#Don’t mess with the timeline

[waitingforthesunrise]

I had a dream last night.

I walked up the steps of a house I’d dreamed of — hoping, praying, for the day I’d make it my own. A little haven (full of peace and laughter and always enough doughnuts for everyone.) 

I touched the door and passed through.

I knew she wasn’t here. She was traveling 

My older self — so she had made it. Ah, but I was proud…it was quiet and dim, waiting for its owner. Its’ friend. Full of books and the art she loved, the rugs and the flowers and the messy pictures of a life worth staying for. I walked to the kitchen. There was tea on the counter, the kind we loved. It smelled just the same; rich, fragrant, full of promise. I cupped the warm mug in my hands. I knew she wouldn’t mind. I could stay as long as I liked. 

I crossed the porch, one of her blankets around my shoulder. It smelled like home. I sat on the steps and the tea tasted like falling in love

Not with a person. A place. A state of being.

I sat on the steps and the sun was rising 

And I knew it was almost time to go, but not for long. 

One day, I will be thirty. I will pause at my door—

About to leave, to travel, to adventure and experience. But first 

I will turn back to the kitchen; take down my favorite mug and leave out some tea. 

The kind we love.

[little-pondhead]

Clockwork sneezed.

Then he paused. He never sneezes. He’s a ghost; ghosts don’t get sick. Not since he locked up the last Ghost Virus in his vaults. Why did he sneeze?

He sneezed again. Oh no, was that a headache coming on? His eyes felt tired and his skin was itchy. Was that a tickle in his throat?? Were those spots on his arm?? Shit, time to go check on his vaults to make sure nothing escaped. All hell would break loose if there was a ghost epidemic again.

Clockwork turns to leave the room, and in his haste, his scepter taps the very edge of a tall and thin grandfather clock he’d just been working on. The clock was made from a red-stained cottonwood he’d procured from the heart of Kansas many years ago, and it was gilded in delicate gold that shone with age and looked well-loved. Despite its height, the clock was a strong one, and didn’t tip over when the Ghost of Time bumped it.

It did, however, shift a few of the loose cogwheels inside. A few of them dropped out of the clock, and one even fell to the floor and rolled away. The ones that stayed inside rattled ominously for a moment before settling into their new spots. The clock kept ticking, but the time was off now. It skipped a few seconds, just enough for a listener to notice, before suddenly reversing the hour and minute hands.

Too bad there was nobody nearby to pay attention to the now-broken clock.

—

Danny was a strange boy. He knew that. Everyone in Amity knew that. Even his mentor, Clockwork, called him strange every once in a while. He liked being strange. It was fun being unpredictable. Having a Time Medallion stuck in his chest certainly helped in his shenanigans, since it meant he was technically separate from the time streams. He had pulled off more than one prank on his pseudo-grandfather by using this to his advantage.

Sometimes, however, Danny’s freedom from the time stream caused him more trouble than he thought it was worth. Like right now, for example.

He was simply at home, battling dinner with his sister while his parents were making a batch of fudge. Suddenly, Danny felt the time stream shift and writhe in a way he’d never felt before. He shivered and sneezed, thinking nothing of it. Clockwork made tiny adjustments all the time, there was nothing to worry about.

Except there was. When he opened his eyes, there was now a baby in his house.

One minute it was just him and Jazz at the table, the next, a baby in a red high chair was giggling and clapping along with Jazz as she tried to cut up the double-dead hotdogs into smaller bits for the child to eat.

The baby wasn’t a ghost, Danny knew. But when he looked around, evidence of a baby living in the Fenton house laid everywhere. The rocking chair in the living room now had a side table with two empty bottles on it. Pictures hanging in the hall had been changed to include the child. Toys were scattered around every corner, just waiting to be stepped on. Neither Jazz nor his parents had blinked at the sudden change.

In fact, Danny discovered, everyone in Amity Park seemed to think that this baby had always been with them. Even his best friends and rogues didn’t bat an eye! Danny was now a middle child, while everything else stayed the same.

But Danny knew. He knew something was wrong. This baby didn’t belong here.

He had to talk to Clockwork. He had to find out who this child was.

The child named Clark K. Fenton.

[turtleblogatlast]

I am once again overcome by the sheer magnitude of pranks Mikey and Leo could commit on the world of archaeology through their combined abilities of time and space

With enough time for Mikey in particular to be strong enough to make a small time portal - again within Leo’s portal opened in Someplace, Somewhere - they could plant so much shit just to mess with historians.

Like - Mikey wanted to try painting Greek-style pottery and Leo is like “hey hey wait…”

And now there is newly discovered evidence of Greek depictions of humanoid turtles laying around.

[sunglassesmish]

we don’t talk about his glassy eyes in this scene enough

[doctorsiren]

Siren i need help

I made a AA au but i just realised it would screw up the entire timeline and now i have to account for it but i am too lazy

(I dont know what i was expecting would happen from killing off phoenix pre-series though)

how am I supposed to help with that 😭 ????

[applesandbannas747]

Johanna the Mad and CS Pacat are truly masters of their crafts, and I really believe that every aspect of Fence and the symbolism we see in it is intentional. Each detail was deliberately put in–there’s a reason for everything. So why make the crests of MacRob and Lowther such a perfect match for each other if not to hint at a romance across the two teams?

They’re literally broadcasting their intention to us, I mean come on, a bird and a tree? A TREE? A place where birds find refuge?? It’s so obvious. And the only characters that make sense to feature in this titular romance are, of course, Hector and Kyle. Think about it.

[hi-there-buddies]

Certain fanfics: don’t focus on the timeline it’s kinda messy lol, just read the story!

The timeline: so fucked beyond repair that it doesn’t even make sense in the scope of the plot the author is trying to tell

[heroesriseandfall]

Gotta respect the stubbornness of writers who still say Dick was 8 when he became Robin even as it gets increasingly impossible for him to be 8 unless you mess up everyone else’s origins and timeline.

[thecryptidenthusiast]

Title: willingness to bend

Rating: PG? Nothing much but some arguing further in. Abby is stubborn and not thinking straight, and Nate isn’t helping his case.

Pairing: Detective Abigail ‘Abby’ Brùn/Nate Sewell

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: how the post-forest argument would have actually gone between Abby ‘fiercely independent and stubborn’ Brùn and Nate ‘worries SO MUCH but terrible about talking through things’ Sewell. Also known as ‘these two care a lot about each other they’re just bad at saying so’

I was disappointed there was no sort of conversation or confrontation with these post-trapper, especially picking the dialogue option that gets you the famous “i won’t allow you to endanger yourself” line. so I’m rectifying it by making things worse <3 no spoilers really this all takes place in the timeframe of the demo, but I’ll tag it just to be safe.

Abby wasn’t expecting Nate to be waiting for her.

She’d lingered behind at the Facility after the debriefing. Longer than she probably should have, given the circumstances of…everything going on. But she’d needed some kind of respite, a little time to process without Unit Bravo looming over her shoulder.

Getting food with Vieno had been the perfect excuse for some time away.

Unit Victor had been an unexpected surprise, but ultimately a pleasant one. The group had no problems dragging chairs over and making themselves comfortable. Willing to talk about everything and nothing, they had little regard for personal boundaries.

Apparently news about her traveled far, and she wasn’t sure how she felt being at the center of it.

It seemed positive, at least.

The conversations were light. Nothing more than gossip to fuel the rumor mills. Was Adam as hard headed as everyone claimed, something Abby only gave a noncommittal shrug to because the last thing she needed was her answer somehow cycling its way back to him. They’d reached a tentative peace, she didn’t feel the need to argue with him at every comment, and he seemed to tolerate her being around. No need to upheave that progress.

They’d asked about Nate afterwards. About her relationship with him, and she couldn’t bring herself to answer around the sudden lump in her throat. Vieno steered them off by calling them a bunch of ‘nosy gossips’, and it was all Abby could do to give them a grateful nod at the intervention. Conversation still flowed afterwards as they all talked amongst themselves, and she happily let herself drift to the background.

But the lump never eased.

It’s- ridiculous. Selfish, even. Everything that’s happened in the past 24 hours, and it’s her own personal problems sitting on her mind like lead weights, something she couldn’t shake off. Added salt to the wounds of everything else.

Maybe it stung because Nate had been her point of peace. Someone that could help keep her afloat even when it felt like she was spiraling. She didn’t have that now and she felt- she felt alone.

Too lost in her own mind to be considered anything remotely close to ‘good company’, she gave a distracted good-bye before excusing herself and somehow managing to find her way to her car.

The drive back, trapped in the silence, hurt more than it helped.

She couldn’t stop herself from replaying everything over in her mind, trying to pick out where she’d gone wrong to make him so frustrated. Outside of the level of danger that was becoming a regular occurrence in her life, she’d come out of the attack fine. Stressed, a little shaken, but unhurt. She hadn’t even fought, technically. The thorny mess of underbrush had done the work for her; she’d just taken advantage of her…familiarity with the area.

Not that it mattered. Nate still hadn’t been happy she wasn’t willing to let him hide her away while everyone else fought in her place.

So, he yelled. Sort of. As much as Nate ever raises his voice.

And in turn, she yelled back at him. And if she hadn’t been so caught off guard, she would’ve been embarrassed that it all happened in front of the rest of the team.

No, that didn’t settle in until afterwards. After the chaos settled and the adrenaline faded, forced to sit through a debriefing with as much distance as she could manage between her and Nate. It mixed with the slow burning anger she’d tried to swallow down until it formed something toxic that left a bitterness in her throat.

It wasn’t Nate’s frustration that stung. Or the yelling - though that hadn’t helped. That, alone, she could have taken; sat with and picked apart into pieces of something that made sense, given enough time.

I won’t allow you.

No, the anger came even before they’d been reduced to shouting at each other. It was the declaration of what she was allowed to do, as if that’s a decision he had the right to take away from her. One sentence, buried in her mind like a splinter. The more she dug at it, the more raw she’s left afterwards.

It’s not rational, not really. One panicked phrase, said in the heat of a dangerous situation, shouldn't have struck her as hard as it did. But whether or not it was sane or fair didn’t matter - it left her feeling angry and constricted.

She doesn’t register the drive until she’s sitting outside the chain link fence of the Warehouse. It takes effort to uncurl her fingers, idly rubbing out the cramps brought on by the white-knuckled grip she’d had on the steering wheel. Staring up at the decrepit facade, with her headlights painting shadows in the gloom of the night, a part of her considers turning around. Peeling out before she has to face anyone, although…she has nowhere to go besides here. A stray thought passes through her mind about crashing at Tina’s, but she squashes it before it has a chance to take root. It’s well past 2 in the morning, and while Tina would open her door to her, Abby wouldn’t put her out like that. And she isn’t sure she wants to deal with the line of questioning that would bring on, either. And, Adam had been clear about her order to come directly back to the Warehouse afterwards.

Another order. Another decision made for her. Only this one smarts less, because she’s used to Adam telling her what to do.

So, against every nerve in her body, she forces herself to shut the car off and climb out. Mentally talking herself into taking each step forward, more mechanical feeling than anything natural. She’s not in the right headspace to handle anything more than collapsing into bed.

It’s late, anyways. Maybe she’ll be lucky and everyone will be busy doing whatever it is that keeps vampires busy throughout the night. They’ll hear her arrival, she’ll be able to get to her room and push off dealing with anything for at least a few more hours.

She wasn’t planning on Nate being up and about. Even if she shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.

“You’re back.” He startles her out of her thoughts. Perched on the couch in the living room, a book in hand, it’s clear he’d been waiting for her return. He’s smiling, doing his best to look relaxed, but she knows him too well for him to hide the tension in his body. The concern in his eyes as he looks her over.

Both get worse when she chooses to stay rooted to her spot by the door instead of moving to join him.

“I was at the Facility.” She says, words stilted and awkward as she debates her chances of making it if she were to just rush through the room and leave. She’d thought- a part of her hoped her aggravation would ease, if she gave herself time, but seeing him has it trying to claw its way to the surface again, settling like a burning coal in her chest.

Maybe he’ll let it go. Maybe he’ll just say goodnight and let her go-

“I was worried.”

He means it, that’s the worst part of it all. A passing remark made with nothing but genuine care in mind, because he always worries when she’s away. When he can’t be around. He just wants her safe. And there’s a small, logical part of her that knows that. The part that’s fighting and failing to pull her temper back knows it’s meant in kindness.

But the threats she’d been desperately grasping onto snap, all the same.

“I was with Vieno. And another Unit.” Her tone is flat, bordering on harsh. “Do I need your permission so you can allow me to go anywhere without you?”

She’s lashing out now. Feeling twisted up too tight, throwing barbs in the hopes of something sticking. There’s no pleasure when her words hit their mark though, no enjoyment in the way she sees him flinch. Just a building pressure under her skin, a rolling nausea in her stomach.

She hates this. Hates everything she’s feeling, but is too far in to pull back now.

He sighs as he pushes up from the couch, and she shuffles the rest of the way into the living room to take a place in front of the fireplace. Just- to give herself somewhere to stand besides the front door, so it didn’t seem like she was seconds away from bolting. She keeps her eyes on the ground though, just to find something to look at that isn’t him. Still, she feels him take a place beside her, even with the deliberate space he’s kept between them.

“I suppose we need to talk.”

“Yeah, we really do.” As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes flit in his direction, unsure of what she’ll find. Frustration on his face? Exasperation in his eyes at her attitude? She’s not being kind, it would be deserved.

She isn’t prepared for the deep crease between his pinched brows. She isn’t prepared to find him looking so incredibly sad.

“I know I didn’t handle the…situation with the Trappers properly.” He starts after a brief pause, clearly trying to gather up his thoughts. She lets herself relax, just a little. At least this seems like a step in the right direction. “Seeing them close in on you, while I was too far to help, filled me with terror. Every worst case scenario went through my mind, and I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

He sounds properly contrite, at least. His shoulders are drawn, hands pushed deep into his pockets. It's only her own stubbornness that keeps her from reaching out to him though. “It worked out, though.”

“That it did.” He smiles, but it’s a wobbly thing. Brittle. “All it takes is once, though. As I said, they will stoop to whatever means necessary to take you and I- I cannot bear the thought of that happening.”

“And I can’t handle sitting back, doing nothing while everyone else fights my fights.” She turns to face him now, and he mirrors her movement. “And I can’t handle you telling me what I’m allowed to do.”

“It’s our job to protect you, and we don’t mind-“

“But I do!” She snaps, cutting him off. She knows they’re making no progress. Two steps forward, three backwards. Unlike before though, she can see him trying to figure out a way to diffuse the rising tensions before they can come to head.

“We’re getting off point, and I’ve upset you again. I apologize, for then and now.” His apology soothes her annoyance, if only a little.

“Thank you.” He takes a few tentative steps forward at that, trying to close the distance. “But again, Nate, it’s not just the fight. It’s you trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do.”

He pauses then, and she realizes he’d been hoping she’d just pass that point over in favor of being angry about everything else. “I shouldn’t have phrased it that way,” He says finally, carefully, and she narrows her eyes. “I misspoke, I’m not trying to make every decision in your life.”

Just certain ones, the thought is a cranky, nasty little one. “You’re going to have to let me help. If I’m going to be part of the team, let me act like it.”

His brows furrow at that. Reaching out, hesitating just long enough to give her a chance to push him away, he cups her face in his palm. Cradling her like she’s something precious, she can’t help but lean into him as his thumb traces her cheekbone. “Being a part of a team also means accepting your limitations and allowing us to help you, though.”

Any warmth from his touch vanishes then, chilling in her veins as she shakes him off. “What does that mean?”

“I told you to hide because, at that moment, that was the best thing you could have done to help us.” His tone is gentle, but Abby knows him well enough now to know he’s picking his words with care, working up to his point in a very Nate-like way. Kind, always so kind, but unwilling to budge. “Your safety is my priority, always. At times, that means you have to be willing to let us protect you.”

He’s not listening. He’s not hearing a word she’s saying, and she can feel her anger rising again.

“I handled myself though.” She’s trying to be reasonable. To quell the part of her that wants to snap, and snarl, and fight. “I didn’t even fight, I was able to handle it my way.”

“And what if you couldn’t? What then?” Nate crosses his arms, as if he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands now that she’s out of his reach once again, and Abby has never thought he looked more stubborn. “I just wish for you to be safe, is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you expect me to sit back and let my family fend for themselves!” She won’t let herself focus on the fact that was the first word that came to mind, slipping out before she could stop it. Not here, not now. Not with so much tension, or with the storm of emotions making her chest ache. Or with Nate’s face lighting up, even in the midst of her yelling at him. She’ll dissect it later, with nothing but four walls watching her and the safety of an empty room around her.

“I’m simply asking for you to trust us,” He says slowly, as if to placate her, though all it does is further stoke her temper. “I- We can handle threats against ourselves, but you-“

“You almost didn’t before!” She shouts, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Memories of Nate, battered and bruised, laying in his own blood, flash in her mind, too quick for her to block them out. As if sensing her distress, he reaches out on instinct, but she jerks back before he can make contact.

She can almost pretend like the flash of hurt on his face doesn’t make her ache.

“I was taking care of myself long before you guys showed up.” As soon as the words are out there, she wants to snatch them back. Bury them, stuffed away in the dark where they belong. Panic and embarrassment has her pacing now, too much of something buzzing just under her skin. She was prepared for fighting, yelling she- she’s not ready to see pity from him.

Because maybe, that’s the true, awful core to all of this. Why Nate’s protectiveness feels like an ill-fitting coat, clinging too tightly. So long with no one, pushed to grow up too fast. She doesn’t know how to let somebody else care for her.

Would she even want to? To let herself be that vulnerable with someone else?

And Nate knows. Of course he does. Even with ehr pacing, and her stubborn refusal to meet his eyes, she can feel him watching. Picking up on every little thing she wants to hide from him but can’t, because he’s always seen too much of her. He’s close to hovering, she’s sure, wanting to provide comfort but unsure how. The thought makes her cross her arms, as if she can make herself a smaller target.

That’s what makes him finally move, though. A gentle hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks, providing a warmth she can feel even through her layers of clothes.

“You shouldn’t have had to.” He sounds so soft, so sure of himself. Steady, where she’s drifting. “And if I could, I would mend that for you. But you don’t have to now.”

Let me care, the words are there. Unspoken, left to hang between them, but there nonetheless. I would if you’d let me. I want to.

And it would be so easy to let him. To drop her guard and let him in. To let him take the few final pieces of her heart she has hidden away, because he’s already taken the rest. Given to him willingly the first time they’d kissed

She could.

She wants-

I won’t allow you.

But she won’t. Can’t.

“Well, I did.” She cuts through the silence that had grown between them with sharp precision. Squaring her shoulders, she turns to face him, trying not to miss his touch as his hand slips away, and forces herself to meet his gaze head-on. Whatever he sees when he looks at her has his shoulders slumping, ever so slightly. “Which means I don’t need you panicking over every little thing that could potentially go wrong, or you deciding what I’m allowed to do.”

There’s a rare flash of frustration in his eyes, there too fast for him to be able to tuck it out of her sight. “It’s not about permission, Abigail.”

“That’s exactly what all of this has been about!” She snaps, barely resisting the urge to yank on her hair in frustration and instead settles for pulling at her sleeves to give her something to dig her nails into. Her tone is rising again and she can’t stop. This is falling apart in front of her, too fast for her to do anything but embrace the inevitable crash waiting for her at the end. “You’re trying to tell me what you’ll allow me to do, stressing over things that might happen. None of this is going to work if you don’t trust me to know my own limits.”

“You ask me to trust you, yet you have an alarming pattern of paying little regard to your own wellbeing. So forgive me if I’m inclined to doubt your choices.” His tone is harsher than she’s ever heard it, words sharp enough to make her wince. He notices, immediately softening as he scrambles to backtrack. “I care about you Abby. So much.”

That’s all this is about. Everything it boils down to. But it’s not enough to fix anything. And that realization has her deflating, a sadness creeping in to replace the anger.

“But I’m human.” It’s a quiet sort of admission. One that hurts, because it doesn’t matter what she does in the end. How much she prepares herself, or tries to help. She’s still the weak link, and Nate will always treat her as such.

Half a dozen emotions flicker across his face in that instance, almost too fast for her to recognize. Fear. Frustration. Affection. Something- something heavier, deeper than the others, and she feels her heart thumping painfully against her ribs.

“That-“ He cuts himself off, tearing his gaze away to look at the wall. There’s something more there, that much she’s certain of. Something he’s barely bitten back, and part of her wants to grab him. Shake him and demand an answer, an explanation, anything to tell her she’s wrong. “You are.”

Nothing more. No deeper answer. Just a heavy hearted agreement, that hurts more than her own words had.

A bitter part of her wonders why she expected anything any different.

The fight leaves her as quickly as it had come. The exhaustion of everything suddenly presses down on her with such a fierceness that she’s left aching. So she crosses her arms again, like she can hold herself together a little while longer as she shuffles backwards. Desperate to space between them.

“I can’t do this right now.” She’s speaking more to herself than to him at this point, turning towards the door. “I can’t- I need to go.”

“Abby?” There’s a thread of alarm in his voice now, and she hears his muffled footsteps on the carpet as he keeps pace behind her. “Wait, we can talk-“

“All we’ve been doing is talking, Nate. And I’m done.” There’s a hollowness in her, like something carved out a piece of her, and she rubs her chest as if she can massage the ache away. A chill has seeped through her clothes, settling all the way down to the tips of her fingers, and she chooses to blame it on the lack of sleep.

“Please.” It’s one word, practically begged, but it’s enough to make her stall. Enough to have her spare one more glance at him. Frozen halfway from touching her, panic and desperation have brought a sheen to his usually warm eyes. Torn between having her stay, and afraid of pushing her further away has him teetering on an edge. “Please, stay?”

It hurts. So much, more than it should, and it isn’t fair. Leaving him like this, when a part of her wants to turn around and let him soothe away everything. Let herself be lost in him awhile and pretend like everything is fine between them. To take the easy path.

But she knows how that will end. Another fight, sooner rather than later. She knows she can’t keep burying things away, as much as he wants to when things get tough.

So she shakes her head, pulling the door open and forcing herself to look away before he can notice the tears she can feel burning her eyes. “I just need some time, okay? Give me some space.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer. She can’t, not if she’s going to keep her resolve. So she leaves, letting the door slam closed behind her. And maybe, everything will feel a little less painful when the sun rises.

[dust-of-embers]

The fact that SAF and Hairspray take place in roughly the same timeframe makes my head hurt…

[littledreamling]

(fic idea, angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death) When Dream gets imprisoned, when Hob gets stood up, when the White Horse gets torn down, something breaks in Hob, something empty and cold, something like a black void, something like his heart. Life is hard for immortals; he has to move, had to change his name, has to reinvent himself every other decade or so. Technology makes staying under the radar just that much harder; moving his money around has gotten almost impossible; finding a legitimate job is out of the question (he was born before National Insurance Numbers, he’s had to lie about his entire existence to even get housing, much less a way to pay for said housing). It’s exhausting and the prospect of every new move is daunting. It overpowers any joy that life still has for him. So he lets the White Horse get torn down and he doesn’t build a replacement. He holes himself up in his flat for too long, drinks too much, and when his mind gets too loud, when he slowly comes to the realization that there is nothing left for him, not without significant danger to himself, he bites the bullet and calls for Death. And Death, an Endless, bound to her duty, offers her hand and a gentle smile and takes his soul, a soul that is long overdue for her comfort

When Dream escapes, his focus is on his tools, on the retrieval of his power and his wayward creations, on restoring his realm. Only once that is complete does his sister seek him out, to break his moody reverie. Their conversation follows much the same lines, except instead of mentioning how much Dream’s pet project would love to see him, she grows uncharacteristically somber at the mere mention of immortals. She seems to be mourning someone, though Dream can’t guess who. Surely, Mad Hettie hasn’t finally succumbed to his sister’s sweet embrace? When pressed, Death seems shocked that he doesn’t know; she slowly and softly tells him that Hob had asked for her gift.

The world grinds to a halt.

Dream can’t believe it. He refuses to. Hob, his ever-faithful, ever-hopeful, ever-joyful Hob? Asking for Death’s gift? It seems impossible. Yet Death is not one for cruel jokes, and she is deathly serious. There is a grief in her eyes that assures him of the truth; Hob is gone from the mortal realm.

At first, he is angry. How could she grant him that which she had withheld for so long? How could she rob the world of his soul? How could she? How could she? How could she? He collapses with it, right there on the sidewalk, tears made of stars and space dust welling in his eyes and she holds him, holds him together as he falls apart. She tells him that she had no choice; she is bound to her function, just as all of the Endless are. Hob had asked, she had to give.

Then, he is desperate. His Ravens, they had been mortals once, too. Surely, Hob had chosen to stay in the Dreaming. Surely, Hob had not abandoned this universe forever to face the unknown beyond. Surely, Hob would choose to stay, as he had chosen to stay so many times over during the course of his long life. But even as he looks into his sister’s eyes, hopeful beyond hope, pleading for reassurance, he knows it is not true. He is the Dreaming and the Dreaming is him. With Dream gone, there had been no Dreaming for Hob to stay in. He had had no choice; his soul passed on. He was gone, well and truly gone. Hob Gadling had breathed his last.

When it came time for Dream to destroy the vortex, even after discovering his familial connection, even after discovering the ruination that would result from her death, he did not hesitate. The spilling of family blood would be the end of his physical body, but his spirit had died with Hob. There was a numbness in the empty cavity where his heart would be if her were mortal; the Dreaming grew dull and grey; a fog hung low over the landscape, broken only by intense storms that flooded the entire realm for months at a time. And when the Kindly Ones came to claim their revenge for the blood on his hands, he surrendered willingly. This universe held nothing for him anymore. And when he gazed into his sister’s understanding eyes, at the end of it all, he hoped with a hope beyond belief, that Hob Gadling would be waiting for him on the other side

[skull-kid-was-here]

Finally posting about the AU again. With the lack of time travel and earlier start it not only messes with the hero’s adventure but the villains as well.

Skull Kid is a more active menace as he’s still causing trouble at the same time Kafei is attempting to fix it. Just means he has to deal with this overpowered kid way more than he wants too. u-u

[reikane-enthusiast]

why did I predict rei becoming the foundation director

that happened , right?? like in uhhh

in omake mode 2??

[rakeshouseparty]

Good morning rake gang i had a real weird dream and it involved rake!

[titsthedamnseason]

i just want to double check something if anyone can help me. i am in est time, so if i make the surprise song post on the evening of thursday, february 15, that’s a good time before friday’s show in melbourne? because i will wake up and taylor will have done the show overnight while i was sleeping? and im not going to miss the post window?

[justsomebatfamstuff]

I keep on forgetting that the commissioner really is old. Classic boomer L