#The Green Ring Conspiracy

[aceofstars16]

I can’t remember if I shared the first Odyssey picture I drew on here, but I figured I’d share my Green Ring drawings here 🤷‍♀️ (parts 9 & 10)

Yes, I drew Buck twice, but like…*gestures to everything about him* can you blame me? 🤪

[missdrummond]

AiO Thought of the Week

Problem: No AiO reaction images because audiodrama

Solution: Slowly amass a collection of one's I've made myself.

I'm open to suggestions for what other ones I should do!

[taratarotgreene]

Conspiracies will be proven True. LOTR, Pluto Sun Cazimi January 20/21

January 20, I will be doing a private ceremony to invoke the very rare SUN PLUTO “Cazimi” with Pluto sitting in the heart of the Sun is really a once in 246 years, once-in-a-lifetime event at the last degree of Capricorn starting at 1:52 am EST exact at 8:46 am ESTas the Cazimi begins it, lasts until the Sun enters Aquarius at 9:07 am. Sun and Pluto won’t meet at this degree again for another…

[ab-ventures-in-odyssey]

It’s giving Green Ring Conspiracy 👀😂

Free: this Blackberry I just fished out of a creek

[morggender]

If Elden Ring took place in the modern era HBomberguy would make a 6 hour video essay about Margit The Fell and his pick-me political views. Then one hour into the video after concluding his hitpiece, he'd tear apart the green screen and reveal that the remaining 5 hours will be his conspiracy about how Margit may actually be the true identity of Morgott The Grace Given, complete with piles and piles of damning evidence.

[lunamugetsu]

Bring your sidekick to work day!

Inspired by the "What if Question was the one who saves Danny from GIW?" post that I made awhile ago.

Bring your sidekick to work day!

It was a tradition that started around the time multiple superheroes were taken on sidekicks. Everyone in the league knew why they'd bring their sidekicks to work. Their sidekicks get to socialize with peers their own age and they could properly introduce themselves to other heroes.

So it was a surprise when The Question, the league's faceless conspiracy theorist, offhandedly mentioned that he'll be bringing his sidekick to work while telling them about what new information he's found about Cadmus and another new government agency he thought they should start looking into.

The heroes found it hard to believe.

Question has a sidekick.

Surely they must have misheard.

No way that guy would want a sidekick, let alone get a sidekick.

When "Bring your sidekick to work day" arrived everybody was prepared to see the heroes and sidekicks.

Superman with Superboy

Batman and his 10+ kids

Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl

Flash and Kid Flash

The list went on

The heroes all mingle before realizing that they haven't seen Question. Maybe they did mishear the man? Or Question got his words mixed up?

That was until the computer announced the arrival of Question and a guest that was unidentified.

They all turn around to see the faceless trench coat wearing investigator followed by a tinier faceless trench coat wearing kid. The kid was practically a clone of Question, except...tinier.

"This is my sidekick. Who." Question points to the faceless kid

Flash: Who?

"That's me!" the kid says pointing to himself.

"Why don't you acquaint yourself with the others." Question tells his sidekick who just nods and goes off to introduce himself with the others kids.

Batman: I didn't take you one for having a sidekick.

Question: I could say the same for you. And the sidekick thing just kind of happened. The kid wouldn't leave me alone and I couldn't let the kid get himself into any trouble.

Batman: Understandable

Meanwhile with the sidekicks.

Everybody's asking Who various questions about Question and how he met the man. They barely know anything about the guy.

Question 1: What's the deal with your name?

Who: It's a work in progress. Since my mentor's name is Question. I figured my name should be like a question.

Question 2: How do you eat?

Who: I shove food into my face

Question 3: Where's your face?

Who: Wouldn't you like to know

Question 4: Do you know about his conspiracies?

Who: Of course I know about his conspiracies! I'm one of them

Other sidekicks: What?

After some talking, the sidekicks get along with each other very well. When they reunite with their mentors the computer rings stating that John Constantine was coming along with a guest.

The heroes then all watched as a girl with white hair and green eyes wearing a trench coat and was dragging John Constantine by his sleeve. She grins and introduces herself as Dani with an "i" and that she's John's apprentice.

Dani then spots Who and they immediately do the Spider-man point at the other meme

Who (Danny): you got a trench coat mentor too?!

Dani: Where's your face?!

[thewertsearch]

@manorinthewoods asked: We're still midway through Act 5, but I'd like to ask - what do you theorise will happen in the rest of A5 and in Acts 6 and 7 of Homestuck? ~LOSS (7/6/24)

It's an interesting question. We're coming up on the halfway point of the comic, but our current main plotlines - namely, Murderstuck, the Blackout, the Green Sun and the Scratch - all feel like they'll be wrapped up in a thousand-ish pages, along with the kids' session and the Act itself. The question of what's next is beginning to present itself, and I have a few thoughts.

My main prediction is that back half of the comic will be extremely English-centric. As the man behind Scratch's schemes, he's going to be revealed as the 'true' villain who's ultimately responsible for the current crisis, as well as crises yet to come. I think he'll elbow Perfect Jack out of the primary antagonist's position - and honestly, his chief minion is already more intimidating than Jack.

To contrast Noir, I think English will be a less instinctive, more cerebral villain. His choice of Scratch as a lieutenant suggests that he's more about carefully laid plans than open aggression, and his absence from the Felt Intermission suggests he prefers to hide in the shadows, weaving a web of conspiracy that would put Vriska to shame.

As a result, I expect the next arc of Homestuck to be more about information warfare than flashy displays of power. Our heroes will need to advance their understanding of the multiverse's wider cosmology, as they come to terms with what English is, what he wants, and most importantly, how to stop him.

The later arcs of the comic will involve discovering a glitch in spacetime that can break through English's supposed invincibility, while English works to keep the protagonists in the dark about his weaknesses. How this weakness could manifest, I can't say - but I do think Spades Slick will be directly involved in his demise.

Outside of English, I think the world of Homestuck will expand in other ways, too. It might finally be time to make contact with other Sburb Players, since our current sessions aren't going to be habitable for much longer. We might even be leaving the 'session' framework behind entirely, and travelling through the Furthest Ring to parts unknown.

I know these aren't very specific predictions, but it's hard to be specific about events which are thousands of pages away. I still don't know how the Pen-Pal fits into everything, for example, or why Gamzee is so important to the story.

I guess we'll find out together!

[cipheramnesia]

One of my personal internal conspiracy theories is that big budget special effects movies and streaming series with like hundreds of millions or billions of dollars sunk into them are some kind of very open embezzlement schemes.

Even the best paid actors and directors and such can't explain the budget. The money certainly isn't on the screen when it comes to anything from costumes to cinematography to visual effects or editing. It's openly known all the jobs that contribute to "making the pictures look good" are getting their parts of the budget slashed. The Avengers Infinity Wars movies have got $300M price tags and they do NOT look like it. Rings of Power cost like $700M and literally used off the shelf craft store fabric for armor. They dump cheap CGI in because there's no union to keep the pricing fair and shoot everything on green screen so there's no travel and where is the money going?

But for example if you're a producer you also get paid, and all I can think about is how producers with business degrees are deciding on how the budget should be used on these huge shows with country sized price tags and if the budget isn't going into anything or anyone involved in the actual work of the movie, but the guy who thinks the movie needs to cost less and be a business product also thinks he has the most important job and he gets to decide where the money goes? Are these guys just like "okay, our salary will be $299M and the rest goes to the production itself."

I know I'm missing things, but I've seen hundreds of movies that look gorgeous and beautiful and have amazing effects and camerawork and they're all a tenth of the big budget shows and movies, or less, so where is the other 90+% of the money going? It's VISIBLY NOT PRESENT IN THE FINISHED PRODUCT. Who has it?

Someone already went into the technical details in the reblogs.

[polaroidcats]

a list of very scientifically accurate reasons why not everyone knew about dark marks

Now you might be wondering "why did Sirius not know about dark marks?" and I am here to provide only the most plausible and rational answers to this question

The first generation of death eaters wore their dark marks as tramp stamps, not on their wrists, so most order members wouldn't have seen them and those who did were too embarrassed/ashamed to admit how they found out about it.

Dark marks work a bit like mood rings and only become visible whenever the person who has the dark mark is thinking about Voldemort wearing thigh high boots and a lace corset. If they're thinking about Voldemort in bunny ears and a pink playboy bunny outfit it would turn pink, but he killed everyone who's dark mark has ever turned pink (and you don't want to know what they're thinking about when their Dark Mark turns green...).

Dark Mark was actually just the name of one of the death eaters, there were two guys named Mark and it complicated their attack plans when the two Marks got mixed up, so one of them got called Dark Mark and the other one Regular Mark (his nickname then became Reggie, which complicated things again).

Before they had the tattoo style dark marks, the death eaters actually used belly button piercings shaped like snakes as their "dark marks" instead. This accidentally started a fashion trend and so many other people got similar belly button piercings, it was impossible to figure out who was part of their little fascist club and who wasn't. It took them months of discussions to decide on what the "new" dark mark should be, and by that point every wizard had a different conspiracy theory about what was just an edgy fashion trend and what was a dark mark. This started a whole subculture of wizards who were strictly against any kind of body modification or even normal accessories, they only wore a white robe and nothing else to signify their rejection of anything potentially evil, the most radical ones just walked around naked at all times (they started out with good intentions but like, it was definitely a cult).

Some death eaters forgot to pay their monthly fee so their dark marks would get cancelled and they'd have to re-subscribe to get them, which was a whole mess. Other people became death eaters by signing up for a free trial and forgetting to cancel their dark mark subscription, so no one could be sure if a dark mark actually meant someone was a death eater or if they had just signed up for the free trial to see what the fuss was all about and meet some new people.

[emwheezie]

Who are you choosing if my characters were in a dating sim?

Lennon:

Gremlin mode

Daddy issues

Bad hair

Musical/Creative genius. Perfect pitch

Ambitious

Doesn't shower

Ate a lasagna once

Doesn't know how to use his words

Fights drywall

Movie watcher

Chicken addiction

Street smart

Closeted Weezer fan

Dunkin Donuts

Shoes on the bed

Green Day

Might be silly

Goes up the stairs on all fours

Stressed/depressed/poorly dressed

PBC singer and lead guitar

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

Tony:

Purple

Crazy driver

:3

Mall pretzels

Catholic school survivor

Emotionally smart/book smart

Stressed/depressed/dressed to impress

Afraid of getting old/ugly

Wants to fight the MBTA

Might be delusional

throws up from anxiety

Redbull and Taco Bell

Loves dogs

Green Day

Poetic

Saw Moses (biblical) in the woods while high with Theo

Bisexual

Lactose intolerant

Finds meaning in everything

Always in a relationship

PBC bassist and "manager"

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

Enzo:

Evil

Might have killed a man

Man Bun

Posts on DeviantART

Loves dragons

whispers and shakes

Future tattoo artist

Movie connoisseur

Might be a furry...?

LOVES the Saw movie franchise

Protective and loyal

Street smart

Stays up all night in the dark

In an online relationship

Does what he wants

Doesn't waste time

Sparkling water enjoyer

Tea drinker

Never listened to a music in his life

Guitarist in a band (PBC)

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

Theo:

From New Hampshire

Asexual

Golden retriever personality 

Grew up with 8 siblings

Joined the military after High School

Eats Oatmeal?

Doesn't wear a seatbelt

Outdoorsy/hiking adventures

Works at a club/bar with his wife, Gia

Is a cinnamon roll

Emotionally smart

Saw Moses (biblical) in the woods while high with Tony

Calls music his "funky jams"

Forgets his shoes

Mtn Dew

Forgetful

Kidney Stones

His appendix exploded once

PBC drummer

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

Park:

Loves alcohol

Hates the government

Hates the IRS

Has never paid taxes

No sense of personal space/very touchy

LOUD

Climbs things

Grilled cheese enthusiast  

Dunkin Donuts manager

Aliens are 4 realz

loves video games

Wicked smart

Goes to MIT for like space engineering or something idk

Makes monkey noises

"I have to be both the sexiest and most mentally challenged person in the room at all times"

Obsessed with skin walkers

Conspiracy theories

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

Oli:

Photography/cinematography 

Graphic design

Urban Explorer

Abandoned things

Summer time vibes

Lives in sleeveless shirts

Black coffee drinker

health freak/gym rat

Smokes cigarettes (hey we all have our vices)

Secretly gay

Chronic complainer

Works at zumies

Does graffiti 

Runs from his problems

Travels for work

Drives a modded Subaru

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

Alyssa:

Preforms unethical experiments in the sims 3

Loves cows

So many many plushies there's no room for her in the bed

weezer fan

Talks a lot

Lots of keychains/charms

Maximalism!

Assertive

Good listener

Workaholic 

HAS to be the BEST at anything she does

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

Rosie

Grew up with strict parents

Working too many hours at Dunkin Donuts

Former ballet/dancer

Likes to bake and really good at it!

Compulsive liar

"I have a twin sister who goes to another school"

Gets jealous easily

Body image problems/eating disorders :(

Emotionally Immature 

Spider eyelashes

A nose ring is "rebelling from my parents"

Currently in college

Afraid of change

Emotional support eldest daughter

Loves to sing

[aceofstars16]

So I’m going to a new PT place, and I don’t know if my PT is a Star Wars fan (though he asked about if I liked Star Wars so maybe?) but I heard the *other* PTs talking about Ahsoka (and had a hard time focusing because of it lol) and I am *so* tempted to pull out my starbird shirt and wear it to PT next time just to see if they notice lol

[sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway]

Connie trying to get a look at Mitch's hand and Eugene trying to get Buck's DNA are the same level of stress

[murphy-kitt]

Ectoberhaunt Day 9 - Fall

Word Count: 1,619

Part 2 to red in tooth and claw (that’s your fatal flaw)

AO3

Tags: Angst, Death Aftermath, Blood & Injury

Wes deals with the aftermath of Danny’s death.

The past few days feel like they’ve thrown his whole mindset into a paradigm shift. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

Wes does know where it ended.

And that was with Danny Fenton lying battered and bleeding on the floor of Caspar High. His last moments spent as a some sort of real life screenplay, something to gawk at.

Even in second death Danny Fenton got no dignity. And Wes had been part of that crowd.

Danny Fenton was infuriating. Flaunting his secret about, knowing that no one would ever believe Wes.

At first it’d been sheer shock, and incredulity, Wes thinks. That he’d found out Fenton was a ghost and needed to tell someone. And then eventually overtime, Fenton became aware of his knowledge. And the bastard had taunted him.

All his money wasted on cameras, to get proof of what? The pride had been too much.

He stares at his corkboard pinned up on his wall, once his pride and joy, something with hours of dedication. And now where’s all that work come too?

Danny Fenton is dead, at the hands of his own parents.

He doesn’t know how they’re coping, doesn’t really want to. Probably saying that the Phantom had ‘taken over their son’ or the likely. Absolve themselves of blame.

At least Wes isn’t afraid to admit he’s part of this whole mess. Okay, he wasn’t the one to go and lure Phantom with a blob ghost and watch him bleed out.

But he had been the one to spur the theories around Caspar High, even if no one believed him. He’d been the one to not consider the implications or even sheer thought of the Fenton’s actually putting Danny at risk.

And even then, that’s ridiculous. Of course the senior Fentons would do that. Their house is a minefield, for God’s sake. One stakeout with a camera and Fenton’s quippy comments about the kitchen cupboards having ghost lasers had taught him that.

”Wesley, breakfast!” His dad shouts, voice reverberating through the walls.

Admittedly, Wes hasn’t had much of an appetite. Seeing someone bleed out will do that, even if you don’t (didn’t?) like them.

Sure, he’d seen Fenton get injured multiple times. But he’d always picked himself back up and continued on.

“Coming!” He drags himself from being fixated on the corkboard, opens his bedroom door and heads downstairs.

Breakfast is an anaemic slice of toast—barely brown enough it’s still bread—and a mug of green tea.

”To settle your stomach. Something light.” His dad states, sitting at the table opposite his chair.

”Literally light.” Wes quips, picking up the toast by the corners, which sags slightly. “But thanks, dad.”

“How are you..holding up?” His Dad edges awkwardly, not making eye contact. Things between them have never been emotionally open, so the room is thick with tension.

Wes only shrugs. How does he even begin to voice the past few days? His dad knew about the whole situation with Fenton, his conspiracies, the lot. Hard not to when the school would constantly be ringing him about Wes’ behaviour.

”I don’t know where to start.” He finally says.

”I thought you’d stopped with all that…stuff. There was nothing new on your corkboard for ages. And the next thing I know, you’re the key witness to what occurred in that corridor?” Walter straightens up, folding his arms.

Well I was right in the end, wasn’t I? The thought is petty, and Wes pushes it back. This matter never was about being right or wrong, never was about winning. In his eyes, sure, he’d seen it that way.

To Danny, it was simply survival.

”I did.” Wes lies.

A hidden corkboard under the bed. Extra notepads stuffed in his backpack. Developed pictures slipped under the mattress. He just hadn’t made it visibly obvious when the school had started catching on and prevented him.

”Okay.” His dad finally responds, scanning his face intently. “To have seen that…must’ve been difficult.”

He tenses. Even as much as his mind is consumed with the whole…scene. He’s not considered it that way.

”I don’t know.” Wes shrugs again. Now everything is tipped on its axis, uncertain. He crosses his arms, staring at the barely-eaten toast. “I mean, yeah, it’s all I’ve thought about. But not like that. My mind’s thinking about his parents, all the conspiracy stuff that I did. I’d thought they’d never hurt him. But seeing someone die? Bleed out right infront of me, even if I thought he was annoying? I don’t think I’ve process how fucked that is.”

His dad barely even reacts to the swearing, straightening up in his chair, reaching his arms over the table to lean closer.

“You’ve always been too far ahead of yourself, Wes. Even just when you were little, wanting to investigate everything.” His dad finally says, voice weary. “And this time, you got so caught up that I think you forgot why you were doing it. Or what the impacts would be. How many times has that school called me in the past year?”

Well, you won’t be getting phone calls anymore.

The whole time he’d pushed and pushed to be believed. And now everyone knows. He’s always imagined the day where his proof would be concrete enough to feel believed. Satisfied, vindicated, no longer mocked for being a conspiracy freak.

But now, all Wes feels is empty. A nauseating void of being right.

“That’s not—“ his voice falters, and he averts his gaze to the toast, pushing it away. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I didn’t actually think his parents would hurt him.”

“You didn’t think at all! You got so obsessed with proving something, you didn’t stop to think if the point even mattered.” Walter sighs, looking weary.

His chest tightens. It does matter. He’s not thrown his life at months of research for nothing. Fenton had been lying to everyone for months—deceived Amity.

And why do you think that was? The Fenton’s proved it enough for you two days ago.

“It does matter.” He says, but his feeble tone betrays the doubt.

“I know you feel that way. I don’t expect that to change in two days when you were so… focused on this.” Walter drags a hand over his face. “The truth, though? Do you think that damn truth was worth Danny Fenton’s life?”

Wes doesn’t know what to say, bunching his shoulders by his ears. He usually feels sure, certain of himself. But now it’s much different. What can he say, he only wanted to expose Fenton, not get him killed? That he didn’t think it’d end like this?

Maybe that’s the problem. He’d never seen an ending in the relentless chase to expose Fenton. For validation.

“I thought—“ Wes mumbles, “I thought if I could prove I was right then everyone would listen. That I wasn’t crazy.”

“Son.” Wes feels his dad’s hands squeeze his, tone softening. “There’s no satisfaction in being right about this.”

Wes’ heart plummets to his chest, and he stares at the beige wood of the table, unable to make eye contact. Being right had been the ultimate goal, but it fixed nothing. It hasn’t changed that fact that Danny is gone. That Wes had witnessed him bleeding out. That he’d played a part, even if it was a tiny drop of ectoplasm compared to the bloodbath the Fentons caused.

First it’s the ectoplasm pooling underneath Danny.

His skin is pale, too pale for a ghost. The way his body twitches slightly, his eyes bleary, tone slurred.

And then the green turns red. It shouldn’t do that—not when he’s a ghost. But it doesn’t stop. And then the halo of light ignites, and everyone knows.

But there’s no quip from Danny Fenton, no stupid smirk or witty remark. Just silence. Just the blood.

A sob catches in Wes’ throat, he splutters. Sour bile threatens to rise in his throat, his stomach queasy.

The chair creaks as his dad stands up, awkwardly hovering besides Wes. A reassuring squeeze on the shoulder is what he gets.

”You’re not a bad kid, Wes. I love you, and I always will. You saw something horrific. You got too carried away with the conspiring, but I think that’s a lesson strictly learnt now.” His dad murmurs, grimacing.

Wes only nods, edging away from the contact on his shoulder. His dad gets the jist, and sidles out the kitchen.

This entire year, Wes had prided himself on being the one who knew Danny’s secret. Better than everyone else who was oblivious and saw his claims as ridiculous.

All the months he’d built up, “knowing” Danny better. And yet, in the face of Danny’s death he’d been a bystander just the same as everyone else.

He badly stifles another sob, eyes stinging. Fenton hadn’t deserved that, didn’t deserve killed by his own parents nor his secret stripped in the process.

Wes had just stood there by the lockers, frozen, and watched. Done nothing. For all the dedication he’d put into investigating Fenton, in the end he hadn’t even twitched a muscle to act.

He remembers beforehand. Fenton taunting him, the stupid smile. That was who Fenton had been. Aloof, weirdly obsessed with space, well-meaning. Moonlighting as a superhero all the while. His grades in the gutter, sleep deprived to hell. Sacrificing everything.

And Wes had plundered through, determined to get his closure. But now, there’s nothing.

The realisation hits him like him like that damned ectogun. Dead. Never coming back again.

For the first time since he witnessed Danny Fenton bleed to death in the school hallway, Wes puts his head in his hands and sobs.

[password-door-lock]

As soon as Saeran gets his hands on his new driver’s license, he makes the drive into the city to pick you up from work.

A lot has changed since Saeran was first liberated from Mint Eye three years ago. After leaving the hospital, he was given a simple new identity, a passport inscribed with a name that did not belong to him. He could use it for doctors’ appointments and other necessary paperwork, but it did not permit him to operate a motor vehicle. For those first two years, it was clear that Saeyoung didn’t trust his brother in a car. He didn’t say those words exactly, but the sentiment was made obvious by his refusal to furnish Saeran with a driver’s license of any kind. 

A year ago, however, Saeyoung started to get more comfortable with the idea of Saeran driving, and he began to suggest that Saeran take the wheel for short trips between venues where law enforcement was not likely to be present. As Saeran’s natural red hair began to grow back in, Saeyoung began to grow more confident in the universal utility of his own falsified driver’s license, should the need arise for the twin behind the wheel to provide identification. He also came to understand that Saeran wasn’t likely to get pulled over, though he still had nerves about unsupervised trips. 

Then, everything changed. A few months after Saeran started driving again, somebody at C&R discovered a flash drive containing a file marked with Saeyoung’s name. Within a week, the Prime Minister was arrested for holding vast sums of money in offshore accounts. Within a month, such items as high treason, conspiracy, and even attempted murder were added to the list of charges. By the time the bastard was finally brought to justice, he was being held accountable for almost all of his crimes. 

This, at least, was what you reported from your conversations with top personnel at C&R— neither Saeran nor Saeyoung had any interest in opening the file knowing where it came from. Who it came from, in particular, but Saeran tries not to think about that. He’s come a long way, but his journey to healing and self-forgiveness is far from over. It’s better not to dwell on the things for which he still blames himself, especially not on happy occasions such as this one.

So now, Saeran has a brand new ID, and he can’t wait to show it to you. He drives Saeyoung’s least garish car— which is still painted an annoyingly bright color, but jewel-toned purple is a lot better than tomato red, lemon yellow, or neon fucking green— to your workplace and parks it outside. Saeran has practically memorized your schedule by now, so he knows he got here at the perfect time. Not only do you write your hours on the calendar hanging on the wall beside the spice cupboard in your kitchen, but you always make sure to call Saeran right away when you get done.

Like clockwork, his phone rings as soon as he shifts the car into park. “Hey,” he greets you. He’s not really one for gushy pet names, but you know this about Saeran already. “Don’t buy a train ticket.” 

“Why not?” You ask, sounding concerned. “Did something happen? Is there—”

“Nothing like that,” Saeran cuts you off, not wanting you to worry. He may not be the most vibrant person in the world, but that doesn’t mean he’s cold or heartless. “I’m outside.” 

He watches as you step out of your place of business. You look around, confused. “Where? I’m at the east side of the building, by the back entrance— are you out front? It might take me a minute to get over there.”

Saeran smirks, prepared to drop his bombshell. He’s looking forward to your passionate response. “I’m in the purple car.”

“The one with the after-market tail lights and the orange racing stripes?” 

Unfortunately, yes. “Mhm.” Already, Saeran is thinking about the possibility of getting his own car— he’ll be sure to pick a black one. Maybe grey, if he’s hard-pressed. Even a champagne-colored car would be better than this. 

“I only see one of you.” You rush over nevertheless, lugging your heavy work bag. Your phrasing is a bit awkward, but Saeran knows what you mean. You've never seen him behind the wheel before without Saeyoung also in the car. “Is Saeyoung hiding in the backseat? This isn’t some kind of prank is it, love?” 

Saeran’s lips twitch the way they always do when you call him love. Pet names and terms of endearment tend to feel clunky in his own mouth, even after all this time, but he doesn’t hate them when they come from you. “No. I’m waiting for you on my own.” 

You slide into the passenger seat and hang up the phone. “You’re telling me you voluntarily took the car with the after-market tail lights and the orange racing stripes?” 

Saeran wrinkles his nose. He likes when you’re silly, but he doesn’t want to hold you in suspense about his good news any longer. “I’m telling you I got this in the mail today.” He grabs his driver’s license and holds it out to you.

Your eyes widen as you read the text on the card. “Saeran… Choi,” you recite, “This is… this is your real name! Does that mean—” 

“The government knows about us now,” Saeran confirms. He and Saeyoung are finally free to exist out of hiding, living their own lives with their real names.

“Oh no, poor Saeyoung,” you contradict your utterance with a grin, handing the card back to Saeran, “He’s gonna have to start paying taxes now. So sad.” 

Saeran snorts. “C&R could still help him evade them.” He’s grown comfortable with your sense of humor after spending so much time with you. It’s nice to play back and forth now that he has a better understanding of the world he lives in.

“Well, see, now, that would just be tax evasion,” you laugh, easily and languidly, “Which is highly frowned upon, you know? Anyway, congratulations on your license. Now you can go anywhere you want, any time you want… with anyone you want.” 

“And I could get my own car,” Saeran muses. That’s going to be his next order of business, now that he’s told you the good news. 

“A black one, right?” You already guessed what he’d want without him having to tell you. “If you want, we can keep it at my building— we’ve got a garage. You know, just so it’s in the same place as your toothbrush and your library books and your significant other.” 

Saeran laughs at that, too. He knows you could be more subtle if you tried— you’re making this type of joke because you’d be perfectly content whether he accepted the offer or not. You've never pressured him to do anything before, and you're clearly not about to start now. “Now that I can prove I exist, you could add me to your lease.” That’s another thing he’s been thinking about a lot. He sleeps at your place most nights anyway, so it wouldn’t be very much of a change. 

“Well, that’s just common sense.” You lean over to kiss him on the cheek before pulling away. “Anyway, I’m starving— should we go get some dinner? But you’ve gotta drive, since I'm already buckled in." You make a big show of buckling your seatbelt.

Saeran rolls his eyes at your playful comment. He’s never felt more free.

[lenreli]

Sunlit Station [Dreamling Week Day 3 - Solarpunk]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week Masterpost]

More Life!Hob for the soul.

E, 1.9k. The flowers outside the station aren’t alive, he can’t feel them like he can feel planets or stars, or the tiniest insect, but the fact that humanity made them to reflect flowers, a sponge soaking up solar light or dark matter in the shape of flowers, he’s always touched by.

-

Hob has many favourite places throughout human history, places he holds close to his heart, even though they’re no longer there, whether by the change of, well, him, or by other means, he’s always had places he visits more than others. Although, one of the latest places he likes most is being near Dream, even though, by virtue of being Life itself, he can always feel Dream, it’s― 

Anyway. 

What he means to say is ― this station, in the orbit of a gas planet far away from humanity’s own Solar System, may just be a new favourite. It’s only existed for a hundred and fifty years, but it’s always amazing to see the greenery surrounding the station, constantly fed by the sun nearby, protected by any universal winds with layers of tough glass to make them grow and bloom, providing energy for the station. 

“Hob,” a voice whines and Dream soon comes to lean against his back, arms going around his waist, “the windows just came up, come back to bed,” Dream says, voice muffled by the other’s lips against his shoulder as he looks outside their room. 

“But it’s always so beautiful,” he breathes, looking outside his window to see the miles of green leaves and blue flowers on the station. Dream just groans and holds him tighter, pressing into his back. 

“Every morning,” Dream despairs into his neck. Hob smiles and looks up, seeing a mass of black flowers amongst the green. 

“Your favourites are here,” he says teasingly, pointing up, “the ones that swallow the dark matter bursts.” Those ones don’t tend to show up at their room often, the outside of the station able to move the greenery to where it’s needed most on the surface of it. Dream makes an unintelligible sound, pulling him back into bed, and Dream’s complaints ease as Hob kisses him, nipping down to his neck. “I’m sorry, I’ll let you get your beauty sleep.” 

Dream gives him a highly unimpressed look as he leaves their bed. 

-

The flowers outside the station aren’t alive, he can’t feel them like he can feel planets or stars, or the tiniest insect, but the fact that humanity made them to reflect flowers, a sponge soaking up solar light or dark matter in the shape of flowers, he’s always touched by. The station itself, a long column of metal with five rings around it, connecting to the centre is beautiful and so green. 

Inside the station however, are flowers and vines, various food gardens buzzing with life as people go about their day. So many stations and ships that humans use only have a few, enough to live by, but this station flourishes by contrast. 

Dream is sure that Hob influenced the maker’s of this station to make it so green, but Hob is quite sure he didn’t. Not that Dream would hear otherwise, sticking to his little conspiracy. 

It probably doesn’t help that he’s currently a gardener for the few floors above and below where they live, making sure that all the plant life and insects are well throughout the day. He’s known in the staff for his knack of knowing what plants need more of what. 

After checking out the food garden’s automatic water and fertilisers are working at the correct levels, he follows a particular spark of life up an elevator to the top, finding Dream on a small tablet in the roof level at the centre, known to be one of the darker places constantly. And perfect for Dream. “And what will the prolific artist of our age do this time?” He asks in greeting. 

Dream grunts and pouts, “I’m not prolific.” 

Hob grins and tilts his head, resting it on the other’s bony shoulder, “if we add up all your previous aliases works, then it’d easily be over two thousand works. Not to mention all the other works inspired your own.” 

Dream freezes, eyes very round as they stare at him in horror. “You’re―no,” Dream gapes, and Hob can almost see Dream doing the sums in his head. “That.” Dream stops, staring at his tablet like it’s a monster, and Hob worries over the potential meltdown he can feel brewing.

“As always, I’m interested in what you’ll do next,” he says softly, distracting Dream from staring at his tablet in increasing terror. “But if you want to do something else for a bit, I’d also be into that.” 

“I―I don’t,” Dream stutters, blinking in shock and Hob takes a hold of his hand, kissing the knuckles lightly. Dream wheezes and folds into his seat, hand gripping his hard in return. “I just―never saw it that way. So much,” Dream says quietly, fingers pressing into the calluses on Hob’s palms. 

“Hopefully not enough to go cuckoo on me just yet,” he replies, making Dream laugh, voice cracking at the end. 

“Maybe just don’t tell me in future, I’d rather not know,” Dream groans, free hand pulling Hob close by his shoulders. Hob uses his own free hand to pet black hair.

“Of course. I’ll keep this forbidden knowledge hidden,” he says severely, lightly kissing all over Dream’s face until he starts to giggle.

-

“Hob,” Dream whines, fingers trying to move inside the vines that are keeping his hands tied up on the bedpost. 

“Dream,” he moans, the other’s hard cock hitting his prostate constantly, pleasure brimming and overflowing, always loving when they’re like this. 

“Let me,” Dream cries out, blue eyes wet and his hands try to get out of the vines ― making Hob’s vines wind even tighter, going down his arms as Hob continues to ride him. “Please, let me,” Dream babbles, letting out a strangled groan as the vines wind down around Dream’s pale torso, feeling him breathe heavily as a vine wraps around Dream’s cock and balls, down to his thighs. 

“My pretty Dream,” he leans in, kissing Dream deeply, orgasm building up steadily with the other’s cries, the cock inside twitching as his partner tries to come, although stopped by the vines. 

Dream heaves, tears streaming down his face as he arches up, mouth slack as words fail him, leaving only needy sounds. Which is what Hob was after, Dream still freaking out about the amount of works he’s done over the centuries. 

“My beloved, my most precious,” he whispers as Dream cries out once more, feeling him slackening in the vines, giving himself over as Hob orgasms, come splattering over Dream’s pale chest. Leaning down, he goes to lick and nip up Dream’s throat, feeling him breathe evenly. “So perfect for me.” 

Dream hums, dark lashes fluttering as his partner stares at him, eyes blank. Hob sighs and rests his forehead against Dream’s, caressing the other’s jaw, thumb going up to touch the pink lips. 

“There we go,” Hob soothes, loosening the vines around Dream’s cock, rocking slowly against the hardness still pressing against that spot, “let go for me,” he whispers, nosing against Dream’s sharp cheekbone as his partner lets out a keen, and it only takes a few more passes before Dream comes inside him, filling him up. 

Dream relaxes even more, the vines the only thing holding him up. 

-

With life, there’s always death ― and he can feel it, people, planets, stars dying in a large enough scale to make him sit in his living room on the couch, feeling it all. Mourning it, becoming less of himself as a person as he feels the destruction, knowing that it was made by human hands, can feel the debris of it.

“Hob?” Dream speaks, a vine still twined around his throat as he sits in front of him, expression worried. “What happened?” 

Blinking, he can feel tears on his eyes, cheeks feeling cold from them as he comes back to himself, and turns on the TV, news showing what’s happened, grim and stark at where the star system used to be. Dream looks at the news in resigned horror, eventually sitting next to him, hugging him tightly. 

Sighing, Hob hides his face in Dream’s neck, grabbing onto Dream as more tears well up. 

-

The station and everyone on it are in a muted chaos as the news continues, as people closer to where the system was start pouring in, coming in on ships and cryopods, and there’s talk of adding more levels to the end of the station. 

Before, when these things have happened, whether by black holes or weapons, Hob retreats into himself, keeping quiet as he processes it. 

And even with that devastation, the sheer enormity of it ― stars are still born, planets still forming, people being born. Hob can feel it, grabbing onto the new life still being born, the attempts at sentient robots at a whole edge of the universe, and he holds onto it with both hands. 

“Dream,” he calls a few months later, waiting near the door as Dream gets ready for going out to do dinner. 

There’s the sounds of hairspray and soon Dream appears, eyeliner black and pointed on and Hob can even muster up a bit of appreciation out of the melancholy he’s feeling. “Yes?” 

“I want to visit,” he says quietly and Dream frowns. 

“We will discuss that after dinner, alright?” Dream says gently and he nods as Dream looks him over, Hob not getting up to his usual level of dressed up as Dream goes to their wardrobe, and he manages a smile as Dream changes his shirt for a blue one, as well as brushing his hair and putting half of it up. A change of shoes from old sneakers to pointed black shoes is enough to make Dream deem him appropriate for their dinner as Dream presses a kiss to his lips.

-

Their own spaceship is cozy, some would say absurdly small, but it’s functional enough with a good enough FTL drive that the flight out to the area of once-was-a-system is only a few days from their station. Hob aches the closer they go to it, the scar on the universe still too fresh for anything to grow from its ruins. 

“Hob,” Dream gives him a worried look from the pilot controls, worry growing as Hob stands near the airlock. 

“I’ll be fine, I just need to―” he frowns, gesturing to the vast empty space, the edges of it filled with memorials and prayers, magnetic scraps of steel attracting pictures of loved one’s, of books and pictures of the places that were. 

“Okay,” Dream still sounds worried and Hob gives him a watery smile as he enters the airlock, pressurising it so he can walk outside onto the space. Stepping outside the ship, he ― floats, pushing himself to the steel closest to him, tears appearing as he stares at the life that was. 

Taking a breathless sigh, he moves forward, the scar revealing itself to him as he drifts forward into nothingness. 

-

On the way back to their station, they put on the auto-pilot as Dream holds him, hands petting his back and hair as they soak in each other’s presence. Hob drifts, almost sleeping as Dream pulls out a book to read, melodious voice lulling him into the first sleep he’s had in a while. 

“How are you feeling?” Dream asks once he’s woken up, Dream having taken him to bed while he was asleep. 

“Bad,” he states, blinking up at Dream, “but it’ll heal. It always does,” he sighs and hides himself in the pale of Dream’s throat once again, melting on top of his warm partner. “And you’re here. Which is always nice. Even when I’m being like this.” 

“You’ve been there for me, all this time, so of course,” Dream replies. 

As they jump out of FTL, Hob looks at the station, covered in green and flowers of all colours and Hob can’t wait to see the gardens and plants he cares for. 

[Fin]