#timeTravel

[sibmakesart]

uh oh

[samreich]

time machine for sale ⏰

[pollyna]

me back on my bullshit of timetravel? yep.

I need 88!Iceman going around the Naval Base as if he owns the whole fucking place and he is still the best of the best even in '22 not because it's that arrogant but because he just discovered his present self is married to one Pete Maverick Mitchell and daaaaamn the man has aged like fine wine. And he can be totally open about it, with not only his best friend but with the whole world. Wow.

It translates in punching Hangman in his face the moment they are out of the Naval Base, and having Slider having to pick him up from the ground to avoid having him hit the Naval aviator once again, Ice having a very short and sarcastic talk with Rooster about stuff that leaves Rooster in tears for the first time in ages and - most importantly in Ice's mind - wining and dining Mav so hard the man actually blushes. Because motherfucking Tom Kazansky can be the most charming human ever and now he has to chace to be that version of himself in every way he wants. And Mav can't help but love him a little more and in every single version of his husband.

[bambooshuohuop]

One of the "Manhwa" versions I see of Zhongli is a butler that gets on your nerves but he does the job right so you can't really complain.

He prob still looks the same, but he also wears the iconic monocle glasses— white gloves, pristine suit, and alluring gaze that the MC can be immune to, but would still find themselves blushing sometimes.

if he were a love interest, prepare for the eerie knowledge he has. he loves MC too much for them to die. TimeTravel Manhwas will make him omniscient. period. Zhongli will do anything to protect his love one. he doesn't want them to be frightened though, so he won't tell-tale his knowledge in the second timeline until MC calms down.

scenario:

politics are a mere fly to him.

the King is secretly a corrupted person? wow, who knew! I wonder who revealed that to the media.. MC felt dread at the fact that someone knows what happened too..

don't worry MC! Butler Zhongli will assure you that it's a mere gossip you shouldn't worry about. here, have some tea to calm you down.

Butler Zhongli will take it upon himself to help MC indirectly in every step of the way. he is as afraid as MC to die the 2nd time around. worse of it all? he didn't save them in the first timeline, and it was his fault..

so he has to make things right this time.

ps. zhongli's manhwa name will prob be the long, basically unreadable, almost unforgettable yet iconic name. it's still too difficult for the general audience to grasp though....

so he's best known as ❛that hot butler on *insert long manhwa title*❜

[beatlesficrecs]

Fic: On our way back home

by kathleenishereagain (no tumblr that i know of

Summary:

Here's the short version from ao3: Summer 2019, 77-year-old Paul wakes up feeling surprisingly good. One tiny problem: he is back in December 1965.

Why I like this fic:

This fic is SUPER popular, I wanted to be the first one to recommend it on here because it is genuinely my favorite beatles fic Ever. Paul somehow time travels back to 1965 and gets to be a beatle all over again. Most importantly, he gets to see John again, and say the things he never got to say :) It ripped my heart out the first time I read it and sewed it all back together again. I laughed, I cried, I aww'd, I got angry, everything! It is a Very long read (over 360k.. in like sixty some chapters) but ALL of it is worth it. The world building, characterization, the smut, all of it is a 10/10 across the board. Every beatles fan that hasn't tackled this monster yet deserves to read it!

@purechocolade

[shadow-bringer-ao3]

How to Save the World by Hatake Kakashi

It all starts when, for the first time since he lost his team, Hatake Kakashi shows up precisely on time for a meeting. The Sandaime Hokage, who has grown used to his current most skilled shinobi being an upwards of three hours late most days, had not actually been prepared for Kakashi to slip through his window at exactly seven, landing without a sound just inside the room before wandering over to his desk.

He looks more tired than usual, Hiruzen notes, not even making an attempt to hide his weariness. It bodes ill, he thinks. Last time Kakashi had looked like this, he had taken so many S-rank missions back to back that Hiruzen had had to put him on guard duty to get him to rest. This doesn’t feel quite the same but he can’t help but think it’s no better.

“Hokage-sama,” Kakashi greets.

“You’re early,” is all Hiruzen can think to say for a moment. Kakashi hums, rolling his shoulders in the approximation of a shrug.

“I had a nightmare,” Kakashi says lightly. Hiruzen blinks, surprised that the man would be so candid— “You see, the moon came down and it told me ‘Kakashi, one day you’ll be the Rokudaime Hokage’ and then it started dancing with Uchiha Madara except Madara had Hashirama-sama’s face on his chest.” Ah. Well, that kind of excuse is certainly more in line with how Kakashi usually acts even if it makes Hiruzen more concerned for how the man’s mind works.

“Is that so.” Hiruzen carefully makes sure his voice is nowhere near questioning. Kakashi nods gamely anyway, his visible eye curling into a smile that gives Hiruzen a bad feeling.

“Mhm but that’s not all the moon told me,” Kakashi says cheerfully.

When it’s clear his shinobi is expecting some sort of response, Hiruzen responds blandly with, “how intriguing.” Kakashi leans forward conspiratorially and, despite himself, Hiruzen copies the movement.

“It also told me…” Kakashi pauses dramatically before saying, “that I must go soul-searching.” Hiruzen blinks at the Hatake before mechanically dropping his blank gaze to the hitai-ate slid across his desk. Hiruzen looks slowly back up at Kakashi. For the first time since the war, Hiruzen can see both of the boy’s eyes.

“Soul-searching,” he echoes. He’s fairly sure Hatake Kakashi, perhaps his best ANBU and the most unlucky shinobi currently in the village, just quit. Something which is actually illegal, despite his leniency towards Tsunade.

“I’m glad you understand!” Kakashi chirps. Chirps. What.

“What.” Kakashi just beams at him and… vanishes in a swirl of air? Hiruzen stares at where the shinobi was and then realizes that, before anything else, he’s going to have to find a new prospective sensei for the new prospective Team 7. He’s also going to have to fill out the paperwork to officially discharge Kakashi from ANBU. He’s also got to decide if he’s going to list Kakashi as a rogue-nin or hand wave his absence like he did Tsunade’s.

“Fuck.” He says emphatically and gets busy trying to figure out who to assign Team 7 to. Ebisu doesn’t have a team but he’s never been the sort Hiruzen really wants in charge of teaching the next generation of shinobi, Genma doesn’t have a team but he’s as liable to throw the brats headlong into the Forest of Death as he is to actually teach them, Tenzo is strong and worked with Kakashi long enough to understand the basics of the sharingan but Hiruzen would be loathe to lose another skilled ANBU…

Kisame is being followed. Or Itachi is but it amounts to the same thing. Itachi’s noticed it as well, his sharingan active and his eyes flicking to take in the forest around them. There are very few people out there that could follow around the two of them without getting caught and none who would have a reason to as opposed to attacking or running.

Maybe they want to join the Akatsuki? Although if they think this is the way to make a good first impression, Kisame is pretty sure they don’t want them. Of course, there’s not really any missing-nin listed in any of Bingo Books that are skilled enough to be considered for the Akatsuki anyway.

Of course, Kisame thinks blandly when their stalker finally wanders into sight, nose buried in a book, Hatake Kakashi is not a missing-nin by any measure and he’s definitely at the skill level of an Akatsuki prospect. Kisame and Itachi do not exchange a glance because they’re more professional than that but the urge is there.

“Oh hello Hoshigaki-san, Itachi-kun,” Hatake greets pleasantly, eyes curling into crescents. And that’s a surprise too— last Kisame knew, the Konoha shinobi wore his hitai-ate over his scarred eye. Although, now that Kisame is looking for it, he can’t actually see any hitai-ate.

“…Hatake-san,” Kisame returns because Hatake was polite. Itachi appears to have gone catatonic. In light of this, Kisame finds himself asking “what are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Hatake says happily, “soul-searching.”

“Soul-searching,” Kisame echoes. The situation is not making any more sense as time goes on.

“Mhm,” Hatake hums, attention back on his book. Kisame finally gives into the urge to glance at his partner but Itachi is placidly watching Hatake and doesn’t seem to notice Kisame’s questioning look.

“…Kakashi-taichou?” Itachi finally inquires after a long pause. The honorific is a little concerning since Itachi hasn’t been a Konoha shinobi for a long time now but Kisame’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt considering how strange this interaction has been.

“Say, Itachi,” Hatake starts, eyes still glued to his book, “what would you do if the moon was evil?” Okay, what the fuck. That’s not a normal question. Itachi’s brow furrows but Kisame genuinely can’t tell if it’s because he’s pondering his answer or because Hatake just asked something insane. Sage, what if Konoha shinobi are just like this? Kisame can’t deal with Itachi asking him his opinion on evil moons or— or lonely suns or whatever.

“I would destroy it,” Itachi says eventually. Kisame wonders if his partner is being serious or if this is some sort of weird code. At this point, he’d almost prefer it if his partner was a traitor and this was all some weird code that would make sense at a later time. Hatake hums again.

“If you say so,” the weird man says cheerily before wandering into the forest with his nose still buried in his book.

“What the fuck.” Itachi, ever in Big Brother Mode, gives him a Look for the swear.

Maybe this whole day has been a fever dream…

Kakashi is in Kamui. Obito has no idea how long Kakashi has been in Kamui but there he is, relaxing against a block, reading Icha Icha. He does not, Obito notices, have a hitai-ate. He also doesn’t have his father’s tanto and Obito honestly can’t remember a time Kakashi was without that tanto when outside Konoha. Maybe he assumed Kamui is safe? He would have no reason to think otherwise— he would have had to get through with Obito’s mangekyo and as far as he knows, Obito is dead.

Although, as far as Obito knew, Kakashi didn’t have access to the mangekyo. That must have changed, clearly, but he doesn’t know when or how and Obito— well, Obito has known everything about Kakashi these past years. Every mission, every failed genin team, every visit to the Memorial Stone. He hasn’t checked up on Kakashi in three days. What could have possible happened in three days to have Kakashi gain access to the mangekyo, learn to warp into kamui, and apparently retire. Or go rogue or something.

“You know,” Kakashi muses apropos nothing, “I always wondered what I would have done if I had a second chance. Save Minato-sensei, save Kushina-nee, save my father?” Kakashi flips a page in his book. “Save you, Obito?” Obito stills, every tiny fidget vanishing as his focus narrows down to Kakashi and the space between them. “I suppose it’s a moot point. I’m now, not then. There’s nothing I can do to change those events in this time, no jutsu I can use, no sacrifice I can make. The past is gone, the dead are dead. And there’s nothing either of us can do about it.” Obito debates leaving Kakashi here, talking to empty space, snuffing out whatever tiny hope his former teammate thinks he found. He debates going down there, playing Tobi or Madara or just some random eye-stealing shinobi. He debates for one moment killing Kakashi. He leaps down to land in front of him but Kakashi doesn’t so much as glance up, even though he’s clearly not reading any more. If he ever was.

“How?” He asks. Kakashi fingers the edge of Icha Icha for a moment before he snaps the book closed and slides it away, finally looking up at Obito.

“Does it matter?” Kakashi asks. Obito stares at him, thinks about his hand through Rin’s chest. He doesn’t kill Kakashi.

“Where’s your hitai-ate?” Kakashi blinks at him, apparently not expecting that question. He smiles or at least the way his eyes curve implies he does.

“I turned it in. I’m soul-searching.” Obito stares flatly, disbelieving.

“And, what, the Hokage just let you go?” Kakashi beams. Really truly beams. And it doesn’t look fake. Played up, yes, teasing, absolutely, but there’s no sardonic edge to it, no sense that it’s empty. Three days. Three days and Kakashi might as well be a different man.

“Oh, he didn’t really have much of a choice. He can’t follow me into Kamui, after all.” Kakashi sends an appreciative look around like Kamui, blocky and unending and just generally creepy, is a place to like.

“Why are you here? Why are you doing all this?” Obito asks, a note of frustration curling out from his careful control, infecting his voice and demeanor. Kakashi had always been able to drag his less savory emotions to the forefront. Irritation, annoyance, anger. Hate.

“Because you’re stuck in the past,” Kakashi says simply. “You’re looking back. For once, I’m looking forward.” Obito closes the gap between them in a moment, wrenching Kakashi up by the front of his flack jacket and slamming him back into the wall behind him.

“I am creating a future that not even you can ruin,” Obito snarls. “I’m dragging these violent, unforgivable nations to peace kicking and screaming.” Kakashi reaches out and Obito expect to feel a hand at his throat or cheek but no— Kakashi’s fingertips just hit his mask, curling lightly along it’s edge. He had forgotten he was wearing it.

“It won’t bring her back,” Kakashi says softly. “It won’t bring any of them back. An illusion is just an illusion and it will never be the same.” There’s a half-second of warning, Kakashi’s chakra spiking as the air warps, and then he’s gone, no hint of him having ever been there at all beyond the fast-fading smell of dog.

Orochimaru is in his lab when the Hatake brat steps in. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say ANBU Inu steps in. There’s no sign of Hatake’s perpetual slouch or his wandering attention, just the smooth movements and sharp focus of ANBU. Orochimaru sets down the vial he had only just picked up and keeps one careful eye on Hatake. Hatake has always been skilled, a dangerous opponent even to the Sannin, but he had always been weaker. Now, Orochimaru isn’t so sure. His chakra is smothered to just the barest hint of ozone but there is a difference in the way he holds himself, a confidence in his movements, that puts Orochimaru on edge.

The sharingan, he realizes suddenly. It no longer stands out as distinctly other. Hatake has somehow managed to integrate it into his chakra system. It probably doesn’t take nearly as much chakra as it used to, though Hatake is still keeping his eye closed. There’s no hitai-ate covering it. How… curious.

“Was there something you wanted?” Orochimaru asks. Hatake stops his circling between Orochimaru and the door. He looks far more wolf-like than he usually allows himself to.

“I’m giving you warning,” Kakashi says, “because you were once friends with people close to me.” Sakumo, Orochimaru thinks, though he hadn’t know the younger Hatake was aware his father once ran with the Sannin. “Leave Uchiha Sasuke alone,” Kakashi continues, just the hint of a growl in his voice, “or I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth.”

“Oh?” Orochimaru says dangerously, shifting forward in a clear threat. Hatake doesn’t blink, doesn’t shrink back, doesn’t tremble. There’s no fear scent in the air. “And what, pray tell, would you know about that?” Hatake regards him coldly.

“I’ll only say it once more. Leave Uchiha Sasuke out of your plans. If you want a sharingan so bad, take it up with Danzo.” Hatake is gone in the next moment, vanished into the air with no hint of a shunshin or other jutsu. Just the barest hint of red.

(Zetsu dies screaming.)

The door that blocks the entrance to the Akatsuki hideout scrapes open. This would be less noticeable if everyone in the Akatsuki wasn’t already gathered in the meeting room. Everyone stops and turns almost as one, waiting to see what idiot decided to waltz into their lair. (Konan and Pein don’t appreciate it when Deidara calls it a lair but he calls it like he sees it, un.)

When the idiot is revealed to be Hatake Kakashi, of all people, the air turns just a hair more panicky. The sound of Kisame’s forehead meeting the table is loud in the quiet. Hatake wanders further in, nose buried in a book (is that porn?!), and drops into the seat Zetsu once used without a word. It was shock that stilled everyone’s hand initially but now no one makes a move because if they can avoid a fight with Hatake Kakashi, man of a thousand justsu, why the fuck wouldn’t they? He couldn’t beat them all but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do some serious damage before he died. It is, surprisingly, Itachi that speaks up first.

“Why are you here, Kakashi-taichou?” He asks politely.

“I’m terrorizing your boss into having morals again,” Hatake informs. He flips a page in his book. Itachi placidly stops Kisame from slamming his head against the table again.

“What the fuck?” Deidara puts out there. Because honestly, what the fuck.

“Don’t mind me,” Hatake says cheerfully. He flips a page in his book. Deidara’s not sure he’s actually reading.

“…I have morals,” Pein says after a long moment. Hatake hums and flips another page in his book. He doesn’t respond. After a moment, Konan clears her throat.

“If you don’t leave, we are going to have to kill you, Hatake-san.” Finally, Hatake looks up, book snapping shut in his hold. His one open eye scans over them all and Deidara scowls when it gets to him. Hatake might not be an Uchiha but everyone knows he has one of their eyes. Deidara hates the stupid sharingan.

“Maa, that’s not very nice,” Hatake says lightly. “I’m really only here to visit an old friend.”

“Who the fuck is friends with you?” Hidan snaps. “Fucking Itachi?!” Hatake blinks. It’s slow and lazy like. Deidara wonders if the guy thinks they’re threats at all.

“No,” he says. He does not elaborate. After a moment he opens his book back up. There’s only a second before the air twists and an arm appears to drag Hatake away into thin air. They all stare at the now empty seat. Kisume attempts to brain himself again, once more stopped by Itachi.

“What the fuck?” Deidara says again because it really cannot be said enough. Seriously, Konoha nin are the worst.

“What are you doing?” Obito snarls. He’s got Kakashi jammed up against a cube in Kamui again though considering the stupid genius asshole managed to escape last time he doesn’t figure he’ll be overly successful at keeping him here this time. He should just stab him. Leave him to die. Obito’s going to get a better version of him and Rin in the Infinite Tsukuyomi anyway, what’s the point of leaving him alive if he’s being more trouble than he’s worth?

“Weren’t you listening?” Kakashi asks innocently. “I’m terrorizing you into having morals again. I can’t punch you and make you good or talk you into being better or threaten to take away your right to bones or anything so this is the best I can do.” The worst part about it, Obito thinks, the worst part is that he sounds so genuine while saying such insane shit.

“Kakashi.” Obito stops because he’s not entirely sure how he should respond to something like that. “Kakashi, literally what the fuck.”

“What’s the point of putting the entire world under an illusion, anyway? Sure. everyone would get their perfect little worlds but they would all starve to death,” Kakashi says. Obito stares at him.

“What.”

“If everyone was in an illusion,” Kakashi says patiently, “how would they eat? Or drink, actually? Or have kids? Everyone would just die.”

“That— no, they— this fucking world sucks, anyway, and if everyone dies happy, what does it matter?!” Kakashi frowns at him. He looks disappointed which is entirely unfair. Kakashi should hate him or be angry with him but he just looks— tired. Disappointed. Sad but in a resigned kind of way. It’s not— even now, it’s not the empty exhaustion that’s plagued him since Obito killed Minato-sensei and Kushina-nee (oh god, he killed them, they were family and he killed them).

“It’s not peace if everyone’s dead,” Kakashi said. “And illusions aren’t real. That happiness isn’t real. Even the sharingan can’t trick an entire world to believe an entirely fake lifetime. It won’t work, Obito. If you don’t want to come back to Konoha, that’s fine, I’ll stay with you. If you want to work towards peace, that’s fine. But starting a war where the end result is an entire dead planet is not the way to get it.” Obito stares at Kakashi. Kakashi, who would leave Konoha for him even though Konoha is everything to him. Kakashi, who was always the smartest one on their team. Kakashi, who agrees that things should be better. Kakashi, who he can’t bring himself to kill. Kakashi, who he knows is right.

Obito runs.

Something very strange is happening in the world right now. Jiraiya has feelers out in just about every nation. He’s probably the most knowledgeable spymaster in the world. The things he knows go as follows:

One: Hatake Kakashi, his grand-student, has left Konohagakure in a not dissimilar way to how Tsunade left Konoha. This makes less than zero sense because Kakashi adores Konoha. It’s all the kid has left. Jiraiya lost everything and left. Kakashi lost everything and he sold his soul to Konoha. Kakashi is obsessive to the point of concern and there is no earthly reason Jiraiya can possibly come up with that explains why Kakashi is not still at Konoha.

Two: something happened with the Akatsuki. They’ve been exceedingly quiet lately, barely doing more than the absolute minimun required to keep a terrorist organizaion afloat. Nagato and Konan have redoubled their presence in Amegakure which feels a little like a step in the right direction, if Jiraiya’s being honest. There’s not been a whisper about the Akatsuki’s plans regarding the bijuu.

Three: something happened over at Mountains’ Graveyard. Let him rephrase. Something exploded over at Mountains’ Graveyard. It had to have been a big explosion as well because that’s an area that’s pretty universally avoided.

Four: Kiri has gone abruptly silent. The only thing Jiraiya’s managed to get out of that is that the Mizukage apparently had a complete change in personality.

Other things have happened as well, a cascade effect of change across every nation. Kakashi seems to be at the center of a good quarter of things he comes across. Nothing that makes sense. Most of the rest of it seems tied to the Akatsuki’s missing presence or the missions they are taking or it’s tied to the absolute nothing coming in and out of Kiri.

Something very strange is happening in the world. Jiraiya just hopes it’s a good strange.

Tsunade opens the door to the Hatake brat and a guy in an Akatsuki cloak and an orange mask. Tsunade slams the door shut. Shizune is gone, dealing with their last matters in town before they leave. Tsunade is not drunk. She knows this. She knows intimately every stage of drunkenness and how it affects her. Tsunade is not drunk. She opens the door. Hatake and the Akatsuki guy are still there.

“What the fuck do you want?” She demands.

“How do you feel about healing—” Tsunade slams the door in their faces. When she turns around to go out the window, they’re in the middle of the room. “Rude,” Hatake says, like he didn’t just teleport into her hotel room uninvited. “I know you don’t like blood and all but I’m trying to stop the end of the world, here.” Tsunade stares at them. She thinks for a moment about the effects of repeated head trauma and then about the average injuries a shinobi usually gets in a year. She decides that Kakashi has no brain left and that she does not want any part in this, for a variety of reasons.

“Get out of my room,” she says.

“It’s not technically your room,” Hatake tries.

“Out,” Tsunade interrupts loudly. Hatake sighs and looks like a kicked puppy but does grab his oddly silent companion by the elbow and drag them past her, out the door.

“I told you she wouldn’t help,” the Akatsuki guy says with a surprisingly low voice before Tsunade slams the door shut behind them. She waits until she’s sure they’re gone before opening the door and heading down towards where she knows Shizune will be waiting. She’ll deal with whatever the fuck that was exactly never.

It started with Hatake Kakashi showing up on time. Hiruzen will not budge on that. He’s half convinced he somehow ended up in an alternate universe where everything is just a little weird and that was the first sign. It started with Kakashi. It continued with Jiraiya coming back, looking uneasy and hesitantly hopeful with news that apparently bad things are just. Resolving themselves. It continued with Team 7 (under Gekko Hayate) starting to act just plain weird. It continued with Danzo’s death— apparently of natural causes but everyone has their doubts, of course. It continued with Team 7’s disappearance and Gekko’s miraculous recovery of his lifetime illness. Gekko himself seems entirely uncertain on both of these topics. It continued with Tsunade’s return and subsequent hostile takeover of the hospital, complaining about ‘stupid silver-haired brats’ and ‘creepy fucking undead Uchihas’ and ‘that asshole is blackmailing and bribing me, the little shit’ all the while. Hiruzen decides he will not deal with this any longer. He resigns.

Shikako is pigeonholed into becoming Hokage. He makes sure that it is everyone's problem.

Obito will admit, he was distracted. He didn’t see the attack coming. Then again, who the fuck would expect a tiny red and pink arrow of a genin to come flying out of the woods at speeds even the sharingan can’t keep up with just to put a tiny fist through your chest? No one, that’s who.

Obito still gasps awake, sorer than he has been in years, a backlog of guilt choking him up. He is surrounded. Kakashi is behind and half under him, apparently acting as his not-death-bed, and the pink-haired menace that killed him in the first place is disturbingly close to his face, staring at him intensely. Sasuke is on his left and Naruto on his right and he feels a little like he might die a second (third?) time.

“What the fuck?” Obito half-sobs with feeling.

“It’s better not to question it,” Kakashi recommends sagely.

(“Hey so are we ever going back to Konoha?” Naruto asks a week later after Obito has cried enough tears to last at least seven lifetimes and feels a little more like a human being. The whole group turns to him. Obito doesn’t particularly want to return to Konoha. He’s still sorting through the mess of emotions Madara manipulated him into having in his head but he knows that Konoha definitely isn’t his home any more, if it ever was. It’s hurt him too much and he’s hurt it too much. Sakura, little pink-haired she-devil that she is, shrugs.

“Nah,” she says after a moment. And that, apparently, is the end of that.)

[nemainofthewater]

A portal has opened between you and the far past. You step through and miraculously you can not only understand the language but the portal is stable with no time dilation. You want to earn some money so you can explore the bustling city life: what do you do?

(And how are you avoiding the government for trading regulated goods…)

[nerdeartist]

The Girl Who Overcame Time, Kagome. What a fun, challenging, and very creative process. ☺️ Video process will be uploaded on YouTube. Sorry there’s no audio on any of them! Haven’t figured out how to add them quite yet. 😖 Also, I’ll be away from drawing after this post for Thanksgiving and I should post the next character sometime next week (…or 2?). We’ll see. 😊🤷‍♀️ #digitalart #digitaldrawing #procreate #sketch #madeonipad7thgen #inuyasha #kagome #priestess #anime #cool #timetravel #isekai #magical #modernera #feudaljapan #nerdeartist https://www.instagram.com/p/ClPBvvkszU8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[lambourngb]

Prompt : Past and Future Married Selves From Future Try to Matchmake Present Selves

Timetravel, established IceMav-

****

“What the hell are you doing?”

Mav froze where he was carefully hanging up his bomber jacket on a coat hook and turned to face his husband, clearly recognizing the look on his face. Annoyed but fond, so not truly an Admiral-level of annoyance. “Do I really need to explain it?” He glanced at his jacket on the rung and then toward the desk in the middle of the room with a shiny placard for Lt. Commander Tom Kazansky.

Ice raised his eyebrow, sporting four stars on his shoulders as he took in his past self’s desk. “Seriously? You stole your own jacket and put it in my office?”

“It’s called ‘providing a pretext',” Mav said primly. “I love this jacket. Trust me, I’ll search the whole base, and when I find it in your office, I’ll be relieved and thankful it’s safe.”

“You would be relieved now, but back then?” Ice looked skeptical, walking deeper into his past self’s office. Everything was neat, filed away, no sense of personality, but he knew if he opened up the bottom desk drawer, there would be a framed picture of the Enterprise and their famous handshake. It would take years, and of course finally having Mav as his partner before Ice would have the courage to display it openly.

Then once that happened, he couldn’t help but display it everywhere. Admirals had that type of power.

“Back then, I was definitely looking for a reason to linger in your office,” Mav replied confidently.

“You were still involved with Charlie; you were talking about moving to DC and taking a job at Pax River.”

“Only because I thought I needed to put a whole country between us to keep from getting discharged dishonorably.”

Ice rolled his eyes, not exactly remembering it that way. This time point was painful and sore for him, and when they had both found themselves suddenly back in 1987, he had wanted to hide out in a beach motel until the time-travel spell that hit them both had passed. And it would pass the night after the lunar eclipse; there was enough documentation to guarantee that. Still, in 1987, and since he had been following Mav for almost thirty years at this point, he had followed him again to their old offices at Top Gun reluctantly.

This was a bittersweet point in their history. They had built a friendship in Miramar, but Ice knew he had done it under false pretenses, believing he could only have a friendship with his hopelessly straight wingman. It took serving in a war together and a bail-out over the Gulf to change that.

Suddenly Mav’s eyes lit up, and Ice’s stomach sank in recognition. “Oh, you still shave with that coconut cream during this time! If we rub that on the collar, so I think you were wearing this, I promise you, I’ll be at your door the very next night-“

Sighing, Ice slipped behind his old desk and opened up the top drawer, knowing unerringly that he had stopped keeping that shaving cream in his locker after getting teased about it at Top Gun. “You mean this?”

“Yes!” Mav grabbed it, dispensing a small dab into his palms to rub together. He inhaled the tropical scent with a sigh and then rubbed the lingering scent into the collar of his past self’s jacket. Something about the scent seemed to ignite a fire in his eyes as he took in the old office and flickered to the beat-up couch against the office wall. “Say, Ice-“

“No.”

“Oh come on, we never had a chance to defile this couch, and trust me, I wanted to do it back then-“

That was true enough; teaching at Top Gun provided the foundation for their friendship, and by the time it had turned sexual, they had faced different deployments and long distances. Miramar was in the hands of the Marines now. It was tempting.

1987 Ice wouldn’t have said no to Mav, even though he knew the other man was in a relationship. 2022 Ice, married to the menace, was not any stronger. “Fine- but don’t, and I mean this, don’t come on the cushions, my past self still has to work in here.”

[fanterfane]

Skibbidy! (Sketch)

Bro you've been watching too many late night cartoons, don't you know Robot Chicken is the only good one? That or maybe Xavier Renegade Angel... ... The fuck is a Rick and Morty? That sounds dumb as hell dude, almost as much as that "minecraft" game you mentioned earlier. Snap out of it dude, we gotta take back this killstreak- If you're really wanting to watch weird stuff we'll go to Blockbuster later, or maybe Movie Gallery cause they've got the ooze tubes at the checkout- ... No, I'm not gonna try to convince my mom to invest my college fund in "google stock", you KNOW I use Netscape- Why are you trying to get me to invest money into things all of a sudden? Are you psychotic!? You ruined my concentration for this game. You know what, keep your crazy ranting to yourself, I'm going to subway for a 5$ footlong. ... Who the fuck is Jared?? Isn't that the guy in the ads? Dude, gross, I'm out of here, smell ya later. ---- If only they knew... A quick sketch I made because I love the idea of anachronistic time travel!

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[sibmakesart]

[dearestcynthiaw]

Goodbye Stranger - House MD x Reader

Chapter one: World Weary

A young, mild woman, of noble decent, comes face to face with an infamous doctor, not just from the other side of the world but seemingly a whole other time. Will he believe her ridiculous, and quite frankly, impossible story? In House's mind, everybody lies, but is that so for this new, mysterious woman.

_________________________________________

This is my first fanfic in a long time, I'm quite new to Tumblr, so hello!

I'm absolutely infatuated with this series at the moment, so I thought I'd do a bit of writing and play with a concept that makes me ponder. This is very very loosely based on a original character that lives rent free in my mind. I've done a chunk of paintings of her so I'll post a few as headers on some of the chapters. The character in this will go nameless, and is intended to be a self-insert for those reading, therefore I've tagged it as a 'x reader'.

I'm not a doctor and I don't work in medicine so lots of this is research and a little help from a friend who is a nurse, so the knowledge in it will be hit or miss.

Anyway, enjoy!

----

It had been a long, hot, blissful summer in the year of 1928. Newly September, the days were starting to get shorter and the trees were turning crisp and orange.

It had been quite a bad week, though bad was quite the understatement. Her uncle was on his deathbed. He’d suffered through a long bout of influenza that was seemingly impossible to recover from. She visited as often as she could, hoping that each visit wouldn't be the last. Her heart was heavy from knowing his death would eventually become inevitable. He had always been a man of great prowess and genuine kindness, which was a rarity in her family, and losing him would shatter her.

Moreover, her fiancé was hurried to hospital after a nasty accident at a rugby match. He hadn't been concentrating when running the length of the pitch, he tripped and was ambushed by the collective. His ankle looked horribly out of shape, one could only imagine how many degrees it had rotated. It looked almost entirely backwards. 

Her Fiancé's hospitalisation and her uncle's sickness had caused the worst sleeping patterns. She'd barely had a few hours each night for the past week. As she laid in bed most nights, especially in the early hours of the morning, thoughts and worries flurried through her head. She lay there hoping to God everything would set itself straight.

The exhaustion had impacted every aspect of her day so far, and she had marched up to the central hospital, from her soon to be in-laws townhouse, she felt overwhelmingly drowsy and unsteady. Of course there was no transport to be seen for miles to cut down the walking distance and give her a couple seconds of peace. All servants were out of the house, and it had become increasingly  difficult to hail a taxi. 

She trudged through the bustling streets, avoiding streams of people surging towards her. She had arrived at roughly 13:11 pip-emma, give or take, hoping that her beloved was already awake and breakfasted, to spare the grumpiness.

Awkwardly she stood, though all else were seated, patiently waiting for the nurse to lead the way to her sweet fiance's room.

She had been called with the added 'Lady' positioned at the very beginning of her name. It had caused a slight shudder to run down her spine as the room of plenty turned to look in her direction, eyebrows quirking in curiosity.

She appeared quite out of place in the very centre of London in a hospital bustling with people who were much different to herself.

Although she never minded her title, she much preferred the simple 'miss'. 'Lady' carried too much sophistication and responsibility, the sort associated with cutting ribbons and giving out writing awards at local schools. It felt far beyond her, she’d always felt sort of, under prepared.

Standing there in her professionally ironed clothing and perfectly soft waved hair, being ogled at, made her feel uncomfortably separate from everyone else.

‘Just this way, You’ll find he’s in quite a pleasant mood today, we’ve been able to better control his pain since you’ve last seen him.’ The nurse turned to face the Lady, with a sweet smile as they walked the extensive, dismal hallways. 

The door was ajar, and from the threshold she could see a well lit room, far different to the rest of the hospital. There were bouquets of flowers scattered about, along with ‘Get Well Soon’ cards that were crammed upon the limited surfaces. There were excessive amounts of sweetmeats and sugary treats upon the bed and sideboard. This man had only been admitted the day before and he already received a hefty amount of goods. It wouldn't be long before he had to pack it all up and head home.

 She had been loudly interrupted from her thoughts with a cheerful ‘What-ho sweetheart!’. The nurse was quite right, he was much more sprightly today. 

‘I say, take a seat, this chair or that, you might even be allowed to perch on my bed a while!’ Snorting, he motioned towards a patch on his bed that wasn’t decorated with an array of sweets. 

‘You look quite at home here. Should I be assured that they’re looking after you well?’ Her eyes were glued to his bubbly expression. It was quite surprising for a man who had been writhing about in pain on a muddy pitch the day prior.

‘Quite, quite, very well indeed. Though, I can’t ever seem to get any service here. They’re always ignoring me. I don’t ask that much of them.’

It was almost certain that he did, it could only presume that he wanted to be pandered to and pampered as though he was on the coast of France in some lavish hotel. 

She could only look at him with a sense of pity, she only saw a man who was in a great deal of pain and was pushing through with a gleaming smile.

She found she was at quite a loss for words, sympathising with him wouldn't do as he'd only push himself to show he wasn't entirely helpless. This always put him in a worse state. ‘Do you know when you might be coming home?’ was all she could think of after the momentary silence.

‘Oh yes, yes, it was supposed to be today, but I’ve asked to be held on until tomorrow. Charlie from the club said he’d drive me home.’ 

‘You don’t want me to take you home? I can do it later today when Dobson gets back, he has the key to the shed where my car is-’ Again she applied a bright smile, hoping she could be of help. ‘You’ll only have to wait till 3. It’s really not that long darling.’ 

‘Gosh no, I don’t like it when you drive, makes me feel like a helpless sod.’

Lightly exhaling and nodding she looked down at her hands in her lap.

And again he spoke; ‘You’ll have to bring me a glass of water dearest, I can’t get the attention of anyone at this bloody hospital. And I'm bloody parched!' He seemed to let out a sort of huff; boyishly crossing his arms.

As she stood and started to walk, he shouted after her ‘Oh! And grab a doctor for me too, there’s something I need him to see.’ 

With a sweet smile and a light nod she turned on her heel, heading back for that ominous, dark hallway.

A short way down she found a small cupboard, one with a tap and a couple glasses and other bits and pieces to accommodate patients and guests.

Just before fetching a glass, she lent over and placed her head on the counter, with her arms cradling her head. She let out a long exhale to release some of the stress of the day. The exhaustion was starting to catch up, she could so easily have a quick nap with her head on the cold surface.

Finally gathering the energy to move, she lifted a glass and ran the tap, making sure she didn’t fill the vessel with lukewarm water.

Someone must have closed the door whilst she took her momentary rest, as when she turned she was confronted by the clinical white passageway that was firmly shut. 

With a heavy push she dislodged the door from its threshold and found herself to be completely disoriented. Nothing looked the same. She thought that maybe she had taken a long route to this small cupboard and had simply forgotten the way she came.

She was completely surrounded by shelves upon shelves of supplies. There was only one other door and it was straight ahead. She turned again, wandering back inside the smaller room with the sink, studying her surroundings to see if there was another entrance that she might have overseen. Yet there was nothing. 

She finally settled on advancing towards the opposite door, walking between the sets of shelves that carried an array of different peculiar items that resembled medical arsenal, none of which she had ever seen used before, but yet again, she didn’t spend much time hanging around hospitals to see what new advances were made in the field. 

Just as she reached for the door handle, it began to pull downwards as a force was applied to the opposite side.

Jumping back in surprise and slight panic, feeling as though she had wandered into the wrong part of the building, she had no time to think out a possible explanation before the door was fully open. 

The man that was stood there gave her a wide eyed look, appearing equally as perplexed as herself.

She quickly took in his figure, he was no doubt tall, taller then most of the men that she knew, and was scruffily dressed, she wondered if he might have taken a wrong turn too.

Taking in a quick breath she squeaked; ‘Are you lost too?’

‘No.’ He had a distinctive accent as he bluntly said the singular word. 

‘I’m in your way, sorry, I’ll just-’ She peered to his side noting the direction she was heading. 

‘How did you get in here?’ His eyebrow quirked.

‘Through that door.’ She pointed behind herself, his eyes quickly following her movement. There was nothing there. No door in sight, as though it had never been there to begin with. 

She looked back at him in surprise ‘I could have sworn-’ 

With that he let out a bark of laughter. She felt ever so small and grew red in the face. 

‘I must be tired, but I swear that's where I came from.’

‘No door there sweetheart, never was.’ 

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, yet no sound came out. ‘I better get back to my fiancé.’ 

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ He attempted to stop her proceeding. 

‘Well, I don’t really have much of an answer, because I certainly don’t remember entering through the door you’re standing in.’ 

‘This door was locked, did someone let you in? What you looking for, is it drugs? Could’ve just asked.’ Now she spotted his walking stick, he was leaning onto it, slightly blocking the way so he could continue interrogating her. 

‘How dare you, I wouldn’t do anything like that.’ 

‘They all say that.’ 

‘Can I just get through? I need to take this to my fiancé.’ She raised the glass in her hand.

‘What ward?’ 

‘Somerset Ward.’ Her answers were getting shorter as she became frazzled by the constant questions. 

‘Haven’t heard of that one before.’ 

‘It’s fine, I’ll find my own way.’ 

‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

‘Look, I really haven’t got a clue. Can I go now please?’ She gave a hapless sigh as she was getting to the end of her tether. 

He stepped aside, yet seemed to follow her as she stepped into an unfamiliar hall. It was bright white, almost blinding. It looked like an entry to the hospital, one that she’d never seen before. There were people scattered everywhere, wearing clothing very different from her own. She turned back to look at her interrogator with a look of shock and slight horror. ‘What is this?’

‘A hospital.’ He started to limp away, towards what looked like a reception desk. ‘You coming?’ She could see him leaning over the desk having a bit of a natter with a person sat there. She slowly got closer observing every detail in front of her. The gadgets and do-dads that adorned each desk and clinical colours that decorated the whole room. She'd never seen anything like this before. She must've ended up on the other side of the building, maybe a more experimentative wing compared to the others. 

She stepped closer to what looked like a reception desk, momentarily placing down her glass of water.

‘Name?’ Came a sudden voice that carried a very similar accent to the male that she had encountered in that odd cupboard. She couldn’t quite see, until a lady poked her head out behind a silver sort of implement about the width of a brief case or small luggage holder. 

There, she gave her full name in the presence of this strange man, middle name and all. A pattering sound began, like one you would hear from a typewriter, but without the obnoxious ‘ping’.

‘Dr House!’ This woman bellowed, only now realising that he’d started to wander away. 

‘Can’t find a name on the system.’ 

‘You’re trying to find my records? I’m not a patient here, I’m only visiting. Besides you won’t find it by typing, it’ll be in paper form, I thought that was the same for everyone?'

‘Sorry dear, Dr House told me you’d found your way off the psychiatric ward, your name isn't even on the database.’ This woman behind the desk looked directly into her eyes, showing vague sympathy.

‘You think I’m mad?!’ She cried at the ’doctor’. 

He continued to move away, towards what looked like a metal cladded elevator ‘Would explain the confusion.’ He shouted over the room of, what she could presume were patients waiting to be seen. 

She quickly jammed her arm into the door of the metal contraption before it fully closed. 

‘I am tired, but I’m certainly not out of my mind. I think you're having a joke with this whole thing. Who set you up to this? It’s really not funny. Can you just tell me what part of the hospital I've ended up in and I’ll be on my way.’

Again an amused smirk graced his face ‘You’re in the clinic.’

‘Well I’d gathered that from the sign above my head, but none of this is recognisable. I’ve been to the clinic before but it didn’t look anything like this.’

‘You sure you got the right hospital?’ He seemed so disinterested in giving any useful information.

‘Well yes, I’m in London-’

‘Well there we go, you’d better find your way back onto the crazy people ward, you’ve forgotten what country you're in. Next it’ll be what year from the look of you.’ He glanced down at her dress, to him it looked outdated. 

‘Can you stop that? Tell me seriously now.’ She appeared panicked, worse than she had been previously. She had hit the verge of begging.

With a sigh he gave up on the teasing ‘Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You happy now?’

‘Princeton, New Jersey?’ Her hands were starting to shake, struggling to keep the elevator door open. She’d only ever seen this place in atlases that she used to flick through in her childhood home’s extensive library.

‘Where else?’

‘No no no no no, this isn't possible.’ She stepped inside quickly before the door slammed shut. Putting her face in her hands and taking shuddering breaths.‘You’re definitely not lying right? This isn’t a joke anymore. It's all very funny, but are you sure this isn’t just an American part of the hospital and you’re just pulling my leg?’ 

The doctor seemed to ignore her and continue to look straight ahead, both hands on his cane.

The door to, what she had now concluded was indeed an elevator, slid open and he stepped out. She hurried after him and as she began to walk beside him he halted, staring directly at the side of her head, fierce enough to burn holes into her skull.

‘You can leave me alone now. I’m not going to help you get a plane ticket or whatever you are pestering me for. Go back to the 1920s or whatever F.Scott Fitzgerald book you think you came out of. If this is some tasteful prostitution then give me a ring later. Goodbye.’ And with that he veered off into a room that was made up of mostly glass panels. 

The door flew shut and finally revealed this man's full name and title ‘GREGORY HOUSE M.D. DEPARTMENT OF DIAGNOSTIC MEDICINE’

Though he seemed to be warning her, she still pushed forth, entering the office space ‘Aren’t doctors supposed to help people?’ She had never been so forthright, if she were back at home she would’ve taken that as a forewarning and scampered off like a scared mouse. 

Dr House was now sitting hunched over at the desk, eyes glued to another one of those abnormal briefcase things that casted a blue tinged light over his face.

‘Are you not listening to me or are you just plain deaf? I said goodbye.’

‘I’m not taking that as the end of the conversation, Dr House.’ Her confidence was building, though it was most likely the adrenaline surging through her veins. She took steps closer to him, peering down at the jumbled items upon his desk. Odds and ends and many stacks of paper were littered about like a white blanket covering the entirety of the desk.

Her eye caught on one document reading today's date in the margain with a completely unrecognisable year. ‘2006’.

Her eyes bulged and her head seemed to be endlessly screaming. There was a fuzzy static sound that ringed in her ears and her breathing became short. Throughout the whizzing of her mind, she remained completely silent and still. 

‘Patient confidentiality, don’t you know.’ He said flipping over the paper she had been gawking at.

‘Two-thousand and six.’ was what she muttered beneath her breath.

‘So you really are that deranged. The whole get up is all part of the act. Are you living out a fantasy or something?’ 

‘It’s 2006? It’s 1928, your document is wrong. I mean this could be a very elaborate joke or is this a film set?’

‘You’ll have to pay me overtime if you keep asking me all these questions. $300 and you’ll get the full package, what d’you say Marty.’

'Are you still insinuating that I am a whore?’ She now began to grit her teeth. ‘And that is not my name-' She was cut off whilst she was reprimanding him.

'I’m the whore here, I’m the one offering my body, Marty. Now, what would that make me? Doc Brown? nah, maybe a generational relative from the future. Really spooky stuff. What have you come to tell me? About my impending death or bad life choices? Because you're a bit late.' Resting his head on his hands he looked up inquisitively. 

'I really don't understand-?' She spoke whilst shaking her head.

''Course you don't ' He pulled his lips thin, eyes widening and shrugging his shoulders. ’You think you're a time traveller and I’m here to tell you to head back down those stairs to where you belong, in the psychiatric ward.’

Her face twisted in disgust as he spoke such cruel, unadulterated words. She could feel the tears in the back of her eyes. No one was going to believe her, she barely even believed it herself.

‘What? Am I supposed to play along? Oops!’ His actions were so animated as he lifted a hand to his mouth.

He picked up what could've been a phone and brought it to his ear chatting with someone on the other end and began typing vigorously.

‘Looks like they'll have to book you in. No records here. Oh, tell you what, let's Google you, see what we can find.’ 

‘Google?’ She rubbed her forehead with worry.

‘What fun, you're still playing along.’ His words carried an underlying bite. ‘Here we go, nice, so you're daddy's an Earl and you live in a big mansion and have lots of money. I'm not surprised that you picked this woman to claim as your identity. It's full of all those fun parts. You've gone the extra mile too, editing a photo of yourself amongst your fictional family, how sweet.’ He turned the screen around and there was a photo of her and her brothers. 

Gasping in shock she spluttered ‘How did you get that?! That’s a private photograph!’ 

‘How did you do it then, Marty? Did you change the whole of this Wiki page to suit you?’ He tutted.

Standing silent in the emptiness of this office was like torture. She bit her tongue to stop the tears and prevent the endless wrath of words she was holding back. ‘How could you be so cruel, Dr House?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you were going to help me.’ Her words were wavering as she spoke softly. 

He raised his shoulders once again lifting his hands up to display mock confusion ‘What is there to help?’.

And with those last few words she turned, flying out of the room.

----

‘World Weary’ - Noël Coward 1928

----

~ It was an early morning yesterday, I was up before the dawn ~

[hlficlibrary]

HL FIC OF THE MONTH

＊ N o v e m b e r ＊

saw some things on the other side 

by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

When Louis moves into the mansion he’s inherited from his great grandfather, he has a plan that consists of three things. One, he’s going to finish writing the next novel in his series. Two, he’s finally going to get over his ex-fiancé. And three, while battling writer’s block and having to resist the urge to kill off the main character in his books – the hot detective based on his ex-fiancé – he’s going to restore the mansion to its former glory. Unfortunately, Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

Mystery au | Mature | 61k

[beatlesficrecs]

“Under The White Magnolia Blooms” by @buttahpie is heart wrenching. literally a classic already.

i think a lot of people take a stab at time travel fics in the mclennon genre but no one has done it like this. it’s so well thought out and has really well developed rules for time travel (i think it’s based off of groundhog day, which i’ve never actually seen but i need to watch now that i’ve read this fic!).

plus it’s hot. like some of my favorite mclennon smut i’ve ever read.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57850384

Link to fic

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was a time traveler, and sometimes I would be a fully blue chicken in the past that belonged to myself and some random prince guy, and then I found an iceberg in the future and when I thawed it out, my prince guy was there, then, like 10 minutes later, I took him to school with me and we got high as fuck with one of my best friends.

[violetlunette]

Horrortober Day 15: Blood “Is that… blood?” 

Tw: Mention of blood

Spoilers for Chapter 7

“Is that blood?” Silver winced at the angry, yet worried, tone from the General as his hand trembled, pressed to his side.

 Silver had just managed to bury an army beneath a literal mountain of snow, like the hero from his favorite story, but was badly wounded in the process. 

 “Shit.” General Lilia didn’t even wait for an answer from Silver, moving forward and peeling Silver’s hand away to look at the injury. “Shit!” he cursed again. He turned to the surrounding soldiers.

“Well don’t just stand there! Get me a healing potion, now!” Baul repeated the General’s orders in a bellow, and the others scurried about. As they did so, Silver’s vision became hazy as he fell forward. The General, the man who would one day become his father, hissed in his ear as he caught him.

“Dammit! You stupid, stupid brat!” Despite his words and the growl to them, his tone was fearful. Had the situation been different, Silver would have been touched.

 After a mistake threw him back in time, Silver found the younger version of his beloved father. Sadly, their relationship—wasn’t always the best. So, seeing this Lilia concerned for him reminded Silver of the father he grew up with. The one he may never see again.

Silver’s head fell against the smaller man’s chest as he fought to keep his eyes open, the rapid heartbeat of the fae hammering in his ears.

Many thoughts went through his mind, but only one came to the forefront of his mind.

‘I’m sorry, father.’ After discovering he had been tossed into the past, Silver swore he’d find a way home. But now…

Darkness filled his vision.