#i'm kind of okay now at least

[hinamie]

in spite of everything, I had fun <3

[plusultraetc]

I'm so sorry but ever since that teen Hawks page was translated on twitter I can't stop thinking about it. like. Mera treated him like a person. he was assigned to Hawks when he was already a teenager. did no one treat him like a person before then? was it such an uncommon occurrence that it seemed special when someone did? I mean, they didn't even let him have a person's name. they gave him a hero name, and to the HPSC, that was the name of a tool. of a product. they basically bought a child and treated him so coldly that Mera stood out to him because he treated him like a person. the bars of my enclosure.

[benevolenterrancy]

"But in the end, I... still think... it's so unfair," Yin Yu sobbed. "If I wasn't destined to be perfect, I at least wanted to be perfectly kind. But... I couldn't even manage that. It's really... so unfair. And to tell you the truth, I can't get over it, even now. I can't swallow the fact that I'm dying for this little bonehead, Yizhen. I can't even let go and die without resentment or regrets. What the heck..." "Better than most people huh?" Yin Yu gave a small, arduous chuckle. Then he sighed, and the sound of his last regret passed along with his soul as he mumbled, "But I wanted to be a god..."

[sodapopcurtis-dx-asks]

Police sirens.

There was red and blue flashing against the white of the house, the Curtis brothers all stood outside on the grass, holding onto each other as the police asked questions and checked inside the home.

Just a few moments before, Soda had done a full turn-around and grabbed the things he left at the DX meant for Ponyboy. That poor kitten, nearly abandoned and howling just as loud as Ponyboy was on the phone earlier.

Soda wasn't no snitch, of course he didn't tell the fuzz what had happened to his brother. Ponyboy was sick. That's all they needed to worry about. He really wanted to though. God, if only.

Ponyboy's poor hair. Rebleached, and a mess. Darry and Soda had both looked him over a number of times. The kid was in ruins, looking just as bad at the day he came home from that damn church.

It was a different kind of bad. The type where you could tell he didn't lose someone else, but he lost himself. It tore Soda's heart to shreds seeing him like that all over again.

There wasn't a scratch on him. Not physically, at least. But Soda was being driven crazy over the fact Ponyboy probably just had another traumatic 9 hours added onto his life's story and Soda wasn't even there to do anything.

He should've left work earlier.

The cops finished up around the place, leaving the brothers to clean themselves up. Nothing from the house had been taken. Nothing had been moved. There was minimal signs of someone tampering with the window. A spilled drink on the floor—only water, thankfully.

“We're gonna get you inside and fix you right up, okay Ponyboy?” Darry was holding Ponyboy up, clutching him under his arm like a mother bird using a wing to protect her baby.

Ponyboy was still crying and crying, you would think he'd run out of tears by now. He just blubbered out a real tiny "okay."

Soda had been sobbing too. He hadn't even realized until he felt the tears drop onto his clenched fists.

He didn't notice the pain coming from his fingers digging into his palm either until then. “Christ...” He swore under his breath.

For once, Soda felt stuck. He couldn't run away, he couldn't do anything. He had been talking about running away all day, and this seemed like the one time he couldn't.

He should've punched Mark Jennings. He should've talked to Steve. He should've called Ace and Elisabeth.

But he didn't. He felt so stuck because he was right in the middle of the chaos. Like a wreckless dog in a cage. Snipping one second, whining the next. Begging for some kind of attention.

Soda came back to when he felt the pain in his hands again. He had punched a hole into the wall of the bathroom. He stared hard at his hands.

Darry was yelling something at him, the ringing in his ears making it hard to process anything. He just looked at him.

He felt the tears falling down his cheeks again. Seemed like all he could feel tonight was his own tears and blood.

“Darry...” Soda whispered, his voice warbling as he turned to him. He nearly broke his fucking hand. Both of them, apparently.

“Glory, Soda.” Darry whispered back, grabbing his brother's hands and staring at the blood on his knuckles. Bruises already blooming colors, looking like some kind of sea-sick sunset on the back of his hands.

...How many times had he punched the wall?

In a blink, night time had already passed. He could hardly focus when he was angry, and it left him in a new place again.

Ponyboy was sent to their shared room just a couple hours earlier, he was "off duty" for the rest of the week, Darry named it.

Off duty was just a funny phrase for "being called out sick".

The kitten had made it's way to Ponyboy some way, Soda didn't have any memory of giving it to him. But it was on the bed with both of them.

Soda was hardly able to sleep. He blamed it on the cat, knowing fully well it wasn't. The cat was actually making him more tired, ironically enough.

He had too much stuff on his mind. It was going to drive him crazy trying to sleep after the day he's had. He couldn't be surprised, but he wasn't exactly happy about it either.

“Soda?” Ponyboy interrupted his thoughts with a soft voice, leaning in close to Soda so he could talk easier.

Soda hummed a response, his eyebrows flinching up before relaxing again to let Ponyboy know he was listening. “Yeah, Pone?”

It was real quiet again for a moment, before Ponyboy's voice cracked with an “Are you mad at me?”

He hiccuped, Ponyboy was crying again.

Soda opened his eyes and turned to him. “No. Not one bit, Ponyboy.” He put a hand on Pony's cheek, bumping foreheads with him very delicately. He knew Ponyboy was nauseous, he didn't wanna clunk heads with him and make it worse. “Not at all.”

Ponyboy sniffled. He was still out of it, Soda could see it on his face. God, the poor thing.

“...Is Steve mad at you?” It felt inappropriate to ask, but Ponyboy had better things to worry about than making his brother feel awkward.

Soda stared, head still pressed against Pony's. He kind of shrugged, not really knowing how to reply. “I don't think so.”

“Oh... well. I'm mad at Steve.” Ponyboy nodded, before moving away from being under Soda's hand.

Soda dropped his hand in between their faces, letting it sit there idly. “Oh yeah? Why's that?” He smiled a bit.

Ponyboy rubbed his eyes, immediately regretting the motion and pulling away his own hands from his face with a grimace.

“...Because he's stupid.” He was holding his fists out awkwardly, stretching his fingers and then clasping them again. The feeling of... everything. It was weird to Ponyboy whilst he was high.

Soda giggled. “What? Stevie's real smart. Smarter than me.” He was eyeing Ponyboy's motions, frowning slightly as he recognized the discomfort.

Ponyboy mumbled, sighing. “...Well, maybe in some areas.”

“Oh, c'mon– you ain't supposed to agree with me.” Soda laughed, shoving Ponyboy lightly, before immediately apologizing.

Ponyboy groaned and readjusted again, holding his breath for a second to reduce nausea before he exhaled again. He mumbled something to Soda, his voice was so quiet though, even Soda couldn't hear half of what he said.

Soda just nodded, humming. “I can't stop him from doing whatever he wants. It's not like we're– y'know.”

Ponyboy shook his head. “I know, but...” He placed his hand on the kitten, who had crawled it's way around them both and behind Ponyboy. “I think he kind of wants you to.” He put the kitten between them.

Soda just stared at the kitten, ignoring Ponyboy's eye contact. “...Yeah, I figured.” He sighs. He knew. He just didn't want to admit it himself.

Ponyboy had fallen asleep hours before Soda even got a wink in. Four in the morning, he still had to be up in two hours. His brain was still working up a storm. It was pissing him off at this point.

He did not want to go to work today.

Darry wasn't as merciful to Soda as he was to Ponyboy, unfortunately.

Soda was old enough to make decisions on his own, Darry agreed with that plenty. But he still had to boss Soda around for doing dumb stuff. Even for letting his mind chase itself all night... as if he didn't do the same damn thing.

Darry wrapped up Soda's hands at the kitchen table, tying the bandages around nice and tight before tearing and placing a piece of tape down on the loose end. “Don't go trying to punch nothin' else, you hear me?”

Soda scoffed. “I'm hearin'.” He fidgeted with the bandages, before stopping himself to stare up at Darry.

Darry stared back and smiled. “You gonna be okay today? Or uh, y'gonna be... "tired" again?”

Soda shook his head. “As much as I would love to not be "tired", Darry, I am not in the mood to be...” Soda motioned something awkward, rolling his shoulders and bobbling his head. Myself.

Darry rolled his eyes, he wasn't hearing any of it. “Well. Then, if you can't be—” He pulled the same motion, yourself, “—at least go easy on yourself. Don't tire yourself out more.” He teased, before pulling Soda up out of the chair.

“And, I'll... help keep an eye out for Steve for you, alright? I'll be staying around a little later to help Pony, leavin' around noon. Two-Bit can take over babysittin' by then, if he ain't too drunk that is.”

Soda just nodded, smiling at the nudge at Two-Bit. “Alright...” He stared at the bandages on his hands again as he began to walk around, grabbing up his things.

Soda and Darry both left, Darry dropping off Soda, leaving Soda without a vehicle today. He was alright with it. For now, at least.

Only working on an hour of sleep, if less. This'll be an experience. At least now he didn't have to lie about being sleepy.

Ding ding!

Soda picked up a note left by one of his coworkers, a small complaint about how he left suddenly. Nothing serious. They picked up for him, thank God.

He got himself to work immediately, dragging out some supply boxes and restocking some things. He did some extra work here and there, just to make up for his missed hours.

And then he sat his ass down on that stool. Ready for whatever came at him.

Alright. Let's see how this shit show plays out today.

[grabowskibeepboop]

Why does seeing bottom draco content feel so offensive?

Like I'm well aware that people can ship things differently and most of the time when I see something I don't agree with or don't like I just ignore and go about my day, but for Draco Malfoy I feel deeply offended, mostly on his part but partly on mine too because there are so few people who agree with me, but like, why does it offend me so much? I just feel like it's a big mischaracterization (which would be fine by itself even if it is, but it feels just so other worldly to me when it's with Draco and it's about whether he's submissive or not)... Idk maybe it's because he's been used and tossed around by dark forces almost all his life and I just want him to have more, if not all the control he can have, but even then, your role in the bed doesn't translate to how much control you have in your life, but it just feels so selfish of people to toss Harry with his "rough hands" (idk if he canonically has rough hands but I just hate the description, top Harry doesn't offend me as much, I can imagine him being dominant with women, but I still don't really like it especially if it's with Draco. The selfish part also applies to Harry but I know it's not the character's fault when fanfic writers write them in a way that doesn't appeal to me) on him and make him endure even more control over him and now even over his body (I haven't read the books yet, idk if he goes though physical trauma but if he does my opinion gets even stronger), and it all just feels... Evil... Idk why... And even if he likes it, that just doesn't feel right to me.

Bottom Draco Malfoy is not the Draco Malfoy from the story I love, at least to me... I'm not saying you should stop thinking and portraying him as one (even though I would love that), because I know how much something like this can matter to someone, again, it matters to me so much I'm writing this post. I'm just saying this so that if there's anyone else out there who feels similar or the same, please say something, I have no idea why it hurts me so much whenever I see or read about Draco getting railed but it does... I genuinely think we need a proper tag that we can signal things like this with so that the other one can be blocked, because people who think Harry is on top don't use "harry tops draco" like we use "draco tops harry" because they don't have to, that's the default mindset for some goddamn reason... Idk, I just wanted to say this because I keep blocking perfectly innocent people just because of this, even people whose arstyle I adore, but unfortunately what they draw just infuriates me and it's not their fault...

[lumeha]

I'm throwing my hands up in the air and going "whatever what the actual fuck" about pokemon cards value

what do you MEAN this promo I randomly bought 10 years ago is over 50€ ???

what do you MEAN this other promo I randomly got is, like, 15€ ??? Because it's from ten years ago ??????

what do you MEANNNNNNNN

no I'm not selling my most valuable cards though because I opened so many packs ten years ago to get that Groudon and that Kyogre full art and I Love Them I Love Staring At Them

(shout out also to my German promo Arceus, he is great)

[corvuscorona]

Gravity

( EXPLICIT | No Warnings Apply | 1/1 chapter | 11394 words )

Since this courtship's beginning, Astos has learned a thing or two about Jack's preferences—and though his preference for Astos has resurfaced only very slowly, since the first reset they've been forced to endure, and though Astos has spent every moment of that long wait suffering, all the time apart has given him the opportunity to plan ahead.

April 1st really should be 🃏 International Jackstos Day 💖, right? I'm serious. This fic is serious; I am not playing around here. I'm frolicking with wild abandon sure but that's not the same thing!!!

Rated E for Earthly. The tags on this one are pretty simplistic, which may cause you to wonder: why and how 11k of words? To which I would answer: there is a model of excruciating detail in my mind's eye regarding the Jackstos Interpersonal Relationship Progression Over Time, and for reasons that I could (but will not) get into, it is best delivered to you interwoven with. ssssssssome stuff.

Happy April Fools(-In-Love)!! 💜✨

🌟 [ Keeper ] 🌟 [ Coherence ] 🌟 [ Mortification ] 🌟 [ Asking for More ] 🌟 🌟 [ Standing Comment Exchange ] 🌟 [ 250+ posts about this stuff ] 🌟

I mention this in the endnote, too, but: this fic has existed in some form or another since November of 2023 (less than a month after I witnessed the end of the video game). Isn't that amazing. I experienced Stranger of Paradise, got possessed (oneshot demon), got possessed (monstrous longfic demon), got possessed (AFM) & got possessed (this) within, like, a couple of weeks? I think? My first draft of Keeper is from like a month and a half later, also.

Always keep Jackstos in your heart, mind, & processing vortex. I hope you have an excellent Them Day, & I hope you enjoy my new this!

[alicepao13]

Yeah, I'm not "taking this well" anymore, to reference one of my replies from yesterday. Sherri Davis crossed several lines for me yesterday, and late enough in my part of the world for me to do anything about it, but today's a new day.

Dear Sherri Davis, I have verified each and every source myself when it comes to whatever part, however small, I've come to play in all this about organizing the fandom. Most of them come from the Hudson and Rex production, no less, clearly visible to all (and sourced). Everything we've given people on social media as evidence has been the absolute truth, and conjecture has been labeled as such to avoid confusion and avoid giving the wrong impression to people. The only source I could not verify was the one from the deleted Reddit post, filled with gaslighting, weaponization of grief, half-truths, and outright easily disprovable lies, which for a while now me and others have believed to be written by a close associate of yours. The only people that could have ever claimed that John Reardon didn't message you about Diesel's passing, because you yourself would have to tell them, are those close to you. Let's cut the crap.

To fellow fans: I admit I did not write about this part in my big-ass post where I dismantled the now infamous redditor's post. Instead, I kept it. Idiotically, perhaps. Not wanting to believe she was directly involved in this despite everything pointing to it? Maybe. Holding it to add it as the last piece of evidence in an ever growing list? You can call it whatever you want. I'm a complicated person, I'm not always right, and I do think parts emotionally and calculated at all times. I was raised by lawyers and sometimes it really feels like I'm in court (not on trial, I don't feel persecuted, I'm talking about the burden of proof which really should not have fallen on any of us).

The thing is that the more of her I read now, the more I realize that this woman never cared about the show as it was. She wanted more. More for her dogs, more for her company, and yeah, sure, more for the people working for her (I get their loyalty, she does seem to be loyal to her inner circle). Was that influenced by Diesel's death? I can't know but I'm personally going to stop using that as an excuse for her behavior. She's a grown woman and I highly doubt this is the first time she's had to grieve one of her dogs or family for that matter. We all have our crosses to bear. That doesn't mean we get to be assholes.

Anyway, back to the point. I think (read: my opinion) that Sherri Davis had been looking for an excuse to take over more of the show, and having human characters getting their own storylines, especially Charlie, and having them get storylines that were not in any way related to Rex as that redditor very crudely and in their own manipulative and twisted way claimed to make John Reardon look bad, was getting in the way of that, was stealing the limelight away from Rex. Now she's got an actor who just came to the show and has no pull whatsoever, he won't be an executive producer and even if he was she'd outrank him, leaving her to be the highest ranking executive producer who is not from any of the productions (John Reardon was that executive producer before her. At this point I need to remind that any executive producer FROM the productions outranks any that are actors and crew, hence the ass-kissing you see on social media). I bet she loves it. And I bet she knows that they can't do the show without her too.

I tried to find excuses for her, it's true. I'd talk with friends and they'd tell me that someone should mention this, that it's important. We fought over this (I'm sorry). Why protect a woman you don't know when you can see where this is going, right? Yeah, I don't know. Maybe because despite everything I could tell she was in pain. Maybe because I'm an idiot and I could only see the pain and not the calculation behind the whole thing.

Either way, and to stop being a dramatic bitch, here it is, laid out. I believe that she wouldn't fight for John Reardon at all, and in the worst case she may have had a hand in the production not getting him back if she could offer an opinion, as she realized how no one in that set had any power other than her when Luke Roberts was there instead of John Reardon (the executive producers from the productions are rarely on set and Newfoundland is far away from, well, anything). But make no mistake, Sherri Davis doesn't have as much power as she thinks she does, especially on a show with multiple productions. Clearly, Shaftesbury stood by her as I said before. It's very obvious from the way she now leaves sickeningly loving comments about their leadership. I don't think the other productions see it the same way but they surely know she's necessary so they let her get away with stuff (even more after Diesel's death). And she knows she's not going to find a better job, I mean how many shows have canine leads? So, she's latched onto that with everything she's got. And anyone who threatens its longevity (which at this point is us) is viewed as a direct threat to her.

Anyway, I don't know where that leaves us. If the productions where to fold and take John Reardon back, she'd have to oblige, of course. I don't believe she has a veto power at all and I don't think she'd have a fit and refuse to work with him, it's not like he did anything to her either way (and yeah, the fact that not even that post dared to insinuate anything about his behavior on set also says a lot, it's usually quite easy to insinuate that as "anonymous source").

I also believe that, no matter what the post says, at some point he must have reached out to her about Diesel but the thing is, as I can personally attest, that people often put illogical timeframes on reaching out about such matters. And we all know that at the time of Diesel's passing, John Reardon was giving his own battle with cancer and yeah, I'd prioritize that myself over reaching out to anyone, selfish as it may sound to some. Anyway, these are things that can be solved by talking, although it's rare that people actually sit down to talk about them to solve their differences. I've got people in my own family who stopped talking to each other while they knew and cared for each other for decades, just because grief has a way of taking certain actions and presenting them like an absolute betrayal. I have to say that this does not even compare to some of the things I've seen.

The paragraph above is more or less what I'd write if I were to include this part on my big-ass post back then. My thinking about it hasn't changed. The evidence hasn't changed. I don't think her issue ever was how John Reardon was with Diesel, because as I said, the show has been going on for years now. I could perhaps buy it if we were still on year 2 or even 3 of it. Not the point, either way. She needs to get over herself and the production (who are way more culpable than her in all this, and we need that reminder for sure today) need to see that they've left the show leader-less with someone taking over PR responsibilities as well and speaking for them, which is certainly damaging. She's an associate to these productions, she doesn't even work for Shaftesbury or the others in their company, she works for the show.

As for the constant mistreatment of the fans by everyone? Apparently, you're not a fan if you are pointing the obvious, you are a "fan". In quotations. And you're cruel, and you're also an idiot because you believe whatever is on social media. Well, she's right about one part. I have my own mind and certain posts on Reddit can't change that, nor can she with her perfectly polite and yet biting comments. Questioning OUR loyalty to the show? Fuck that. I've been with this show from 2020. But more than that, I wasn't born yesterday. I know when I'm being manipulated. And I can tell when someone has stabbed somebody else in the back and then they turn around and say, "Hm, what if they fell on the knife on their own?"

Anyway, I guess I'll tune in for the next episode of "Master Tactician John Reardon Hypnotizes A Fandom Without Even Blinking", a gripping parody told by Shaftesbury and Associates.

P.S.: There are rude words but it takes a special kind of manipulator to pull this off and then pin it on someone else behind the scenes while preaching positivity. Kudos.

[kurokoros]

still mad that we didn't get Vecna possessing Steve. haha silly Steve who asks stupid questions and everyone dunks on as if he's not an athlete and one of the better combatants in the group. Steve, who knocked out a trained soldier at 19. Steve, who has been beaten to hell every season and gotten right back up afterwards. just goofy old Steve.

but what if Steve wasn't actually Steve anymore?

[simplyghosting]

Cherished Emery

Written for @inklings-challenge. Definitely out of my comfort zone, but I gave it my best go, even if it wasn't quite what I expected.

—— It was an early spring day and a lingering chill breezed past worn checkered curtains and swirled around the feet of the couple settled in the small living room.

“You’ll see, my dear! I’ll have it all solved!” Ernest crowed as he scrabbled and grabbed for another tool from the box sitting amidst the soot spilling from the fireplace before hurrying back to his work desk by the south window. “I’ll find the root of why my grandfather lost his fortune so that I can obtain my rightful inheritance and we shall be rich! No more cooking on that old, temperamental stove! A new dress for you and a new suit for me! Why, I can get you the wedding ring that you deserve!”

Emery smiled softly from the simple, wooden rocker where she sat mending, placing her latest project down to turn the plain silver band around her finger. “I’m happy with my wedding band, Ernest. I treasure it as much as I would any other ring for the memory of our vows.”

“But you deserve more!” Ernest insisted as he took a small ball-peen hammer and began tapping at a sheet of metal. “Something engraved! Something set with precious stones! Anything you would want, my dear! Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires! Any or all!” A strap of leather was pulled out and a punch tool clicked away. “A new home! One employed with a cook and a maid!”

“Oh, do you not like my cooking that we would need a cook?” Emery asked in a lightly teasing voice.

“No! I love your food!” Ernest turned his head around hastily before turning back to his work. “I just wanted you to be able to relax and enjoy yourself instead of slaving over that wretched stove.”

Emery hummed reassuringly, “It is work, but I enjoy cooking. I like to see what I can come up with and it makes me happy to enjoy what I make with you.”

Ernest huffed in acquiescence, “Maybe just the maid then. To help you.” He tacked on quickly.

“That would be nice, I suppose.” A beat. “Someone to help me fix that drafty sill of the window maybe?”

Ernest paused once the words registered and then huffed again at the subtle reprimand. “I know you wanted that fixed last winter-“

“-Last fall, dear.”

“-But this plan will work and as soon as it is done you won’t need to worry about that anymore. We’ll simply buy a new home that doesn’t need any of these endless repairs.”

Emery sighed softly before focusing back on the sock she was darning. It had several patches already put in place so much so that the original material could hardly be distinguished. She picked up her needle and continued on. “Are you going to be finished with your project soon?”

The sound of rivets being tapped into place filled the room.

“Ernest?”

“Hm? Oh, oh! Yes, yes, I think with just a few more finishing touches I should be able to depart today.”

“That’s certainly soon.” She paused, then tilted her head, hovering her needle over the patchwork sock, “but… is it safe? It hasn’t been tested before.”

“I’ve made all the calculations needed.” He answered, eyes focused on checking the alignment of some impossibly small gears in the heart of the apparatus. “I’ll be able to safely pass through time via the portal generated by the device with no harm to myself. Worry not, my love, all our troubles shall be far behind us soon.”

“Alright.” she breathed. “Will you be gone long?”

“It may take several tries back and forth to find the culprit, chasing down dominoes to catch a butterfly, may even be multiple butterflies.” He grunted as he wound a cable into a tighter spiral. “The investigative process can’t be measured exactly, you see.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Still, do you have any sort of estimate?”

“Maybe a few days with some luck. Maybe a few weeks to a couple of months. I won’t know more until I actually get there.”

“You’ll be leaving today then?”

A gear popped further into place and with a sharp click the device began to softly whirr. “Yes, the sooner the better.” He pulled the device off the table with a grunt and pulled it over his back, strapping bands connected to it across his chest, adjusting the leather buckles so that it was fitted, and then began adjusting some dials embedded in a cuff connected to his wrist. “The sooner we get to it, the sooner our lives will start!”

“Do you know where you will be?”

“I should land outside the location where my grandfather’s mill was first constructed. I don’t know the exact time he arrived there, but the old letters my grandmother saved said he should be in the area in the time I’m to arrive, so for that it’s only a matter of time for me to encounter him and find the reason for all of this mess.”

“I see. Is there anything you need for your journey? I can make you a lunch before you go.”

“No need.” Ernest said, grabbing his coat thrown over a peg by the door. “I know there was an orchard not too far from the mill, so I’ll be able to grab a meal from there. My great-uncle used to speak of them giving meals and even board to those willing to do some work, so I’ll manage in that regard.”

“You’ll be staying there overnight?”

“I’ll come back as often as I can. If I have a strong lead, I may need to work overnight to follow it. May even have to trail some people. Never know.” He explained, adjusting the sleeves of the coat to hide the controls on the cuff.

Emery rose from her seat and came to stand in front of Ernest, adjusting the collar of his coat. “Alright. Please, be safe and come back soon.” She brushed the lapels of his coat lightly before resting her hands on them. “I married you for richer or for poorer. Don’t feel that you have to do this if you’re looking for my happiness. I’ve already found it.” She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t need anymore than that.”

Ernest softened his eyes before kissing his wife and embracing her. “But you deserve it.” The couple lingered like that for a moment in silence save for the machine’s soft hum, before Ernest pulled away and gave her a beatific smile.

Emery smiled softly back and stepped back. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“My dear Emery, just you wait I shall have all our financial woes resolved!” And with that Ernest flicked a switch near his breast pocket and vanished with a ripple as a stone dropped into a still pond, leaving an even stiller room.

—

The air warped with a low hum and like someone stepping from behind a panel of tulle, Ernest reappeared from the air. “My dear! I’ve found my grandfather! It only took a day of searching but luckily he wasn’t far from the mill grounds!”

Emery looked up surprised from where she kneeled before the fireplace, face smeared with soot from her efforts to scrub the brick clean. “Ernest?” She rose and made a futile attempt to dust herself off. “You’re back? A- a day?”

“Yes!” He ran over and grasped her arms before pecking her lips which resulted in a soot smear on his nose. “It’s such good luck!”

“A day?” She breathed.

Ernest nodded excitedly. “Yes! A day! Considering I didn’t know his routine or exact whereabouts yet it was marvelous luck to spot him inside the local general store. Of course, I didn’t interact and only followed for a bit to get a better idea of his regular path and-“

“Ernest, my love.” Emery spoke with a look of quiet horror. “You’ve been gone for a week.”

“I- oh.” The elated expression slowly dropped from his face. “A week?”

“A week.” She whispered tearfully. “I didn’t expect you to be gone for so long.”

“A week.” He mumbled to himself. “There must be some kind of time dilation. I expected some kind of difference in time flow between present and past, but I didn’t think that it would be that great.”

“Ernest…” She clung to his coat. “I don’t know that this is right.”

“Yes, yes, need to account for that. Adjust the dials for a second iteration.” Ernest patted her hands absently and started pulling away to fiddle with something on the control cuff.

Emery looked up with wide eyes. “You’re going back?”

“I’ll jump ahead a bit to shorten the time now that I have a more precise idea of my grandfather’s old haunts. With the luck I’ve had so far, it shouldn’t be too much longer.” He placated, not looking up from a spinning dial.

“I… mm… alright. I’ll… be waiting for you.”

Ernest grabbed a paper and pen from his work desk and shoved them in his coat pocket before striding up to Emery to place a kiss on her cheek. “Worry not my love! I know what I’m doing.” And he took a step back, flicked a switch on the cuff, and vanished.

——

When Ernest next returned, he found Emery sitting in her rocker hemming the frayed edge of a checkered curtain and rushed over to kiss her cheek. “A new lead, my love! I’ve found where the deed is kept for the land of the mill and it’s soon to be founded! I should be able to skip forward a bit now that I know the men involved.”

Emery looked up at him, surprised, “Ernest. How long were you gone?”

“Just a few days. Really good luck again!” He strided to his desk to grab a box of small gears and a screwdriver. “It’s been fantastic and- oh! The groves are lovely the time of year there. I think you’d love it.”

“A few days… it’s almost been two weeks.”

“Mm? Oh, the time dilation difference. It can’t be helped much I’m afraid. I’ll be as fast as I can, but really it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Ernest, please, if you’re doing this for me, I don’t need anymore than what we already have and you. I miss you.”

“Emery, don’t worry,” He said dropping the tools into a pocket. “I’ll be back soon with more good news!” and smiled as he flicked a switch and disappeared.

“I’ll… be waiting.”

—

The next time Ernest stepped out of the past and greeted Emery, he found her sitting in the rocker again working in between two baskets full of clothes. “Where did all of that come from?”

Emery didn’t look up, focused for the moment on a stitch. “I’ve started working with the women from the local church to help the community by doing some mending for them. It’s mostly charity, but sometimes small donations are given as a thank you or aid to those who volunteer. It’s been a nice routine.”

Ernest went back to his desk to pick up a thin curved tool. “If you like it then that’s all well, I suppose. You don’t need to do that for coin though. I’ve found a new lead with the mill workers and found a group that I’m convinced had it out for my grandfather and caused some of the later business failings.”

“It’s been almost three months, Ernest. I don’t want to wear away at our savings too much.”

“Three? Hm. Well, still, shouldn’t be much longer.” He came over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll get to the bottom of it and return,” and promptly vanished with a flick and a whirr.

—— “A new lead! Multiple points of interest as it turns out. The workers and some shady merchants involved. Took a bit to track the merchants down.” Ernest popped back in and scrabbled in his toolbox for a moment before pulling out a coil of wire. “It’s all going so very well! Such good luck, I can’t believe it!” And popped just as quickly back out as Emery brushed back a wisp of greying hair.

——

The next Ernest returned with news of a new lead, Emery sat knitting a blanket.

“My hands have been getting too sore with detail work.” She explained, working in the glow of the lamplight. “I’ve been making blankets and winter-wear for the people at the church. A few kind boys often come down on the colder days to pick up anything I’ve made so that I don’t need to make the trek over. Spring will be soon, but it’s still chilly and warmth is needed.”

——

A few more returns met with Emery working and waiting each time, and Ernest’s quick departures just the same, before he last arrived to find an empty room and where Emery had always sat in her place was a folded knit blanket with an envelope resting on top. “I think I’ve found the last piece, Emery! Emery? Hello?” The house was small and a quick search revealed no sign of Emery. He was just about to investigate the letter when a knock sounded at the door. Visitors were rare and he was not surprised not to recognize the woman who stood at the door. “Hello. Who are you?”

“Ah! Good afternoon! I’m surprised to see someone here. I often stop by at least once a week and let myself in to do my usual check, but always knock just in case, which seems to be rewarded this time. Are you Emery’s husband?”

“I… yes. I’m Ernest, her husband. If you’re looking for her though, she’s not here at the moment.”

The lady’s eyes became pained and her smile strained. “No, no I wouldn’t expect her to be. She asked me to stop by regularly regardless of her presence. Have you found a letter by chance?”

“A letter? There’s an unopened one on the chair, but I haven’t touched it. Did she leave it and the blanket for you?”

“Ah, no, no they’re not for me, Emery left them for you. Mr. Ernest, I would suggest you read that letter, and… perhaps sit down for it.”

“The letter is for me? How do you know that? Who exactly are you?” Ernest quizzed.

“I’m an old friend of Emery’s from the church she volunteered for. She served for a good many years- a joy to have- always a kind word and good quality work from her. She spoke of you often, always kindly, always kindly.” She added with assurance. “She mentioned you needing to be away for work- overseas merchant or something, yes?- and worried about your health, if you were warm for the winter and that sort of thing, though it seems she needn’t have been, as much as a spring chicken you look. The other ladies and I worried about her being alone for long times, but she wanted to make sure to be able to catch you on your short returns so she wouldn’t stay with any of us for long, bless her- what was your question? Ah! Right! Emery told me about the letter and instructed me to check in to see that you received it. Now that you’ve returned from your travels, I’m glad to have been able to likewise return a long-standing favor to her. Now, I do have to be off. I have to run to pick up my youngest grandchild. I pray you have a good day, sir.” And with that she hurried off, and Ernest had shut the door before he realized he hadn’t even gotten her name.

“A letter for me?” Ernest slowly walked over to the old rocker, now coated in a layer of dust before lifting the envelope. It was a bit yellowed with age and had Emery’s twisting scrawl on the front of it, a little wobbly at the ends, but still distinctly hers, clearly addressing the letter to himself. He removed the blanket from the chair and sat down before draping the plush, green material atop his lap. He took a small knife from his coat pocket and opened the top of the envelope, pulling out the letter and began to read as a spring breeze snuck past a crack in the sill of a window framed by worn checkered curtains.

[starflungwaddledee]

been working on answering a prompt i received in an ask the other day, and so i'm back thinking about... the Thing... 💖🎀 and thought maybe prompt doodles might help me work through this a little?

so uhhh.... if by any wild chance anyone has any ship suggestions for starstruck...??? feel free to send them through!

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[rottiens]

lately I've been thinking about how embarrassed yet excited bf isagi feels to share what kind of hentai he likes with you . you cuddling, him breathing against your neck increasingly faster, his thumbs blindly seeking the hardness of your nipples as he said, " okay, I think you like it just as much as I do, you can admit it now."

[moe-broey]

Crazy how I can recount something from my adolescence about how I was raised and still manage to make my therapist (who I have been seeing for Years) still go Oh. That's... 😶

Like obviously professional quick recovery style but like. Has an immediate grounding effect and gives eye opening perspective in point zero seconds. Like ooooohh. You see, I was operating under the impression that like, this is a fairly run of the mill and expected experience for someone like me with my lived experiences. Like I could just say this and anyone would know exactly what I'm getting at without needing to provide all the details and thought processes at play here.

Hm. Well,

[choccorin]

i don't think i'll have a new friend group this school year . . .

[zestyzigzagoon]

maybe I'd post chapters in a more timely manner if they weren't all 7k+