#sorry put your clown in the WRONG TIMELINE. it happens

[sweettoothsprout]

[ Sweetness. The Cotton Clowndy, Ragus, is here. ]

[ "Sprout..? Where is Cosmo and the others.." ]

[ He doesn't look herself. ]

[ Tired. Lost. Scared. ]

—🍭 [ @ask-ragus ]

Uhh...

Do I know you...?

[cornerstoreclown]

Wounds

Summary: This is a one-shot (6690 words approx.) where the reader (Gender Neutral) is tending to Art’s wounds. At the same time, the Pale Girl is here and the reader has to deal with her being a distraction in the house. There’s more light domesticity, because it’s my favorite. 

Warnings/Contents: None that I can think of unless you find general gore uncomfortable. This will contain some humor in it too. There’s also food mentions. 

Author’s notes: This is a sequel to Laundry Day! I’ve decided to make some one-shot continuity here, where this will be a collection of SFW gender neutral reader x Art content following a timeline so it doesn’t feel like a different person each one-shot. I want it to feel like an actual relationship here.  IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SUBSCRIBE TO THIS SERIES AND RECIEVE EMAILS FOR ADDITIONS TO IT, HERE IS THE SERIES LINK ON AO3. 

If there's any spelling errors or whatever else, I am sorry, I will probably fix it the day after slamming this down on tumblr. It's only me proofreading what I write.

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Art was at your place a week ago last time you’d seen him, but you’ve seen him a handful of times before his last visit. The laundry stops were a little overwhelming sometimes. He’d show up at the most random intervals, but  you weren’t one to turn him down, lest you invoke his wrath and end up like one of those poor suckers on the television. And you’ve heard what happens. The news was always kind and brief, but a good Google search gave you all the intimate details. You’ve read the creative ways that he’s desecrated bodies–chopping them up into tiny cubes, flaying them, putting their heads on sticks outside of residences, devouring their tongues, eating their brains or smashing their grey matter across the pavement–you could wax poetics about this man’s endless creativity. His friend, the young girl, was a wonderful accomplice, bursting with even more ideas than Art himself sometimes. So, staying on the clown’s good side is ideal. 

Last you checked the clock tonight, it was roughly 7pm. The sun’s already down. The weather outside is downright cold. Spring and summer are biding their time until the earth changes its axis again. You are already in your pajamas for the night, and you had to pull out the more heavy duty clothes. Finally, the weather seemed to get a hold of itself so you didn’t have to alter between fall and summer nightclothes. With the transition period over, you are comfortably dressed in a long shirt and pants, sitting on your couch, opening up a bag of chips. The television’s on, and you’ve got your can of soda in front of you on the coffee table. The home is a little cold, but it isn’t too cold where you needed to turn up the heat just yet. 

As fate would have it, right when you’re about to start snacking, there’s a knock at your door. 

It makes you pause, quieting yourself as you have your hand in the chip bag, unmoving. You didn’t order anything, right? Nothing that you can remember. You didn’t order anything online that’s set to be here tonight, and you sure as hell didn’t order via Doordash. Maybe it’s just someone who is at the wrong door, your social anxiety tells you. Maybe they’ll think no one is home. You even take the extra precaution to reach for the remote to turn down the volume of your television in case someone would be listening in through the door. 

A few seconds pass, and when you think you’re in the clear, you hear another set of knocks, only this one harder. 

You squint as you turn to look over your couch, in the direction of the noise. Some of your fear begins to dissipate, but it’s replaced with a whole new kind of energy. 

Stress. 

Is it him? 

You get up off the couch, put the open bag down on the table in front of you, and make your way over to the hallway where the door is. You make sure to keep your footsteps light, just in case. When you’re in front of the door, you take a second to gather yourself, and peek out of the peephole. 

You feel relief, but with that relief comes a headache waiting to happen. Your cortisol levels are already rising when you catch the familiar sight of black and white. It’s not just the Miles County Clown that you see standing at your front door, but his friend. Daughter? You’re not really sure. As you watch them, she looks up, blue eyes locking onto yours through the peephole, seeming to sense you. You’re so thrown off and your blood runs cold that you’re temporarily paralyzed–until Art gives perhaps the most aggressive slam with his fists into the door that you’re rattled back into action with a yelp. It sounded like he’s about to bust in by the next set of knocks–you even saw the door literally move against the hits. 

“Alright! Hold on!” You yell out, “Give me a second, please!” 

Of course he’d be here in the middle of the night. Of course he’d be here right when you’re getting comfortable and getting ready to settle down for the night and do absolutely nothing. Of course! Of course. 

Undoing the locks, you prepare yourself for the most friendly greeting you can give to a literal murderer and his accomplice as you swing open the door. 

“Heeeey–OH! Oh my God.” 

Art is slightly bloody across his face, and the cause looks to be from a few cuts. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it at first, but in your defense, you were a little overwhelmed when you looked down and saw the young girl. Art is somewhat manageable, but she is a handful. She is the one you were focused on when you looked through the door. 

Your gaze finally travels down towards maybe the most obvious wound now that you’re standing in front of him–

Art’s hand is bleeding. Literally dripping, right on your porch. He’s got plenty of blood spots on his costume, too. 

“Art–”

Putting two and two together, you look back to your door, and on the front of it is smeared blood. That’s definitely not going to get the neighbors attention or anything, you think to yourself rather sarcastically. You turn your head back to Art.

“What did you do?” 

He raises both of his hands to his sides, then raises his shoulders in a shrug and blinks innocently a few times while giving perhaps the most sheepish smile you’ve ever seen come from him in a while. The little girl next to him only covers her mouth as she’s swaying back and forth in place, finding the whole situation humorous. She’s not laughing, but she is smiling, watching your exchange with Art. All you needed was a laugh track and this could be a sitcom. 

“Okay, well, um, Art, can you–can you come into the kitchen? Please?” 

The floor is just another thing you’ll have to clean off now that he’s here. Door, and now the way to the kitchen. No way in hell is he going to walk over your carpets like this. You’ve cleaned the carpets out so many times in the past, and you want to keep the mess to a minimum. You usher him in, and then the pale girl, who makes that brief flicker of eye contact with you, and you feel a shiver trail up your spine. Art listens to your request, and he’s leaving a dripping mess of blood from the hallway into the kitchen, as you anticipated. The pale girl follows along, chewing on her fingernails absentmindedly. Art’s standing in the center of the room when you enter the kitchen, and he’s looking at the dripping mess onto the floor. The little girl’s still smiling, and Art’s having a brief silent conversation with her as they have another laugh over something. Maybe they told a joke real quick that you missed, or maybe they just find Art’s silly little oopsie so funny. 

“Over here, please.” You stand by the counter, right in front of the sink. Art follows, though a bit slowly on purpose you think, because now there’s more blood on the floor in him doing so. He’s smiling faintly right now, so you’re inclined to believe he’s just being a smartass. You purse your lips, not saying anything, and wait for him to put the bleeding hand under the faucet, and you run cold water. 

“Keep it there, okay?”

He doesn’t answer you, he’s busy watching his hand under the running water. You see the girl looking at you in the corner of your eye, but you don’t make eye contact with her. She eventually directs her attention to Art, and they’re exchanging glances, communicating again nonverbally. She’s making hand gestures, in what you think is maybe something like a version of sign language, but not one that you recognize. Art is nodding his head in understanding. They’re talking again, but just as before, you don’t know what is being said. 

You don’t dwell on it, and instead go to the bathroom, opening up the cabinet beneath the sink before kneeling down, fishing through the organized chaos for the first aid kit. After moving various plastic bottles around, you see the familiar shape that’s a square with red and white. Grabbing it by the handles, you close the cabinet and stand up. Your knees hurt at that, and you grimace. You’re not even that old, why is that happening to you?

When you walk back to the kitchen, you stare down at the familiar blood trail, then follow at the source of it all–Art. He is still standing in front of the sink like you asked. His back is facing you, hand still under the cold water. He seems happy to see you when he finally notices you, but you’re not smiling in turn. You see that he’s got wounds in his back. Blood spots, pierces in his black and white suit, between and around his shoulder blades. He’s a little on the tall side, you think. You’ll have to move him into the next room and sit him down on the couch next to you, hopefully with the girl in proximity so you know she’s not doing anything shady. 

Speaking of…

You’re scanning the room as you notice almost immediately that the room has one less person–or, person shaped presence in it. 

“Art,” You start, and he’s tilted his head at you. “Where did she go?” 

Art is now looking at his hand, flexing his fingers under the water. He’s since taken off his glove, watching the way that the gushing blood mixes in with the water and drains down the sink. He’s not answering you on purpose, and that makes you uneasy. 

Your nerves have been frayed a long time ago when it came to these two, and the sense of danger, while it still lingers over you like a shadow, you’ve maybe gotten a little more comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe Art and the girl are thinking. In theory, this could be a great time to take you out. Right when you’ve let them in this space, and you’ve adapted to them, and now your guard is significantly lowered. It would be the ultimate joke, the ultimate gag, something so hilarious and funny that these two would be laughing about it for weeks, reminiscing about how they tricked this adult into thinking that maybe they were on good terms with them, that maybe they were different. You’ve seen Art commit to the bit, and he does every year, it’s what Halloween was to him, wasn’t it? The man was always playing the long game. What would stop him now with you, in theory? 

You feel yourself become tense. Art doesn’t seem to pay attention, he’s too busy with his hand either because he is genuinely focused and fascinated by the visual of blood spilling off his hand, or he’s acting. Again, you don’t know. You were becoming gradually more insightful to him in general, but some things with him still remained obscured.

Before you open your mouth to speak again, you hear the sounds of a bag rustling, coming from just out of the field of your current vision. When you turn your head to the source of the sound, it’s her. 

With her hand in your bag of chips that you initially placed in the living room, fully intending to eat before you were interrupted earlier. 

When she pulls her hand out and shoves a few in her open mouth, you take note of the fact that it seems like her fingers are always stained with something. Today is no exception. 

You feel your stomach turn. 

That's her chips now. 

She seems pretty pleased with herself, and you’re standing there for a few seconds, the gears in your head turning at a lag. She’s somewhat of a loud eater, and the loud crunching isn’t drowned out by the running sink. Art hears it too and he takes notice. With his free hand, he signals for her to come closer, because he wants some too. She obliges, holding out the bag for Art, lifting it up a little for him as he also now reaches in to grab a few to shove some in his mouth. He’s eating them messily, just like her. There’s crumbs hitting the floor from both of them. You’ve never seen someone eat so weirdly before. Open mouth chewers were something else, but these two ate like people who weren’t actually inhabited by people sometimes, if that made any sense. It’s like their physical forms are just a vessel containing something far more sinister. 

And judging by how hungry they both look to be, maybe after all is said and done, you can cook them something. You did have some food in the fridge that you were going to make into a few days worth of dinner tomorrow. Maybe they wouldn’t be opposed to soup. Did clowns eat soup? You’re going to find out. 

Taking a bit of a deep breath, you let oxygen fill your lungs as your shoulders relax and lower, and you make your way over to both of them. You stand next to Art in front of the sink, placing the kit on the counter and opening it up while he’s preoccupied. There’s a lot in the kit–standard bandages, antiseptic, bandaids, more bandages, medical tape, ointment, gauze pads, a small pair of scissors, alcohol wipes and cotton pads. You reach for the cotton pad and unscrew the top off of the antiseptic before putting the pad at the front of the mouth of the bottle. You let it soak up the hydrogen peroxide and set the bottle down on the counter. 

“Alright.” You tell Art, who is still effectively distracted by the pale girl. She’s now taking a small step back, twisting from side to side slightly while sticking her fingers in her mouth, bag still in her other arm. Art now has his attention to you. You turn the faucet off and take a look at his hand, holding it, facing it palm up to inspect the damage. 

It’s pierced through the center entirely. 

You’re familiar with Art at this point. You know that he’ll heal fairly quickly. This is an inconvenience at best, if he even saw it as such. You aren’t sure if he could even suffer from infections given his ability to regenerate, but… Better to be safe than sorry. Worst case scenario, it does nothing and he’s fine. A lot of the bleeding has appeared to have come to a stop, and it really makes you wonder in those few seconds if it’s even really worth trying to go through the effort to even try and bandage him up. 

But you’ve already gotten this far, and he hasn’t told you no, and Art is never someone who is not afraid to tell you no. 

“Someone really tried to fight back, huh.” You ask, although, there’s no upward inflection in your voice to indicate that it’s even a question. Art’s smile is wide, and his eyes are closed as his nod is knowing and slow. He’s trying to hold back laughter now that you’re mentioning it, but he’s failing. You can see his shoulders rise and fall a little with his glee. He even uses his other hand to mime how it happened, holding an imaginary knife and ‘stabbing’ into his damaged hand. Art shakes his head and looks at his hand, then back at you. ‘Can you believe this?’ You feel like he’s telling you, and you sense that he’s telling you that the attempt was utterly laughable. He’s even silently scoffing, then gives a dismissive gesture. 

You tilt your head slightly as he continues to ‘talk’, his silent laugh starting up again as he now takes that imaginary knife with the same good hand and gestures slitting his throat. He even emphasizes it with an expression on his face, eyes going a little funny and his tongue sticking out to emphasize death, then making his head go slack briefly thereafter. If he had a voice, he’d be making the choked out noise that came with it the moment of death he’s portraying.

“You slit his throat with his own blade. Brutal.” 

You’ve since picked up a lot on how he communicates. You caught that the way that he talks with you and how he talks with the young girl is different. The two of them seem to have their own sign language for time to time on things that they couldn’t exchange with visual body movements, meanwhile Art has to be more direct with you, sometimes even to the point of writing when you just wouldn’t get it. He’s had to do that less and less, though. You’ve been catching on. 

Your attention flicks back to his hand, and you look at him, before back at his hand. He could talk your ear off, figuratively in this case, about his murders, you’re certain. There’s a few seconds that pass that you once again assess if this is a good idea, or if you’re just being ridiculous. 

“Okay,” You say, “I’m going to apply some antiseptic now. Might sting a little.” You warn him, and he seems okay with it–Until you actually apply the cotton pad right onto the open stab wound. Art jerks his hand back reflexively and pulls it to his chest, a mix of offended and what you interpret as a betrayed expression. His brows are furrowed, and he’s got a half snarl, teeth showing like he’s a feral creature that’s feeling threatened. 

“Art.” You say, your tone pleading. “I told you it would sting. I know it hurts, but I can’t help you if you don’t let me. If you want this cleaned, you need to stay still.” 

He looks disgruntled and mildly disgusted with you for a few seconds, eying you up and down like you just committed a true atrocity, nevermind the fact that he’s the one who runs around and kills people for literal fun. 

“Can I have your hand again?” 

His face scrunches up, still keeping his hand defensively to his chest. He doesn’t look convinced yet. 

“Art.” You say. “Please.” 

There it is, the magic word. He sways his head back and forth a few times, relaxing his shoulders, as if to say, ‘weeeell, okay’, before gently extending his hand out to you again. He’s got the cheekiest expression. Playful, even in the face of pain. Couldn’t be you–A simple stub of your toe could take you out and have you faced with the urge to curse like a sailor. 

“I’ll make it quick. I promise.” 

And you do, you make quick work of it, and you can see the way that he initially balls his other hand into a fist and looks slightly uncomfortable, but he keeps his hand there the entire time, despite how his fingers are faintly twitching. Once you finish wiping the wound, you place the cotton pad down, reaching for the proper cloth to put over his injury. When you cover it up properly, you begin to wrap bandages around his hand repeatedly until you feel like it’s tight enough, but not too tight. He watches you focusing on the task at hand as you begin to keep the bandages in place with your medical tape. 

You don’t know if he’s ever received medical treatment once in his entire existence. When the last stand of tape is cut with the scissors and applied, you take a few seconds to admire your handiwork. He does too, turning his hand this way and that. 

“There.”

Art is still judging the work that you did, and now you’re starting to feel moderately self conscious. The way that his attention is focused on it too long opens the door for insecurity to step in, but it’s kicked out when Art gives an approving expression, pointing towards the bandage job and giving you a thumbs up. You did good! Great job! He’s even smiling! 

“I still need to clean your face and your upper back.”

The smile’s gone now. 

For someone so dangerous, he sure had his moments of being funny and… cute. You feel a slight twitch of a smile wanting to form on your face, but you’re able to expertly resist it. His reaction is only a smidgeon amusing. You pack up the kit and all its contents, tucking it under your arm. 

“Come on.” You tell him, taking his good hand. “Let’s go sit on the couch so I can finish up the rest of you.” He watches as you do so, and so does the young girl. You give his hand a gentle squeeze and sigh. There’s a flutter of something warm in your chest.

He squeezes your hand back, just a little. You take note of that as you make your way with him to the family room. You make sure that the pale girl knows that she’s encouraged to come along by looking over at her, but Art has already taken the initiative for her to gesture to come along with his typical smile. 

She also trails behind you both, and you can’t help but feel her piercing stare at the back of your skull. You liked her, but for some reason, it’s taking you a lot longer to adjust to her than Art. Yet, Art’s the one whose respect you perhaps needed the most out of the both of them. Art’s a wild animal, you’ve told yourself this time and time again. You’re not sure if he even does respect you. He barges into your house at all times of the day, expecting for you to let him in, and you do. When he wants something from you, he takes it. And you don’t say a thing against it. What COULD you say to a homicidal clown? 

You don’t have blatantly sharp edges like Art has. You’re far gentler, but you do have anger that simmers inside of you. There’s a lot of repressed rage bubbling beneath the surface. You’ve joked about snapping before. Maybe he’s counting on that. Maybe that’s why he’s sticking around. The nicest people could be capable of being the meanest, you’ve been told. 

You make your way in front of the couch, and you have to sit this bloody clown on the seat next to you. There’s plenty of space for the young girl, it’s a three cushioned couch, but she had no interest as she’s still holding the bag of chips, but now the remote in the other hand. She’s flipping through channels and turning up the volume. You’re not sure what’s playing on the television because you’re not listening, nor did you care. As long as she’s taken care of, that’s fine. 

She’s been a bit of a mystery to entertain, especially since she didn’t have the standard interests of a girl her age. 

You learned that the hard way when you tried to give her a stuffed animal a few months ago. It was at the grocery store when you were shopping and you thought to get it for her in hopes of maybe establishing some sort of positive relationship instead of one where you felt that you were walking on eggshells. There’s just something about her that sets you off in a way completely different from Art. 

She was certain to reinforce those feelings of unease the next time she visited after that, handing the stuffed bear you gave her back to you, and it was leaking. It was literally leaking fluids of some kind, and it smelled god awful, until you saw through the poorly done sutures on the back of the bear that there were rotting organs and maggots inside of it. You almost threw up when you realized, and Art and the little girl had laughed at you, Art even going so far as to slap your back like you were in on the joke. You did your best to keep the contents of your stomach inside your body, and you did, but the moment that you were alone by yourself, you had to sit and figuratively digest what happened. 

That bear was disposed of. Whether you buried it or threw it in a dumpster was irrelevant, but you took care of it. 

You put the kit on the coffee table in front of you next to your drink you left earlier. You open up the kit again, and Art doesn’t react to you doing so. He looks like he was nicked a few times across the face with the same blade that stabbed him in the hand and back. One across his cheek, one on his forehead, one across the bridge of his nose, and another on the opposite side of his face, right next to his jaw. They aren’t deep cuts, which leads you to believe that whoever tried to make deeper wounds, wasn’t successful. You wonder how it all went down, how it all happened. A small part of you wishes to have been a fly on the wall during that encounter. You grab a fresh cotton pad and have it absorb the antiseptic again like last time, pausing for a few seconds. You swallow and make eye contact with him. He didn’t like how you touched his hand earlier. How the hell would he react to his face being touched?

“This is going to sting a bit like last time. Okay?” You ask him. Art watches you, doesn’t respond or seem opposed to it outwardly, and is looking at you almost expectantly. His teeth show a little and he gives a silent yet expectant huff. Taking that as him accepting it, you reach out gently and begin to clean the wounds on his face. His lip twitches in a snarl a few times as he closes his eyes. His teeth are showing again, and it’s like you’re in front of the face of a lion right now, praying that the beast won’t have a sudden change of heart and maul your face off. You know he can do that. He’d bite your nose clean off your face if he wanted to and stab you with the medical scissors right in your ear. You’ve thought of all the possible ways that he could kill you at any moment, and you don’t know why you do it, it only creates further anxiety for you. Your mind’s attempt to protect you and keep you prepared only seems to make matters worse. 

“Okay…”

It doesn’t take long to clean his face, and the makeup somehow still stays on the entire time you are cleaning him. Whatever face paint he’s got, it’s pretty good quality. It’s impressive, actually.

“I think we’re done with your face.” 

You flash him a gentle smile, but it’s kind of forced. You’re trying to be nice and not focus on the mental images you’d had going on in your head a few seconds ago. His eyes open after you speak, and you feel your heart skip a beat. It’s only for a brief second, and had you blinked, you know for a fact that you would have missed it–the glint in his eye. It makes you feel as if you’ve just been jolted with a current. 

This back and forth between the two of you has been a long game. A lot of moments of intimacy, but never anything acted upon. It’s thrilling in these interactions alone, and no matter how often it happened, you couldn’t get enough of it. 

As much as you are afraid, you couldn’t get enough of him. And even as he watches you through half lidded eyes and you stare back, he once again reaffirms to you what you’ve known for months now. 

You both like each other. You like the way that he makes you feel like you’re living life on the edge, and despite how he could devour you piece by piece, quite literally, a part of you is okay with that. A part of you … Wanted that. 

Have you been in the dark for too long? Not literally, but… Mentally? 

You suddenly hear a crash coming from the direction of your bedroom, which instantly snaps you out of whatever spell you could have sworn you were stuck in when you were looking at Art. His smile is wide, teeth showing as he looks off in the same direction as you. You immediately glance over to where the little girl was standing earlier, only to see… She’s not there, but the plastic chip bag she had is. 

Yeah. Figures. 

Art appears entertained. You’re feeling your blood pressure rise.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell him, and he’s shaking with the giggles while giving you a nod. Nothing is ever simple with these two. You’d have been shocked if it was. 

The door to your bedroom is cracked, and you almost don’t want to open it fully in fear of what you might find, but you rip that bandaid right off, knowing that you would very much like to get Art taken care of so that maybe you can eventually settle down for the night, if you’re given such a moment of grace from him. And her. 

Especially her. 

The door creaks when you open it, and what you see is a lot better than what you’d been expecting, which, you’re not sure what, specifically you’d think you see, but to only see a knocked over potted plant from your dresser is a relief. 

The girl’s back is to you, which doesn’t bode well. The plant is still here, albeit amid a shattered vase that is sprinkled across the floor with a bunch of dirt. You pause and hear a munching noise… She was eating chips earlier... So... What is she eating now? You know kids have appetites, but when she wanted to eat, she ate.  

“Uh…” You clear your throat gently. “Hey.” 

When she turns around, you’re only slightly thrown off. You’ve seen worse from these two, but the sight of her holding a mouse with a missing chewed off head is still something you would not have anticipated to see. In retrospect, if you think about it, it makes sense. You’ve had mice problems in the past during the colder months… But now it begs the question–did she catch it? And if so, did she just eat it? Did she have any hand in killing it? She smiles at you and continues to chew on the stump of where the mouse’s head used to be, grinning cutely at you in the way that children who knew that they are charming would act. Only, you’re not sure how charming she really is. You’ll admit though…  She could be adorable sometimes. But definitely not right now.

The destroyed plant in the room, while you are upset, is nothing. You’ve become used to things in the house being subject to destruction or theft. That’s why you’ve vowed to not get too attached to anything here once they made it clear they’d be regulars. 

“I’m almost done cleaning up Art. You want to sit and wait a few more minutes until I start to cook?” 

Evil entities and demons or not, who could say no to food? You knew few who could. It’s an indulgence and one of the few joys that comes with existing. Food is a source of comfort, and a way to keep oneself going. The act of nourishment and bonding over a meal with those you might not understand entirely is another feature worth appreciating. The times that you did eat with them, though quiet, and despite how messy they could be, you felt a connection in the silence. Art seemed to be a bit more on the amicable side after eating, too. He’s prone to moody fits, you acknowledged. He’s been hangry before. 

When you start to walk back to the living room, she follows behind you, mouse still in hand. Art’s back is to you from the way that you both come in, and when you come closer to see the side of him, you see that he’s drinking your soda that you left on the table, shamelessly chugging the rest of it until the can is entirely empty. Some of it runs down his chin.

You can’t have anything in this house to yourself when they’re here. Privacy or food.

 When he sees what his companion has, he gives that mute laughter, pointing at it, gesturing as if to ask ‘did you catch that?’ and the young girl responds vaguely. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But they both find the mouse with the chewed off head hilarious. While this is all fun and games, you’d rather get right back into it. 

“Alright, let’s finish this up.” You announce, moving over to the couch and taking a seat next to the clown. “Art, can I see your back?” 

He’s still finishing the drink, and you wait patiently. When he’s done, he silently says ‘ahhh’ to himself in a way that shows that he found the drink refreshing. You scratch your elbow as you continue to give him the time he needs, and finally he gives you an incline of his head in acknowledgement, turning around to give you his back. 

You take a few seconds to brace yourself and purse your lips inwards a bit. You’re looking right at the zipper at the back of his suit. Carefully, you reach for it and begin to unzip the top half of his suit, enough so that you can see the wounds of where he’d been stabbed. It’s not as bad as you thought it’d be, at least. You prep another cotton pad, meanwhile in the corner of your eye you see that the pale girl is in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in, as if contemplating on what to get into. She’s still holding that mouse in her hand, and you don’t know how much longer she intends on keeping it, because you anticipate it ending up on your pillow or under your blankets or in your bathroom eventually as a small surprise for later after they’ve long left. You aren’t going to exactly take it away from her, either. It just didn’t … Feel right to try and do that. Your senses of self preservation might be practically nonexistent, but there’s a twinge of it that kicks up when it comes to interacting with this kid. 

“Hey… Um… Art?” You give him a gentle tap on his shoulder, where you know that there’s no stab wound, and he looks over his shoulder, first at you, then at the sight of the young child. He seems past the point of finding things funny at this particular juncture, and gives a snap of his finger to catch her attention. A single snap is all it took, and her head turns. She stares at you, and then Art, who is gesturing for her to come sit next to him, on the other side of the couch. There’s space for her. 

You couldn’t control the young child. You could only guide her. Art, however, is a different story. They have a special bond. 

She sways gently in place, then obliges Art, listening to him and taking a seat in front of him. You can’t see what she’s doing, nor what he’s doing either since you’re looking at the back of his head, but you can tell that he’s communicating to her. That’s fine.

“I’m about to apply the antiseptic again.” You warn Art, in case he needs to brace himself. Seeing his skin so largely exposed isn’t jarring to you. The instances of him coming to use your shower really level set what you were used to around him. He saw you fully naked only recently, and you know it was on purpose because he was trying to scare you when you were in the shower, peeling back the curtain with a weapon drawn. He’s walked around in similar states of undress without a towel once or twice after a shower. It’s been very much an oh moment for you every time you did see it happen, but you didn’t remark on it. 

You both felt very much like a couple sometimes in that regard. A weird one, but one nonetheless. You’ve been more comfortable with him walking in on you when you’re getting dressed. He’s done that a few times, for a variety of reasons, but never just because, except maybe one time. 

You still have yet to see him without his makeup though. Part of you is okay with not knowing. But if it happens to be something you do see, you know it’ll be because he let you. 

After a few minutes, you clean the wounds there. You’re not sure if you should bandage those up. The worst one is in his hand. 

You suspect he’ll be right as rain by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Again, you ask yourself, was this even really necessary? 

You’d like to believe it was.  Art seems to like the attention from you, anyway. You think that’s why he stopped by here. His visits used to be out of convenience, but they’ve most certainly become frequent. 

You zip up the back of his suit, and he turns his head again to look at you. 

Your eyes meet his. 

You feel it again–that sensation like the rays of the sun have enveloped your entire body like a warm blanket. 

“Well.” You say with a light huff and a friendly smile, “Guess I can get started cooking then, huh?” You close up the kit and ball up the cotton pad in your hand, which you intend to throw away in the kitchen trash can. You left another one in there too at the counter that you also need to dispose of if you remember correctly. 

You don’t know how well this will go tonight. You don’t know if the both of them will behave. Last time when you played scrabble with Art and the child to keep them out of trouble, he had a good laugh spelling out profanities like cunt, bitch, fuck, shit–the entire dictionary of curse words was all on that game board. You’re not sure if you’re in the mood for that. 

“And if you’re going to try and help in the kitchen, please…” You emphasize on the please. “Please don’t eat the raw meat in the fridge. Not like last time.”

Art blinks innocently at you, giving the most guilty smile that you ever did see. The girl is still holding onto the mouse. She might stick it in between the couch cushions when you leave the room. You know you can’t stop her. It’s only a matter of trying to find it as soon as possible before it stinks and there’s bugs on it. 

“Alright.”

Maybe after this, you’ll have to get Art in the shower. You’ll just have to… put a covering over his hand like they do at the hospital. You can make it work. You always did.  He needs his clothes cleaned again, too. And stitched up and repaired. You knew how to do that too. It’s a life skill. 

Work is never done for you with these two, and they are part of the reason that you learned how to be so self-sufficient. To this day you still don’t know if you should thank or blame them.

“Let me know if either of you need anything,” You tell them, leaving them to the television. Art gives you a thumbs up. Hopefully they can sit still for twenty minutes. 

They probably won’t.

You already hear Art’s footsteps as he’s making his way in the kitchen, presumably to help.

[boomadley]

EVEN NOW THERE IS HOPE: THE CASE FOR GERRI SUPREMACY IN EP 9 - Part 3

part 1 : https://boomadley.tumblr.com/post/669873415463829504/even-now-there-is-hope-the-case-for-gerri

part 2: https://boomadley.tumblr.com/post/669873526906535936/even-now-there-is-hope-the-case-for-gerri

IN which I make the case that next week might not be all doom and gloom, and that in fact Gerri might be poised to keep alive the show's grand tradition of women kicking Logan's ass.

Sorry, got caught staring there for a second.

Okay so we've seen historically that Logan is frequently put in his place by women who aren't blinded by their own youth. Well....who has been around Logan longer than anyone? Who knows, literally, where the bodies are buried? Who plans for all eventualities in her sleep, in longhand? Who is smarter than everyone? Who has Logan trusted the most when the chips are down? Who does everyone ignore like a filing cabinet, but holds ALL the secrets?

No other employee gets away with saying shit like this...:

...and then get this result:

Not to copy off the fanfic collective, but somewhere in a story on AO3 someone posited that Gerri has a safe full of USB keys with all the dirt on them. I mean maybe that doesn't specifically happen but there is just no way, NO WAY, that this woman hasn't kept her ass covered. There is NO WAY she hasn't lain awake and at least thought, what would I do if Roman did something stupid like accidentally send a dick pic to his dad?

For sure she is rattled right now, but this woman eats and breaths stress. Shiv thinks she can knock her off her game by trying the same faux feminist moves she used on that woman from cruises in DC? Please. Gerri was writing NDA's and hushing witnesses while Shiv was figuring out tampons. She knows exactly how to handle this moment, like all moments.

And please recall Gerri describing herself thusly:

Have we ever seen Gerri be wrong? Has she ever not known exactly what she was talking about? She knows exactly what she is talking about at all times. If she says she's a dangerous enemy then I'm inclined to believe that yes, she is a very dangerous enemy. I just don't think even Logan realizes how much. He's probably never witnessed all the arms she's twisted or things she's done. But she's seen (almost) everything he's done.

Oh, and one last piece of food for thought from Connor: Gerri was the 'new thing' once. J Smith Cameron says in her mind, there was maybe one encounter between Gerri and Logan that is part of their history. I think Logan is sexist and ageist but I also think that he does not want anyone, particularly his son, nosing around 'his' pussy. Sour grapes maybe, you neckbeard fuck?

Logan fronts like Roman is a weak pervert but he's the one who is ruled by his appetites, his wounds, and his dick. He knows Gerri is hot and powerful. He knows damn well that women are his kryptonite just as much as they are Roman's. Apples don't rot far from the tree.

And Logan is DUE for a take down this season. No one has hurt him seriously. No one has called his bullshit. Everyone is doing backflips for him all the time. What might a general counsel do when her back is up against the wall? When the time for giving fucks is well and truly past, what might the creators treat us to? How fucking unexpected and perfect would it be for someone to finally, finally, yell at Logan and not back down?

Who knows. Maybe I'm wrong and I'll put on whole clown suit next week to go with my makeup. But I believe in Gerri! If anyone can do it, it's her.

Thank you for spending your time and thought on this, y'all. I apologize for my home grown screen caps and captions. I have four more photos allowed, so I'm going to close out by blessing your timeline with my fave gifs of Our Lady of Perpetual Fabulousness, The Mother of MILFS, Geraldine Kellman.

[whatiwillsay]

that anon is mad suspicious lmao. they're trying way too hard 😭

it’s the kid ttb troll i think and i’m gonna take a moment to address them.

kid if you’re reading this i just want you to know i’m very sorry you’ve been manipulated and lied to by an adult to the point where you think you need to do all this mess.

ask yourself this- what has ttb ever gotten right? have her sources ever correctly predicted anything? she said joshlie was over again and again yet josh is still here, she said joe was done again and again, yet he’s still here. what important event has a spade riddle ever accurately predicted?

you may think karlie being at rep tour was a good prediction but she didn’t make those anons public until after karlie was at rep tour. she faked them. she lied to y’all to try and gain clout. she said karlie and taylor would have candids in novermber 2018, that didn’t happen, ttb said karlie and josh would never get married, karlie and josh did get married. she said karlie wouldn’t move to miami but she was there just the other day on a video call.

she said karlie would deny the pregnancy rumors, karlie confirmed it and is having a baby- and ok let’s say you think this is a kaylor child on the way, why wouldn’t ttb have known about it? she has good insiders right? why did she spend 2-3 weeks saying there was no baby if there really was a kaylor baby on the way. shouldn’t her sources have tipped her off?

i have thought ttb was an absolute clown since umbrellagate but i never posted about her publicly AT ALL until @bisluthq came on the scene and ttb attacked her. she hunted down her real id ans outed her to colleagues. this is wrong but it happened. i don’t post about ttb so i can disagree with her dumb kaylor takes, i don’t care about that. i post about ttb because she is dangerous to lgbtq people and that’s a lot of people in this community. i don’t care about kaylor people can love kaylor all they want it’s not for me, but i don’t care if other people like it.

kid anon do you think just because someone disagrees with you about kaylor, your sexuality should be used against you in an attempt to try and harm you? don’t you think we should just ignore the people who disagree with us? ttb hated nat because nat wrote the realistic kaylor timeline so in stead of ignoring her she attacked her. i never said a word about ttb until after that.

why are you going so hard for a nasty person who puts gay people’s lives at risk who NEVER has any good kaylor intel! she was wrong about karlie getting married, wrong about the baby, has never accurately predicted any music drop dates or any tour tea, even my dumb ass knew dianna was getting divorced (because we all did) before that info went public! and that doesn’t mean i’m a special insider it just means i live in realty and notice things like her not wearing her ring or taking her wedding photos down. again i’m not special, all dianna fans knew this was going to happen.

what has ttb every gotten right that makes you trust her? go look at the all knower on twitter, THATS what an insider looks like, they can tell you specific dates and information of when content is coming. if ttb has so many insiders connected to taylor why doesn’t she have THAT kind of tea?

the last thing i’ll say kid anon, is i hope for your sake you haven’t given her a clue as to who you are because if she gets your id and you turn on her then she will do to you what she’s done to many others. please stay safe and if you ever need help or feel like you’re in danger please come find this side of the fandom and we will do what we can to help you.

[maximoff-pan]

57 with Peter Maximoff? 'cause your writing about him makes me soft 🥺

Prompt:

57. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

Character: Peter Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Word Count: 1.4 k of (hopefully) tooth rotting fluff....like maybe you’ll need a dentist after reading???

A/n: Anon, you’re way too sweet! And honestly, writing about him makes me soft, so I really hope you enjoy! (I know I did writing this)....Anyway, I also want to note that this (the beginning), does not perfectly (or even close to perfectly) follow the plot or script of days of future past. I just somewhat mimicked it....It doesn’t have a ton to do with the movie, but just in case anyone is confused, that is what it’s based on. I also had to check the timelines, so I think they’re right. It says that Peter is born in 1955 and DOFP takes place in 1973, so that’d make him approximately 18. I’m sorry if that’s wrong, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

You distinctly remember the first time you met Peter Maximoff. And thinking back on it now, you’re not sure there’s a world in which it’s possible that you could ever forget it. You’d both been so young, barely 18, and yet, as conflicted as you’d felt when you’d first laid your eyes on him, there was an instant connection between you. It was unbelievably undeniable...something not even Charles could explain when he’d met the pair of you.

You’d both met Charles, Hank, and Logan on the same day. You’d only known the three mysterious men for a few more hours than Peter had, them picking you up from your home because your mutation was integral in breaking Erik out of the Pentagon. (Personally, at the time, you didn’t see why your mutation of invisibility would be so helpful....but Charles more than insisted. So you just said, ‘sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and went along with them...for the adventure of course). Unfortunately (or fortunately, you’re not quite sure), your next stop was to convince some teenage speedster to join you....hence, you meeting Peter.

“You’re not cops.” Was the first thing you heard out of his mouth.

His voice had taken you back. He’d managed to sound both arrogant and insecure, all in one utterly short sentence. How on earth could anyone manage that? On a first judgment, this boy gave you mixed feelings. Was he an ass? Or was he just scared...nervous, or maybe both?

Logan simply scoffed, his arms folded across his chest. “And what makes you say that, kid?”

“Rental car.” Peter tutted, a glimmer shining brightly in his eyes. “And you really expect me to believe some rando teenage girl is working as an officer for whatever joke of a police force you claim to be a part of? I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” You spat at him.

The grin that plastered itself on his face was vomitous. “You’re excused princess.”

That nickname made your blood absolutely boil, and your skin crawled with frustration. You turned to Logan bitterly. “And we need this klepto ass clown why?”

“Unfortunately, his mutation is exactly what we need.” Hank broke in, speaking for Logan.

Honestly, if Logan could’ve made the choice that day, he would’ve left Peter behind. He thought you and your mutation were enough, that unlike Charles and Hank, Peter was not a necessity, he was just a fucking nuisance. He much preferred you....but he was stuck with both of you.

If he had been able to make that decision, at the time, you would have agreed with Logan wholeheartedly. Peter annoyed you to no end, and from the moment you met him, he continuously tried to rile you up. But today? Today you’re very much glad Logan had not been granted permission to make that decision. If he had, then you’d never have met Peter. You’d never have met the love of your life, your husband, and the father of your children.

You never would have been truly happy. But thank god Logan hadn’t made that decision....thank god....

Now? Now you’re happily married. You’ve put your X-Men days behind you, trading them in for teacher’s positions at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. Soon, you’ll even be teaching your own children, twins James and Eleanor, and baby Wyatt (in that order, oldest to youngest)...but for now, they’re still too young to be learning at Xavier’s. For now, you’re spending your last few months on maternity leave, before you head back to teaching.

Home life has been crazy, two toddlers and a new baby will do that to you. And Peter has been your absolute rock. (You’ve also been his, which he tells you everyday, but you never seem to believe it)...

You live right off campus, so Peter’s commute to work is practically nonexistent, which means he’s able to be at home with you fairly shortly after his work day ends. (It’s literally a lifesaver), and Peter loves being at home with your kids. There’s honestly nowhere he’d rather be....except maybe cuddled in bed next to you, the house completely quiet from children screaming or babies crying.

“The twins go to bed okay?” You ask your husband as he tiredly walks into your shared bedroom.

“Define okay.” He jokes. You tilt your head, shooting him a look of uncertainty. “In all seriousness,” he starts, “probably the best bed time this week.”

Peter’s beaming with the pride that he could get his children to actually behave and go to sleep at a godly hour, and it warms your heart. You can see it in his being, just how much love he has for them.

“I’m glad.” You smile. “Wyatt’s down. Out like a light.” You gesture to the baby sleeping in the crib next to your bed.

Peter’s eyebrows raise, a mischievous grin on his face. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?” He asks and your eyes widen.

“That’s definitely not what I thought you were going to say.” You laugh softly. “I was expecting something more along the lines of... ‘let’s have sex.’ Instead, you ask your wife, let me remind you in case you forgot, your wife, if you can have a simple kiss? Ladies and gentlemen, I married the most wholesome man on the planet!”

He responds with a laugh of his own, your antics more than amusing him. “So you’re saying, we could’ve had...” he pauses for a moment, feigning innocence and whispering, “sex?”

“We could’ve.” You shrug. “But you passed up on it.”

Peter throws you a goofy grin, eyeing you up and down. “I’m still taking that kiss though.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

“Mhm.” He finally leans in, placing his lips softly on yours. At first the kiss is gentle, but as the seconds pass, the intensity grows. You don’t know when exactly that it happens, but suddenly you find yourself on Peter’s lap, basically straddling him. Your mouths move in harmony, harder and faster than a few moments prior.

He lets out a groan of approval as you rake your hands through his long (ish) silver hair. Taking this as your opportunity, you deepen the kiss, propping yourself off of Peter’s lap, and pushing him further into your bed.

His hand grips your arm, securing his other arm around your waist and flipping the two of you over, him now on top. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. It’s like the perfect storm of anticipation. You both want to take things further, desperately, but the universe decides it has other plans for you (not allowing you a moment free from parenting), when your son begins to cry.

“Peter.” You murmur into his mouth. And as much as you don’t want to stop whatever this is, you also don’t want the wailing baby to wake your other children.

He pulls back reluctantly, letting out of sigh of frustration, as he watches you crawl across the bed and scoop Wyatt out of his crib. The crying stops almost instantaneously, and you both feel some sort of relief flood through you. If there was any plus side to come from this, at least Eleanor and James hadn’t woken up.

“It’s alright baby boy.” You coo as Peter watches you lovingly. “Mama’s got you.”

“Daddy’s here too.” Peter nearly sings at your baby son. “And he loves you very much.”

“Mommy loves you more.” You tease, speaking in the same sing song voice your husband had just used.

Peter scoffs. “I don’t think so.” He sings back. “Mommy and Daddy love you equally.”

“Oh I’m sure they do.” The sarcasm in your tone is evident, and at that, he reaches over to gently tickle your sides, careful not to disrupt your position with Wyatt.

You release a gentle string of giggles, feeling Peter’s fingers halt their actions. “I surrender! I surrender.”

“You see that Wyatt?” Your husband asks your son. “Your Mommy has me absolutely whipped. I couldn’t be a happier man.”

“And I a happier woman.” You pause, leaning down to whisper in Wyatt’s ear, just loud enough for Peter to hear. “Besides, your Daddy’s been whipped by me since the second he first saw me.”

Peter simply shrugs, grinning down at his little family. “You’re not wrong.” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he hums lightly. “Your Mommy’s definitely not wrong.”

[incoherentbabblings]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Young Justice - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake Characters: Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Kissing, Romance, Established Relationship, Tim Drake is Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Minor Canonical Character(s), Fluff and Humor, Light Angst Summary:

Expanded scene for Young Justice (2019) #15. Tim and Steph finally get to reunite after the team’s reality hopping adventure, and whilst Tim is keen for Stephanie to be (re)introduced to his friends, Stephanie isn’t sure she belongs.

Tim watched as people piled up the big green monsters into one giant pile of unconsciousness. He was standing on top of his pickup truck; the one Stephanie had apparently driven halfway across America without even a scratch to come meet up with him.

Tim watched as she very awkwardly extracted herself from a conversation with Jackson and Derek, not sure what to say or do, and made a beeline towards Tim. He tried to control his expression as she did so. He wasn’t disappointed in her, but he had hoped she would be able to feel comfortable enough around a bunch of strangers to strike up a friendly conversation or two. At the same time, he understood. Afterall, they hadn’t really gotten their reunion yet. At least, not the one that Steph had teased about wanting.

Tim could see her slight nervousness in the way she held her shoulders as she looked up at him, face hidden under her black mask and purple hood.

“We done? No more bad guys to punch?”

Two days they’d said. Two days and they would find each other.

They’d known it was a promise neither could keep, and things had very understandably gotten out of hand, but still, Tim felt like he had disappointed her.

“We’re done.”

He reached down, tugging her up onto the roof of the truck. She didn’t need the help, but he wanted to see how readily she took his arm.

She did so immediately, without hesitation, a light laugh bubbling out as she was heaved upwards. Stephanie was deceptively light, or maybe Tim was deceptively strong. Regardless, he tugged up until she was able to twist onto the roof on her butt. She then pulled herself up to standing to be level with Tim.

She was smiling under her face cover.

“Can I take off my mask, do you think? Do you trust them all?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “They’re our friends Steph.”

His heart broke a little that she didn’t quite understand it yet. It was a bit of a white lie, but Tim saw no reason why it could not be the truth. They had left Gotham for many reasons, altered timelines being one of many, but another was simply the desire to go new places, meet new people, and have a life outside of the damn Bat for two weeks.

Finding his friends again, finding that safe space... He wanted Steph to find her own place within it. He had mentioned it to Cassie, Kon and Bart on the rare quiet moment during their interdimensional travels. He didn’t want there to be a hard line between his life in Gotham and life with them. He didn’t see the need. Not anymore.

Needless to say that the three of them took his thoughts very well. Yes, the four of them were finally reunited. Enough with the melodrama; be grateful that they could spend time together once more and stretch it out and milk that time for all it was worth. Remember how easily it was taken away?

Besides, it couldn’t do Steph any harm to have friends too, right? Admittedly she was a bit rough around the edges, as socially awkward as she was genuinely kind, but then again it wasn’t like the team were exactly behaving at peak social norms either. Bart alone was surely testament to that, right?

Steph was ignorant to Tim’s musings and continued their conversation.

“Good. Because,” she sang, pulling down her hood and her full-face mask off. “I need to give you that proper greeting, remember? Can’t wait any longer.”

Tim exhaled at the sight of her smile and long blonde hair, but it collapsed when she leaned in, eyes half shut.

“Wait,” he said, jerking back a little.

“What?” Stephanie asked, voice quiet and sad. Worried at the rejection, she put her hands up to rest on his chest. He flinched as she did so, and she felt like crying. “Oh no… Something happened didn’t it? Is it those memories you got back? Was I horrible in them? Because I’m really sorry if I was. I’m a different person now. Literally or metaphorically I dunno but…Or is it something that happened whilst you were away?”

She spoke with such sincerity despite the farcical nature of the statements, that Tim felt the need to put her out of her misery. He grasped her wrists and then intertwined their fingers when she raised her palm from his chest. He squeezed tight, and he saw her tremble.

“It’s not you. I didn’t keep my promise.”

“What?” Her voice shifted from upset at herself to the situation.

“You needed me. We said two days. And I tried but-but…”

Stephanie pouted at being denied affection for such a trivial reason as – as far as she saw it – losing track of time. Tim was punishing himself in that silly head of his, and by extension, it also felt so to Stephanie. She took a deep breath and mellowed out her tone.

“Stuff happens,” she responded firmly. She was not interested in a debate or Tim’s proclivity for self-flagellation. “I know you didn’t deliberately leave me hanging, so why would I resent it? Impulse mentioned reality hopping…”

Her look became worried as she drew the wrong conclusion. The confidence fled her as quickly as it had come. “Was it bad? Trauma? Where did you go? Is that where you got this outfit from because ooft honey –”

“You gave it to me.”

Stephanie paused, then tugged Tim’s hands round to hold her waist.

“I did what?” she scrunched up her eyes and face cutely, shaking her head like she was trying really hard to remember giving Tim a brown superhero suit without a cape and a yellow bat on the belt buckle. “Is it another missing memory? Because it’s so unfair that you have yours and mine are still wibbly wobbly. I’m actually a little peeved about it to be honest.”

“This costume. It was… we were…”

Like she was speaking to a toddler, she squeezed tight and said, “Start at the start. What happened after you got to Metropolis?”

Tim told her.

It was an oddly long story, and yet simultaneously brief. It was chaotic and frantic, and yet the affection with which Tim relayed the adventure with his friends made her chest warm. When he reached the misdirection of Earth Three, Stephanie’s patient and attentive expression turned a little distraught. She didn’t mind having the title of Batwoman, she didn’t mind being a good guy in a world of not good guys, but there was just the fact that…

“But you said everyone on Earth Three was evil? A flip of this earth’s morality.”

“I thought so. But you weren’t. You were good there too.”

This only served to further confuse Stephanie.

“But… but…but!” she gulped in a large pocket of air. “But that would mean this me is evil! Right? Am I evil? All this time we’ve been worrying about crazy bat you –”

“Ouch.”

“—But what if it’s me? You could have stayed and helped her right? But you didn’t. And she gave you that costume as what? A present? Something to remember her by? Oh, that’s romantic and sad. But what if this means that I’m the ticking time bomb? You could have stayed and made a huge difference, right? You could have… turned that whole place upside down and made it better for everyone. From the sounds of it, I’m sure not evil me would have been down to clown... Which, great. Now I’m gonna spend my days thinking that me getting the wrong Starbucks order is going to be my start of darkness or something equally stupid. Your friends will think I’m a lunatic...”

Her eyes darted backwards, looking at the team, chatting and oblivious. Superboy was sitting off to the side, quietly watching as everyone wrapped up their work, Wondergirl and Arrowette were catching up, whilst Impulse spoke to Jinny and Naomi. Stephanie felt abruptly ashamed and as a result shifted, almost trying to hide herself behind Tim.

With a firmness and certainty that reflected Stephanie when she had rebuked his earlier guilt, Tim pressed her cheeks together to make her face scrunch up in a pout

“You… are not evil. You never will be if I have any say in the matter. Think you’re about the least capable of it in Gotham, if not in the world. You pulled me back last month from the brink of being a monster. I’d say I’d do the same for you, but I’ll never have to. You’re not stained by the dark.”

She blinked owlishly. Tim was not often that grand and romantic (though he could be histrionic), so it made her blush to be spoken of so highly. Still, her nagging concern, an uncomfortable tightness in the pit of her belly, remained.

“You could have stayed there,” she insisted. She was holding onto the fact that Tim had returned wearing a costume and a name which had been gifted to him on another earth. A name from his alternate self and a costume from an alternate her. There was something to be dissected there right? What would a psychologist make of that tangle of identity and interpersonal relationships?

He had returned from an earth where motives were selfish, and heroes were rare. He had returned wearing a name that was simultaneously his and yet not, wearing a costume that was not hers to grant. Tim wanted more than anything to make a difference. That world was ripe for his ambition.

Tim did not even seem concerned at such a concept. For once, it seemed he had not even given the matter much thought.

“Sure. Maybe I could have stayed. She would have been happy if I had. That Stephanie didn’t have anyone to help her. She…I think she was very lonely.”

Steph sighed shakily, and Tim held her closer. He knocked his forehead against hers, and her grip went up to cradle his face. They kissed, and Tim heard and felt Stephanie’s right foot pop up.

Finally granted the kiss she had been craving for hours, Tim swallowed the sound of her whimper. Not even remotely ashamed of who could be watching, Stephanie deepened the kiss and moved closer, curving her body against Tim as she tugged at his neck, encouraging him to make it harder.

It had been too long, and Stephanie was sure she was developing a complex regarding Tim, like if she took her eyes off him for three seconds he would – for the third time in a year – be zipped off to another dimension. It was almost funny how much the two of them could apparently not stay joint at the hip as they desired, and Stephanie suspected she may have started developing some bizarre attachment disorder as a result.

Although, it was worth it for moments when they kissed like this. When Tim allowed himself to feel like a seventeen-year-old. Kissing felt good. Kissing Stephanie felt great. She always tasted of cinnamon gum and liked to hold his cheek and tug his hair and she made cute squeaks when he –

No, he couldn’t get too carried away.

Tim ended the kiss with a most content sigh, like his worries had been laid to rest forever (which was false and a lie, but he indulged in it for now), and kept his eyes shut.

“I came back,” he whispered, keeping his forehead on hers and missing how Stephanie looked a little cross eyed from the kiss. “Because I had to get home to you. I promised, even if I couldn’t keep to two days. I had to come home.”

“To me,” Stephanie breathed. Looking at him reverently, she cradled his chin and kissed him again.

“To you,” Tim confirmed. “I missed you, Steph.”

She tugged him closer, making him rest his forehead against her shoulder as she buried a hand in his hair.

“Missed you too, boy wonder.”

They embraced for a moment too long, then Tim pulled back a little to speak into her ear.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone. Properly. I’m sure Bart did a rush job of it. They already know you, which isn’t fair. You should get to know them again.”

He very distinctly felt her tremble. Fighting monsters, fine. Facing her dad down, fine. Meeting her boyfriend’s friends? Terrifying.

Tim hopped down off the truck, but held out his arms, fully intent on catching her. Stephanie looked around once more. It seemed Wondergirl and Naomi were wandering over to the truck, so she swallowed her fear. She leapt off the car, straight into Tim’s arms. He caught her easily and spun her around twice, making her laugh sharply, until using the momentum he flung her up and off. She landed on her feet with a delighted shriek, and it was with that smile on her face that Cassie reached them.

To Stephanie’s surprise and delight, she was enveloped in a warm hug.

“It’s so nice to see you again. Both of you,” Cassie said. Chin resting on Stephanie’s caped shoulder, Cassie saw Tim’s look of relief and gratitude. “You guys will stick around a bit?” she insisted, raising her eyebrows in a gentle chide.

Stephanie choked on her reply, not sure how to react. Behind her, Tim grimaced. Why was she so reluctant around his friends? Was it because she didn’t want to know them, or because she didn’t feel she had the right too?

“I… I want to,” she said, Tim watching her struggle. “But-but my dad…”

Stephanie looked over her shoulder at Tim for guidance, and Cassie broke out the hug. Seeing Stephanie’s hand reach back, Tim took it tightly. He could see in her face no disdain or dislike, just insecurity and the realisation that she didn’t know how best to say her father was a pressing issue without seeming like a haughty holier than thou girlfriend.

Paradoxically, Tim relaxed. That angle was much easier to deal with. It simply was that Stephanie was nervous, and unsure of what her place was in the team. They had their memories of each other back. She held no such memories. She felt locked out, and undeserving.

How to make her understand…

“We have one loose end to tie up at our end,” Tim explained. Playing with Steph’s fingers, he had a sudden thought as a solution. “After though, how about the fact that we’re gonna need to see if the place in Rhode Island is still standing? The team should be able to use it again.”

“Huh?”

Cassie chuckled at Steph's confusion, and smiled broadly at the thought of returning to Mount Justice.

“You’ll love it Spoiler. Better than living out the back of a truck, believe me.”

Stephanie seemed bemused, like she had just suspected Cassie of mocking her but also not hearing any genuine insult in the dig at her current living circumstances.

Cassie wasn’t mocking her. She didn’t have a passive aggressive bone in her body and was not capable of being underhand. She was only trying to gently tease, as a friend would do.

Not that Stephanie knew that, but still, Tim’s heart stuttered for her.

Tim kissed Stephanie’s cheek and explained, “It was Young Justice’s home away from home. There’s a whole headquarters up there. An old Justice League site.”

“We appropriated it,” Cassie said. Her eyes were patient and encouraging. Stephanie, meanwhile, still did not understand.

“That’s cool,” she said politely. Tim sighed good naturedly, exasperated at her obtuseness.

“Stephie,” Tim moaned as she burned red from the pet name in front of his friends. He jerked his head at Conner, begging his direct nature to intercede.

“Whu—”

Endlessly patient, Tim stated, “It’s gonna be your home away from home too. If you want it to be. It can be all of ours again.”

She could not reply, as she was then embraced in a bear hug courtesy of Superboy. Cassie smirked, then called for the others to come gather. Tim held onto Stephanie’s fingers, and watched carefully what Conner did and spoke. Tim had seen that melancholy look from earlier as Conner had watched the team.

Tim knew Conner was feeling a little out of place, but he was grateful that he had put it aside to help Tim and welcome Stephanie. Hidden to Stephanie, he mouthed a thank you in Conner’s direction, who responded by wiggling his head in smug satisfaction.

Stephanie remained oblivious, her only thought as she endured the hug was at the blatant display of strength and control that the clone displayed. She grunted when he squeezed the bear hug tighter but found herself smiling all the same. There was only genuine joy and laughter in Conner’s voice as he teased.

“Hey, we finally got the lovebirds in the same room again, huh? It’s been a while, Spoiler, even if Tim says you don’t remember.”

When he set her down, she returned to Tim, holding his hand still. She didn’t understand why Superboy saying such a thing made the pit of nerves in her gut settle, but the warmth that bloomed in her chest made her smile until her cheeks hurt.

“I’m sorry I don’t. Remember, that is.”

Conner shrugged, “Hey, we’re still young. Gotta lifetime to fix that. Or make new memories. Or both.”

Tim’s hand snuck round her waist, and he pressed his cheek to her temple.

“We’ll deal with your dad. Then we’ll go home?”

“Home?” Stephanie asked.

“Second home,” he quantified.

Looking at the friendly faces surrounding the pair of them, Stephanie smiled awkwardly and nodded.

A home away from home sounded…nice.

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 26 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 26 here, or start from the beginning here

as always, commentary below the cut

Yoojin🐉😊

watch this space....

In preparation for it, Han Hyunjae temporarily requisitions Yoojin’s laptop and combs through the internet looking for photos of the Hunters that he thinks his family should know about in advance. He goes down one too many internet rabbit-holes, takes way too many screenshots, transcribes a summary of the notes in his future diary, then painstakingly puts everything together into a neat little presentation for them.

picture HHJ reading his fifth article wondering where the sung family heir has disappeared to and being like 👁️👁️👁️👁️

had a little giggle to myself about “future diary” that phrasing was definitely on purpose. will exclusively be referring to it as this now

“Right,” he starts, clapping his hands together, after Yerim’s been sent off to play with Hohyoung.

LHH is so much of a background figure.... i want to see more of himself but he likes his privacy.... he’s got his girlfriend and his baby sister and yoojin who’s wormed his way into his good graces by way of Living In Same House but that’s kinda it....... he’s always lurking in the background instead of showing up on screen. come here hohyoung oppa i just wanna talk

Even if Yoojin’s right, Han Hyunjae still has to protest. [...] But he can’t keep it up when Jiyeon looks at him like that.

KJY has the world’s best Stern Mom Voice and Disappointed Mom Glare and to her great delight they work even on fellow adult HHJ. she will use this power For Evil

The other S-ranks are Moon Hyuna, leader of Breaker Guild, and Bak Mingyu of Hanshin Guild.

OK FOR THIS PART I STRAIGHT FORGOT ABOUT HANSHIN GUILD AND I WAS COUNTING UP ON MY FINGERS LIKE WAIT... IF YERIM WAS THE EIGHTH KOREAN S-RANK WHO WERE THE SEVEN BEFORE HER.... (for those curious they were 1. sung hyunjae, 2. han yoohyun, 3. moon hyuna, 4. song taewon, 5. bak mingyu of hanshin, 6. choi sukwon of MKC, and 7. yoon kyeongsoo of soodam. but. i forgot about the last three altogether.)

“Oh, blond guy,” Yoojin says, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news and stuff.”

Top 10 Funny Yoojin Moments (I JUST THINK IT’D BE REALLY FUNNY IF HAN “HAVE I MENTIONED IN THE LAST 5 MINUTES HOW HANDSOME SUNG HYUNJAE IS” YOOJIN DID NOT GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT HIM IN THIS TIMELINE....)

Han Hyunjae takes a moment to double-check that he really doesn’t have Noise Resistance (L), and looks back in time to see Yoojin rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the screen. 

HEHEHE...... A SECRET TOOL THAT WILL HELP US LATER

“Hyunjae-yah,” Jiyeon says, looking at the photo of Sung Hyunjae on screen, “this man looks—” “LIKE A PIECE OF WHITE BREAD,” Yoojin bellows. [...] “HYUNG THINKS HE LOOKS GOOD? [...] Oh, god, he kinda does, [...] but like, in a trashy romance novel cover way.” [... Jiyeon] gives the computer screen an assessing once-over. “He looks like the models in cologne advertisements.”

this part of the chapter was planned waaaay back in august 2020 and i actually crowdfunded these descriptions from the s-class server dshblksjdfkblsdfb. the original suggestions (thanks to server members for these):

“bland whitie potato with a slap-on seme personality”

“tacky valentine’s day/mom’s cologne advertisement”

“the face of the dude on the cover of all my mom’s trashy romance novels”

and tbh HYJ does think he genuinely looks good but like, disgustingly good, you know... also Hyung Likes Him so [19 gun emojis]

also me handwaving moment of mild homophobia because like. jiyeon doesn’t know yet AND homophobia is a thing in this world BUT i don’t really wanna do, All That (we already did it with HYJ once), so.

“Do S-ranks get rich?” Yerim asks as she enters, because apparently everyone’s coming for his life today. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes and lies down on the bed while Yoohyun calls out an affirmation over his head. “Then I think— oh! He looks nice!” He cracks open an eye just in time to see her nod. “I think ahjussi should marry him for the eye candy and the money.” She beams very wide. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes again and tunes out the loud conversation going on around him. And wishes, not for the first time, that he’d picked literally any other name when he first got here.

yerim says gay rights cuz she’s like 12 rn and she straight up does not really care. but says it in, like, the most frustrating way possible.

sometimes you just need to lie down even as the world keeps throwing shit at you. just lie down and nap for a little bit. especially when the shit in question is the alias regret you had literally back in chapter one of your 25+ chapter story. this is gonna come back to bite you in the ass Very Fucking Soon babe!!!!

You Oh this is like the 17th one I got wrong I swear this course is trying to kill me

me, flicking on that EPSON brand projector,

(i have. been having a Time of it.)

[Yoojin🐉😊 called you (21:35)]

that’s minutes and seconds babey... you can pretty much guess the content of call from context :(

well, uh. most of call. some internal plot and Realizations happening right at the end of those 21 minutes, 35 seconds. namely:

Yoojin🐉❤️

:-)

or i dunno you can be my roommate and we can both leech off my rich and prosperous baby brother!

[extremely sad voice] heehoo... they... care each other....

YMW’s parents are kinda shit ngl. they care about him, but unfortunately, that does not show through in their care for him, ykwim? if they just paid attention to what he was actually talented at and encouraged him in his efforts.................

well, he wouldn’t have met HYJ in canon. but he would also have been a lot happier!! and YMW deserves to be happy!!!!!!!! YMW fucking rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You When you came with me to drop off Jihui’s standee. 

they finally remembered her name sjfbklsjdfbl

Yoojin🐉❤️ OH right i was talking to one of my new commissioners about their piece realized they were an old friend of hyung’s

HEEHOO.... HONKS MY LITTLE CLOWN NOSE yoojin forgot to ask about pronouns but that’s okay they’re figuring that stuff out still

Yoojin🐉❤️ it’s getting late the kids are going to bed i have to turn off the lights 

you can take the caregiver out the role of caregiving but he will still think of his baby siblings as his kids

Part of that is changing his behaviour. Hyunjae and Yoojin sit side by side and watch as Suk Simyeong gently coaches Yoohyun on how to interact with others and present a neutral, if not friendly, exterior.

[same voice as ingredience] neurodivergence.....

try and look them in the eye, or at least look somewhere on or near their face, if eye contact is too much

yoohyun, who’s the type to look people in the eye without blinking until they inevitably look away because then they don’t try that eye contact shit again later:

tbh i kinda made up shit for the Training In Formality section i don’t know shit about being Formal and Polite. hope i got it right :pensive:

“He’s not good with touch,” Hyunjae cuts in. [...] “Sorry,” [Yoojin] says apologetically to Suk Simyeong, crossing the room and gently pressing a hand against Yoohyun’s back. The kid slowly stops rocking and leans into the touch as he talks.

he’s not good with touch, Usually..... there are exceptions :-) every time i think about this being canon i go insane. wow. love and trust and faith.

Suk Simyeong nods understandingly, giving the closed door a considering look. “If that’s the case, perhaps he can take over part of the preparations,” he offers.

SSM who’s frothing at the mouth wanting to know more about this dude who apparently did some killer business deal with the head of Dungeon Task Force who all the dungeon people are gossiping about on their phone calls while they cart around unassuming A-rank businessmen: PLEEAAASEE fucking involve him PLEEEEASE make him involve himself in business with me

Still, Yoojin’s work is fairly repetitive and boring, so Hyunjae and the women pull out a pack of UNO cards from somewhere and start playing while he works, not paying much attention to either of the boys.

plugging my Han/Bak family playing UNO art here, please reblog like and subscribe,

He stares down at Yoohyun’s hair. Yoohyun’s wavy hair sits there judgmentally. Yoojin bemoans his budding career as a stylist and admits, “This… isn’t working.”

i’m sorry sweetie... hair isn’t your forte :( you can still do fashion if you try really hard

(fun fact about this whole scene, yoohyun not being able to straighten his hair until he could control flame resistance is Certified Canon!)

“No, shit, don’t get up.” Yoojin flaps his free hand at him distractedly. Hyunjae and his need to do everything himself, jeez. “I mean, like. The iron is not. Straightening.”

“hyunjae and his need to do everything” says the man who a few paragraphs ago wanted to be hair makeup clothing and management all in one

“Okay, but why is it not working, though? Is the iron not turned on?” Wow. Wow! Yoojin wonders suddenly if Yoohyun ever felt as homicidal towards him as Yoojin’s currently feeling towards his big brother. If he ever had, then it’s frankly stunning Yoojin’s survived as long as he did. “Do you think I’m stupid,” he snaps. “It’s plugged in.” “Yeah, but did you turn it on.” “You know what, why don’t you touch it and see?” Yoojin unplugs the straightening iron for a minute so that he can take it over to Hyunjae, presenting it to him with a flourish. The heat will hold on for the few seconds this takes. “Come on, touch it right now. I dare you.”

zmur put this into words better than i can, she described this part as “the feeling when elder siblings doubt your intelligence”--

“What if you used a regular iron. Like for clothes,” Hyunjae says, completely ignoring Yoohyun. Yoojin hums thoughtfully.

--and this part as “THEY ARE RIGHT TO DOUBT IT !”

“Killjoy,” Hyunjae mutters so only he and Yoojin can hear.

(should doubt your elder sibling’s intelligence too, once in a while. keep them on their toes.)

“HAN YOOHYUN YOU TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT RIGHT NOW,” Yoojin and Hyunjae and Jiyeon holler in perfect unison.

parental instinct for particular phrasings of commands

“Flame Resistance,” Yoohyun reads out. “S-rank.” It’s not heat resistance, but it’s pretty close, so it probably still applies.

hum hum the flame skill works on heat as well, huh

Yoojin’s watching Hyunjae idly when the flickers start up at the edge of his vision again. He blinks, rubbing his eyes idly, and looks back up in time to see, just for a split second— 

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE VISION PROBLEMS WAS IT? RUBBING HIS EYES WAS IT??

“Eh? It didn’t? I’ll… I’ll try it again, one second.” Nothing, for a second— but no, there is, pale flashes here and there. Yoojin shakes his head and blinks. They die down, then start up again. Fainter, this time. Why? 

gonna say this here because i accidentally set it up as a Thing there’s. there’s no reason. whether the message shows up or not is pretty much random error.

“Ahjussi has an L-rank skill?” Yerim demands. “That’s so cool!” Jiyeon and Yoohyun and Yoojin stare at Hyunjae in silence as he returns Yerim’s eager high-five. He cowers when he notices them.

these three are already so mad and they don’t know that between S and L there’s SS and SSS. they’re gonna be SOOOOO mad. anyway yerim remains the chillest in the room

“So, say you needed to cauterize a wound in an emergency, and you didn’t have access to healing items or Hunters. You could drop the Resistance there, set it on fire, and just… sear it shut.” Yoohyun blinks, an intrigued look coming into his eyes, and looks down at his own forearm. “That’s true, I could probably…” “Yeah, food for thought, I suppose.” “What the hell?!” Yerim yelps. “Though it’s up to you if you want to try it. I still think your hair is fine as is, we don’t have to—” “That’s horrifying,” Yoojin blurts. “No, I should know how. In case something happens like you said. How do I do it?” “Now hold on a second,” Jiyeon says, voice rapidly rising in pitch.

sometimes i think about how dungeon stuff made yoojin significantly more chill with violence and murder and self mutilation in some cases. and how he comments specifically (i think this might be in a slightly later chapter, possibly unreleased) that people like myeongwoo who don’t have those extra years of immersion in the dungeon culture still reject and avoid violence and killing whenever possible. really makes you think

anyway! i saved some extra commentary for those okay with spoilers. continue reading at your own risk. extra large warning in case you’re skilling

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BELOW CONTENT!!!! IT DRAWS ON INFO FROM UNTRANSLATED CHAPTERS, POST-170S AT LEAST!

“How many of these people did you personally know?” “Not many!” “So one, then,” Yoojin concludes. “You don’t know that!”

HE DIDN’T SAY THAT YOOJIN WAS RIGHT, THOUGH..............

“Why did you pick his name out of everyone’s! I thought you weren’t in touch with S-ranks. I thought you picked a friend’s name!”

:)

they wanted some kind of bedroom decoration for a family member, counting sheep or something, i forget 

a sheep, for a family member of one of han hyunjae’s old acquaintances, is it

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 1

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

[justsmilestuffhappens]

So I’m live blogging this show to help keep track of this in case I wanna write fic later don’t judge me! Guess who just learned their phone can run google translate while watching shows in other languages? This Guy! Wish me luck.

1

The smoke monster from lost’s cousin is attacking a highlander?!

Ok so she just magically blasted him into a hole in the ground but you know what you don’t see? A BODY, how do you know he’s dead.

She’s taking smokey eye shadow way too seriously if you ask me. 

Yeah just let that magic amulet drift away guess it won’t rust or rot.

 Ngl if I didn’t know I’d think the kid was kirill but that would mess up the timeline since photographer doesn’t age between these scenes. Wouldn’t that be funny though. Like he found it as a child then gave it away only fit it to be given back.

 You gotta admit the scenery is beautiful though and the theme songs nice but I need the lyrics. 

 Ah. Sorry but even if you had no choice doesn’t a person being in a well mess up the water. If he were in America he’d have a bullet wound possibly by now. Stranger on your lawn punch em. Don’t take amulets from strangers or work acquaintances.

 So he’s like the punching bag of the offence and now their farm house. His nose is bleeding like he’s in an anime but gotta get that blood sacrifice material from somewhere right. Lol 

 Even if you’re his boss that’s a dick move making fun of him and not saying at least my bad yo just saying. Sweetie you deserve So much better than these rude people don’t let then get to you. Now’s your big chance at an article dude give it your all. 

 And out of the frying pan into the well. Wakes up in a well dazed and confused. Sure he sounds crazy but like how else would he be in your well like y'all didn’t see him get in and I’m guessing you lock your property here. 

 And they were roommates! She’s his sister but I’m wondering who’s older in canon because even if they’re real ages are diff canon can say fuck that  

So like if any water is magic conductive I hope they don’t use a toilet. The fbi would wet their pants for this kind of ability. 

 So both them hate their jobs. Mood.

 Sasha fake crying to win their argument. Acting.gif 

 They’re supposed to go traveling on vacation or looking for new jobs in s another place. 

 This poor guys gotta write about chupacabra. Let him write about what we wants for once. see what happens. ReSearch on the blood sucker. Sticky keys. Don’t break you’re laptop. 

 Fanfic writers in a nutshell. No writers ina nutshell. 

 Creepy magic is happening. This Warlock better pay their damn water bill istg. Wasting water in this house not on my watch. So like does the water have to be pure as drinkable or what. Sasha thinks they’ve got plumbing problems. 

 The editor wants him to lie and embellish statements on witnesses for the goat sucker. Kirill wants to use facts and be b real but editor isn’t having it.  

Underground evacuation say what. Editor is making fun of kirill for looking like he stayed up all night writing which he if course did duh. We’ll hire someone else. 

Oh no. His works due by tomorrow and he’s dead inside from getting shot down. Poor guy. Gonna drink away his sorrows. Did this attractive lady just call him an alien.

 Don’t call yourself dumb kirill. 

 Is she actually interested or is she a hooker though? He went in for a kiss. He’s drunk. He’s shy. He’s leaving. He’s sorry. 

 Magic dogs are gonna eat you boy. Zen gardens are magic? 

 Oh no kirill is gonna be eaten by the clown from it now. He was swallowed whole by the sewers. 

 How rude. A light slap would do not pouring water on him. Hellshake his shoulder. At least their nice enough to share lunch. 

 He needs his passport. Sasha I’m in another provenance or country please help . So he’s not within walking distance or a car bus ride 

 He goes day drinking and ends up in another country go figure. They don’t have money for a plane ticket or whatever and he’s got no passport on him. He’s stuck. 

 He’s not wrong about saying they’re beating him up their son’s punch knocked him out and the dad waved a gun at him. He’s gotta get out before they decide to kill him. You in danger boy. 

 He’s paying them to use their phone. He’s gonna go broke. how much did he have left over from drinks at the bar  though. 

 So do they think kirill is a freak that’s attracted to their well yet? 

 Arthur is the gay best friend people want but don’t deserve.

 Is this guys nickname lemon or melon I can’t remember right now. He thinks his brother Max is calling and says he almost lost his virginity?

 I still don’t get why Mac is going crazy. Is it heat exhaustion, did someone offend him, does he just have violent outburst without Control and like they don’t know about medicaion or he hasn’t gotten around to being tested, maybe it’s just bad writing for laughs i guess. 

. Eat some chocolate dude, drink some water your not yourself when you’re angry. Max no chainsaw! Put that down. The knife meme upgraded

 So he's like working at a construction site but he's trained in medicine. Is he the medic or just happens to know stuff and he’s working a job out of his field of profession.

 Kirill is trying to find a switch to make atrap door in the well take him home. Your poor beautiful idiot it's magic man.

 And water tentacles are a thing now. Some hentai? No hentai! 

 Cool culinary arts aunt is getting a call from her nephew max. Max is a bachelor well of course. He's asking her to pay for a tractor he burned down in a rage wtf dude. So is max trained doctor but not practicing? 

 He quit his job.? Aunt wants him to get married? 

 Kirill trapped in the well again. He's just trying to go home. He's diving under to search for a hole he came in though. You tried sweetie.

 So the neighbor is a witch and is in on this. A barrier is up around the house to protect it. Well I hope so. 500 years!?  how old are you two again then ! 

 On to the next episode then.

[im-tops-bottom]

Dear Anonniiee~....

"Clint call the doctor's pronto. Natasha get...."

Everything became a blur for everyone since then. People were on autopilot trying to bring back Tony. He was rushed to the medical suite and almost died on the table a couple of times. There were times everywhere after managing to get Tony back to an alright stable condition.

What felt like an hour or so later everyone was gathered around as the doctor took a look at the notes.

"he is alright and the baby is now in a somewhat stable condition"

Steve was the first to speak up as everyone was stunned into silence trying to process what they just heard.

"I'm sorry what did you say? That can't be right"

"I'm sorry I thought you all knew"

Natasha stepped up looking at the doctor like she was going to interrogate him.

"he has been coming to me for a couple of months now. He said that he had already told everyone but wanted to keep it as a surprise for bu- what's going on?"

"what do you mean what's going on? We should be asking you that. I know you were about to say bucky. What has he got to do with any of this?"

"fine let's share stories. When Tony and Bucky first met they instantly connected. Next thing you know Bucky helps Tony through his heat. A day later a baby is rapidly growing in his tummy."

"what do you mean rapidly growing?"

"well a mix between Starks extremis and Barnes' super serum this baby Is slightly growing faster than a normal baby. Tony is looking at 3 more months until Tony gives birth rather than 6 months"

Steve feels like his gonna be sick. No one told him anything. If he had known then maybe none of this would have happened.

"Steve are you okay?"

Steve looks worryingly at the doctor before sighing. It's better that everyone heard what happened now then find out in the future.

"over 2 months ago when we had that fight in the airport, that wasn't the only time we fought."

"oh god I remember that. I helped Wanda send cars on top of him. Oh god the stress he went through between us and the acc- wait what do you mean wasn't the only time?"

"zemo showed Tony what really happened to his parents"

"Jesus Steve when we found out I told you to tell him."

"I couldn't do it Nat. I wanted to keep him happy and protected."

"just because you were in love with the man doesn't mean you should lie or keep secrets"

"woah woah woah in love? Parents? What the hell is going on?"

"Tony found out that Bucky killed his parents and that I kept him from him. He didn't take it to well and sent me flying to the ground. Next thing you it's a 2 v 1 all guns blazing. Wait! Doc he took so many punches to the stomach and a shield to tje chest. Not to mention flying in that suit! The baby couldn't have survived that"

"we thought so too. If anyone payed close attention to Tony's stomach then you would have seen a glow on his stomach. The baby healed itself using extremis"

"oh cool kinda like the doc in Doctor who with all that nano energy mumbo jumbo what was is called again?"

"doctor what now?"

"oh my god once Tony has healed and we all have a civilly stern talk with one Anthony stark about how we are going to bundle him up and lock him awa- hold up now. Woah woah woah back the frick frack paddy wack up TONY'S AN OMEGA!?!"

Everyone facepalmed at the sudden realization too busy worrying about Tony and the baby that it suddenly crossed their mimds thanks to the class clown Clint.

"yeah I thought you all knew. I mean Bucky did"

"ahhh soul mates. Never question a bond when it's a soulmates bond. They know everything about each other after meeting for just a split second. I love watching shows and movies based around those types of plots."

"okay so tony is actually an omega and not a beta. The only omega on a team filled with just alphas. I'm guessing he had suppressants. Has a secret thing with Bucky. Has his own secret thing which has cost him his life. Almost lo-"

"Jesus what is with us cutting off our sentences when we realize something. What's the matter?"

"from what pepper has been telling me, Tony has been under alot of stress lately. He hasn't been eating and sleeping well. I'm guessing it was taking a toll on the baby?"

"yes that is correct"

"great then I as the greatest man to ever live the oh so great cl- ow!"

"just get on with it"

"Clint Barton! Has decided we bring back the helper of this mess. I'm sure he can leave or bring his pet goat I don't mind but the thing hates me as an FYI. Ok ok put your hands down I don't need a group slapping session thanks. Anyway, we sit Tony down and we have a group meeting followed by a family bonding time. Let's clear the air, especially between Tony and Bucky because there is going to be alot of tension."

"what do you mean oh wise clint Barton?"

"it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Dude they must have bonded their first night together completely. Like bite and everything. It must have been hard for Tony with all his omega and baby hormones and then the stress of us and the accords to finding out information he should have known in the first place"

"not to mention the asshole who caused all of this not only fought him and almost killed him but also broke the bond and left him in this mess a couple of months later without so much as a call or letter"

"Bucky when did you get here? How much did you hear?"

"heard all of it Stevie. Got here the moment something happened. Friday called Shuri when I was down in the gym. Stephen was there to help out with a project she was working on so he portaled me right here. How's he doing doc?"

"he's in a stable condition now. How about everyone get settled down, have a bite to eat...."

"how about goat curry? Ow! Would you guys stop it"

"no I think not"

After everyone settles down they leave the medical suite and go watch a movie to calm themselves down.

It's not until the next day when everyone woke up to a shocked voice.

"what are all of you doing in my room?"

Everyone rushes up and hugs Tony giving him a good old group hug.

"okay have I gone through a time machine? Or did I get sent to a different reality? Friday?"

"I'm here boss. No you are still in the same timeline. This is what people call a group hug"

"better watch that sass before I remove it in your next upgrade and replace it with a water pistol"

"that will so much better because I can't sass fire off of you when you experiment"

"my own baby is talking back to me. I am shocked"

"I learned from the best boss"

"damn straight you have now can some one please tell me whats going on he-oomph"

Everyone stares in shock as a teary eyed Clint kisses the life out of Tony and while Tony is in shock Clint bites Tony's bond mark causing the smaller man to Yelp.

"wow I'm the youngest here, completely pregnant and this is how I'm treated"

Tony gets another shock as a growl comes out of Clint's mouth before he is slammed onto the bed. He gets a cry baby sitting on his lap leaving kisses all over his face.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, for going against you, for not listening to you, for demanding to much, for bullying you, for putting huge amounts of stress on you, for beig so angry at you when I was actually angry at the government, for hurting you, for saying nasty shit and for possibly being the worst best friend anyone could ever have. Please please please forgive me. I promise I won't bring harm to you ever again. if you can't trust me now then at least, actually it would be better if you don't trust me now. I just bit your bond mark and kissed you without permission"

"you think you moron?"

"well obviously I wasn't thinking. That's how we became best friends right? Because we don't think? Speaking of thinking"

Clint starts slapping Tony's thighs

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING PUTTING YOU AND YOUR BABY AT RISK YOU STUPID BRATTY PIECE OF SHIT! AS SOON AS WE SAY WHAT WE HAVE TO SAY THEN I AM ORDERING UP LARGE AND FORCE FEEDING YOU FOR THE LAST 3 MONTHS! Who's next!?!"

Natasha ripped a pouting Clint away before she ruffled Tony's hair and kissed his cheek smiling.

"I think Pepper would get angry if I marked you"

"2 fiery red heads filled with love for each other. Can only imagine what a fight between you two would look like"

"even though she is an omega she is a fiery hot headed one. Hmmmm I remember when I thought she was just a beta. Kinda reminds me of someone I know"

"okay I can explain"

"explain later for right now"

Sam comes jumping on Tony and sobs his heart out.

"im so sorry Tony. You know I didn't mean any of it. Neither did vision. It was just a poorly executed mess"

"you do realize I'm not the one you should be saying sorry to for that"

"I know. I apologized to vision and well you know how Rhodey gets"

"hey don't worry Sam. Don't give up. He'll come around. Rhodey has forgiven me and doesn't blame me for it. He at least talked to me. I don't know what's wrong with T'Challa"

"like I said Sam, he'll come around"

"I hope so. Just know that if you really truly forgive me then you would name your baby after me"

"wait how"

"don't worry about it. Any way come on Clint, Nat let's get our of here for this one"

Clint pouts and makes grabby hands for Tony as he gets dragged out by Nat.

Tonys heart stops as he sees one of the people he doesn't want to see. He stands up and his hand goes straight to his chest. Face hardens as he looks directly into the blondes eyes.

"please don't put your walls up. I promise I won't hurt you ever again"

"I don't trust you"

"then I'll take my time to earn your trust back and wait patiently. For now please just hear me out"

"now why would I do that Steve? Did you ever listen to me?"

"ouch okay yeah I deserve that. What I also should have deserved was you actually showing off your strength and kill me in siberia. That's the least I deserve for what I put you through"

"Steve look. What happened back there wasn't just your fault but all of ours. We butted heads instead of talking it out like a family"

"but your parents"

"I am extremely hurt because of that. I wouldn't have been that bad if you had told me in the first place. As you can see I wasn't angry at Bucky. I was angry at Hydra for turning him into their bitch, I was angry because instead of hearing it from someone I care alot about, I hear it from the monitor set up by a damn villain. I was angry because no one listened to me about what I can do if everyone signed. Even team iron Man spoke against me, then again at least they stood by my side"

"okay okay I deserve that too"

"damn right you do. Look I'm not in a place to send or receive forgiveness yet. Hell none of us do but that shouldn't stop any of from working tofuckengether and finding out where on God's green earth is the bloody hulk and Thor because then that airport battle would have been awesome!"

"that's not fair"

"why isn't it fair?"

"because then banner wouldn't want to participate and the hulk would have been on your side while Thor protects his omega from getting hurt thus realizing he will need to be on team iron Man because of the hulk. We would have been outnumbered. Not to mention my ex chose you over me"

"don't regret it"

"but I do"

"why?"

[douxreviews]

Supernatural - ‘Lebanon’ Review

What a lovely episode. It didn't feature a huge battle or the culmination of a major story arc. It wasn't a musical production with a large cast. It was small and personal, and deeply emotional.

Clearly, Sam should have been the one to wish for his heart's desire, because I bet it would have been what they wanted, that Dean be free of Michael. Instead, Dean held the pearl, and what he wanted more than his own life was his father back. Not a surprise, but it says a lot about Dean, doesn't it? That he wanted John Winchester more than he wanted to be free of the probability of eons of suffering? That in Dean's heart, just like when he went to Hell, he still doesn't believe he deserves to be saved?

This heartfelt Winchester reunion would have seemed bogus if John and his boys had just fallen into each others' arms. John, an active hunter fresh from 2003 who got dropped into the darkened bunker with his sawed-off in his hands, had trouble recognizing his own sons as they are in 2019, and who could blame him? It was almost a miracle that he didn't shoot first and ask questions after.

But once the truth set in, it was lovely. I keep using that word about this episode, but it bears repeating.

The best scene was the one where John apologized to Sam for not being a good father. I honestly believe this was Jared Padalecki's best dramatic scene in the entire series. Sam told John that their argument was a lifetime ago, that he had thought for years of John on the floor of that hospital and how they never got to say goodbye. Sam was crying. John was crying. Of course, I was crying, too.

And during all of the bunker scenes, Dean's heart was in his eyes. This was what he had always wanted: the four of them together, his father expressing total love, pride, approval of him. And I loved how Dean was sensitive enough to leave his parents alone. Mary got to embrace her beloved husband one more time, touch him, kiss him, and I hope they did more than that while the boys were out shopping. Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Samantha Smith did a wonderful job expressing John and Mary's love and deep connection, especially when you consider that these two had only one scene together in the pilot episode way back in 2005. No need to mention that both of them look older. It wasn't important. The two actors aren't old enough to be J&J's parents, anyway.

I thought centering the reunion on a family dinner was, I'll say it again, lovely. These four people have never even had a family dinner together. Sam was a baby when Mary died, and Dean was only four.

Like all of the best Supernatural episodes, "Lebanon" started out funny and ended tragically. Of course the boys couldn't have their father back, and I loved that John was the strong one. John was determined that they all simply enjoy being together one last time. John kept smiling at them, a genuine smile. He stayed positive. He gave Sam closure, and he gave Dean approval. He kept holding Mary's hand as if he couldn't bear to let her go. And he took a bit of it back to 2003 as a dream. It will have to be enough.

The rest of the episode was delightful, too. We've seen way too little of Lebanon, even though the Winchesters have been living there for six seasons. I enjoyed every single easter egg and callback, and I'm sure I didn't catch them all: the clown ghost; Max stealing the Impala like the valet in "Baby;" the Winchesters using the name Campbell, which is Mary's last name and an alias that actually means something to them. The movies at the Lebanon Vista Theatre included Hell Hazers and All Saints Day.

The three kids, Eliot, Max and Bea, got to find out who those two strange brothers were, and thought that monster hunters were incredibly cool. (Well, they are until you need them.) I also loved how Marta the post office clerk melted when Dean flirted with her, while she looked at Sam distastefully. How could anyone but a monster find Sam distasteful? I watched this episode with my son Daniel, who was going, "Yeah, let's take home an entire box of actively evil occult objects, because nothing could possibly go wrong with that." And "It's never a good sign when a teddy bear has no eyes and its mouth is sewn shut." I assume "Precious Pawn" was a reference to Lord of the Rings. Loved the dragon's breath. Laugh out loud.

It was even nice to see Kurt Fuller as the nasty Zachariah again, although I hated seeing Castiel so hateful. It's sad to think of how Castiel would have been without his love for the Winchesters – although it would have been much sadder if Misha Collins hadn't been in the 300th episode. I'm glad Sam thought of the sigil so that he didn't have to kill alt-Castiel. Even though it wouldn't have mattered since time was reset and it never happened.

And the alternate timeline versions of Dean and Sam were a hoot. Especially Sam as a self-help guru with glasses. And kale.

Bits:

— This is Supernatural's 300th episode. Wow.

— There was no credit card for Jeffrey Dean Morgan in the opener. He got an end credit as "special guest star." Thoughtful, although I bet every fan of the show was already spoiled that he was going to be in this one.

— The date was the same as the episode air date: February 7, 2019. Skip day.

— I assume Mary didn't tell John that she's been dating Alternate Universe Bobby.

— The boys were at the pawn shop because of the skull of Sarah Good. She was a real person.

— As has been mentioned before, Lebanon, Kansas is the geographic center of the contiguous United States, a clever choice by the writers.

— The Agents of Doux put together an article on our favorite episodes of Supernatural. What do you think? Should "Lebanon" be on the list? It would absolutely be in my top twenty, that's for sure.

— We're getting a mini-hiatus. The next episode airs March 7.

Quotes:

Dean: (re: the dead pawn shop owner) "They always talk too much."

Eliot: "Where did they even come from? Them, or their weird sidekick with the trench coat? And what about that kid with the dumb Bambi look on his face all the time?"

Marta: (to Sam) "So you want me to give you an underage girl's address?"

Dean: "A serial killer clown. I mean, this is like the best/worst thing that's ever happened to you. You know, 'cause you love serial killers but you hate clowns." Sam: (frantically trying to burn the cigar box) "Yeah. I get it, Dean."

John: "So. You saved the world." Dean: "More than once." John: "Then it's all true. God, the Devil, you boys smack in the middle. Now you live in a secret bunker with an angel and Lucifer's kid." Dean and Sam: "Yeah." John: "And you've done this whole time travel thing before?" Dean: "Few times."

John: "I went out taking out Yellow Eyes. I mean, that was the point, right? Get the thing that killed Mom."

John: "Son, I am so sorry." Sam: "I'm sorry, too. But you did your best, Dad. You fought for us and you loved us. That's enough."

Dean: "According to the internet, you run a law firm and love kale." It's sad that even in the alternate timeline, the boys had no families.

Dean: "I googled me as well. Lot of beheadings."

Zachariah: "Earth, where you're always stepping in something. Come on, Constantine." Castiel: "I don't understand that reference." Zachariah: "You wouldn't."

Dean: (to Sam) "I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are." They're not angry young men anymore. They've grown up.

John: "I choose grateful. So to whatever brought us together, we owe you one. Amen."

Supernatural does time travel good. I could probably write about this episode for a few more hours, but I'd better stop here. Four out of four pearls,

Billie Doux has been reviewing Supernatural for so long that Dean and Sam Winchester feel like old friends. Courageous, adventurous, gorgeous old friends.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

I want (need) you to expand (tell me everything) about that post about It and the 2016 Creepy Clown Crisis. (Really, if you have anything else to say about it I want to hear it)

Yes, take my hand and join me in what will probably be an incoherent ramble about something that is most likely not true, my love.

OKAY, SO:

I’m sure we all remember those #iconic Creepy Clowns™, but as a refresher- Creepy Clown sightings are actually something that have been like, an urban legend phenomenon for Y E A R S. Like, a very long time. I used to do a lot of reading on the subject seeing as I was that kid™, but now you just get a million and one results from 2016 and I’ve had too much wine to wanna bother fighting through that. But anyway, this has always been a thing. Just, like, sometimes you’d see a creepy clown in the dead of night, but the clown doesn’t fucking do anything and you move on with your life. I actually saw one in like, 4th or 5th grade? Didn’t die, it wasn’t a huge deal. But anyway, in 2016 things just SPIRALED THE FUCK OUT OF CONTROL. Personally, I maintain what happened was that your average urban legend phenomenon was happening but since social media is so prevalent now a lot of creeps got inspired and the whole thing got blown up because of that…but that’s not the theory we’re focusing on in this post, so whatever. 

Now, as I’m sure you’ll also remember, there were HUNDREDS of conspiracy theories swirling around the whole clown crisis- everything from demonic possession, to a ‘clown purge’, to people thinking Hillary Clinton had hired the clowns to freak out America even more so she could get fear votes. I’m not shitting you, those were all things I heard daily. But another, tamer, theory was: this was all a mass promotional stunt for the IT reboot. 

The IT reboot was highly anticipated and very debated- fans of the work were well aware that they had been trying to get this movie made for years but kept running into issues. When they finally started filming, they shot from June to September in 2016. The clown sightings ran from August to October 2016. This theory made sense- it’s not hard to believe that a studio would pull something like that, thinking it’d be a fun publicity stunt but then not really wanting to take credit once it got out of hand. That’s literally happened before, like the Montauk Monster and that Dear Charlie ghost thing.  Anyway, a lot of people thought this couldn’t possibly be a coincidence- like, I’ve even seen the actors asked about it in interviews (like they’re on the marketing team??), but none of them had much to comment. This will be the theory we focus on…just with a bit of a twist. 

Now, if your reading this and you’ve only seen part one of the 2017 movie and don’t know much about the book or miniseries 1) you’re a valid fan, I love you bitch, and 2) I’m sorry, but spoilers are coming immediately and every time I try to put one of those ‘read more’ cut offs my screen glitches and I loose all my writing bc someone out there is against me. So read at your own risk. 

Okay, as part of the ‘adult’ storyline, they go back into It’s lair in Derry and find out that It has laid eggs and set to work destroying them. There’s a whole fuck lot going on with this plotline, like Eddie and the Turtle™ are dead and Bev’s barely doing shit and Ben’s smashing babies while Bill’s trying to get inside the monster and Richie mourns his bf, it’s all a Mess okay, but the point is: eggs. 

Now, the notion that not all of the spawn were destroyed is actually…not new at all and somewhat debatably relevant in some of King’s other novels, but stick with me here. As far as the Losers know, they killed everything. The scars on their hands go away. It’s all very symbolic and they forget everything, whatever. 

But.

The 2017 reboot wasn’t exactly…that close to the book. Like, they kept enough in there, and they had a bunch of really small things that were Fun Little Call Backs For Book Fans (all the turtle stuff, Bev throwing that rock in slow motion with awesome precision, Pennywise taunting Richie with that decaying doll, stuff like that, you know?). But so it’s not completely out of left field to assume that Chapter Two would be very different as well? It’s not crazy to assume that the movie would end with like, a dramatic ass lingering shot of a few hatching eggs…Or even, say, a subplot that sounds like ‘the eggs hatched around the same time It woke back up out of hibernation and now there’s crazy attacks all over the place instead of Derry, but maybe if we kill the Main Beast that’ll kill them all’ (like a hive mind. you know what I mean.).

It’s not crazy to assume that. My wine glass and Shitty Writer Imagination That Never Lets Me Rest And Makes Me Over Analyze Works Of Fiction have 100% assured me of that. 

So, remember that theory that the clown sightings were just a fun promotional stunt that got out of hand…? What if- it was a promotional stunt, and setting the scene for the sequel (that still got out of hand bc humans are garbage people actually got hurt)

I don’t think anybody getting hurt was ever in the intention, but making headlines because Creepy Clowns are lurking outside schools, in cemeteries, seen trying to lure people into the woods, going out of their way to scare people and be seen as threats even if they don’t actually do anything wrong?? I can absolutely buy that as a promotion stunt…and I can absolutely see, oh, I don’t know, maybe the movie including some recycled Actual News Clips covering the events, taking advantage of all the crazy videos people posted online, stuff like that. Like, in the book and miniseries and 2017 part one, no one outside of Derry knows shit about what’s going on…but you can’t really justify something like that flying under the radar in the age of social media. You can’t. Kids would start turning up dead left and right and you’d sign onto tumblr and see a fucking ‘since the media doesn’t care enough and no one’s talking about this, let me tell you what’s going on in my town’ type post. You’d absolutely hear about it. There’d be twitter campaigns and all types of shit, there’s just no way around it. That Creepy Clown Crisis went viral for a reason. 

But Molly, you say, It didn’t always appear just as a clown! People weren’t harassed by anything other than the clowns in 2016! 

Well, my love, let me point something out to you- It is millions of years old. It’s got shapeshifting and fear manipulation down pat. Could you possibly hold new born babies to that standard? No. Do we know for a fact that It literally prays on children and likes to take the form of Pennywise the Dancing Clown simply because it’s easier? Yes. 

People weren’t that afraid of the clowns when the sightings first started. But then more and more kept popping up, and do you know what we had on our hands? Mass hysteria. Mass hysteria sounds like a perfect way for a bunch of inexperienced little hive mind monsters to get the hang of the hunting with fear thing. 

Not to mention Georgie died in September/October…which means It probably usually wakes up out of hibernation around then…I’m just s a y i n g. And the sightings mysteriously stopped around November…a good timeline for the Loser’s to have killed It and thus stopped the clown crisis…I’m just s a y i n g.

Like, can I definitely prove that the studio was behind that mess as a means to set the stage for the sequel while getting some fun promotion out of it? No, I can’t, and honestly I doubt it’s true, this was just a fun thought that came to me lol. But honestly…it’s so easy to see how well a type of plotline like that would work with the film, so at the very least, if they don’t take advantage of the Clown Crisis…I will severely Judge Them, because like, it’s all right there. It’s writing itself. Damn. 

The end, until, 2019, I guess. 

[melyaliz]

8. See color for the first time when you meet

8. See colour for the first time when you meet, fades away when they die

For the beautiful @dc-comics-imagines who may have a birthday today.

Taylor is hers and I’m sorry if I got timelines wrong… I can change it. I just wanted it to be a surprise.

Ship: Jason x OC 

tagging: @royslittleharper @guns-n-lilies

More Soulmate AU! 

The saying “The world isn’t black and white” was something Taylor took to heart.

Mostly because she could only see in black and white.

She had been told this meant she hadn’t met her soulmate and when she did she would be able to see the bright vibrant colors around her.

However, for Taylor, her life had never been very bright and vibrant. Seeing the world in colors wasn’t what she was worried about. Staying alive was what she was worried about. Because of her powers, Taylor had been hunted. Ever since she could remember she had been running from something or someone.

So the fact that her world was filled with the dull gray tones meant little to her as she ran through the city of Gotham. Screaming men yelling as she held onto the bag of groceries she had stolen. Ok, so this time it may have been her fault they were chasing her but… a girls gotta eat right?

She was new to the city and was getting lost.

Very lost.

Looking around she took a large gulp of air. The voices of the grocery men not far behind. Her next to her a trashcan gave a slight tremble that matched the ragged breaths she was taking. Her eyes flickered to the large metal box and she was worried what might happen if they found her.

“Follow me!” Taylor turned to see a dark-haired boy with bright eyes and a large smile. He held out his hand for her to take. “I know how to lose em”

Taking it Taylor let him pull her through the city. Leaping over fences, and scrambling through doorways. As they darted through the city the world seemed to brighten around her. It was as if the world was bleeding, vibrant, colors dripping on a city if gray.

It wasn’t until he leads her up a fire escape onto the roof of an old apartment building that he stopped. Around her shined the vibrancy of a bustling metropolis, each flickering light, and building giving off its own beautiful shades. Taylor blinked a few times unsure if this was a dream. Was the world really this beautiful? This full of life?

“I guess you’re the one huh.” She turned to the boy who was studying her, a smirk on his face, “Guess we’re soulmates”

She nodded, “It’s so beautiful.” Jason nodded taking a look around at all the glittering lights around.

“I’ve lived in this city my whole life and It’s funny how your whole perspective can change in a day,” he said taking a seat on the edge of the building letting his feet dangle off the side. He held out his hand aging for her. She took it sitting down next to her opening her bag and pulling out the sandwiches she had stolen. Breaking it in half she gave him some.

He took a grateful bite as his free hand finding hers. Gently he laced his fingers into hers as they sat looking out at the city around them.

—-

Taylor let out a war cry as she charged at Diana. Around her many of the other amazons watched on cheering. Today she was going to prove to them all that she had grown into a stronger warrior.

Diana blocked her attack sending a kick of her own. Taylor saw it coming quickly blocking it with her shield before taking a quick step back getting her footing again. Her gaze never left Diana as she circled the amazon princess.

However, something was wrong, the world seemed to be fading. No not fading the color was leaving it. Fading away as if it was melting away. With every ragged breath, it seemed to become less and less vibrant.

“Jason” Taylor whispered as she looked around her heart beating so fast she felt like it was going to burst from her chest. Diana paused for a moment, her guard slowly lowering.

“Terpsichore?”

“No…” As the colors seemed to melt away she could feel his life force leaving. Fading away with each drop of color around her. She fell to her knees begging, praying to every god to make it stop. “Please, No”

Diana walked casually up to her, a hand outstretched, “What is it?”

Taylor gripped the sand, letting each gray fleck fall from her hands like ashes from a dying fire. “NO!” she screamed slamming her fist into the ground The force of her telekinetic powers exploding from her body sending waves of energy out. The wave pushed Diana and the other Amazons backward, ripples of sand swirling around her as she cried out in pain as her world once again became black and white.

She fled after that, unable to face the world around her.Hating the world for taking him so young. Hating the Joker for taking him from her. Hating Batman for putting him at risk

Hating herself for not being there.

She had never had much control over her powers but in those weeks that followed she could barely control herself. Everything seemed to move and rush around her as if she was a walking tornado.

She was going to find him, she was going to tear him limb from limb for what he had done for Jason.

The Joker was going to suffer the way he had made her soulmate suffer.

As she stalked the streets of Gotham hunting her prey like a hungry lion she couldn’t control the rage inside her. How the only happiness in her life had been taken from her. How was all just some twisted joke to that man and that he had taken more day then he even knew?

She had one of his henchmen in an alley away from the bustling rush hour crowd. Normally she liked to do her integrations in the dark of night but she didn’t have the time. She needed her revenge now.

The man struggled for breath as she held him above her. Keep struggling and I will go tighter her thoughts swirled in his mind as his eyes bugged. Just tell me where the clown is.

Then, out of the corner of her eye caught the sight of a small balloon floated by in the breeze. For a moment she ignored it then it hit her.

It was blue.

Taking a breath in shock she took a step back letting the henchman fall to the ground gasping for breath.

Turning she saw it, a faint whisper but it was there. A blue balloon, slowly she walked toward it reaching out. Around her, she saw the world around her. It wasn’t that vibrant colors she remembered, it was faint. It was around her, soft and pulsing, like the hope that was suddenly growing in her heart.