as his holy warrior. The god had needed to conserve his energy, he explained to Steve, so that Steve could complete his quest. The god’s cloak was as mesmerizing as the first time. However, this far from the shrine, the god did not look as solid as he had during the nights he spent with Steve.

“I wanted to give you two some privacy,” Steve said softly.

“I think Wayne would appreciate not being alone,” the Lord of Night said.

The old man stared at the god unblinkingly. Wayne’s expression was one of awe and fear, so Steve did as he was told and stayed in the room though he chose to lean on the wall furthest from the pair. He was still close to them in the tiny bedroom, but it provided the pretense of privacy.

“My Lord?” Wayne’s voice was barely audible.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said.

#trensu tells stories #steddie #stasis in darkness #stranger things #i'm gonna be honest #i absolutely have no idea how prayers are structured and i've got like zero experience in poetry #i do NOT like how the prayer turned out but #i did my best okay?#steve is so eager to use holy words #i had to give him SOMETHING #also #i'm starting to think i should've been like numbering these posts or something #but it's not like they're actual chapters or have a consistent length yknow?#so idk

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crplpunkklavier · 1 year

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idk. i read an article the other day about how the structure of pop songs is changing. how producers advise artists now to put the best part--choruses, hooks--right at the beginning, or at least within the first 30 seconds of the song, because otherwise people will scroll right past on tiktok and instagram.

idk. the same article explained that songs are getting shorter and shorter because you need people to loop you on spotify to make any money at all, and of course a 2 minute song is looped more than a 5 minute song, just sort of due to how time works.

idk. can i fault artists for wanting to make a living? but how dreadful to make art like this.

idk. i've always been a defender of pop music despite feeling at home in punk, because i don't think there's anything bad in humans sometimes wanting something simple, something easy to listen to, something immediately relatable. it's an idea that dates back all the way to romanticism. sometimes all we want is to dance and sing along and know that everyone everywhere feels heartbreak.

but idk! that's the consumer end of it. do we really want to be catered to like this? do we want to be presented with music that is cut and rearranged and bastardized and bastardized and bastardized all so it can catch our constantly waning attention? who needs to change first? one of us will have to.

and idk! the article somewhat nonchalantly ended by saying that "of course," there are some genres where people will still appreciate longer songs, "like rock and techno," as if rock artists aren't struggling to pay bills all the same.

idk, man. i'm old enough to remember hearing a song on the radio, or even fucking mtv, and going out the next day to buy the full album with my pocket money, just hoping it'll be as good as that one song. and if it wasn't, was that really so bad? i'd rip my favorites off the cd to burn my own mixtape, and then i'd sell the cd to someone else, for them to enjoy. but those were different times. sometimes i find artists that don't offer cds anymore at all.

idk. idk. i'm going to uninstall every app and handwrite a letter to sony to demand all songs be a minimum of 8 minutes long. figure it out.

#idk!#this was supposed to be shorter and funnier but. idk.#i remember being in advanced music in grade 13 with all my punk boys and violin girls and we all vowed to each other to #never write ad jingles for a living. because that seemed like the worst possible thing to do with our talent #selling your soul to profit #now it seems like all popular music is that #so idk #oh yeah article sourced but its german because im german. tschuldigung

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mikibagels · 1 year

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New episode was fucking amazing but my eyes were glued to jean’s face and reiner’s boobs so I think I need to watch it again...

#jean kirstein #floch forster #attack on titan #fanart #my art #i guess this is a spoiler #but being an anime only in 2023 either means that you started the show yesterday or you dont care about the series anymore #so idk

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thatfuckinjester · 18 days

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The Countdown

TW: self hate, slef isolation, harmful thoughts, believing that one's gonna die

there's always been a countdown in his head, since he could remember himself, at first phantom thought that it was the countdown until he would get on someone's nerves too much and wouldn't be able to protect himself.

then he got summoned.

phantom was so sure that that's it, he got released from the timeless countdown. until the first sibling told him about the plans to send him back.

the thing about the topside is, time is different, it isn't liquidy, every second counts. and every second did in fact, was counted.

and then it got to 354600 seconds.

or 5760 minutes.

or 96 hours.

just 4 days.

that was when they got back to the ministry, that's when phantom knew that this time, this countdown is final for him.

his room was empty, it only had a bed that he barely had time to sleep in and a half empty closet, the blinds in the window above his bed were wide open, through which orange rays of sunlight came in and he could see the sunset in all its beauty.

phantom hated how much he loved it.

he left his bag next to his already locked shut door and looked at the sunset a bit more. It was so disgustingly beautiful.

he slammed the blinds closed, couldn't bare the sight of the sky anymore.

he sat down on his bed and sighed before he fell on his back and looked at the celling tiredly.

the tour is over. his life topside ended with it.

at least it seemed like papa would give him a few days to mourn the stars he won't see again.

'would they even miss me?' he thought as he sat up on the bed. 'no, of course not. aether will be back soon, why would they need me?' he, or maybe it was just that little voice in his mind, said back.

and he sighed as he closed his eyes, trying to imagine how it would feel like to be nothing again.

his dreams were full of stars, and maybe that's why he missed the bearly heard knock on his door.

or maybe phantom lost himself between the stars.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

when he woke up, panic possessing his every sense, he didn't know what the time was, just the sense of a new day.

and in those last 259,200 seconds,

those last 4,320 minutes,

those last 72 hours,

those last 3 days, it started to drip, like two clouds that the wind had carried towards each other. like blood from nose.

like phantom's own tears.

it's not like he wasn't already panicked about that, phantom remembers how draining it was to be summoned, he knows how horrible it was. he knows that he won't survive being sent back, that it'll kill him.

he has had way too many panic attacks about it, curled into the tiniest, tightest, saddest little ball in his bunk, his tail wrapped around his middle in some sort of self soothing and the blanket swallowing him whole, sobbing onto his fist, the tears staining his face while the pack sat together, doing whatever, either actually not hearing him or pretending not to.

but that was while he was on tour. while the countdown didn't feel that close, didn't really had a set date, just time that always changed. but now... now it was different. now he only has four more days.

the numbers are so vivid in his mind, phantom thinks it's nicer to count in seconds, four days are way too little, in hours the numbers are double-digit, in minutes they're double of that.

but the seconds are much more, even if they ran down faster. it gives some sort of comfort, like it gives him more time.

not like it helps really, he still paincks, especially when he opens his phone.

he hates it, that little stupid device, the light always annoys him, he never really understood how to use it, nobody truly cared to teach him, they didn't want to talk to him face to face, why would they bother to even send a text?

his hands trembling while he held his phone, it could have been just because he's cold, he's always cold lately it already became comforting, or maybe it's the pain in his, well everything, he doesn't really know, or cares enough about it, he's already doomed anyways, it doesn't really matter if he suffers a bit too.

tapping twice on the screen to light it up, squinting at the too bright light, phantom doesn't even know why he's doing it.

it didn't matter, nothing really matters anymore. nobody cares about him, aether is coming back, he isn't needed. and aurora...

aurora.

maybe it's just stupid, maybe it's just for his own comfort, maybe it was because she asked him to say goodbye, maybe it was for a whole nother reason. maybe.

he still opened her chat, few messages that she sent him, unread for unknown time, the time didn't truly have any more meaning, just those last few days.

'please'

'phantom'

'?'

'be okay'

'you promised.'

he doesn't even know what she's asking, he isn't okay, she knows he doesn't like this stupid phone... maybe she grew tired of him too, maybe she sent them all just to feel better about staying when he can't.

just as he was about to turn it off another message popped up.

'you know how much you mean to us, talk to me? please'

and it all rushed to the front, he typed, regreted it, threw the phone away, his heart beating way too fast, his breathing stuttering until the sob forced itself out of his throat.

phantom cried himself to sleep, not knowing, or caring ,if he actually pressed send to those two words.

it has felt like they were burnt to his skin now, just two simple words that hold way too much weight, just 'i don't'.

he didn't hear the knock that night too, maybe he never will.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

phantom woke up because he couldn't breathe.

all he had left are 172800 seconds,

2880 minutes,

48 hours,

just 2 days.

phantom was on the floor, his head hurts, his chest rising and falling way too fast, legs tangled in his blanket, everything felt upside down.

his face felt dirty, skin itching, hair falling onto his eyes, he could feel his blood in his veins, hear his heartbeat in his ears. maybe he's going crazy, maybe it's just panic that he never truly felt until now, that his time is almost up.

phantom kept laying on the floor.

there's no reason to get up, no reason to even open his eyes, he is doomed anyways, it doesn't really matter if he opens his eyes or no.

and maybe, if he won't move, won't blink, won't breath he will die before they'll drag him out, before he'll be sent back, just to be a little more productive, papa always was nice to him, he shouldn't waste energy for sending him back if phantom can just... be gone by his own body.

and maybe, if he dies on the topside he will turn into stardust. maybe he will be great if that will be his fate.

so he just lays thete, swallowing any and all sobs that threaten to escape. his heartbeat never actually slowing down, his tears always reappearing, his panic is now engraved in his bones.

this night he doesn't miss the first knock, not the second or the third, one after the other.

he just ignores them, it's just his brain playing tricks on him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

he hasn't slept.

86400 seemed like a big number, but it was just seconds, they pass faster than a blink.

1440 was also a big number, if it wasn't minutes phantom would have felt better with it.

24 wasn't a big number, it was also the age that he died as a human, he didn't like that number at all.

just 1 last day.

phantom's face felt sticky, or maybe he was still crying, he couldn't really tell when he was crying or not anymore.

his legs hurt, like he was walking on shuttered glass, even though he wasn't walking at all.

his hands were shaking, he looked at them, holding them up to his face before letting them fall back to his sides, letting them shake.

phantom doesn't remember much from his time as a human being, and maybe it's better this way, but he wished that human him didn't feel the same way he does on the day he died.

61200 seconds,

1020 minutes,

just 17 hours.

maybe he shouldn't do nothing today, but he couldn't bring himself to get up, his body was aching, it knew that this is it, that's the end, there isn't much time at all.

maybe he should cry some more, sob, yell, he only has 54000 seconds,

900 minutes,

15 hours left.

maybe he should panic, he's going to die, he knows for a fact that he won't survive being sent back, he bearly survived being summoned.

phantom doesn't feel anything, just letting the pain in his body embrace him completely.

the floor was warm beneath him, maybe all of his body heat sipped onto it, he closed his eyes. not sleeping, but not awake. just letting his last seconds, minutes, hours, his last fucking day, slip away from him.

7200 seconds,

120 minutes,

2 hours.

it doesn't feel real.

maybe he's scared, he's pretty sure he let go of all of his feelings though, as a defense mechanism against, well, death.

the seconds ticked by, taking away minutes with them and phantom stood up. slowly, using the wall to support him as his whole body shaked from he doesn't even know or cares to know. his head felt like it was floating before he blinked a few times, clearing his vision a bit.

stumbling out of his room in the dead of night, while everyone else is asleep feels like a crime, something that he'll be punished for, but he's already getting punished for existing so it's okay.

the cold air hit his face like a slap, or maybe getting iced water thrown at him, and suddenly he felt awake, not quite alive but halfway there, he won't allow himself to feel alive so close to his death.

just 3600 seconds,

60 minutes,

one last hour.

he was walking slowly, he knew that, but it was raining and his body, legs especially, were aching and screaming at him to not walk at all, he was scared that he'll fall.

he only had more 3120 seconds, 52 minutes, when he reached the old tree that he saw from his (not his anymore) bedroom window, he doesn't know why he was looking for this tree specifically, there was just something comforting about it.

phantom leaned against the tree, letting his quintessence sip into it until he could feel every branch, every leaf, every one of the tree's roots.

he felt like his body was melting into it before he slowly say down, letting his head lay against the wet tree.

oh, he let out a sad, unaudible, laugh as he realized how little he actually had left.

1320 seconds, 22 minutes.

he doesn't truly knows what's going to happen when the time's up. maybe they're looking for him right now, maybe that's when they'll find him. maybe that's when his body and quintessence will give up on him.

maybe.

he just looks at the stars for now, silent tears falling down his face, a laugh bubbling in his chest, it's not a funny situation but he just wants to laugh at it all.

and as he looks at the stars, he can see the pack's faces in between them, he blinks and they're gone.

and maybe it's okay, he realizes, maybe it's okay if he'll never see the pack again.

if he and aurora will never cross paths again.

if he and swiss won't ever make eye contact again.

if he and dewdrop won't ever look at the same star again.

if he and rain won't ever be in the same room again.

if he and mountain won't ever breath at the same time again.

if he and cumulus won't ever sit at the same table again.

if he and cirrus won't ever look at the same thing again.

if papa won't ever smile at him again.

if he will never meet sunshine, aether and omega.

it's okay if he was never part of the pack, he isn't so sure that he wants to be part of it anymore.

three,

two,

one,

phantom loses himself between the stars.

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copepods · 7 days

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#bald is canon which i forgor when i designed her #so idk #text #rain world

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wordsinhaled · 1 year

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okay, but has anyone written canon divergence merthur magic reveal as of "beauty and the beast part two"???

thinking about how in that episode arthur's immediate and insistent reaction to learning merlin had been ordered to be arrested was to alert him in time for him to escape and urge him to leave camelot immediately before he could be detained

arthur didn't ask if merlin had really taken lady catrina's seal. he didn't even care if merlin had taken it, and was possibly guilty of a crime against the crown. his first and only thought was for merlin to save himself

imagining the same situation, but with merlin being accused of using magic after someone catches him doing a spell. arthur coming to him and telling him to save himself, to get out while he still can because the king is arresting him on suspicion of practicing sorcery

merlin standing there frozen, because he's kept this secret for so long and a part of him has always dreaded this would be how arthur would find out. voices coming from beyond the door to arthur's chambers, as arthur realizes merlin's not going to move in time

imagining arthur frantically hiding merlin somewhere in his rooms while the guards search for him - maybe he's stuffed unceremoniously in a wardrobe, or has to clamber out of arthur's window and hang off the windowsill for dear life until arthur hauls him back inside, or something

and after the guards are gone, and the coast is relatively clear, merlin realizes he can't hide his secret from arthur any longer

cue arthur processing his feelings about merlin's magic (and about merlin) while also harboring him as a fugitive within his rooms, which merlin can't leave for his own safety. arthur who's at first angry with him, then grudgingly curious about what merlin can do with his magic, then openly admiring, then indignant when he finds out merlin's been cheating at his chores with magic

arthur realizing there really is a risk to merlin, if the allegations are true, becoming all the more insistent that merlin must leave camelot even if it will pain him for merlin to leave. merlin adamant about staying. the two of them arguing over it because doesn't arthur understand he's merlin's destiny, and everything merlin's done has been for him, and if arthur sends him away now, it'll all be for nothing? (unspoken: doesn't arthur understand how merlin loves him? and also unspoken: doesn't merlin understand how arthur loves him? because arthur would rather long for merlin from afar and have him safe than put him at risk, here in camelot?)

of course, all of this happening while merlin says he'll sleep on the floor during the nights, and arthur not hearing of it after all merlin's done for him, knowing now all the power merlin has, and merlin insistent that arthur doesn't owe him anything, he'd have done it a thousand times over

okay, and basically it's like the best mashup of mutual pining + forced proximity + magic reveal + there was only one bed EVER, the end

#actually i wanna write this now damn #bbc merlin #merthur #that being said... i've never written merlin fic #so idk

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