#v:{aftermath}

[rheaeaseandflow]

  Failure. 

 The word repeated itself with every step she took closer to Tethys and Oceanus’ home and the word rang louder in her mind as she saw her little sister from a distance. Rhea didn’t want it to come down to this: her begging her siblings for help. She wanted to be the one her family could go to if they needed guidance or a safe haven but she couldn’t be that person...or at least not now. The war and its outcome took a greater toll on her that she realized. 

  Rhea destroying her living quarters was her breaking point. What if one of her children were there to watch their mother fall apart right before their eyes? What if she harmed them in the process? She could never forgive herself. All of her children were taken care of in some way with all of her sons now kings except for Hera. Hera needed someone...someone better than Rhea to look after her. She possessed so much potential inside of her yet her own mother couldn’t help her find herself. 

  Oceanus and Tethys were the only ones she trusted to foster her youngest daughter. They were stable and loved each other and each of their children despite the large number of offspring they had. This was the only option for Hera and Rhea had to keep telling herself that.

  “Sister. I have a favor to ask of you.”

@beforethegods // Tethys

[tangledlights]

@realityrot

       “Dammit, Hopper...”

       Just when she thought she’d found it all, that there couldn’t possibly be one more thing hidden in all the nooks and crannies of what used to be Hopper’s office, there was still one more thing to find. One more mini bottle of whiskey or sometimes bourbon (when did he drink bourbon?), like the kind you get from a hotel mini fridge, or one more pack of cigarettes, crumpled up with only two or three left, the occasional lighter. None of it was real incriminating, at least not to anyone that had known Hopper. But there was a new guy coming in and the idea that some stranger might judge the former Chief based on what he’d left behind made her sick to her stomach. Hopper had gotten enough talk behind his back, enough assumptions and enough of a foul reputation when he was ali- when he was still there. He didn’t need it now that he was gone, now that half of Hawkins believed him to be a hero. He was a hero.

       Joyce was crouched down under the desk, crawled up underneath it to wrestle half a pack of smokes from a gap in the woodwork when she heard the office door open. She opened her mouth, about to let whoever it was know that she needed another five minutes to finish up but the voice she heard carrying on a conversation with someone still outside was not one she recognized. Shit. She scrambled out from under the desk, tossed the half pack of smokes in with the rest of the contraband in a box on the desk, and tossed one of Hopper’s spare shirts over the whole thing. She managed to run her fingers through her hair to tame it somewhat before and catch her breath before the new Chief of Hawkins broke off his conversation to see her standing behind the desk that was now his.

       “Er, hi. Sorry, I was just packing up the last of his- of Hopper’s, the last Chief... his things. He left a few... things... but I’m all packed up here and I’ll just be out of your way.” 

[demoliticnist]

“ think of me when you want to come home ” (DONT LEAVE FOR WAR MY LOVE 😭)

cursed suggestions

“Don’ worry— I will,” Vinny promises. “Every day, I’ll be thinkin’ about you. Waiting for this damn war to be over so I can hurry up and get back home to you.” 

He resents it all, all the leaders who’ve brought innocent men into this conflict, forcing him to fight for a country he’s not sure is really his. But he’s sure he’ll return home, to Makani, to his normal life, soon enough. He has to.

[martiancurse-blog]

@protectors-of-the-balance

That encounter the night before... could it have been a dream? Nothing more?

Whatever it was, it had Maria wondering... had it been a dream? Would she ever know? Regardless, something seemed to draw her back... back to Lake Verity.

And there she was. The fall weather was crisp, and the young woman shivered against her windbreaker jacket. The last time she had been there, she had been in full uniform, working to capture Mesprit in a trap of Galactic design.

She’d walked down this very same path just over a year ago with intent that couldn’t have been more different.

The lake was quiet. Calm. So different from what it had been the last time she’d come.

There was nary a wave on the water now.

Whatever was coming... she gazed out over the blue of the lake. There was a cave in the middle. She remembered how she’d gotten there the previous time... but she didn’t have all her Pokemon anymore. Just the one.

And maybe it was for the better?

It was still early morning.

Maria slowly sat down in the sand, wondering why she’d even come back. Because of a dream? A vision? Who knew.

But it didn’t look like the spirit of the place rejected her. For now, at least...

[nancy--wheeler]

--- @byerstrange liked for a starter (!!!)

Nancy didn’t need to be TOLD Jonathan wasn’t sleeping much. She knew he wasn’t.

Too much had happened over the last few days for ANYONE in their lives to be sleeping peacefully. Hurt, pain, betrayal, fear and loss stacked up on her shoulders like CINDERBLOCKS, the pressure of them threatening to drown her if she didn’t fight to swim. The hard-won closure on Barb’s death had not come without a horrible, gut-wrenching cost, and once again poor Will Byers had been decimated by a struggle for survival against an enemy whose aim had been to KILL THEM ALL. She knew now it had been naive to think things would ever go back to ‘normal’... but lately she caught herself wondering if they’d even make it as far back as TOLERABLE. 

When Jonathan opened the door, despite the late hour, there she was. Standing on the porch in her soft camel colored coat, dangling the bottle of vodka Murray had gifted them between the fingers of one hand and brandishing two neon red solo cups in the other. Ted Wheeler’s sensible four-door sedan was parked in the dirt driveway next to Jonathan’s car; doubtless taken on this midnight expedition without permission, but Nancy hardly seemed bothered by the specter of her inevitable punishment. “...I figured you’d still be up.” she commented with a half smile when she saw him, briefly glancing over his shoulder into the rest of the house. Dark, quiet, and still - Joyce and Will were doubtless asleep already. HOW they managed to close their eyes peacefully, Nancy didn’t know. But if fate was merciful enough to let those two sleep, she wasn’t going to ruin it by making noise and waking them up. 

Instead she nodded towards the porch, sinking heavily down onto the old wood boards and separating the two cups she’d brought with her. She made no attempt to explain her sudden arrival, or what she wanted. She didn’t think she needed to; Nancy was awake, Jonathan was awake. No sense in either of them pretending not to be, not when their heads were too filled with horrible memories and anxious worries. And if there was ONE THING she thought might help her start to peel away the crushing weight of her grief, of her fear? It was her LIFELINE - the hand that always pulled her back from the abyss, that steadied her on the trigger, and believed in her when no one else did. It was Jonathan. 

Handing one of the empty solo cups up to Jonathan as she folded her legs underneath herself, Nancy’s smile genuinely brightened. She’d been right - just seeing his face, having him near, was already starting to lighten her burdens. “We need ice. And that WATER, if you’ve still got it.” 

[promiseburdened]

--- plotted starter for @loyaltyburdened (!!!)

No... No, no, no, NO! This wasn’t happening. This COULDN’T be happening. She caught herself wishing that she was asleep, and this was nothing but a fevered nightmare. Or that she’d hit her head really hard, causing hallucinations rather than any of this being real. Because she’d done it; she’d closed the Gate. It was over. It was all finally over. The pain, the loss, the sorrow, they were all things of the past. NORMAL LIFE, the one Hopper had been promising her since he found her in the woods, could finally begin. They had won. 

... And yet for their champion? Their warrior? Instead of elation, Eleven felt like she’d lost EVERYTHING.

Summoning enough strength to close the Gate had pushed El FAR beyond her limits. She’d been right all along, she could do it ... but the price to pay had been far steeper than she’d ever imagined. After collapsing in relief into Hopper’s arms, she’d found almost immediately that she couldn’t move. Couldn’t lift so much as a finger by herself, her head lolling heavily on the chief’s shoulder as he struggled to get a firm grip on her suddenly limp frame. She’d been drained pretty badly before, but NEVER like this. Even last fall, when Dustin had been forced to carry El because she couldn’t walk as the group was forced to run for their lives? She’d at least been able to hold onto his neck with one arm to try and help. But now she found it a struggle to even exert the energy to BREATHE, the raspy and uneven sound of her attempts causing even the normally stoic Hopper to tense up in concern as he carried her back to the truck. 

The plan had been to reconvene at the Byers house, once everything was over. Just to make sure everyone was ok, to catch their breath, and to logically split people up into cars to get the kids back to their respective homes before dawn. BARELY CONSCIOUS, it was the thought of the Byers house that kept Eleven fighting for every labored breath she took. Of Mike. Of him waiting for her there, right on the front steps where she’d left him. Being able to see him smile at her again like he had when she’d walked in just hours ago. To feel the warmth of his skin against hers (which was currently ice cold), to smell the light remainder of his shampoo in that floppy hair of his. To put her head on his shoulder and let him HOLD HER UP, like he had all that time ago. To finally have her only dream of the last 353 days realized - to be with him again.

But when the truck had pulled up to the house, even as out of it as she was, El had known instantly that something was WRONG. It was too quiet. She knew her friends - if they were there, they would’ve come tearing out of the house shouting thousands of questions as soon as they saw the chief’s truck. But ... nothing. Silence. Hopper had quickly deposited her weak body onto the couch, making sure she was comfortable before doing a sweep of the house. Nothing. NO ONE. With a vague promise that he’d be back when he found them, he was gone. And so she was left there, as minimal (but not nearly enough) strength began to return, alone and uncertain as to WHAT HAD HAPPENED. 

Where was he? Why hadn’t he left her a note? ... What if she’d been TOO LATE?

Eleven heard the voices before she saw the headlights of the car. It sounded like all five of them talking at once, but having five separate and distinct conversations. The door BURST open, the gang stumbling through looking like hell in their makeshift battle gear. But it was nothing compared to the sight of the girl on the couch waiting for them. Eleven was CAKED in a combination of sweat, soot, and blood - she hadn’t had the strength to wipe any of it away, and it had SMEARED unevenly on her face when Hopper had been carrying her. Her skin was dangerously pale, and her eyes slightly sunken. But the emotion in them was CLEAR - thank god. A single tear slipped from her eyes in relief, a shuddering gasp escaping her chest as the weight of all her worst nightmares was lifted. “... Mike.” Eleven managed to croak out, calling on strength she did not have to try and go to his side. That’s where she NEEDED to be, after all. To make sure he was okay, to ask where he’d been, to hold onto him and NEVER LET GO AGAIN....

She barely made it halfway onto her feet before he knees buckled underneath her.

[were-up-against-them-all-archive]

Vessel - Danny & Lucifer

@cheekycharlatans, continued from here.

“You used him against me!” Danny all but shouted.  The demon had come to him wearing Alex’s face.  Telling him in that soft, shy voice that he could offer the strength to see this through, to finally expose the truth.  Of course he had said yes.  “I will never let you do this.  Never!  I know I have my faults.  Trust me, I know.  And I know they hold me back.  But I don’t need you to fix it.  You can’t fix me!  And you can’t bring him back!  You can’t bring any of them back.”

It was probably useless to fight this.  The thing in his head had called itself Lucifer.  He may have run as far from the church as he could early on in his life, but he knew that name.  It wasn’t possible not to.  If this creature was really the Devil, he didn’t know how much use resisting would be.  But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to at least try.

[archmageofazeroth]

@conruptela

The ghosts that resided here had not departed with the last Guardian. Khadgar had thought perhaps they would, when he’d finally returned. That the whispers, the lights that flickered at the corners of his vision, the cold drafts that flowed where no wind could ever be, that they would fade as would his grief. Eventually. Time, it was said, healed all wounds.

And time was, if nothing else, a closer companion to him now than most.

Perhaps they felt as he did-- that something here had been left unfinished. The awareness of it was a nearly tangible weight, shifting along his skin, stirring in the back of his mind, leaving him unsettled and restless, pacing the hallways that Medivh had for so long, and finding only dust and regret.

The library was some solace, and Khadgar spent many silent, productive hours there, reading and cataloging the tomes that in many cases were the last of their kinds in existence. It was there, one day, that he came across a book that once he had discovered with awe. A book that had spoken to him, murmured its secrets, spun him its tale of betrayal and loss between its ancient pages.

He had not, himself, returned it to its shelf.

“Master.” Feeling foolish to speak aloud after so long, his voice raspy with disuse, Khadgar traced the book’s binding, bowing his head a moment as memory, even if briefly, lived again.