#same genre of guy.
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porty mk REEEEALLY didnt prepare me well for handling Adam as a character, I catch myself hair twirling over him way too much. why is my Straight Girl Taste In Men(tm) no good ass douchebag music men with shitty outfits and patchy facial hair whos 100% on ecstasy the entire length of their screentime and who do that "~mehmehmehmeh~ thats what you sound like" mocking thing with their voice.
#i have a theory that every queer person idc who you are has one genre of men or even just one man#who upon showing your queer friends would treat you like a straight girl with shit taste in men#i told my friend that im down bad for porty mk and they immediately shot me this tired ass withering stare#SHUT UP HES KINDA FINE. GOD DAMN IT. I DONT C A R E IF HE UNIRONICALLY SAYS 'PORTY'...........................#anyway. adam.#porty mk.#same genre of guy.#and the mocking thing is very oddly specific but they both do that.#sigh. ill see myself out.#lmk porty mk#hazbin hotel adam
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Mike and FNAF into the pit Jeff are the same guyâŚ
#myart#chloesimagination#comic#fnaf#five nights at freddy's#fnaf fanart#fnaf movie#mike schmidt#fnaf jeff#abby schmidt#fnaf oswald#into the pit#They are the same guy your honour#same genre of man you gotta believe me#WHEN I first drew Jeff people immediately compared him to Mike#I SORTA GET IT TOO#they might not look IDENTICAL or anything#but the VIBES the AURA is the same between them#big soaking wet cat energy coming off of em#Mike probably wouldnât see the resemblance#but the kids can definitely clock it#they know they match đđž
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an al in the spirit of the awesome genre of guy i saw at the store today
#a doodley#i have to go back to lovingly rendering individual body hairs.#also the actual guy was more surfer genre so thats why i just said In Spirit#just wanted to draw al with the same long dyed hair wee hee
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What I don't get is why news outlets and Netflix are trying to convince us that arcane was expensive to make. 250 million usd for both seasons they said, and obviously that's a lot of money, but they make the mistake of comparing it to big budget movies like Tangled. So you're telling me that I got an animated masterpiece that combines multiple different art styles fantastic voice acting and creative and passionate writing, that's 6-7 hours LONGER than major animated movies, and its the same fucking price?? And you're expecting me to agree with the corporations outlook, that it's too expensive? Yes, tangled is considered one of the most expensive animated movies, but arcane is like FOUR Tangleds. Many other 3D animated movies fall within the 160 million mark, but again, they're hours shorter than arcane was. I think the prices are comparable. I believe in saw someone (on reddit maybe?) divide the cost down to minutes of screen time for each show or movie and it becomes really obvious. I'm also pretty sure that many of these movie budgets do not include marketing in their overall expenses; arcane does.
This isnt even bringing live action tv shows into the equation; i dont think arcane even touches like the top thirty of those. And yet it's framed as such an expense!! Bitch its an incredibly successful tv show!! Ik Netflix is cheap as shit and has its own reputation to grapple with, but is the disdain for animation so much? Is it disdain for female lead action, for poc representation, for LGBT rep on screen? For the animation medium as a whole? I know the answer of course. But it's still very upsetting to acknowledge and think about.
Separately, arcane is absolutely crushing it. Ik act three is going to knock it out of the ballpark. Keep crushing corporate execs expectations please.
#if anyone knows a better reason i would like to hear it!#i like to believe the best about things#it lowkey might just be netflixes shitty taste in releasing tv shows and movies#but this one feels personal with beloved ans successful arcane is#arcane is just not an expensive tv show all things considered but thats the problem isnt it?? theyre only comparing it to animated costs#because they dont see animated as a real genre they can use for success#although COUNTLESS shows have proven otherwise. i dont get it#im glad arcane (and on the same note spiderverse) are paving the way for adult animated media thats not like fucking family guy#that has a beautiful plot and meaningful characters#obv theres anime but im talking about in the western sphere of things#love death and robots is also a very good example#arcane#budget#movies#caitvi#jayvik#arcane s2#my posts#text post
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simulated earth (it does not matter)
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#sherlock and co#sherlock & co#podlock#comic#sherlock holmes#john watson#victor trevor#ft. archie (in like three panels lmao)#need to figure out a podlock specific tag for these guys so this doesnt clutter up the main sh tags#bc ohhh boy. I anticipate being insane abt s&co for a While#this comic def a Hot minute post-gloria scott#what is this about exactly? you ask. haha well (there's sunlight bouncing off a window and when u look back Im already gone)#listen I caught up to everything right before gloria scott and holy Shit that case knocked me on my ass#as a chronic adhd (and thus serious memory problems) haver.... (holds sherlock tenderly)#I have not listened to SOLI yet btw I will tomorrow. I wanted to finish this before catching up#Im obsessed with them. Im such an easy idiot lmao Im a sherlock holmes adaptation enthusiast before Im a human#gloria scott.... the way it muses on the limit of the genre same as the red headed league.... what about the victims?#what about the victims. what about the victims. what part of the pain does the process of investigation cure#victor's like. he's between jobs he's between boyfriends he's living with his dad whose caretaker he just became. who does he have#and sherlock holmes is about the truth but john's been about the solution so far. I just. I really like this john watson lmao#listen the way he complains and then refuses to shoot the underlings in red headed league. based. I love him#I can fix him (radicalize him against punitive justice)#(I am refraining from talking abt sherlock in the tags here bc I Will run out of tags before Im done)#(mariana is not here but I care her too!! she will be here more often in the future I swear I fuckign swear......)#(''I'm in a co-op that's sponsoring my visa. also I just witnessed two actual dead bodies like a month ago'' you mean everything to me)#screams. I got attached SO fast this show is targeting me specifically. my broke millenials suffering in london show#I have like a number of sketches too be prepared. theyre gonna show up soon. until then#have a good day lads. be there! be there.#edit: this comic is finished and assembled in full before I listened to the solitary cyclist part one. this has been an update#I have now listened to SOLI part one. I must hit john watson with a hammer
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The fans: Ugh Sonic was just so preachy. I mean obviously he's supposed to be the good guy, so any uncomfortableness I feel here and any way I feel like Sonic's choices are framed as being why some other people have shitty lives is just bad writing because he is obviously supposed to be right always, but this characterization makes no sense. Isn't he right for the things he did?
Ian Flynn, using Kitsunami to say the (barely even at this point) quiet part even louder: Hey it's almost like ever since the Mr. Tinker event we've been purposely running with the critique of Sonic as being more selfish than he appears. Sonic is upholding a system of Eggman v Sonic that currently benefits him and shuts down talk of how to improve the current system because he likes his own personal enjoyment and he's attached enough to Eggman that he'd rather Eggman pretend to be a good person than be stuck in prison for life. He doesn't even quite practice what he preaches. We are trying to show that the current hero v villain system and Sonic's recklessness currently affects some people poorly and that Sonic isn't a perfect hero.
#fandom wank#sonic the hedgehog#idw sonic comics#idw sonic 2024 annual#2024 sonic annual spoilers#idw somic comic spoilers#idw sonic spoilers#idw 2024 sonic annual spoilers#i just be ramblin#god one of these days I need to commit to the sonic character essay#because you HAVE to be able to see Sonic as a multifaceted character that is surprisingly selfish and a bit self centered despite his image#as a good hero who is always right to understand what the writers for Sonic Prime and Idw Sonic are trying to do#The point is not that Sonic is secretly a bad guy or anything#the point is that we're already primed to assume that anything Sonic does is a good thing because he's a hero and protagonist of what is#considered a 'children's media'#And people who can see those moments in different games or properties times where Sonic isn't being so good as him actually not being so#good of a person are primed to explain it away as flaws of the writing or the genre at that time *because* Sonic's behavior is not said to#be bad or punished in those games#And become we're already primed to assume that Sonic is already the good guy who's making the best choices no matter whatâ it's supposed to#be shocking when the narrative takes a step back and gives a critique of this status quo by showing us the effects of it#But instead of having some sort of eye opening event or being willing to meet the narrative where it's at#99% of the people who post here got uncomfortable and just doubled downâ saying that because these things are being pointed out and some of#Sonic's actions (that aren't even alien to the games)#are being framed in a not so good lightâ then it must not be purposeful. That it must be bad writing through and through and just bad#Sonic characterization#because for people who claim they want Sonic as a series to be deeper and more thought out they sure start to pearl clutch when they feel#like a property isn't being as shallow as the very same games they think kinda suck#anyways anyways sorry about the rant I'll get back to regularly scheduled posting after this#vent post
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im a big fan of this guy
#genshin impact#wriothesley#my art#4.1 spoilers#genshin spoilers#neuvillette#his personality and writing are so good#his sense of humor is great. hes a fellow Tea Guyâ˘. hes quiet and enjoys living his own life#hes sooooo... claude#same genre of guy to me#restraining myself to get him on the rerun is gonna be a struggle :')
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being in fandom as a lesbian is so funny bc everyone else is posting hornily about your special guys and you absolutely cannot see it at all he just kind of looks like a stick bug but he's a stick bug you want to study under a magnifying glass in a little tank.
you know?
#like sure sometimes men are pretty enough but the way I see ppl talking abt these men I'm like#are we looking at the same guys? that's a praying mantis#this isnt about any people in particular it's true of every fandom I've ever been in#and if you ever see me screaming about a man being pretty it's in the same way art is pretty#the two genres of man are nice painting or stick bug. TO ME.
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They are all just the same guy in a slightly different font.
#ive been playing palia nonstop and it shows#i have GOT to max out my friendship with every villager#and I have to finish crafting the Bellflower furniture set#i have to complete all the bundles#it's a requirement#palia#jel omiata#bbc ghosts#thomas thorne#the ss exodus#same guy different genres. Jel is fantasy. Leo is sci-fi. Thomas is historical.#im right about this#singularity6 please add an update where I can send Jel to therapy
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In Saecula Saeculorum
My contribution for @inklings-challenge 2024! Content warning for death and injury
Playlist link (I HIGHLY recommend listening along I spent like four collective hours on this thing I'm super proud. I am, however, adding which songs are best listened to at which points. They will be the bold italicized captions at the beginning of different sections. All the songs mentioned can be found on the playlist! (also, when you finish Afraid Of Time, just listen to the rest of the playlist straight through. It should line up well enough!))
~Time~
When Stephen Reid was nineteen, he almost got hit by a truck while trying to cross the street. A young woman a few years older than him yanked him back onto the sidewalk as the massive garbage truck barreled past, seemingly unaware that it had almost caused his demise.
Stephen steadied his breathing, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, then turned to thank the young woman whoâd saved him. His mother had drilled good manners into him from a young age, and sheâd have scolded him soundly for wandering into the street without looking first, let alone not thanking the person whoâd saved him.
But sheâd already started moving down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in her green jacket, her hair (the tips of which were dyed an electric blue) brushing her shoulders as she moved. She was hunched over her cupped hands, whispering to something she was holding, and Stephen frowned. Strange way to hold your phone.
But there were more pressing things on Stephenâs mind. Namely, the fact that the world was tearing itself apart.
When he was little, things were so simple. It wasnât just that he was a kidâStephen remembered things had been happy, peaceful. He remembered summers spent digging holes in his backyard with his friends and raking leaves in the autumn. His mother and father had been happy, and life had been good.
As he got older, he saw the little ways things werenât so good. The strain his fatherâs job put on him, the leaner times. But his family was still happy.
And then he turned eighteen. And things got really bad. Countries baying for each otherâs blood, corrupt leaders turning their backs and doing nothing to help. Every day, the news showed more horrors. Every day, things got worse, and war was on the way. And Stephen knew he couldnât just sit by and watch. His mother had taught him manners, common sense, and how to be fierce when it was needed. And his father had taught him that if you could help, you did help, and to care even when it was hard.Â
So that was what Stephen planned to do. In every way possible.
Heâd started out with volunteering as he started college classes. There were even more people living on the streets now than ever, and helping make meals at shelters was a step toward helping them.
But then things took an abrupt turn for the worse. And suddenly, they were at war. And Stephen found himself dropping out of school to enlist.
He was twenty when he saw his first dead bodyâa woman on the side of the road. Face pale, limbs at unnatural angles, blood still staining the front of her shirt. It was an image that didnât leave his mind for a long, long time.
Two months later he killed someone for the first time. He tried not to remember that. But it wasnât the last time. Every time he took a life, he found himself mourning, for what the world had come to, for the life that heâd ended.
Stephen may have known the reasons for what he was doing. But that didnât make it hurt any less, or stop him from wondering if there was a better way he could help.
At twenty-two, he was shot in the line of duty.
It wasnât the first time heâd been injured. But it was the first time it had been serious enough to warrant being sent to a hospital for a prolonged stay. And as it turned out, it was serious enough that he was discharged from the army. The bullet had shattered bones in his leg, leaving him with a serious limp and pain that never fully went away.
It was strange. One minute he was fighting for his life, the next he was home. Like nothing had changed, like he was supposed to pick up where he left off. Stephen found himself adrift, unsure of his next step. He went back to school, but his old major didnât seem to fit anymore. Nothing did.
He was twenty-two and a half when one of his classmates dragged him to their local church. Howard was stubborn and usually said exactly what was on his mind, without thought toward how heâd affect others. It was an odd combination of refreshing and very irritating.
And yet, in that sanctuary, Stephen had never seen Howard light up the way he did when the singing started. And listening to the words, he started to understand why.
Heâd gone to church growing up, and it had been fine. But this was different. This was something beautiful rediscovered, and he cherished it. Soaked in every word spoken from the front. It was like water after years in the desert, healing after pain for so long. It brought peace he hadnât known could exist.
Stephen was twenty-three when he changed his major. Not to a pastor, though Howard joked that he might as well, with all the Bible reading and questions. But to a counselor. Someone who could guide others through what heâd gone through, and worse. Someone who could help.
It was a refreshing of his original purpose, a rewriting of his story. It was the right thing to do, and that was all heâd ever wanted.
When he was twenty-seven, he started on an internship. And that was where he met Marian.
She was an astrophysicist, and while Stephen admittedly didnât understand a lot of what she did, he liked to listen to her talk about it anyway. He liked her smile, too, and her warm brown eyes that lit up like gold in the sunlight. They both loved music, and swapped favorite songs every time they saw each other. She loaned him her favorite book, and Stephen read it eagerly, looking for what she loved in every line.
It took him a while to gather the courage to ask Marian out. Howardânow graduated, running his own construction company, and happily engagedâteased him relentlessly about it. âShe likes you, you clearly like her,â the young man would tell him. âWhatâs the problem?â
âIâm waiting for the right moment,â Stephen would respond, and Howard scoffed in response.
In the end, he didnât ask her at the right moment. He simply asked her, one day when she was stopping by at his work to talk about the book sheâd just finished, eyes bright with happiness. Her smile outshone the sun when she said yes.
One year and six months later, she said yes again when he went down on one knee on a date to one of the few functioning observatories left in the country. He would have given her every star in the sky if he could have, but Marian settled for a diamond ring and a small wedding at her brotherâs farm. Stephen hadnât known someone could hold this much joy within them without bursting.
Two years later, Stephen was thirty years old. And that was when things started to get strange.
~~~
~Prepping For Rescue~
âAre you sure you want to do this?â
She avoided his gaze as she strapped on her protective gear. While the technology they were using had come a long way since the beginning of its use, there were still dangers. Being pulled through time and space could cause serious injury or damage, and the cuffs she was locking into place would generate a field that could protect her from that. Strange, how they almost felt like shackles, weighing her down, when they were the only thing bringing her hope right now.
âYou know I am,â she said. âWe already tested it. We can go back now, not just forward. And if I have that chanceââ
âYouâre gonna take it. I know,â he said. âBut we still donât know everything about this. We donât know how it could affect the timeline. You could start wars, cause innumerable deaths. You could prevent yourself from even being born.â
âI know the risks.â She finished with the cuffs and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on to hide the cuffs from sight. âI donât care.â
He looked like he wanted to comment on that very much, but just sighed. âOkay. Do you have your location drone?â
âHer name is Penni,â she informed him, and he sighed again.
âItâs a robot. It doesnât have a name.â
She couldnât hold back a smile at the old argument. âShe does now. And I have her here.â Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a flat, circular object about the size of her palm. The domed top flickered between different colors, trying to camouflage itself with its surroundings, and it zipped into the air, hovering right above her shoulder. She brushed a hand along Penniâs surface, taking a deep breath.
âGood. Keep her with you, and Iâll be able to bring you back,â he reminded her. âOtherwiseâŚthings could get ugly. Because this is all supposed to be theoretical.â
âThen I guess Iâm a pioneer,â she said, mouth suddenly dry. Squaring her shoulders, she said, âLetâs do this thing.â
~~~
Exactly twenty-seven days before his thirty-first birthday, Stephen was on his way home from work. He stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinnerâMarian was working later than usual, and he wanted to surprise her with a delicious home cooked meal when she got home.
When he stepped out of the store, a car drove by at top speed and shot him three times in the chest. Two other pedestrians were hit, but he was the only casualty.
Except he wasnât.
He heard the car screech around the corner, and looked up in time to see the dark barrel of a gun pointing out a windowâand then a girl slammed bodily into him, sending him crashing to the ground.
Glass from the store windows shattered upon the bulletâs impact, tinkling against the pavement. There were screams, and Stephen pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, looking around as the car roared away.
Two other pedestrians lay on the groundâone hit in the shoulder, the other only grazed in the arm. Stephen automatically moved to help them, calling for someone to call the cops, his head spinning.
Because there had been a moment where heâd known, heâd been sure, that he was going to die. Not just fear. Utter confidence. Heâd all but felt the bullets pass through his body.
But instead, a girl had saved his life.
The girl. Stephen glanced aroundâbut there was no sign of her. And all he could remember, as he later recounted to the cops, then Marian, was a blur of green jacket and blue hair.
Something about the description itched at the back of his brain, but he wasnât sure what. All he knew is that he was somehow, impossibly alive. And he was grateful for it.
Two days later they found out Marian was pregnant.
~~~
âIt worked,â she gasped, stumbling away from the framework of the machine.
Her friend looked up, eyes widening. âItâit did? Are you okay?â
She nodded, then stumbled again, and he caught her by the arm, hauling her upward. âWhoa. Sit down, have something to drink. We should check you outââ
âIâm fine,â she said, waving away his worry. âIt worked, Tad. Heâheâs not dead. Is he? I canâtâI canât thinkââ
Steering her into a chair, Tad said, âDisorientation is a common side effect after traveling. Let me look at the databaseâdrink some water.â
Taking the water bottle he shoved into her hands before moving to the computer, she gulped down some of the contents, her head spinning. âDo you remember how it was before?â she asked. âYou said that you might notââ
âI think being close to the temporal field distortion preserved my memory,â Tad said, typing rapidly. âItâs fascinating, and if we donât get arrested for this, Iâll write a paperâoh.â
Her stomach dropped as his face fell. âWhat?â
âYouâŚalmost succeeded.â Reading from the screen, he said, âStephen Reid, died age thirty-two, in the â65 train bombings.â
âWhat?â Rocketing out of her chair, she moved to his side, swaying a little. Tad put a hand out to steady her as she bent over the screen. âHow?â
âLooks like he was injured, but didnât let on because he was busy helping others to safety,â Tad read. Glancing at her, he said, âI know thatâs not what you wanted to hear, butââ
She was already moving toward the machine. âWe have to go again.â
âWhat? I donât think thatâs a good idea. You already somehow created a temporal loop when you first went in. Who knows whatââ
Spinning around, she said, âWe canât save him from being murdered just to let him die in a freak accident. Itâs notâno. Weâre fixing this.â
âAnd you donât think this has anything to do withââ
Fixing him with a fierce glare, she said, âWeâre going. Again.â
~~~
~The Typewriter Theme~
If that was the only incident, Stephen would have accepted it and moved on. He wasnât dead, and that was something he was fiercely grateful for. His wife was pregnant, and instead of being dead he was there. For the moment when their little girl came into the world, and he held her close for the first time.
They named her Zara Grace Reid, and Stephenâs heart was full. For two long years, they had peace.
Then, when he was thirty-two, things started getting bad again. The governments were all fighting, and groups of dissenters were getting angry at, well, everyone, no matter who they claimed to hold responsible for everything going badly. Danger of terror threats grew more and more present.
The day after Zaraâs birthday, Stephen was taking the train to a meeting across town. But when he got to the door, his ticket was missing. Racking his brains, Stephen vaguely remembered slipping it into his jacket pocketâand a girl bumping into him as they crossed paths in the station.
Strange. Who would steal a train ticket? He considered buying another one, but it was a nice day and he was in no hurry. He decided to walk.
Two blocks later the world exploded. Four trains, all across the city, blew up at once, killing hundreds in a deadly attack.
Stephen not only saw it when it happened, he felt it. In his chest, like he was on the train when it happened. But no sooner had the feeling come then it was gone and he was running toward the rubble, hoping desperately that he could pull someone, anyone out.
He missed his meeting and saved twelve lives that day. All the while wondering at the phantom pain in his side, but there was too much to do for him to care.
Hours later, he made it home after Marian, cleaned up, and only by the time he fell into bed did he wonderâdid the girl who took my ticket know?
~~~
âSIX MONTHS?â
Pacing back and forth, she glared into space. âI only bought him six months? What does he do that makes these people want him dead so badly?â
âItâs pretty fishy,â he agreed, typing rapidly. âOkay, the records are a little messy, but I think I know the exact date. Are you feeling okay?â
âIâm fine. Letâs go again.â
~~~
The thought didnât really leave Stephen, as he racked his brain to remember what the girl looked like. He remembered dark hair with a splash of blue, and the girl had been holding something small. And those thoughts tugged at other memoriesâof a day almost twenty years ago, when someone had pulled him out of the way of a truck. Of the shooting before Zara was born.
He wasnât able to really consider the idea, let alone voice it. Not until six months later, when there was a fire in his work building, and someone locked the door of his office, leaving him trapped inside while the flames grew and the smoke filled his lungs.
Heâd been in tight spots before. Heâd been trained, in the Army, not to panic, even when it was logical to do so. But as his oxygen seeped away and the door refused to budge, even as he bashed at it with a chair, Stephen found himself absolutely terrified.
No. No, this canât be it. Images of Marian and Zara flickered through his head and he knew he had to fight, had to live at all costs. But if there was nothing he could doâ
The door swung open, and someone pulled him forward.
~~~
~The Hornburg~
âI wonder what makes them choose the intervals they do,â Tad mused as he typed. âIs there someone else preventing them? Do we just do this for the rest of our lives? Are they experts or are they just trying everything and every year they can to kill him? Furthermore, whatâs going to stop them from just going back to the same year and trying againââ
He stopped short when he saw her face. âWhichâŚthey definitely canât do. Most likely. I think they canât, anyway. Itâs just that the science is soâIâm sorry. They havenât done it yet, they probably wonât ever.â
âI hope not,â she said, checking her cuffs and scooping up Penni, who chirped a little greeting. âThe last thing we need is more things to worry about.â
âOr to send you through more times.â His worry showed through the edges of his speech. âYou donât have toââ
âLetâs go again.â
âOkay.âÂ
~~~
Stephen made it out of the fire and he could have cried with gratitude. The firefighters who arrived on scene seemed very startled to see him stumble out of the building, coughingâthey said that the last man to come out had sworn up and down that there was no one else inside.
And they swore with equal fervor that they hadnât sent anyone else in. They claimed that he must have made it out under his own steam somehowâadrenaline, maybe?
Stephen knew better.
âThere are two options,â he told Marian when he explained everything to her later that day. Her brow was furrowed like it always was when she tried to solve a problem. âEither I have a literal guardian angel, or somehow the exact same person is traveling through time and space to save me.â
âIâm not sure which is more improbable,â Marian said slowly. They were sitting at the table, and her fingers twitched against the surface like she wished she had something to write on. âBending time and space isnâtâŚunheard of, per se, but weâre years away from being able to achieve it under our own steam. And if we assume theyâre from the future, theyâd be moving into the past, which is, theoretically, even harder.â
âBut then thereâs the guardian angel idea,â Stephen said, grinning at her expression. âWhich you think is scientifically impossible?â
She let out a long sigh. âIâve learned not to count anything out when it comes to our faith. SoâŚI donât know.â
Reaching across the table, Stephen caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. âWeâll just have to pray that whatever this is keeps ending up at the right place at the right time.â
Their prayers were answered when, two years later, someone tried to shoot Stephen again. And again, he was pulled out of the way just in time.
~~~
âSo,â Tad said, staring at the screen.
âYup,â she said.
âA sibling, huh?â
She rolled her eyes. âLetâs do it again.â
~~~
It started happening more frequently. A near knifing in an alleyway, a car barreling toward him as he crossed the street. Every time, it was thwarted. Sometimes, he didnât even see it comingâthe coffee knocked out of his hands that hissed alarmingly on contact with the concrete, leaving it pitted and worn, for instance.
But every time, the attackers failed. And eventually, Stephen started to wonder if they should stop prevention and start focusing on the attackers. The only problem? He had no idea how to do that.
So he decided to reach out to the person who did.
~~~
âHow. Did he do that?â Tad asked, staring at the screen.
âHe must have realized what weâre doing, somehow,â she whispered. âI mean, heâs married to an astrophysicist, he has to have picked something up.â
Shaking his head, Tad said, âOkay, then how do we respond?â
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, thinking as she reread the lines on the screen. More specifically, the email Tad had found during his usual archive wide search for anything pertaining to Stephen Reid.
Heâd sent it to himself, apparently hoping that it would be good enough. And it had been.
To whoever is helping me:
Thank you. I donât know who you are or if youâll receive this, but I have faith itâll end up in the right hands.Â
Clearly someone wants me dead, for whatever reason. Instead of preventing it, why donât we get rid of the attackers? Let me know how and when to help.
Stephen.
âWhat do we do?â Tad asked quietly
She studied it for a moment longer, then said, âWe answer. I can slip him a message on my next trip. Have you located who it is and why yet?â
âI think so.â Opening a new screen, Tad tapped on the article he pulled up. âThereâs a stabbing, two years from the next attempt, in an alley nearby his route to work. Exactly the kind of thing heâd get involved in and try to stop, right?â
Nodding slowly, she said, âRight. But why this person?â
âNo idea. Theyâre dead in every timeline so far. They must do something that the attackers arenât a fan of.â
Taking a deep breath, she said, âThen letâs hope weâre not actually on their side.â
~~~
~FREEPORT~
For a while, Stephen didnât think his message had worked. Things were peacefulâno attacks, no poisonings. Marian found out she was pregnant again, and nine months somehow managed to fly and drag by until she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who they named Isaiah.
And then three months after that, it happened again.
At exactly the right moment, he was pushed forward, just in time to avoid a bunch of tiles crashing to the ground from the roof. When he caught his balance and his breath, there was no one there. But when Stephen put his hands in his jacket pocket as he started onward again, he found a slip of paper.
10/11/71. Four in the afternoon on your way home from work. Watch the alleyway off Racine. Be ready.
This was it. This was the answer. A little under a year in future, heâd be able to fix this, for good. Whatever this was.
So he kept the paper tucked in his pocket until it grew worn, the folds flimsy. He kept going with lifeâworked and went to church and looked after his wife and children. He avoided two more attacks in that time, and every time, his mysterious helper was there just in time, only to disappear before he could get a good look at her.
Finally, the day came. Stephen usually carried a knife, out of habit, and this time he made sure he had it, just in case. The day passed in a haze of business as he worked with patients and did paperwork and wondered what exactly was going to happen.
And then work was over. It was 3:45, and he was walking home from work, hands tucked in his pockets, trying to pretend like his heart wasnât thundering in his chest.
3:47. He passed the cart that sold churros. Oftentimes he stopped to buy one and chat with the owner, but for now Stephen just gave her a little wave and kept moving, pace brisk.
3:50. A couple of kids zipped by on bikes, laughing.
3:51. He heard footsteps behind him, and his heart lurched. Be ready, Stephen.
3:55. The sidewalk came to an end at an intersection, and he turned onto the sidewalk along Racine.
3:58. He wove through a group of teenagers and sped up a little. He could see the opening for the alleyway.
3:59. Heart pounding in his throat, Stephen came to a stop outside the alleyway.
4:00.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing. And then he heard a muffled scream from the alleyway.
Instinctively, Stephen started forward, concern rippling through him. It had been the voice of a girlâyoung, too young. Most likely not his helper, but that didnât lower his concern.
He made it two steps forward before he was grabbed from behind. Stephen vaguely registered the cold press of steel against his throat for a heartbeat before he moved, driving an elbow backward into his attackerâs gut.
There was a gruntâa manâs voice, judging by the baritoneâbut the grip didnât loosen. Until Stephen snapped his head backward , connecting solidly with the other manâs nose.
There was a crunch and a howl of pain, and Stephen felt the knife at his throat break skinâ
And then the grip was gone, and he was stumbling forward, hand pressed against the shallow cut on his neck. Spinning around, Stephen registered a man in all black taking a swing at a young womanâgreen jacket, hair dyed blue at the tips, holding a weapon he didnât recognize. What looked like a tiny flying saucer hovered next to her shoulder.
âHelp her!â she shouted, dodging her opponentâs blow with ease.
For a moment, Stephen didnât know what she meant. And then he remembered the scream from the alleyway, and turned. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he moved.
There were two men, both trying to subdue a struggling, terrified girl. One had a hand over her mouth, and the other held a wickedly curved knife. Stephen took a moment to wonder why these people insisted on using knives, and then he was on top of them.
Clearly, either of the men were expecting him. The one holding the blade went flying into the wall with a cry of pain, clutching his shoulder where Stephenâs knife had gone deep, tearing through muscle.
 The second tried to reel backward, avoiding Stephen as he clutched for his own weapon while clinging to his victim. But Stephen smashed his fist into the manâs face, catching hold of the girlâs arm and pulling her away at the same time, using the manâs momentum as he fell to tear her free.
He took a minute to glance at herâno sign of injuries, just bright red hair and freckles and shocked tears starting to escapeâand then turned to face his opponents again.
Only to find them gone, a trace of blood on the ground the only sign that theyâd been there in the first place.
What? Baffled, Stephen turned in a full circle, then glanced at the girl. âAre you okay?â he asked, and she nodded shakily. âOkay. Wait here a minute. Call if you need me.â
Moving quickly, he headed back to the mouth of the alleyway, to see if there was any sign of his mysterious helper, or her opponent. But there was nothing. Just the now oddly dusty sidewalk, passersby who seemed to have no idea what had happened, andâ
A scrap of white paper. Stephen bent and picked it up, unfolding it, and read the now familiar lopsided script inside.
Sheâs safe. You both are, unless you see me again. Look after her. Donât worry about the other attackers.
There was no signature, although Stephen hadnât expected one. A wave of relief swept over him, and he breathed out a prayer of thanks.
He was safe. They were both safe. It was done.
~~~
~Afraid Of Time~
âItâs not done,â she said.
âWhat?â Tad stared at her, baffled. âHow can it not be done? We saved the victims, including a victim we didnât even know we had until now, helped catch time traveling murderers, and hopefully weâre not even getting arrested for using government property without permission. Your mom might not even yell at us. How is this not a winââ
He stopped short, looking at her. As she looked at the computer file in front of her, wishing the words were different.
Stephen Reid. Died 10/12/83
âZee.â Tadâs voice was soft. âYou canât stop everything.â
âThatâs kind of the point of this whole time travel thing, Tad. I can.â Taking a deep breath, she said, âIâm stopping this. Iâm going in again.â
~~~
Stephen had always loved autumns. The crisp, cool air, the knowledge of the approaching season that heralded celebrations and wonder and joy and family time. How could he do anything but love it?
Sure, heâd almost died at this time of year a few times, but with his life, when was that not true?Â
It had been 12 years since the last incident. Heâd helped the girlâJenny, a teenager whoâd been alone and afraid and had no idea why those men had attacked herâto the hospital to get checked out. They repeated the same impossible story to the police over and over until they finally got tired of asking and declared the case closed. Stephen was fine with it. Heâd been told they were safe, and he believed that.
Years had passed. Jenny became all but a member of the family, and he and Marian encouraged her and supported as she chose a career path and moved forward with her life. Stephen still wasnât sure what the men wanted with her, but it didnât matter. Her purpose was her own to discover.
His other two children were far too close to grown up for his taste, as well. Isaiah was thirteen, flirting with girls, and discovering a love for basketball paralleled only by his love for mischief. And Zara was in college, pursuing a degree in physics.
He held great hope and joy for both of them, that they would grow up to change the world in whatever small or big ways the Lord had planned for them. If Stephen was being honest, he held a very specific theory for one of them, as time passed and the similarity grew stronger and stronger.
And that was why, on his walk home from work, he wasnât overly surprised to see a familiar figure at his bus stop.
She was sitting on the bench, knees pulled up against her chest. Her hair, dark like her motherâs where it wasnât blue, covered her face in a curtain, and the tiny flying saucer hovered at her shoulder again. As Stephen drew closer, he heard it letting out soft little chirps, like it was trying to comfort her.
Sitting next to her with a grunt, Stephen set down his bag and leaned back. Glancing at her, he said, âNice day, isnât it?â
Her chin jerked up a little, like she was surprised to hear his voice, then lowered again. Stephen watched her for a moment, debating whether or not he should speak again, when she did, voice low and cautious.
âIf you could know the day that you died, would you want to?â
Stephen considered for a moment, tapping a finger against his knee. âI donât know,â he admitted. âMy instinct would be noâwhy live in dread of something like that? But I canât say I would be curious.â
âWho wouldnât be?â the girl agreed, voice still quiet. âWhat ifâŚwhat if you could stop it? If someone just told you the right things?â
A heavy feeling began to settle over Stepehnâs chest. âCan you?â he asked, abandoning all pretense.
She let out a choked sob, and Stephen felt a stab of sadness. âI tried,â she choked out. âI tried again and again, but no matter what I doââ
âItâs okay,â Stephen told her, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder. âItâs not your fault.â
Letting her feet drop down, the girl scrubbed a hand across her face angrily. âYou donât understand.â
âI think I might,â Stephen said, his voice very soft.
She shook her head. âNo, you donât. For you, itâs been another twenty years, but for meâŚI thought Iâd get to go home andââ she stopped short, staring across the street, eyes red.
âAnd Iâd be there?â
She swiveled to face him, eyes going wide. âWhatâhow did youââ
âYouâre my daughter, Zara. How could I not recognize you?â
Her face crumpled, and Stephen slid across the bench to pull her into a hug as she burst into tears. She pressed her face against his shoulder and he ran his hand over her hair, the way he used to when she was a little girl.
Closing his eyes against tears of his, he whispered, âItâs okay.â
âItâs not,â she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt. âI was supposed to get you back.â
âYou did,â Stephen pointed out. âJust not for as long as you wanted. But you were the one who saved me, so many times. Youâre the reason I got to watch you and Isaiah grow up, and I will never stop being grateful for that. Youâre the reason Jennyâs alive.â
âItâs not enough,â she whispered. âThis shouldnât be the last time I see you.â
Stephen almost laughed, tears springing to his eyes. âIt wonât be. If thereâs one thing I hope your mother and I taught you, itâs that.â
Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, he pulled back a little, taking a look at her. Zara had his wifeâs beauty and dark wavy hair, and he wondered when she would dye the tips blue. Her eyes were the same warm brown as Marianâsâoh, Marianâand right now, they were wet with tears.
âI donât want to let you go,â she said, voice shaking.
âI know,â Stephen said, heart aching. All he wanted was to tell his daughter that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be able to come home. But it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldnât make that promise.
Instead, he asked, âTell me about what you do next. Tell me everything.â
So they sat on the bench, and Zara told him about her work and her best friend Tadâwhom Stephen had already met, but the two hadnât grown close yetâand how Isaiah was coaching at a local high school and Marian was still working, still looking out for Jenny, still going to church every day. âShe still loves you so much,â Zara told him. âEven when I never knew you, sheâd tell me about you and how important you were to her. IâI thought I could bring you home to her.â
âYou did,â Stephen pointed out, remembering all the days heâd almost died, and all the days his daughter had saved his life. His daughter.
Eventually, the bus came around the corner, and the little flying saucer at Zaraâs shoulder let out a chirp. Zaraâs eyes widened, and she glanced up. âIââ
âYou have to go,â Stephen guessed.
âI donât want to,â she whispered.
âI know. But if this is it, I donât want you to have to watch it.â
Shaking her head, Zara said, âYou shouldnât have to be alone.â
âIâm not alone,â Stephen told her, and he meant it. Though his heart was heavy with grief, it wasnât for him. And he knewâhe was sure of itâthat his family would be alright. They were strong enough to look after each other without him.
Getting to his feet, he waited until Zara did the same, then pulled her into a fierce hug. âI love you,â he told her. âAnd Iâm proud of you. You and Isaiah, youâre the best thing Iâve ever done.â
She was openly crying now, but nodded, holding him tightly for another minute. âI love you, too,â she said.
And then stepped back and the bus was there. Stephen took one last look at her, taking in every detail. At last, he turned and boarded the bus, taking a seat in the back.
It lurched into motion, and Stephen glanced out the window at the now empty bus stop. Iâll see you again, he thought. And he knew, in his heart, it was true.
Pulling out his phone, he opened up his text messages and began one to Marian.
I love you, Mari. I love the life weâve lived together for the past twenty years. Thank you for being the best wife and friend I could have ever asked for.Â
Looking up, Stephen took one last look around him, and wondered what would come next. He knew more than most sitting on the bus did, and yet found himself frightened. And yet, at the same time, excited.
Whatever else happened, he was ready, with no regrets.
He sent the text.
~~~
Zara was still crying when she stumbled back into her own time, bones aching fiercely. Most trips, sheâd taken a break in between, but for the past five or so, sheâd gone in without stopping, time after time. Trying desperately to stop what she knew was going to happen.
It hadnât worked.
But somehow, despite the tears and the ache in her heart, it was okay.
âZara?â
Tad had moved to stand in front of her, face twisted with concern. âAre you okay? Orâare you hurt?â
Shaking her head, Zara took a shaking breath. âIâm okay,â she said, and he gave her an unconvinced look. âFine, Iâm not hurt. And IâŚâ she trailed off.
âIt didnât work,â Tad said quietly. âZee, I know you want to do this, but so many trips in a row are hurting you. And if this is so hard to stopââ
âI know,â Zara said, taking a deep breath. âItâs okay. IâmâŚIâm not going in again.â
Tadâs eyes widened. âReally? IâI didnât expect that to work.â
âIt didnât,â Zara said, and couldnât hold back a laugh at his expression. âIâŚI talked to my dad. Itâs okay.â
âYouâre sure?â Tad said slowly. âBecause five minutes ago you were very ready to keep doing this or die trying.â
Nodding, Zara swiped a hand over her face, ridding herself of the last traces of tears. âI am. I got to say goodbye, andâŚheâs right. Iâm gonna see him again. Someday.â
Resting a gentle, if slightly awkward, hand on her shoulder, Tad nodded. âIâm glad. Heâd be proud of you, Zee.â
âThanks, Tad.â Zara took a deep breath. It was time to stop living in the past, and start looking at the new, and slightly changed present she had waiting for her.
And when the time came to see her father again, she would greet him with joy and the knowledge that sheâd lived her life to the fullest, like he had. Until then, all she could do was take the first step toward doing that.
#inklingschallenge#team tolkien#inklings challenge#genre: time travel#theme: counsel#theme: comfort#story: complete#this actually turned out so much better than i thought it would#there were. some moments#but i like the vibes#also now i'm obsessed with two of these ocs and need to feature them in more content#fun fact this could and probably does exist in the same universe as my kyvis stories#which is a HILARIOUS concept that i shall have to explore more#anyway i digress#i'd apologize for how overboard i went with the playlist BUT#a) you can just ignore it if you want to#and b) it's a masterpiece and i love it so much#it's for the VIBES GUYS#and i haven't spent this long waiting to find a character that fits how do i say goodbye only to not share when i do find one#MOVING ON#writing stories is a kind of magic too
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Thinking about the Chevalier interlude, specifically the inaugural team of Wards. Like in universe, they sell it to this first group of kids (and presumably the rest of the world) as a place for second chances, to find friends and mentors who understand what youre going through, where you can learn to use your powers safely while making good memories. The kids broadly seem to believe in these noble intentions of course, but what really gets me is that I've seen readers buy into it!
"Oh, it's such a tragedy that the Wards program became this awful thing that traumatizes kids even more, and expects them to die for the sake of civilians! It's fallen so short of what it was originally supposed to be!"
No it has not??? The fact that the triumvirate and Hero are saying it has this noble goal doesn't make it true. The Wards was pretty clearly always a way to increase the amount of bodies the prt could throw at threats, and we know this because it was started by the fucking Triumvirate as a part of the Protectorate! Alexandria literally came up with the idea of the Protectorate to legitimize the power of capes, and have a consistent source of heroes Cauldron could throw at problems. That is the whole reason for the PRT/Protectorate existing. So when we have this group of children brought in a subsidiary, there are 2 real options.
1). Cauldron and Alexandria decided they would be really niceys and created this program with no intentions other than helping these kids out.
Or 2). As things got worse, they realized the Protectorate didn't have enough manpower to do what they needed, and so they expanded it to include children (the demographic most prone to triggering). That way, they greatly increase the number of capes who they can send to fight and die as needed, and the ones who do survive their tenure in the Wards will be better trained when it comes time to join the actual Protectorate.
At the risk of sounding conceited, I think the second one is far more likely based on everything we know about Cauldron. Maybe it was originally a little nobler, and the goal was just to create more well trained heroes and cut back on young villains, but there's no way Alexandria, Doc Mom, and Contessa didn't factor in the ability to sacrifice the kid heroes if it improved their chances of success. That was absolutely a perk at minimum.
That's the real tragedy of the inaugural Wards. The kids were lured in with promises of safety, comraderie, and second chances like lambs to the slaughter. All the while, Alexandria and Cauldron knew that many (if not most) of these children would suffer abuse by the prt (like in the case of Reed), die, or face a fate worse than death like poor Mouse Protector. It's horrifying! The idea that they didn't know the danger these kids would be in is literally inconceivable. Especially when one of you is also the head of the prt! They knew, and they didn't care. It improved their chances at the end of the world, and so they did it no matter the cost.
#the same ppl will talk about Taylor being an unreliable narrator who we cannot trust#and then take Alexandria at face value#i think a lot of it is that this genre of guys very uncritically support and assume the best of authority figures#especially law enforcement#in a way that they just dont when it's a teenage girl who's never so much as glanced in the direction of a healthy coping mechanism#the great irony here being that fundamentally the prt/protectorate and Cauldron are all *also* being run by traumatized young women#and also that pretty much every negative opinion Taylor expresses abt the prt is 100% vindicated as the story goes on#genuinely baffled ppl can read Worm and be like 'Taylor's distrust of the prt was irrational'#it's the same energy as calling a woman hysterical#yes this *is* just me remembering the We've Got Worm podcast guys#they are my mortal enemies when it comes to wormposting#worm spoilers#worm#worm web serial#worm wildbow#parahumans
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is this anything
#fe odin#fe niles#fe14#fire emblem#fe shitpost#odiniles ?? in a sense#i think that odiniles is just. so funny on so many levels#like two guys who can NOT stop talking but in two different genres#and they both serve the guy whos j like WHAT ARE YOU TWO FUCKING TALKING ABOUT constantly#and theyre never on the same topic. not once
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it's Hot Take Sunday
I actually think "The Lady is a Tramp" is a good song and decent duet
#you guys just hate jazz đ#same for Its a Mans Mans Mans World#does not get enough love!! i think bc its an âunpopularâ genre#(also the scene but uh... u kno. besides that)#max rambles#glee#the lady is a tramp#the lady is a tramp gcv
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you get riz gukgak so well đđ
thank u!! he really kinda is all of my favourite character things rolled into one package (negotiation of principles/investigator-truth seeker-negotiator with reality and the narrative/obnoxious character whose narrative reward for participating in the story is getting to be even more authentically obnoxious/deeply and hauntingly aroace
#not art#everything else abt him is also compelling so Im just eating well while crying over here#the aroace part I believe from the bottom of my heart the moment he bribed a girl in freshman year First Day Of School to eavesdrop for him#In The Girl's Bathroom. like the decision itself isnt far off from a lot of noir stuff trapp's character in mentopolis did the same#but the supreme lack of awareness of what that decision says abt you in a social setting. now That's aroace#the only reason I dont read him as agender too is bc he didnt straight up waltz in there lmao#honestly bouncing off of that I also thinks folks sometimes downplay or buff off how cringe riz is... but its my favourite thing on earth#esp. in tandem with the Everything else abt him. theres an insistence in the genres he pulls from on the greater good and losing#ur real self in the work and being maybe strange but above all The Guy Who Gets The Job Done. and riz pushing the limit of that is awesome#like as a character I feel like some of it is like yeah I do get the job done. if it kills me even. how Strange do I get to be#or is it just being strange in a domineering and mysterious magnetic way. I will be cringe actually deal with that for my service#this and the part of his character that's yknow. Living While Goblin. that's a deeply compelling dynamic to me#anyways uhhh once again typing huge paragraphs abt this guy lmao. this happens forever I let it#anyways for the reason of spy theming and information dealer if u do class swap AU I propose bard!riz#u know. what is disguise if not a sister to stealth (<- extremely transgender sentence to say)
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do you ever think about the absolute culture shock of edwin "book nerd" payne missing the most of modernism and post-modernism. cause i do. i think about that a lot.
just. think about edwin encountering The Waste Land for the first time and finding it very moving and reflects his own experiences very well, but also finding that very weird because like??? yes, the nihilism is great and all, he's never felt more Seen in his life, but he's also been to hell and what do you mean an entire generation of writers apparently just get what that feels like????
#ara rambles#dead boy detectives#edwin payne#like. modernism was already a thing before edwin was born but the major influence of it was still world war 1#which edwin died right in the middle of#so the primary audience of modernism was also too busy dying in a trench while he was alive#edwin's primary education i imagine would still be primarily the classics and the romantics#and even if he did have relatives who would have read modernist or even its precursors#i don't think they would have handed a ten-year-old who was studying virgil like. fucking james joyce or god forbid ezra pound#and i think modernist writing in general tends to circulate best in university circles so i think edwin would have been too young for it#so like. it existed in his time. but i doubt he's that aware of it. but after he gets back tho. the influence of modernism is inescapable.#writing literally does not look the same anymore. like. it visually does not look the same from the books he read.#like. even just in his favorite genre.#he read penny dreadfuls he's definitely at least touched on the earliest versions of comics#guy picks up watchmen one day and goes what the actual fuck happened to comic books charles the fuck am i reading#he picks up a book with detective comics one day thinking he's in for a fun lighthearted read#and is met with like. dark knight returns or something#(yes i know they're dc characters but work with my vision here for a minute)
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...I should play ghost trick right
#ghost trick#I like the genre! I'm an ace attorney fan ffs#And weren't they written by the same guy?#shu takumi#He wrote them both right#Yeah I should play this game.
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