#you guys have waited for too long

[undermine-the-instinct]

AFTER I GET OUT OF CLASSES TODAY I'LL POST THE NEXT PART IN THE BARD!SERIES

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

Homer!Odysseus and Epic!Odysseus would try to kill each other if they ever met

[daily-odile]

AUGH I’d love to see more time looping odile if possible,,,,, how do you think she’d like; “devolve” over each of the acts as compared to Siffrin over time :O

ok im gonna be honest i did like portrait edits months ago and just never finished them. so here you go

act 3:

act 5:

[miyamiwu]

Congratulations, RyuSae nation!

[valewritessss]

This fandom is so nit-picky that I’ve seen more criticism on every little thing about wottg (a book that came out 2 days ago) than people saying things they liked about it

Edit: someone has already gotten mad so I repeat this is a joke and not that deep❤️

[coquelicoq]

if you're wondering what the big deal is about the louis-philippe sentence in les misérables, it is, in the original french, 760 words long. the subject of the sentence doesn't appear until 95% of the way through, at word #711; the main verb is word #712. the sentence contains 91 commas and 49 semicolons and is almost entirely a list of laudatory adjectival phrases describing the erstwhile king of france. this is perhaps especially notable because les mis is, shall we say, not known for being particularly gung-ho about the monarchy.

this sentence copied and pasted into Word takes up more than one page single-spaced. in the 1800-page folio classique edition, it is fully two and a half of those 1800 pages. that means that les mis is 0.14% this single sentence. more of les mis is made up of this sentence than earth's atmosphere is made up of carbon dioxide (0.04%). if the page count of les mis stayed the same but every sentence was the length of this one, les mis would consist of only 720 sentences total.

incidentally, guess who named hugo a peer of france 17 years before the publication of les mis?

[fisheito]

rereading the nuca pink doujin and seeing yakumo tear himself apart re: his snake form vs his human form all this agony and self-doubt and silent suffering and fear of rejection like "if i looked less human would u hate me" , "if u saw me in my true form wouldn't that be horrible. terrifying. disgusting" , "if i admitted i want to swallow you whole would you think worse of me"

and i imagine him asking something like this to the crowd of clan members , who are , undeniably,, a group of Kinky Fuckers

they all smile with the serenity and carefully masked excitement of a horny olivine. masterful beautiful reassuring expressions (errr..... masked to different degrees depending on the clan member)

[spock-adoodledoo]

short translation of a chinese translation of chapter 49 (corresponds to "Beating the Heat" in the LN) in the GX manga because i like how they did this scene and what they added after maomao leaves the room... it feels like it hints a lot more explicitly at jinshi's secret than both the LN and the other manga, which is fun! also basen almost letting it slip before gaoshun slapped a hand over his mouth and again after their whispered conversation is extremely funny to me

[piko-power]

My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

[dipplinduo]

Sweet & Sour Dipplins: Chapter 22 Teasers

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Static

This is a drabble I have been planning for a while and I finally know how I want to write it :3

Are you ready?

First Drabble here (with original prompt by @spotaus ) Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

You see.... there was still something that hadden been addressed :3 Something about how Dust was dealing with the pressure and looks and backstory he has to follow :3

No beta and no edit. (also it is a big boy woops)

Timeline is that Nightmare was deaged like 4 months ago. One month in farmtale

*---------------*

Cross isn't sure how to deal with the tension in the air.

The bickering between Killer and Dust isn't making it any better.

Okay, Cross has got to be honest. It is much as much bickering as it is Killer being annoying and Dust trying to ignore him.

It had started this morning wiht Dust being more anti-social than usual. Easy to note by the fact that he had darkened the inside of his hoody.

Dust hadn't said a single word the whole day even as he went through the motions perfectly.

Cross is enver sure how to help in these moments. The moments which Horror once explained where most likely the times when the maybe ghost maybe hallucination of Dust's brother were extra loud.

Cross isn't even sure what that situation is. He asked everyone but Dust about it and no one really knows for sure if the Papyrus haunting Dust is actually a ghost. Or if it is a hallucination made of his own guilt. From what Cross heard from the others Dust isn't sure either.

The fact remains. They had tried to help in the ways they usually do. Cross tried to stay near in case he wanted something but mostly kept quiet. Cross tried to be a quiet reminder that Dust isn't alone and isn't whereever he was before.

Horror makes Dust's favourites and gently bullies him into eating and taking care of himself.

Killer tries to distract him.

Killer's tactis either goes very well or very wrong. At least Cross has been told that.

Cross has seen the two fight obviously but as soon as one manages to down the other the fight ends. The winner will be smug in their own way, Killer by loudly proclaiming victory while Dust will just have this smug little smile on his face.

The first time they just tackled one another to fight Cross had been worried. But after getting Horror and asking him what to do he had reassured Cross that this was just something the two did. For Dust it helps unload some of his large magic levels and overcharge and for Killer... welll Horror isn't sure about Killer, he assumes Killer just likes fighting or the attention with fighting.

Cross watches as Killer hangs all over Dust and yaps away about something. Cross can see that the fork Dust is holding is slowly but surely starting to curve under the pressure of Dust's phalanges.

Cross can see that Crop is a lot more nervous as he looks between the two worried before looking at Horror. Horror shrugs at the unspoken question.

Cross turns to check on Nightmare and sees him looking at the two with a frown. Cross grins and nudges him "No need to frown. Just them being silly again." he smiles.

Nightmare looks at him before looking back at the two. The frown not leaving "no... it isn't."

Cross is immediantly more worried, and he already was worried! He studies the two and notices that Dust is breathing very shallowly. Cross looks at Horror and signs it quickly to him.

Horror has a look of alarm on his face before slowly, and very carefully, inching closer "Come on Killer. That is enough. Not in the kitchen."

Killer grins cheerfully, completely unaware of the ticking timebomb he is hanging over "oooooh! here comes your knight in shining armour Dusty!"

Dust's fist twitches and Cross can see the fork fold over completely. Oh no.

Killer continues on as he leans on the other "Princess Dusty, getting saved and needing protection-"

And Killer flies over the table right into the stone wall, leaving large cracks on it. Dust follows two seconds after and punches him straight on the face.

Horror gets to Dust and tries to pull him off only to be turned blue and pushed away. Horror manages to fight the force but is still pushed away.

Cross doesn't think as he grabs Nightmare and backs up against the wall on the other side of the room. Even as Nightmare makes an unhappy noise and reaches for Dust. Nope! Not save right now!

Dust stands there panting heavily as mana and magic crack like electricity over him. Fuck. He is overcharged with magic. Fuck they are idiots to not realise that was going to happen soon. Fuck fuck fuck.

Horror somehow still looks calm even with the two different coloured eye lights staring straight at him from under the dark hood. "It is okay... we just ened to go out and-"

Dust huffs "Don't fucking bother." he sounds furious. He glances around the room and looks into Cross's direction for a moment. Dust looks away with a flinch and he is out of the room.

The front door slams shut.

Horror is by Killer as he helps him up. Killer groans as he rubs his skull "okay... maybe i was pushing it... again."

Horror gives him a 'no shit' look before checking his wounds.

Cross glances at Crop who had backed out of the kitchen and now inches back in "is everyone okay? what... waht was that?!" he waves at the front door.

Horror sighs as he rubs his skull "Overcharge... Dust has a lot of LV, EXP, magic and mana. Even with his buffed stats it gets a lot and he needs to release the steam or well... it goes off." he glances around "Sorry for your kitchen..."

Crop nods as he looks at the frontdoor "is it... safe for him?"

Horror nods as he looks into the same direction "It is... just dumb i forgot he would need to discharge...." he sighs.

Killer groans as he gets up "We all forgot. We have been busy and well... I think Dusty forgot as well."

A tug on his sleeve and Cross looks down at Nightmare. Nightmare just looks at him "Can I go to Dust?"

Cross feels panicked "no?! Just let him discharge Nightmare. You know he will be fine."

Nightmare shakes his skull as he looks at the frontdoor "It seemed different... I can't explain." a frown on his face of frustration.

Cross frowns as he looks at Horror and Killer. They share looks before moving towards the front door.

A loud boom of thunder and they open it to stare.

A large vortext of pure black clouds with purple lightning. SLowly but surely swirling to somewhere above the fields.

Crop whistles "Well then... I never saw that much magic before." he frowns and points "That normal?"

Cross follows the direction as he sees small zaps and static all in the air, all that same purple colour.

Killer shakes his skull "No that isn't normal... fuck I need to apologise..." he rubs his skull before quickly looking at Nightmare "don't repeat that." Nightmare shoots him an annoyed look.

Killer grins back before walking towards the stairs of the porch with purpose. only to get zapped as soon as he gets off the wood. Killer yelps and rushes back to stand behind Horror. glaring at the air "Rude! What the hell Dusty!"

horror frowns at him "hurt?"

Killer shakes his skull "More like a tiny zap when you are like static and stuff." he frowns and looks at the air "Though i don't know how that will be once that gets worse..."

Cross frowns as he follows Killer's sight. Cross can admit he is also worried. if this gets much worse it can spell very bad news.. not to forget that it has never been this bad before... Is this just what happened if they don't help him remember to discharge in time? Is Dust even okay with this much pressure and magic going on?

Cross frowns as he hands Nightmare to Horror "You guys stay here. Help Crop with the kitchen and keep Ngihtmare safe." just in case.

Ngihtmare glares as he is put down "I am safe!"

Cross nods and stares at Killer and Horror "I am going to go to help and try to get him to calm down and discharge safely." a spar usually works best.

Horror frowns as he shakes his skull "I will just come back if it goes wrong."

Cross shoots him a look "I got better stats and have the endurance to keep dodging to get through the worst. Killer has a straight up bullseye by his sternum and he annoyed Dust already. YOu may come back but do you really want to do that to Dust?" Horror frowns but nods his agreement. Cross nods himself "just keep an eye on Nightmare and-"

"See? Perfectly safe."

They all turn only to stare. Becuase Nightmare is just standing off of the porch. in the middle of the static. But nothing happens. the static follows along his body but never zaps him. Nightmare looks unamused "I will go to dusty and fix this."

Cross shakes his skull as he gets off the porch. Fuck the zapping is almost constant. He gets ot Nightmare and picking him up gives him a much much much larger and slightly painful zap. Cross breaths through it "No. You are going to stay here and wait. This is our mess so we will fix it ourselves." he nuzzles the small skull "We got this."

Nightmare looks unhappy to doesn't fight being handing back to Horror, Horror flinches at the zap but takes it in stride.

Cross nods to the others and goes into the direction of the large vortex of clouds.

The zapping is honestly just annoying. It helps that Cross can see none of his HP dropping even as he gets closer and closer.

He ends up finding Dust in the wheat field, well in a circle of completely vaporized wheat. the current and magic having turned the plants and part of the ground into ash. Dust just stands there. muttering as crackles of lighting go all along his body.

Cross gulps before stealing himself "Hey Dust!"

Dust freezes. Okay! Good news! Dust can still hear him! not too far gone!

Cross smiles and feels a bit braver "sorry we didn't realise... want to spar? Blow off a bit of steam?"

Dust tilts his skull but nothing. okay wait! Cross knows what this means!

Cross speaks louder "don't listen to whatever he says!" Dust doesn't react. Cross takes a step closer "please. whatever he says it isn't true or real oaky? Or at least not the full truth and-"

Dust chuckles and stares at him "What? Think i ened fucking protection from him?"

Cross blinks and opens and clsoes his mouth. Not sure what to say "I... euh... maybe?" is this a trick question?

Dust looks displeased by his answer. That is fair Cross couldn't commit to either answer. Dust huffs "Don't fucking bother. I am fine."

Cross frowns and feels braver again. No time for self doubt. Dust needs his help. Cross steps clsoer "You aren't fine."

Dust glares back at him "I am fine!" crackles and the ring of vaporized wheat grows bigger. Oh man Cross hopes Crop won't lose too much money thanks to that.

Cross gulps but keeps going closer "It is okay Dust... If it hurts i can heal you!" his healing is weak but he can still heal! "We just need to get you to use some magic and-"

Dust snaps "You want to see fucking magic!" and it crackles loudly as a snap of lightning crashed just by Dust's feet. Cross yelps and feels afraid it did damage but Dust seems fine even as the energy from the lightning travels through the ground. A loud whine of magic nad Cross sees an overgrown blaster right by Dust's shoulder.

Dust hisses "leave. me. alone."

The blaster blasts and Cross dodges. After the dodge Cross actually feels reassured.

You see?

If Dust wants to hit you. He will hit you. The fact he gave Cross enough time to get ready to dodge and didn't change the direction of the beam to still hit him gives Cross hope.

Cross glares back "I am not leaving." not again. He is not giving up on them again.

Dust glares as more blasters appear "You think I won't do it?! You think I am fucking weak?!"

...Weak?

Cross blinks "No? You are like one of the strongest mosnters I know..." Cross has seen Dust fight Ink 1v1 and win. Dust weak? Why would he ever think that? Who would ever think that?

Dust laughs and more crackles in the air as the static grows. Dust's face becomes visible and he smiles sharply at him "That is quite a different answer than you gave before!"

before? When?! Cross never said Dust was weak!

Cross doesn't really have a chance to dodge. Because even if Dust gives him time to see the attacks coming Cross sitll has to dodge them himself.

Dust growls as he charges more attacks "Helpless? Weak? Useless? come on! You can tell me! I already figured it out anyway! With the endless hovering and shadowing!" another blast.

It clicks.

They are fucking idiots!

Cross looks at him panicked "It is just an backstory!" Dust had said no. They still pushed and he had been unhappy wiht it.

They thought it was fine.

But then again. It isn't Cross who has to deal with it with every interaction he has...

Shit. They are assholes.

Cross barely dodges another blast and Dust frowns a tiny bit. He pulls his arm a bit back and a few blasters hold their fire "Well?! Still weak?! Still useless!?"

Cross needs to do something.

And well, the answer is obvious.

Cross gets ready for his sprint. He needs all the speed he can get. Dust sees him hold his own run and rolls his eye lights before shooting at him with a sneer on his face.

Cross runs straight at Dust, straight at the blast. Dust's sockets and eye lights widen and he has to pull hard at his own magic. the air crackles angerly as the blast changes directions just before it hits Cross.

Cross gets right up into Dust's personal space and locks his arms around the other.

Dust snarls and tries to free himself but Cross has more physical strenght than he has and Cross has a good hold on him with locking his arms to his side.

Dust screams and wiggles "Let me go!"

Cross shakes his skull and pushes close to the other "No. I am not letting go of you." not of you. not of nightmare. not of the others. No. He isn't letting go.

Struggling and more screaming. Blasters going off but without his arms he can't aim them right. Dust goes as far as trying to kick, scratch and even bite him but Cross just keeps holding on. Refusing to give up or give in.

The storm around them calms slowly and eventually Dust goes lax in his arms. still some uneasy crackles far above them but the vortex disappeared and the clouds turned more of a dark grey colour.

It starts to rain and this is when Cross thinks it would be safe to let him go. Not that he does. Cross keeps holding on.

Dust isjust lax in his hold. Not saying a word and Cross doens't even know how to say what he wants to say. That he is sorry for pushing. For not helping Dust think of a new plan. So being so okay with Dust having had to carry most of the burding concerning their back story. and later more responsiblity about money. and before that even with taking care of nightmare. All wihtout Cross even trying to help him.

Cross had just... liked the idea of the backstory. That Dust came to them for help, that Cross had a bit of the savior role in the story... Just like he had enjoyed the idea of some people thinking he and dust had a kid together. Just like he enjoys the idea that everyone knows the four of them are an unit and won't separate... Cross is a jerk.

He still isn't sure what to say "... We can probably change the backstory still..." Instead he just talks.

Dust just sounds tired "We can't..."

Cross shakes his skull and just tightens his hold "No we totally can!" think think think "We... we... we can just be that... that i was the one with the ex! But that i hadn't been sure about a kid... and so i just left but regretted it and found out about the bad stuff..." he is just rambling "So i went back and got you guys for help but nightmare had been so young so he didn't remember me and i was still weird about being a father but you were great at it so you and nightmare bonded and so we just kinda told him it was you and... and..." Cross doesn't know. he is stuck and can't think.

Dust snorts against his shoulder "People will hate that... they won't trust us in anyway if they 'found out' we lied..."

Cross gulps and knows he is right. still... "I am sorry... I should have told killer to stuff it when he oppered."

Dust shrugs "Could have done that myself..."

They continue to sit there in the rain. Cross trying to think of some way to fix this mess.

Dust sighs "It is fine... just... stupid... got the best of me... won't happen again."

Cross feels even worse "I am sorry..."

Dust tries to pull back, probably to shoot him a look of some kind but Cross just keeps holding him tighter. No. Not letting go.

Dust sighs and gives in rather easily "I know why... it is fine..."

Cross shakes his skull "you are overworked... and we were to dumb to see."

Dust lets out an annoyed sigh again "I don't need a babysitter. I should be able to take care of myself just fine cross."

Cross feels tears appear but pusehs them back "It isn't being a babysitter you moron! It is about being friends and looking out for one another and not being a dumb idiot to forget one of your friends also needs help!"

silence.

Cross just keeps going "We shouldn't have pushed the backstory. WHen you said no we should ahve just accepted that! You were uncomfortable wiht that plan. YOu are still uncomfortable wiht it. it isn't fair that we kept pushing and you had to brun for it."

Cross feels himself start to ramble and he doesn't bother to stop it "And then the tinkering! You like that and that is great but that doesn't mean it should be a must or have the pressure of being our solo income! You are overworked and tired and need rest and i don't want to hear any comment or self hating joke about you being lazy!"

Dust huffs and mutters "kill joy" but stays quiet otherwise.

Cross keeps going as if he didn't interrupt him "You are also the one who takes charge with Nightmare and that is fine as well as long as you don't have all the pressure! It is unfair of us to just assume you will decide or have the decision or even that you thought about it! Even if you do have the answers and you did think about it it isn't fair that we put that expectation and pressure on you! We are a team and we should share the burden of stuff!"

Cross pants as he just sits there. feeling partly mortified by what he just said and partly relieved he managed to get it all out.

Dust is quiet for a long time before answering "I don't mind it..." it is hardly more than a whisper.

Cross huffs and just keeps holding it "Even if you don't mind it now clearly it is too much or we wouldn't be sitting in a circle of vaporized plants."

Dust is silent but does give a small nod against his shoulder.

Cross nods himself "When you feel okayish. we will go back to the others. you are going to get cleaned up and sleep. actually sleep. and sleep in. No more trying to get up early wiht Nightmare."

Dust mutters "I sleep in..."

Cross huffs "Yeah. until like 8 or 9 compared to the 5 and 6 of Horror and me. But I mean you need to sleep sleep Dust. Sleep in untill at least 10. Don't even think I won't get Horror or Killer to tie you down to the bed!" Dust is almost always up until late at night. he needs rest clearly.

Dust snorts and mutters "Don't let Killer hear you say that. He will have many things to say about that implication about your preferences."

Oh god no brain don't think about that mental image when Dust is stuck in your arms. You don't want to have that type of conversation now when that image does things to you!

Cross feels himself blush as he stares striaght ahead "Very funny."

Dust snorts "I know."

Cross huffs before spekaing again "Well then! You are going to sleep in and get the rest you actually need. We are no longer going to allow you to plan your days full like you did before anymore."

Dust groans "Cross we still need money."

Cross nods "and so we will figure something out eventually! But you are no longer trying to earn enough for everyone. And please for the love of everything actually buy something nice for yourself for once!" so far he had only spend money on stuff for Nightmare. or clothes for any of them. Cross appreciates the clean clothes and things but please Dust just get stuff for yourself.

Dust mutters and mumbles some stuff but nothing that Cross can really make heads or tails from "Good! Now that we agreed to that... Ready to go back?"

Dust is quiet again but sighs "Yeah.... need to apologise to Killer for attacking him... and crop for probably breaking part of his house..."

Cross nods "Yeah... Good news though Killer didn't have actual HP damage so i think even when mad you were pretty controlled over what you actually wanted, which was just Killer to shut up I guess... as for Crop's house I only saw some cracks and Horror and I can do enough construction stuff to fix that." a moment of silence "Also Killer owns you an apology for annoying you the whole day."

Dust listens before sighing "Thanks..."

They sit a moment longer before they both get up. Cross can't help his curiosity as he sticks his phalanges into the lose sand.

Dust frowns at him "What are you doing?"

Cross looks away embarresed "Heard that... if lightning strikes sand like glass is made... I am curious..." he feels something but can't pull it out. Instead he pushes more sand and dirt aside and uncovers a giant glass electric strike in the ground. he can see how the electricity move and made the glass.

Dust frowns at it "Hopefully I didn't ruin his field... Will have to dig that out and any other stuff to make sure it doesn't damage his machinery when he does farming stuff." Dust already sounds tired as he looks around his large circle were Cross cna see multiple hits of lightning hit the ground.

Cross pats his back "It is fine. Horror and I got a lot of free time so we will get to that tomorrow."

Dust looks at him before sighing and nodding "fine."

Cross nods.

The two walk back as Cross looks at the sky "It is clearing... I didn't know you could do the whole sky thing..."

Dust shrugs "never did that before."

huh. Cross keeps looking up "Think it was because you have more charge or something?"

Dust shrugs "Could be..."

Cross nods as he taps his chin "We will need to make sure you don't overcharge faster than..."

Dust is quiet but Cross feels Dust nudge his shoulder. Cross beams at him and Dust shoots him a small smile back.

They near the house and find their other three boys waiting on the porch. Dust goes straight to nightmare nad hugs him before looking at Horror and Killer for just amoment before looking down "sorry... I.... sorry."

Horror smiles bakc and nods. Killer grins himself and shrugs "Euh. It is fine. Sorry to you for once again not picking up on your social clues." he rubs his cheek which has a large bruise "No hard feelings."

Dust nods and agrees easily enough.

After apologizing to Crop for the mess in both the kitchen and field and promising to fix it they get back to their attic. They take a moment to sit together and Cross explains what the deal had been about. Mostly because dust had retreated to hoody-city while hugging Nightmare and was refusing to admit himself what was wrong.

Killer and Horror both look deeply unhappy with this newly gotten information and looka t Dust. Dust manages to somehow look even further away as he mutters "Cross makes it sound worse than it is."

Cross glares. Rude! Because he actually thinks he is underselling the issue!

Killer must come to the same conclusion as he wiggles around until he is laying right up against Dust's side and looks at him begging "You know that I know you are like the strongest monster ever right? Like it is obvious. We all know that? You know that right?"

Dust shrugs and nods but Corss has his doubts. Seeing as he didn't seem to beleive so just moments ago. Killer pouts and has his scheming face on.

Cross sighs "Either way... we need to balance the work load better." he shoots Nightmare a look "You aren't allowed to share the load as you are a child and no child labor."

Ngihtmare huffs and crosses his arms "I can help"

Killer nods "You help by staying safe nad being a good babybones!" Nightamre grumbles even more and pushes closer to Dust.

Horror hums and nods "We will... need to calm down... Taking it easy with townvisits." he shoots Dust a look "Only when it is relaly necessary."

Dust huffs and mutters "Still need cash."

Horror nods "We will figure that out later. First taking things calmly. step by step."

Cross nods as he sees Dust relax a bit. Step by step. They can do this. They got each other and everything will be fine.

*---------------*

First Drabble here Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

[neganium]

Another Ghostly Dan Man!! Partially just trying to figure out how I want to draw him, partially just faffing around with single-layer sketching again. Once again drawn in MyPaint (it's free, and it works pretty well, all things considered; still, if you're not on Linux, it has its bugs).

[heyclickadee]

One thing about Crosshair is that he’s a remarkably intelligent man with a good read of people and situations and emotionally wrecked life decision-making skills. Dude will have some truly perceptive insight into whatever’s happening that hits on a grain of truth, and then that insight will be filtered through so many layers of trauma and cynicism that his conclusion will end up at least 90 degrees off whatever’s right.

[franeridart]

Aaaah baby Ross! Baby Ross! Baby Ross!

Yes!!!!!! Baby Ross!!!!!!!

[kanerallels]

In Saecula Saeculorum

My contribution for @inklings-challenge 2024! Content warning for death and injury

Playlist link (I HIGHLY recommend listening along I spent like four collective hours on this thing I'm super proud. I am, however, adding which songs are best listened to at which points. They will be the bold italicized captions at the beginning of different sections. All the songs mentioned can be found on the playlist! (also, when you finish Afraid Of Time, just listen to the rest of the playlist straight through. It should line up well enough!))

~Time~

When Stephen Reid was nineteen, he almost got hit by a truck while trying to cross the street. A young woman a few years older than him yanked him back onto the sidewalk as the massive garbage truck barreled past, seemingly unaware that it had almost caused his demise.

Stephen steadied his breathing, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, then turned to thank the young woman who’d saved him. His mother had drilled good manners into him from a young age, and she’d have scolded him soundly for wandering into the street without looking first, let alone not thanking the person who’d saved him.

But she’d already started moving down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched in her green jacket, her hair (the tips of which were dyed an electric blue) brushing her shoulders as she moved. She was hunched over her cupped hands, whispering to something she was holding, and Stephen frowned. Strange way to hold your phone.

But there were more pressing things on Stephen’s mind. Namely, the fact that the world was tearing itself apart.

When he was little, things were so simple. It wasn’t just that he was a kid—Stephen remembered things had been happy, peaceful. He remembered summers spent digging holes in his backyard with his friends and raking leaves in the autumn. His mother and father had been happy, and life had been good.

As he got older, he saw the little ways things weren’t so good. The strain his father’s job put on him, the leaner times. But his family was still happy.

And then he turned eighteen. And things got really bad. Countries baying for each other’s blood, corrupt leaders turning their backs and doing nothing to help. Every day, the news showed more horrors. Every day, things got worse, and war was on the way. And Stephen knew he couldn’t just sit by and watch. His mother had taught him manners, common sense, and how to be fierce when it was needed. And his father had taught him that if you could help, you did help, and to care even when it was hard. 

So that was what Stephen planned to do. In every way possible.

He’d started out with volunteering as he started college classes. There were even more people living on the streets now than ever, and helping make meals at shelters was a step toward helping them.

But then things took an abrupt turn for the worse. And suddenly, they were at war. And Stephen found himself dropping out of school to enlist.

He was twenty when he saw his first dead body—a woman on the side of the road. Face pale, limbs at unnatural angles, blood still staining the front of her shirt. It was an image that didn’t leave his mind for a long, long time.

Two months later he killed someone for the first time. He tried not to remember that. But it wasn’t the last time. Every time he took a life, he found himself mourning, for what the world had come to, for the life that he’d ended.

Stephen may have known the reasons for what he was doing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less, or stop him from wondering if there was a better way he could help.

At twenty-two, he was shot in the line of duty.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been injured. But it was the first time it had been serious enough to warrant being sent to a hospital for a prolonged stay. And as it turned out, it was serious enough that he was discharged from the army. The bullet had shattered bones in his leg, leaving him with a serious limp and pain that never fully went away.

It was strange. One minute he was fighting for his life, the next he was home. Like nothing had changed, like he was supposed to pick up where he left off. Stephen found himself adrift, unsure of his next step. He went back to school, but his old major didn’t seem to fit anymore. Nothing did.

He was twenty-two and a half when one of his classmates dragged him to their local church. Howard was stubborn and usually said exactly what was on his mind, without thought toward how he’d affect others. It was an odd combination of refreshing and very irritating.

And yet, in that sanctuary, Stephen had never seen Howard light up the way he did when the singing started. And listening to the words, he started to understand why.

He’d gone to church growing up, and it had been fine. But this was different. This was something beautiful rediscovered, and he cherished it. Soaked in every word spoken from the front. It was like water after years in the desert, healing after pain for so long. It brought peace he hadn’t known could exist.

Stephen was twenty-three when he changed his major. Not to a pastor, though Howard joked that he might as well, with all the Bible reading and questions. But to a counselor. Someone who could guide others through what he’d gone through, and worse. Someone who could help.

It was a refreshing of his original purpose, a rewriting of his story. It was the right thing to do, and that was all he’d ever wanted.

When he was twenty-seven, he started on an internship. And that was where he met Marian.

She was an astrophysicist, and while Stephen admittedly didn’t understand a lot of what she did, he liked to listen to her talk about it anyway. He liked her smile, too, and her warm brown eyes that lit up like gold in the sunlight. They both loved music, and swapped favorite songs every time they saw each other. She loaned him her favorite book, and Stephen read it eagerly, looking for what she loved in every line.

It took him a while to gather the courage to ask Marian out. Howard—now graduated, running his own construction company, and happily engaged—teased him relentlessly about it. “She likes you, you clearly like her,” the young man would tell him. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Stephen would respond, and Howard scoffed in response.

In the end, he didn’t ask her at the right moment. He simply asked her, one day when she was stopping by at his work to talk about the book she’d just finished, eyes bright with happiness. Her smile outshone the sun when she said yes.

One year and six months later, she said yes again when he went down on one knee on a date to one of the few functioning observatories left in the country. He would have given her every star in the sky if he could have, but Marian settled for a diamond ring and a small wedding at her brother’s farm. Stephen hadn’t known someone could hold this much joy within them without bursting.

Two years later, Stephen was thirty years old. And that was when things started to get strange.

~~~

~Prepping For Rescue~

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

She avoided his gaze as she strapped on her protective gear. While the technology they were using had come a long way since the beginning of its use, there were still dangers. Being pulled through time and space could cause serious injury or damage, and the cuffs she was locking into place would generate a field that could protect her from that. Strange, how they almost felt like shackles, weighing her down, when they were the only thing bringing her hope right now.

“You know I am,” she said. “We already tested it. We can go back now, not just forward. And if I have that chance—”

“You’re gonna take it. I know,” he said. “But we still don’t know everything about this. We don’t know how it could affect the timeline. You could start wars, cause innumerable deaths. You could prevent yourself from even being born.”

“I know the risks.” She finished with the cuffs and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on to hide the cuffs from sight. “I don’t care.”

He looked like he wanted to comment on that very much, but just sighed. “Okay. Do you have your location drone?”

“Her name is Penni,” she informed him, and he sighed again.

“It’s a robot. It doesn’t have a name.”

She couldn’t hold back a smile at the old argument. “She does now. And I have her here.” Slipping a hand into her pocket, she pulled out a flat, circular object about the size of her palm. The domed top flickered between different colors, trying to camouflage itself with its surroundings, and it zipped into the air, hovering right above her shoulder. She brushed a hand along Penni’s surface, taking a deep breath.

“Good. Keep her with you, and I’ll be able to bring you back,” he reminded her. “Otherwise…things could get ugly. Because this is all supposed to be theoretical.”

“Then I guess I’m a pioneer,” she said, mouth suddenly dry. Squaring her shoulders, she said, “Let’s do this thing.”

~~~

Exactly twenty-seven days before his thirty-first birthday, Stephen was on his way home from work. He stopped at a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner—Marian was working later than usual, and he wanted to surprise her with a delicious home cooked meal when she got home.

When he stepped out of the store, a car drove by at top speed and shot him three times in the chest. Two other pedestrians were hit, but he was the only casualty.

Except he wasn’t.

He heard the car screech around the corner, and looked up in time to see the dark barrel of a gun pointing out a window—and then a girl slammed bodily into him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Glass from the store windows shattered upon the bullet’s impact, tinkling against the pavement. There were screams, and Stephen pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, looking around as the car roared away.

Two other pedestrians lay on the ground—one hit in the shoulder, the other only grazed in the arm. Stephen automatically moved to help them, calling for someone to call the cops, his head spinning.

Because there had been a moment where he’d known, he’d been sure, that he was going to die. Not just fear. Utter confidence. He’d all but felt the bullets pass through his body.

But instead, a girl had saved his life.

The girl. Stephen glanced around—but there was no sign of her. And all he could remember, as he later recounted to the cops, then Marian, was a blur of green jacket and blue hair.

Something about the description itched at the back of his brain, but he wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was somehow, impossibly alive. And he was grateful for it.

Two days later they found out Marian was pregnant.

~~~

“It worked,” she gasped, stumbling away from the framework of the machine.

Her friend looked up, eyes widening. “It—it did? Are you okay?”

She nodded, then stumbled again, and he caught her by the arm, hauling her upward. “Whoa. Sit down, have something to drink. We should check you out—”

“I’m fine,” she said, waving away his worry. “It worked, Tad. He—he’s not dead. Is he? I can’t—I can’t think—”

Steering her into a chair, Tad said, “Disorientation is a common side effect after traveling. Let me look at the database—drink some water.”

Taking the water bottle he shoved into her hands before moving to the computer, she gulped down some of the contents, her head spinning. “Do you remember how it was before?” she asked. “You said that you might not—”

“I think being close to the temporal field distortion preserved my memory,” Tad said, typing rapidly. “It’s fascinating, and if we don’t get arrested for this, I’ll write a paper–oh.”

Her stomach dropped as his face fell. “What?”

“You…almost succeeded.” Reading from the screen, he said, “Stephen Reid, died age thirty-two, in the ‘65 train bombings.”

“What?” Rocketing out of her chair, she moved to his side, swaying a little. Tad put a hand out to steady her as she bent over the screen. “How?”

“Looks like he was injured, but didn’t let on because he was busy helping others to safety,” Tad read. Glancing at her, he said, “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but—”

She was already moving toward the machine. “We have to go again.”

“What? I don’t think that’s a good idea. You already somehow created a temporal loop when you first went in. Who knows what—”

Spinning around, she said, “We can’t save him from being murdered just to let him die in a freak accident. It’s not—no. We’re fixing this.”

“And you don’t think this has anything to do with—”

Fixing him with a fierce glare, she said, “We’re going. Again.”

~~~

~The Typewriter Theme~

If that was the only incident, Stephen would have accepted it and moved on. He wasn’t dead, and that was something he was fiercely grateful for. His wife was pregnant, and instead of being dead he was there. For the moment when their little girl came into the world, and he held her close for the first time.

They named her Zara Grace Reid, and Stephen’s heart was full. For two long years, they had peace.

Then, when he was thirty-two, things started getting bad again. The governments were all fighting, and groups of dissenters were getting angry at, well, everyone, no matter who they claimed to hold responsible for everything going badly. Danger of terror threats grew more and more present.

The day after Zara’s birthday, Stephen was taking the train to a meeting across town. But when he got to the door, his ticket was missing. Racking his brains, Stephen vaguely remembered slipping it into his jacket pocket—and a girl bumping into him as they crossed paths in the station.

Strange. Who would steal a train ticket? He considered buying another one, but it was a nice day and he was in no hurry. He decided to walk.

Two blocks later the world exploded. Four trains, all across the city, blew up at once, killing hundreds in a deadly attack.

Stephen not only saw it when it happened, he felt it. In his chest, like he was on the train when it happened. But no sooner had the feeling come then it was gone and he was running toward the rubble, hoping desperately that he could pull someone, anyone out.

He missed his meeting and saved twelve lives that day. All the while wondering at the phantom pain in his side, but there was too much to do for him to care.

Hours later, he made it home after Marian, cleaned up, and only by the time he fell into bed did he wonder—did the girl who took my ticket know?

~~~

“SIX MONTHS?”

Pacing back and forth, she glared into space. “I only bought him six months? What does he do that makes these people want him dead so badly?”

“It’s pretty fishy,” he agreed, typing rapidly. “Okay, the records are a little messy, but I think I know the exact date. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

~~~

The thought didn’t really leave Stephen, as he racked his brain to remember what the girl looked like. He remembered dark hair with a splash of blue, and the girl had been holding something small. And those thoughts tugged at other memories—of a day almost twenty years ago, when someone had pulled him out of the way of a truck. Of the shooting before Zara was born.

He wasn’t able to really consider the idea, let alone voice it. Not until six months later, when there was a fire in his work building, and someone locked the door of his office, leaving him trapped inside while the flames grew and the smoke filled his lungs.

He’d been in tight spots before. He’d been trained, in the Army, not to panic, even when it was logical to do so. But as his oxygen seeped away and the door refused to budge, even as he bashed at it with a chair, Stephen found himself absolutely terrified.

No. No, this can’t be it. Images of Marian and Zara flickered through his head and he knew he had to fight, had to live at all costs. But if there was nothing he could do—

The door swung open, and someone pulled him forward.

~~~

~The Hornburg~

“I wonder what makes them choose the intervals they do,” Tad mused as he typed. “Is there someone else preventing them? Do we just do this for the rest of our lives? Are they experts or are they just trying everything and every year they can to kill him? Furthermore, what’s going to stop them from just going back to the same year and trying again—”

He stopped short when he saw her face. “Which…they definitely can’t do. Most likely. I think they can’t, anyway. It’s just that the science is so—I’m sorry. They haven’t done it yet, they probably won’t ever.”

“I hope not,” she said, checking her cuffs and scooping up Penni, who chirped a little greeting. “The last thing we need is more things to worry about.”

“Or to send you through more times.” His worry showed through the edges of his speech. “You don’t have to—”

“Let’s go again.”

“Okay.” 

~~~

Stephen made it out of the fire and he could have cried with gratitude. The firefighters who arrived on scene seemed very startled to see him stumble out of the building, coughing—they said that the last man to come out had sworn up and down that there was no one else inside.

And they swore with equal fervor that they hadn’t sent anyone else in. They claimed that he must have made it out under his own steam somehow—adrenaline, maybe?

Stephen knew better.

“There are two options,” he told Marian when he explained everything to her later that day. Her brow was furrowed like it always was when she tried to solve a problem. “Either I have a literal guardian angel, or somehow the exact same person is traveling through time and space to save me.”

“I’m not sure which is more improbable,” Marian said slowly. They were sitting at the table, and her fingers twitched against the surface like she wished she had something to write on. “Bending time and space isn’t…unheard of, per se, but we’re years away from being able to achieve it under our own steam. And if we assume they’re from the future, they’d be moving into the past, which is, theoretically, even harder.”

“But then there’s the guardian angel idea,” Stephen said, grinning at her expression. “Which you think is scientifically impossible?”

She let out a long sigh. “I’ve learned not to count anything out when it comes to our faith. So…I don’t know.”

Reaching across the table, Stephen caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll just have to pray that whatever this is keeps ending up at the right place at the right time.”

Their prayers were answered when, two years later, someone tried to shoot Stephen again. And again, he was pulled out of the way just in time.

~~~

“So,” Tad said, staring at the screen.

“Yup,” she said.

“A sibling, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s do it again.”

~~~

It started happening more frequently. A near knifing in an alleyway, a car barreling toward him as he crossed the street. Every time, it was thwarted. Sometimes, he didn’t even see it coming—the coffee knocked out of his hands that hissed alarmingly on contact with the concrete, leaving it pitted and worn, for instance.

But every time, the attackers failed. And eventually, Stephen started to wonder if they should stop prevention and start focusing on the attackers. The only problem? He had no idea how to do that.

So he decided to reach out to the person who did.

~~~

“How. Did he do that?” Tad asked, staring at the screen.

“He must have realized what we’re doing, somehow,” she whispered. “I mean, he’s married to an astrophysicist, he has to have picked something up.”

Shaking his head, Tad said, “Okay, then how do we respond?”

She stared at the screen for a moment longer, thinking as she reread the lines on the screen. More specifically, the email Tad had found during his usual archive wide search for anything pertaining to Stephen Reid.

He’d sent it to himself, apparently hoping that it would be good enough. And it had been.

To whoever is helping me:

Thank you. I don’t know who you are or if you’ll receive this, but I have faith it’ll end up in the right hands. 

Clearly someone wants me dead, for whatever reason. Instead of preventing it, why don’t we get rid of the attackers? Let me know how and when to help.

Stephen.

“What do we do?” Tad asked quietly

She studied it for a moment longer, then said, “We answer. I can slip him a message on my next trip. Have you located who it is and why yet?”

“I think so.” Opening a new screen, Tad tapped on the article he pulled up. “There’s a stabbing, two years from the next attempt, in an alley nearby his route to work. Exactly the kind of thing he’d get involved in and try to stop, right?”

Nodding slowly, she said, “Right. But why this person?”

“No idea. They’re dead in every timeline so far. They must do something that the attackers aren’t a fan of.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Then let’s hope we’re not actually on their side.”

~~~

~FREEPORT~

For a while, Stephen didn’t think his message had worked. Things were peaceful—no attacks, no poisonings. Marian found out she was pregnant again, and nine months somehow managed to fly and drag by until she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who they named Isaiah.

And then three months after that, it happened again.

At exactly the right moment, he was pushed forward, just in time to avoid a bunch of tiles crashing to the ground from the roof. When he caught his balance and his breath, there was no one there. But when Stephen put his hands in his jacket pocket as he started onward again, he found a slip of paper.

10/11/71. Four in the afternoon on your way home from work. Watch the alleyway off Racine. Be ready.

This was it. This was the answer. A little under a year in future, he’d be able to fix this, for good. Whatever this was.

So he kept the paper tucked in his pocket until it grew worn, the folds flimsy. He kept going with life—worked and went to church and looked after his wife and children. He avoided two more attacks in that time, and every time, his mysterious helper was there just in time, only to disappear before he could get a good look at her.

Finally, the day came. Stephen usually carried a knife, out of habit, and this time he made sure he had it, just in case. The day passed in a haze of business as he worked with patients and did paperwork and wondered what exactly was going to happen.

And then work was over. It was 3:45, and he was walking home from work, hands tucked in his pockets, trying to pretend like his heart wasn’t thundering in his chest.

3:47. He passed the cart that sold churros. Oftentimes he stopped to buy one and chat with the owner, but for now Stephen just gave her a little wave and kept moving, pace brisk.

3:50. A couple of kids zipped by on bikes, laughing.

3:51. He heard footsteps behind him, and his heart lurched. Be ready, Stephen.

3:55. The sidewalk came to an end at an intersection, and he turned onto the sidewalk along Racine.

3:58. He wove through a group of teenagers and sped up a little. He could see the opening for the alleyway.

3:59. Heart pounding in his throat, Stephen came to a stop outside the alleyway.

4:00.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing. And then he heard a muffled scream from the alleyway.

Instinctively, Stephen started forward, concern rippling through him. It had been the voice of a girl—young, too young. Most likely not his helper, but that didn’t lower his concern.

He made it two steps forward before he was grabbed from behind. Stephen vaguely registered the cold press of steel against his throat for a heartbeat before he moved, driving an elbow backward into his attacker’s gut.

There was a grunt—a man’s voice, judging by the baritone—but the grip didn’t loosen. Until Stephen snapped his head backward , connecting solidly with the other man’s nose.

There was a crunch and a howl of pain, and Stephen felt the knife at his throat break skin—

And then the grip was gone, and he was stumbling forward, hand pressed against the shallow cut on his neck. Spinning around, Stephen registered a man in all black taking a swing at a young woman—green jacket, hair dyed blue at the tips, holding a weapon he didn’t recognize. What looked like a tiny flying saucer hovered next to her shoulder.

“Help her!” she shouted, dodging her opponent’s blow with ease.

For a moment, Stephen didn’t know what she meant. And then he remembered the scream from the alleyway, and turned. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he moved.

There were two men, both trying to subdue a struggling, terrified girl. One had a hand over her mouth, and the other held a wickedly curved knife. Stephen took a moment to wonder why these people insisted on using knives, and then he was on top of them.

Clearly, either of the men were expecting him. The one holding the blade went flying into the wall with a cry of pain, clutching his shoulder where Stephen’s knife had gone deep, tearing through muscle.

 The second tried to reel backward, avoiding Stephen as he clutched for his own weapon while clinging to his victim. But Stephen smashed his fist into the man’s face, catching hold of the girl’s arm and pulling her away at the same time, using the man’s momentum as he fell to tear her free.

He took a minute to glance at her—no sign of injuries, just bright red hair and freckles and shocked tears starting to escape—and then turned to face his opponents again.

Only to find them gone, a trace of blood on the ground the only sign that they’d been there in the first place.

What? Baffled, Stephen turned in a full circle, then glanced at the girl. “Are you okay?” he asked, and she nodded shakily. “Okay. Wait here a minute. Call if you need me.”

Moving quickly, he headed back to the mouth of the alleyway, to see if there was any sign of his mysterious helper, or her opponent. But there was nothing. Just the now oddly dusty sidewalk, passersby who seemed to have no idea what had happened, and—

A scrap of white paper. Stephen bent and picked it up, unfolding it, and read the now familiar lopsided script inside.

She’s safe. You both are, unless you see me again. Look after her. Don’t worry about the other attackers.

There was no signature, although Stephen hadn’t expected one. A wave of relief swept over him, and he breathed out a prayer of thanks.

He was safe. They were both safe. It was done.

~~~

~Afraid Of Time~

“It’s not done,” she said.

“What?” Tad stared at her, baffled. “How can it not be done? We saved the victims, including a victim we didn’t even know we had until now, helped catch time traveling murderers, and hopefully we’re not even getting arrested for using government property without permission. Your mom might not even yell at us. How is this not a win—”

He stopped short, looking at her. As she looked at the computer file in front of her, wishing the words were different.

Stephen Reid. Died 10/12/83

“Zee.” Tad’s voice was soft. “You can’t stop everything.”

“That’s kind of the point of this whole time travel thing, Tad. I can.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m stopping this. I’m going in again.”

~~~

Stephen had always loved autumns. The crisp, cool air, the knowledge of the approaching season that heralded celebrations and wonder and joy and family time. How could he do anything but love it?

Sure, he’d almost died at this time of year a few times, but with his life, when was that not true? 

It had been 12 years since the last incident. He’d helped the girl—Jenny, a teenager who’d been alone and afraid and had no idea why those men had attacked her—to the hospital to get checked out. They repeated the same impossible story to the police over and over until they finally got tired of asking and declared the case closed. Stephen was fine with it. He’d been told they were safe, and he believed that.

Years had passed. Jenny became all but a member of the family, and he and Marian encouraged her and supported as she chose a career path and moved forward with her life. Stephen still wasn’t sure what the men wanted with her, but it didn’t matter. Her purpose was her own to discover.

His other two children were far too close to grown up for his taste, as well. Isaiah was thirteen, flirting with girls, and discovering a love for basketball paralleled only by his love for mischief. And Zara was in college, pursuing a degree in physics.

He held great hope and joy for both of them, that they would grow up to change the world in whatever small or big ways the Lord had planned for them. If Stephen was being honest, he held a very specific theory for one of them, as time passed and the similarity grew stronger and stronger.

And that was why, on his walk home from work, he wasn’t overly surprised to see a familiar figure at his bus stop.

She was sitting on the bench, knees pulled up against her chest. Her hair, dark like her mother’s where it wasn’t blue, covered her face in a curtain, and the tiny flying saucer hovered at her shoulder again. As Stephen drew closer, he heard it letting out soft little chirps, like it was trying to comfort her.

Sitting next to her with a grunt, Stephen set down his bag and leaned back. Glancing at her, he said, “Nice day, isn’t it?”

Her chin jerked up a little, like she was surprised to hear his voice, then lowered again. Stephen watched her for a moment, debating whether or not he should speak again, when she did, voice low and cautious.

“If you could know the day that you died, would you want to?”

Stephen considered for a moment, tapping a finger against his knee. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My instinct would be no—why live in dread of something like that? But I can’t say I would be curious.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” the girl agreed, voice still quiet. “What if…what if you could stop it? If someone just told you the right things?”

A heavy feeling began to settle over Stepehn’s chest. “Can you?” he asked, abandoning all pretense.

She let out a choked sob, and Stephen felt a stab of sadness. “I tried,” she choked out. “I tried again and again, but no matter what I do—”

“It’s okay,” Stephen told her, gently reaching out to touch her shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Letting her feet drop down, the girl scrubbed a hand across her face angrily. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I might,” Stephen said, his voice very soft.

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. For you, it’s been another twenty years, but for me…I thought I’d get to go home and—” she stopped short, staring across the street, eyes red.

“And I’d be there?”

She swiveled to face him, eyes going wide. “What—how did you—”

“You’re my daughter, Zara. How could I not recognize you?”

Her face crumpled, and Stephen slid across the bench to pull her into a hug as she burst into tears. She pressed her face against his shoulder and he ran his hand over her hair, the way he used to when she was a little girl.

Closing his eyes against tears of his, he whispered, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt. “I was supposed to get you back.”

“You did,” Stephen pointed out. “Just not for as long as you wanted. But you were the one who saved me, so many times. You’re the reason I got to watch you and Isaiah grow up, and I will never stop being grateful for that. You’re the reason Jenny’s alive.”

“It’s not enough,” she whispered. “This shouldn’t be the last time I see you.”

Stephen almost laughed, tears springing to his eyes. “It won’t be. If there’s one thing I hope your mother and I taught you, it’s that.”

Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, he pulled back a little, taking a look at her. Zara had his wife’s beauty and dark wavy hair, and he wondered when she would dye the tips blue. Her eyes were the same warm brown as Marian’s—oh, Marian—and right now, they were wet with tears.

“I don’t want to let you go,” she said, voice shaking.

“I know,” Stephen said, heart aching. All he wanted was to tell his daughter that it was going to be okay, that he was going to be able to come home. But it was becoming increasingly clear that he couldn’t make that promise.

Instead, he asked, “Tell me about what you do next. Tell me everything.”

So they sat on the bench, and Zara told him about her work and her best friend Tad—whom Stephen had already met, but the two hadn’t grown close yet—and how Isaiah was coaching at a local high school and Marian was still working, still looking out for Jenny, still going to church every day. “She still loves you so much,” Zara told him. “Even when I never knew you, she’d tell me about you and how important you were to her. I—I thought I could bring you home to her.”

“You did,” Stephen pointed out, remembering all the days he’d almost died, and all the days his daughter had saved his life. His daughter.

Eventually, the bus came around the corner, and the little flying saucer at Zara’s shoulder let out a chirp. Zara’s eyes widened, and she glanced up. “I—”

“You have to go,” Stephen guessed.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

“I know. But if this is it, I don’t want you to have to watch it.”

Shaking her head, Zara said, “You shouldn’t have to be alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Stephen told her, and he meant it. Though his heart was heavy with grief, it wasn’t for him. And he knew—he was sure of it—that his family would be alright. They were strong enough to look after each other without him.

Getting to his feet, he waited until Zara did the same, then pulled her into a fierce hug. “I love you,” he told her. “And I’m proud of you. You and Isaiah, you’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

She was openly crying now, but nodded, holding him tightly for another minute. “I love you, too,” she said.

And then stepped back and the bus was there. Stephen took one last look at her, taking in every detail. At last, he turned and boarded the bus, taking a seat in the back.

It lurched into motion, and Stephen glanced out the window at the now empty bus stop. I’ll see you again, he thought. And he knew, in his heart, it was true.

Pulling out his phone, he opened up his text messages and began one to Marian.

I love you, Mari. I love the life we’ve lived together for the past twenty years. Thank you for being the best wife and friend I could have ever asked for. 

Looking up, Stephen took one last look around him, and wondered what would come next. He knew more than most sitting on the bus did, and yet found himself frightened. And yet, at the same time, excited.

Whatever else happened, he was ready, with no regrets.

He sent the text.

~~~

Zara was still crying when she stumbled back into her own time, bones aching fiercely. Most trips, she’d taken a break in between, but for the past five or so, she’d gone in without stopping, time after time. Trying desperately to stop what she knew was going to happen.

It hadn’t worked.

But somehow, despite the tears and the ache in her heart, it was okay.

“Zara?”

Tad had moved to stand in front of her, face twisted with concern. “Are you okay? Or—are you hurt?”

Shaking her head, Zara took a shaking breath. “I’m okay,” she said, and he gave her an unconvinced look. “Fine, I’m not hurt. And I…” she trailed off.

“It didn’t work,” Tad said quietly. “Zee, I know you want to do this, but so many trips in a row are hurting you. And if this is so hard to stop—”

“I know,” Zara said, taking a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m…I’m not going in again.”

Tad’s eyes widened. “Really? I—I didn’t expect that to work.”

“It didn’t,” Zara said, and couldn’t hold back a laugh at his expression. “I…I talked to my dad. It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?” Tad said slowly. “Because five minutes ago you were very ready to keep doing this or die trying.”

Nodding, Zara swiped a hand over her face, ridding herself of the last traces of tears. “I am. I got to say goodbye, and…he’s right. I’m gonna see him again. Someday.”

Resting a gentle, if slightly awkward, hand on her shoulder, Tad nodded. “I’m glad. He’d be proud of you, Zee.”

“Thanks, Tad.” Zara took a deep breath. It was time to stop living in the past, and start looking at the new, and slightly changed present she had waiting for her.

And when the time came to see her father again, she would greet him with joy and the knowledge that she’d lived her life to the fullest, like he had. Until then, all she could do was take the first step toward doing that.

[passionartx]

Tails when I start thinking about my fic, au and art ideas I’ve had lingering in my brain for years but almost all of them involve making him sad ^

Sorry little buddy <\3 😔