#Temporal Quips

[kiraaltacc1]

What is Tempora Chronus?

Tempora Chronus is an organization under the Shadow government that overlooked the safety of the past, future, or present to ensure there were no fluctuations or anomalies that affected the ripple of cause and effect of the greater timeline. Wait a minute, What is the greater timeline? the timeline where we exist of course!

What will happen if the greater timeline is disturbed? we will not exist, silly! Then, what did Tempora Chronus do to ensure that safety? we follow a code called; Research, Eliminate, Dispose or else called CODE OPERATION R.E.D

Research = to research, investigate the disturbance is the timeline with the information we had in the present.

Eliminate = to eliminate, go to the past or future to eliminate that disturbance.

Dispose = to Dispose of the anomalies plaguing the timeline and ensure it's safety.

Who is in charge? Our leader, and founder Prof. doc. Mark Markham -sign off, M.E

[megglesthegeek]

One More Chance to Be Near You

There had been too many mistakes. Too many retakes. Never being enough, never even coming close to being enough, and it was driving Loki mad.

He’d taken breaks, of course. Sometimes he’d time slip and just… pull Mobius aside, talk to him, and ask for distraction. Maybe come up with some reason to take him out of the temporal core and just take the time between then and the loom exploding to breathe. To just look at him and remember why this was important. To, occasionally in his more masochistic moments, ask Mobius what he wanted to do when they fixed it, what he thought he and Loki would go from there. 

Mobius would always say something about He Who Remains variants, focused on the job and not hearing what Loki was really asking. Depending on how insistent Mobius was when Loki would try to correct him, they sometimes ran out of time before Mobius could give him an answer. Most times, Mobius would look away, shrug, and say, “We get some pie, maybe some cocoa, figure out what we do when that’s all done.” But every tenth break or so, Mobius wouldn’t look away and instead searched Loki’s face and see what he was really asking. Then Mobius would smile, eyes bright with it, and one of two things would come out of his mouth: “Let’s see when we get there,” or “Guess I was wrong.”

But frankly, Loki had gotten to a point where, as Victor turned to matter, he just couldn’t think of another way they could try to get a different outcome and he couldn’t take another break and taste what he wanted so desperately only to never get there. He could only go back so far or they wouldn’t have Timely at the TVA for his temporal aura. OB could only have so much time to work on anything he came up with to make the throughput multiplier work better. The only person who could figure out how to get it to work, and have it ready early enough for Victor to get down the gangway in time, was Loki.

It was ridiculous and self-aggrandizing, but it had to be a better plan than repeating the same doomsday scenario over and over again and hoping for a different result. 

So as he heard the protests from OB, from Timely, from Casey as they stood around the model of the loom for the first and hundredth time, Loki asked, “But if I had to know. I mean, I really, really, really had to know, how long would it take?”

Decades.

Centuries .

Daunting.

He’d have to go back further. Further than he ever would have cared to.

On autopilot, Loki followed Mobius and Sylvie out of the room while Case, Victor, and OB got to work on a throughput that would fail. Because it always did and always would unless it could be ready well before they got to this moment in time. 

Lost in thought, Loki hadn’t really considered what this moment was until Mobius spoke about going to the automat. 

“Pie?” Sylvie spat, turning on heel to really glare the agent down. “What is the matter with you? You dragged me back here begging for help, so you must have some idea of what’s happening. Everything is turning to shit, and you want to leave it to them while we go and have some pie? Great idea, Mobius.”

When Loki said nothing, she turned an accusing stare at him but he didn’t flinch. It wouldn’t matter, this whole scenario would be erased and automatically reset to how it originally happened once Loki slipped again.

With a huff, she turned and stormed off, jacket flaring behind her before she stormed off.

“Is it so bad? Having a little creature comfort?” Mobius asked him, one hand on his hip as he gestured in the direction Sylvie stormed off in. Which, ironically, was the automat.

“I’d say no, but the pie is dreadful,” Loki replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turned toward Mobius.

“You ate the pie, you liked that pie,” he argued with a hint of a grin still lingering on his lips.

“I ate the cream and pushed the rest around on my plate. I wouldn’t call that eating it, let alone liking it,” Loki quipped back as he crept into Mobius’s space. 

He frowned, trying to find what he wanted to ask, not sure if he should. Not sure if he could and not sound like he’d lost his mind.

“What is it?” Mobius asked quietly, his hand finding its way to Loki’s forearm and holding tight.

“When I was time slipping,” He started, “I had come from a time at the TVA when you didn’t know me. You didn’t even recognize me as a Loki.”

“Yeah, still find that hard to believe,” Mobius gave Loki’s arm a squeeze before he stroked it once.

“How long, do you think, that mosaic of the Time Keepers hid the evidence of He Who Remains?”

Mobius frowned, which was understandable, it was a strange question to ask then, of all times, when there had been countless of other times Loki could have brought it up. 

“They were there for as long as I can remember. I dunno, maybe… a mellenia? The dawn of time? I just… I don’t have an answer for you.” Then with a tilt of his head, asked, “Why?”

“Do you think… do you think the TVA, you, OB, all of you were here the whole time, or?”

“Do I think that He Who Remains plucked us off the timeline from the beginning? I dunno,” Mobius shrugged. “I mean, I’m still wrapping my head around being a variant. I haven’t… I don’t know how long I would have been kept here, you know. Still doesn’t answer the question of ‘why,’ though.”

Loki pulled his arm out of Mobius’s grip but letting his hand take its place. “I’ve been time slipping.”

“You’ve what?” Mobius’s eyes went wide

“I can control it,” Loki rushed to reassure. “I’ve been slipping back, over and over, trying to get this plan to work and I can’t. I can’t, and I think the only way to do it is if I happen to do it myself. Earlier or better. I don’t know, I just… I need to try. But like OB said it would take centuries to learn as much as he and Victor do.”

“Whoa, wait, back up a second. What do you mean ‘trying to get it to work?’ It doesn’t work? We’ve gotta think of something else-“

“Mobius, we can’t,” Loki cut him off, gripping his hand tighter. “There’s not enough time even if we tried. I know, I lived it. So I need to go back and learn all this, but if I do I need a who to go back to. And I want to know, need to know if you think there’s a you that I could go back to long before the one who didn’t know me. Which means long before you would have had your memory of me erased.”

“Ah, but then, wouldn’t I know you? If you went back to before that moment?”

“Not if you had your memory erased more than once,” Loki pointed out. “And I’ve a feeling you have. At least selectively. You spoke once of being a hunter, but you were an analyst when I encountered you. You were exactly as you are now, only outside the window you were standing near was a sculpture of He Who Remains.”

Mobius blinked then took another deep breath through his nose. 

“And what about Sylvie?”

“What about her?” Loki asked with a minute shake of his head and an infinitesimal shrug.

“Well, I mean, she’d been on the run for a long time. We never knew we weren’t looking for the typical sorta Loki. And you know where to find her, too. What if you go back and….”

Loki waited to see if Mobius would finish the suggestion.

“And?” Loki asked just before another power surge rocked the TVA.

As the lights flickered, Mobius said, “And find her first. Before we do, before all this. It’s not gonna be easy, walking away from her after, what was it? Centuries? I mean, I get you guys haven’t had a lot of time together, at least I don’t think you did. Not sure how long you guys were together on Lamentis, or at the End of Time.”

“Lamentis was a day, two at a stretch. The End of Time was hours, maybe. Not long. And we fought nearly the whole time.” He replied, utterly baffled by the turn of events.

“Yeah, well, you guys would be hiding out for stretches at a time in apocalypses together. It’ll bring you even closer, make that romance really sparkle.”

“What in Hel are you talking about?” Loki asked. “Mobius, I’ve no intention of trying to find her, to help her or otherwise.”

“Yeah, except you say that but we only just had your time slipping fixed - which apparently didn’t last - and then you talk about finding her.”

“Because I saw her in the future. I knew she would be here, I didn’t know why. I thought maybe she had wanted to help fix what she started, but apparently, that only came into play when her own branch died.”

Mobius frowned, leaning back, eyes darting over Loki’s face. Then that same awe and disbelieving smile Loki had seen countless times took hold of Mobius as his fingers curled more tightly around Loki’s.

“Guess you were wrong,” He said in sync with Mobius’s “Guess I was wrong,” which had them both chuckle quietly.

The TVA shook, lights flickered again, the power surges growing as they always did.

“You wanna go back to me.”

“Yes,” Loki replied.

“Before I knew you.”

Loki nodded.

“And before I would have to forget you again.”

Loki nodded solemnly.

“I don’t wanna forget you.”

It's a lot, probably too much for a Tumblr post.

More chapter one here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59265844/chapters/151142950

[lizadale]

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh dimigi smut??? bye

(nsfw)

[]

You’re not trying to be rude to him. It’s unintentional, this time, but at this rate you may be lucky if he ever lets you leave the house again.

You came home this night unsuspecting of your misdeeds, craving a home-cooked meal. To your chagrin, the corner of the kingdom you teleport in from is hours behind in the day, not that one could tell in regards to Forever Forest, where it always appears to be night. Popping into the entryway with all the lights in the house off and the hands of the analog wall clock pointing just past four was a bit of a disappointment, but you don’t particularly mind skipping a meal to instead enjoy the familiarity of a shared bed.

But barely do you shuck your shaman cloak and enter the quiet master bedroom when a snare of limbs surges up from the bed and pulls you under the covers, and you can’t help but yelp in alarm. Luigi must have snapped awake the second you entered his sensory range, and there’s something mildly malicious in the way he divests you of your remaining attire and begins sucking dark marks into your skin with less than a friendly greeting.

“H-having a late-night snack, are we?” you try to quip, addled by the feeling of his mouth over your pulse. Luigi is usually a model of restraint, sometimes borderline paranoid of touching you without ample warning of his intentions. Despite your best assurances, he believes you still to be skittish about even chaste touches, so this is worryingly out of character.

Then he practically smears the demand, “How long has it been, Dimentio?” across your collarbone and you realize you’re in trouble.

Simply put, your sense of time is terrible. Given your observations of the sage Merloo, you think it has a lot to do with your missing eye, so it’s not exactly something you can fix. You’re Ancient, anyway; a bat of an eyelash for you is easily a month for someone who only lives to a scant hundred years. Should you be blamed for this? No! Absolutely not. You can’t override your own nature.

…However.

When you spend an inordinate amount of time away from Luigi doing shaman work and then come back not realizing it has been literal days, well, perhaps you should admit a bit of responsibility in the matter. Especially when you neglect to check in all throughout.

You think back carefully to how many sunsets you might have witnessed in your recent travels, taking into account the odd parts of the Mushroom Kingdom where time is warped and spaces that mirror Forever Forest where temporal changes are not immediately obvious.

“It can’t have been more than six or seven days,” you hazard, but immediately by the scrape of his teeth against your throat you know it must be wrong. The last time he reacted like this it had been six days without contact—but then he had only wrestled you to the living room floor and refused to let you escape a cuddle for four hours. This is much more aggressive.

“Ten, perhaps. I will admit to ten,” you amend hopefully.

He lifts himself a little off you. At first, you think maybe you either guessed correctly or went over a bit—but then it seems he’s only raised up expressly to glower darkly down at your face. The moonlight filtered through the window glints off his eyes, making them even bluer than usual, and you’re considering how charmingly poetic that is when he shoves your head to the side and sets upon the left side of your face with tongue and teeth.

You gasp and writhe, back arcing away from the mattress, as he pulls scar tissue between his teeth and sucks it swollen. It isn’t painful—quite the opposite—but it speaks louder than if he had shouted “Wrong again, idiot!” in your face. You get your hand on his shoulder and—you adore this man—he automatically stills for five seconds to see if you’re going to push him away, but when you don’t that is all the reprieve he allows. You let your nails dig into his skin a little, rhythmically, and he makes a reluctant sound of approval deep in his throat.

“F-fourteen!” you exhale breathlessly. “Two entire weeks? Starlight, I shan’t survive this penalty—”

He growls directly into your ear. The vibration of it moves down your spine and gathers in a warm glow at your tailbone. “Nineteen,” he hisses.

Nineteen! You hardly believe that could be correct, but it must be if he says it is, because Luigi is the type to keep track. You can picture him sighing dejectedly as he marks another day on the calendar hanging in the kitchen. Becoming progressively annoyed at the lack of space in the refrigerator with every leftover plate he saves for you from dinner. Having to attend events alone without explanation of your absence other than an angry shrug when asked about it. Even his saintly patience has a limit, and you’ve always been very good at finding it.

He rubs his forehead against your cheek, and you feel his frustration with you become displaced by self-pity. “Starting to wonder if you were coming back.” He takes a steadying breath. “Considered hunting you down, but…”

“Mon âme,” you murmur apologetically, cupping the back of his neck. “Mi dispiace davvero. I did not mean—I may wander, but you are ever my home.”

He kisses you on the mouth finally, slow and sweet and deep, and you know you are forgiven. When you need to break for air, he nibbles on your bottom lip to avoid moving away entirely. Then he seems to realize what he’s doing and backs off, to your chagrin.

“M’sorry,” he says, sheepishly eyeing what must be over a dozen raised love bites marking your chest and neck. “Got a little carried away.”

The cold night air that sweeps along you due to the lack of his body blocking it makes you shiver. He’s only wearing boxers, which must be how he sleeps when you’re not around since you’ve always known him to at least also wear a shirt to bed; it makes it only mildly more difficult to grab his shoulders before he gets too far away.

“Where do you think you are going?” you inquire.

“I feel like you feel like I’m punishing you,” he says.

You want to shake him. How does his mood always switch so quickly from enticingly dangerous to embarrassed of his actions? “No, you think you are punishing me. Are you not still hungry?” You nudge your shin up against the hardness between his legs and he jolts. You scoff, “Come here, you fool.”

He misses a beat. “…It’s okay. I mean—”

“You must be under the misguided perception that I dislike being touched.”

“It’s—”

“That I somehow have come to abhor attention.”

“N-no, I just—”

“That I don’t perversely enjoy believing I am wanted.”

“You are wanted!” he says, horrified.

“Then act like it!” you snap, trying to jerk him back toward you—but he’s too startled to readily move, so instead you get your arms around his neck and pull yourself up until you’re pressed as flushed against him as you can get.

“Hngffr,” he says into your mouth. Seeing how he drops you back onto the mattress but keeps kissing you, you’ll interpret that as a concession.

This has been a point of contention for a great deal of time: you are impartial on the matter of sex, and Luigi, for some unknown reason, perceives your lack of interest as you hating it. Which is a completely unfounded belief, and you fail to see where he may have picked it up—you’re not in the habit of pushing him away unless you’re, say, currently trying to focus on doing something decidedly unsexy. Like studying a book. Writing a sarcastic report to Merlon about the dimensional state of the kingdom. Trying not to burn down the house making yourself some soup. And yet he has somehow convinced himself that you are against any form of physical contact that might steer you toward the direction of nakedness.

Which is stupid, because you’ve done this before. Pointing this out doesn’t seem to help.

“Under weird circumstances,” he maintains, now lightly soothing over the heated marks he left on you so roughly minutes before. “So it’s—”

“We,” you retort, exasperated, “are the definition of a weird circumstance. Are you trying to tell me that didn’t count? Is ‘weird circumstances’ referring perhaps to—what?—your lack of audiovisual senses? Did you think it was an accident that I started it?”

“Well, at the time—”

“Shut up!” you say. “Whatever argument you have is asinine and completely unnecessary. Also, fuck you for trying to abrogate my orgasm. It happened; I was there.”

He snorts against your neck, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. “…There was collateral damage as evidence, so I guess—”

“I’ll kill you,” you inform him blandly. The middle drawer of the nightstand still doesn’t fit on its runner properly. Luigi eventually bullied the reason out of you as to how the drawer had become so damaged; charmed by the story, he has refused to fix it since. It makes an almost unbearable screeching noise along the runner, and he frequently enjoys opening it as slowly as possible while making direct eye contact with you. Flirting with death, after all, has become somewhat of a cultivated talent of his.

Finally, his mood has lightened. He rolls onto his side, drags you into his arms, and wastes no time getting his greedy touch on your legs. He moves slowly, warm palm flat against your skin following the curve of your buttock down as far as he can reach, then pulling your knee up against his hip so he can get to your calf. He hums contentedly against your chest while massaging up and down. You never thought you might look forward to someone fondling your legs so, but his thorough touch is like nonverbal praise. Even though, really, you haven’t done anything to deserve it.

(“Mint condition legs,” he says dreamily, pressing his mouth to your heartbeat.)

Meanwhile, you have decided that he is no longer allowed to wear any shirts to bed. The amount of heat he puts off with no clothing to act as a buffer is bliss. You want to plaster yourself against him—so you’re slightly annoyed that he keeps sliding lower, decreasing the area of skin-on-skin contact. Your hands fist in his hair with a slight, persistent tug upward.

“Gimme a moment,” he demurs, lavishing attention on your navel.

His hands slither around onto the insides of your thighs. You make an undignified noise when his thumbs press into sensitive flesh, your adductors spasming involuntarily. (You hate that you even know what that set of muscles is called; curse his insistence on teaching you very specific yoga poses for very specific reasons.)

“Yyyyyeah?” he replies with obvious interest, and you can hear the raise of an eyebrow in his voice. Briefly you consider kneeing him in the chin and claiming it as part of the spasm, but that might be too much of a mood-killer.

He pushes at your hip until you’re lying on your back once more, and a spike of trepidation when he slides lower causes your fingers to pull a bit too roughly at his scalp. He stills, blinking up at you under the covers owlishly, cheek pillowed against your thigh. It takes him a couple seconds to realize what you’re saying “no” to. His eyes flick longingly pelvis-ward, but he instead presses an adoring kiss inside your thigh.

“I’ll behave,” he promises, though you can tell it’s a reluctant assurance, and you release the breath you’ve been holding.

You’ve witnessed this man juggle screws and bolts along his teeth, unwrap a piece of candy by putting the whole blessed thing in and spitting the neatly flattened wrapper out, and cleanly pit a handful of cherries after putting them in his mouth. If you steal his food without permission, he isn’t shy about wrestling it back from you mouth-to-mouth until you’re an overheated, scandalized jumble of indignation (you stole that dumpling fair and square, damn it). The things he can do by kissing you are already obscene; inexperienced as you are, you’re not sure what would happen to you should he apply those abilities to your nethers. At the very least, your soul might exit your body just thinking about it.

You have it in good faith that he is holding back, as tasting you seems to be one of his favorite things. He may be gently soothing your bent leg with his palm, but he’s also sucking the soft, tender flesh of your inner thigh between his teeth, and you feel yourself losing a generous portion of your mental fortitude with each passing second.

“You may bite,” you warn tremulously, feeling the insistent scrape of a cuspid, “but do not chew.”

He looks like he might have something more to say about that, but he just huffs out a laugh, breath gliding over damp skin and making you quiver. The hand not busy keeping your leg steady finds a home tending to your neglected erection with a gentle caress, and you draw air sharply between your teeth.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Ngh,” you allow from your warm haze. Keeping your hips level is becoming a struggle.

He keeps up this nonsense for another two minutes or so before you’re feeling overwhelmed and decide he’s been too far away for too long. Obediently he lets go and crawls back up when you pull at him this time. His hair is a mess from you twisting your fingers in it, but he at least looks to be enjoying himself.

You coax him out of his boxers so he can press bare against you; you seek every point of possible contact while you catch your breath. You’re expecting him to move, but he seems content to lazily nuzzle against your jaw with a hand tangled in your hair, and you’re not one to complain about getting a break. You shift one of your legs so that it slots neatly between his, thigh rubbing against his groin, and he makes a soft sighing sound in the back of his throat.

There’s a strange shift in the air, like an aura you might get before a very bad migraine, and that’s all the warning you get.

“Ti amo, Aurelo,” he purrs into your ear, and your entire body short-circuits.

An energetic tenseness runs along your limbs, causing your joints to clench one way or the other, toes curling and your fingers spearing white-knuckled into his shoulders. For a half-second you think he’s hitting you with Thunderhand, and then your brain starts trying to process several sensations at once, overloads, and clicks offline to reboot. In the meantime, you’re smothered by a heated feeling of excitement like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, and your body twists fitfully in an attempt to contain it.

“Oh,” Luigi breathes out, starry-eyed, and bears down to sandwich you between the mattress and his body so you can rut it out against him.

You feel your mouth is open; you might be making some sort of sinful racket, but you can’t tell your own voice through the vibrations thrumming along your nervous system.

Then the current moves out of you and it goes the other way; your muscles melt like butter, whole body releasing, veins filling with warm, heavy honey. Everything feels sluggish but divine.

Your darling lover, as is typical, has trouble reading the mood in direct relation to how horny he is at the time. “Fuck, that was cool,” he says enthusiastically.

“Tsssh-hff,” is all you can manage, jaw too slackened to finish any words.

He thumbs away the tears that have spilled over your cheek tenderly. “Is that what that button does…?”

The obvious fascination in his voice is alarming. Jaydes help you, if he does it again even within the same week, you don’t think you’ll ever come back from it. As it is, you’re struggling to get your eye open, now with a sense of urgency to make sure he knows right away that if he utters your True Name again in that same amorous fashion before you recover, you will certainly die. It would be the most sublime death ever recorded, but then you would never get to hear him speak the spell ever again—and that is unacceptable.

“…Are you gonna be okay?” he asks unsurely, shifting a bit away, and you growl in frustration at him. He freezes.

“—ouvve…”

You try to lift your legs. You nearly get one ankle hooked over his before it slides off. The amount of sweat covering you certainly doesn’t help.

“…Dio…?”

At least he has some common sense. Giving up on your legs, you weakly nudge your hand against his lower back. “Mmmmm—”

“You look exhausted.”

“Nnnnnh.” You’re not. You’re absolutely not. You have plenty of energy coiling inside you, but your body is liquid now and it won’t behave. You growl again at his stillness. “Mmm—”

You have to concentrate entirely too much to get your leg to stay around his, and even then it’s not quite what you want. He chuckles softly at your struggles. Your eyelid flutters slowly open, though your vision remains unfocused.

“Mmmmmove!” you finally ground out, tapping the back of your foot against him, spurring him like a horse. Again, it slides off and you groan, annoyed.

He gives you a charmingly confused look. You’re taken with the urge to bite his lip, but he’s out of your reach. “Uh, are you sure? You’re—”

One last resort. You turn your head a bit to look at the nightstand. You can’t snap your fingers in this state, but you needn’t worry about the appropriate lack of focus it takes to launch both the top and middle drawers into the bedroom wall. He’ll definitely have to fix it now; you hear the wood of one of them, most likely the already-abused middle drawer, splinter on impact. The nightstand wobbles with the force of recoil and then falls over, loudly taking a lamp and an alarm clock with it to the floor. A little collateral damage never hurts.

By then Luigi is already howling with laughter, but he gets the message. He grabs your knees and helps you get your legs around his waist, presses your erections together, and rolls his hips. You throw your head back and moan fervidly. It’s a bit overstimulating, but not nearly enough for you to make him stop, because if he doesn’t climax after all that, it would qualify as some sort of debauched hit-and-run. That would add insult to injury.

You’re already upset enough knowing you can’t give it back. He doesn’t have a special name you can use to make him feel how you feel, and it’s not fair. You can’t pump him full of endorphins simply with spoken word. He’ll never know what that feels like, and it’s devastating.

“H-hey?” he says, dabbing at your eye again. “Should—?”

With more of your motor skill recovering, you grab him by the face and kiss him viciously, a possessive, uncoordinated clash of tongue and teeth, and he moans blissfully down your throat. You bite his bottom lip on the way out, trying to tug him back in.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” he informs you breathlessly, half-smug and half-dazed. His lip is swollen and bleeding. He runs his tongue over it thoughtfully, and you follow the motion raptly.

“That same truck will reverse over both of our corpses if you ever pull away from me again,” you say darkly, now that your mouth is in working order. “I personally will kill you, and then myself. Derogatory,” you add, because tone indicators are important; he’s still horny, after all.

“Mmk,” he says, clearly not listening.

Just as well, you think. You cross your ankles over his back and pull him as close as possible while still allowing him to grind against you. He’s still not really close enough, but then you remember that the nightstand is sideways on the floor. If you want to retrieve the lube from the bottom drawer, you would either have to make him get off the bed to get it or risk further collateral by trying to magic it over. At your current position, the estimated trajectory has a very high chance of nailing him right in the head. An amusing thought, but not really ideal.

“…Why are you laughing?” he says suspiciously.

“Am I not allowed to have fun?” You didn’t realize you were laughing out loud, but now you’re hard-pressed to stop. He’s borderline jolting it out of you.

He squints over toward the nightstand; you must have glanced at it. “And why do I feel like it’s at my expense?”

“Jester’s privilege~!” you crow blithely.

He considers this for a moment, kiss-frazzled moustache twitching wryly. “Does that mean I’m king of this court?” Then his grip on your dicks together tightens purposefully and you choke on your laughter.

“Wanna remind you,” he says lowly, reviving one of the blossoming bites on your neck, “you’re the reason there’s no lube.” Apparently, he agrees that it’s too far away. For all intents and purposes, it stopped existing as soon as it was out of reach. “If you’da let me use my mouth, though…” (Yeah, well, if he’d just resolved to bed you properly earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have had to destroy anything.)

You huff shakily, barely audible over the creak of the mattress springs, grievously overstimulated but still stubborn. You rake your fingers over his spine and enjoy the way his muscles tense underneath.

“Just gimme like…three minutes,” he murmurs.

As terrible as your sense of time is, you’re certain it takes less than three minutes, but saying as much would expose you to comment. By the time he’s satisfied, the jelly-like condition of your body has subsided, and the two of you are much less kissing than panting into each other’s mouths. You hold onto him as he shudders through release, and the urgency keeping you afloat leaves you in a rush of sudden exhaustion. You can already feel the soreness of your joints is going to be an issue come morning.

He gives you some space while you cool down, lying flat on his back beside you with his left hand in your right.

After a moment, he sighs. “Dimentio, where is your phone?”

Oh. You definitely forgot to take it with you. You definitely left it on a table or counter somewhere when you left for work. You turn onto your side and curl against him. “I won’t let it happen again,” you avow. “I will check for it, next time.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air for a moment, and you wonder if he’s going to forgive you this time.

Then, he says, “I think I put it in the nightstand.”

“…Ah. Well, then.”

He yawns hugely, pulling you until you’re settled overtop of him, and quickly drifts off, unconcerned. You think of your shaman cloak, draped over a chair in the darkness, and wonder if anyone would notice if you never went back to work.

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

We'll Fix It Together

“What the shit are you doing?” “Trust me.” Trust me. Mobius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Loki was spiraling yet he continued pretending like everything was fine. Mobius knew better. Something was going on that Loki wasn’t telling him and Mobius was going to find out what. Or, a story in which Loki and Mobius work together to find a solution to save the multiverse and everyone in it.

Words: 4,726

Rating: T

Tags: Loki (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Whump, Loki Needs a Hug (Marvel), Loki Gets a Hug (Marvel), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Mobius figures out what's going on, power of friendship saves the day, everyone gets their happily ever after

Mobius M Mobius had learned long ago to expect the unexpected with Loki. He was a god of seemingly never-ending talents but there was one talent Mobius was sure Loki didn’t possess. Loki was not a theoretical physicist. At least he hadn’t been two minutes ago.

“But, Loki,” OB began as they entered the Temporal Loom’s observation deck “Even with Victor’s Throughput Multiplier, the rate of timeline expansion is too-”

“It’s not too expansive,” Loki interjected, answering OB’s question before the technician even had a chance to ask it. “Now that we’ve added the Lorentz device, we’ll be able to match the vacuum expectation values of the Loom, thus lowering the Timelines speed of expansion to near zero.”

“But that’s-”

“Impossible? It’s not. See, the device will allow the Timelines to fluctuate at their lowest energy state, retaining their vibrational motion which– in turn– allows us to stay ahead of the curve, expanding the Loom’s capacity before the expansion rate exceeds the output. It was a brilliant idea, OB, brilliant! Amazing work. It’s going to work this time, I know it.”

This time?

The god continued chattering away, speaking a thousand words a minute and Mobius narrowed his eyes. He’d seen Loki excitable but this was another level. Loki’s shoulders were tense, his breathing quick, and his eyes were bright with what could only be described as manic exhaustion.

Something was off.

“Now, Victor,” Loki exclaimed. “I need you to reroute all the energy from Operations to here, there’s a book of passcodes in the drawer to your right. And- Casey! Casey, what are you doing standing over there? You’re supposed to be next to OB. You know what, doesn’t matter, I need you to-”

Loki was moving too fast. He needed to breathe.

“Loki,” Mobius murmured. He stepped between Loki and Casey, putting a hand on the god’s chest, hoping to still him.

“Casey,” Loki continued, stepping around Mobius and politely shoving aside his hand, “we need to widen the voltage input and invert the temporal decay.”

“What about the ion decoupler?” OB asked.

“It’s fine. We’re gonna route it directly with the primary compartment.”

“Won’t it overheat?”

“No, it's not going to overheat ‘cause we’re going to allow it to interface with Timely’s adaptive exponential computing system. Those upgrades will allow the Loom to scale the capacity to manage the branches. The rings,” Loki made a circle with his hands, “the rings are too small, we’re gonna make them bigger. Let’s go!”

Mobius shook his head in disbelief. When had Loki learned all of this? His knowledge of mechanical engineering was on parr with OB’s now.

“Better watch out OB,” Mobius crooned, “looks like someone’s-”

“Someone’s coming for your job! That’s right. OB, watch your back!” Loki finished mockingly like this wasn’t the first time he’d heard Mobius make that joke. He let out a hysterical chuckle.

What. The. Fuck. Something was off. Something was wrong. And Mobius needed to figure out what.

“Casey,” Loki exclaimed, “get the multiplier down to Timely as fast as you can and-”

Mobius grabbed Loki by the lapel of his jacket and yanked the god around.

“What the shit are you doing?” Mobius seethed.

“Trust me,” Loki quipped.

Trust me. Mobius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Loki was spiraling. There was something going on that he wasn’t telling him and needed to let Mobius in; he needed to explain what the hell was going on. Mobius kept his hands clutched firmly on Loki’s jacket.

“No.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“No.”

“Watch.”

Loki turned back to the computer and entered in a code he definitely hadn’t known earlier that day. A chill crept through Mobius as the pieces started coming together.

“Casey,” Loki suddenly barked into the intercom. “Don’t forget to latch his helmet. Latch. His. Helmet. Okay…” Loki wiped at a bead of sweat on his brow with a trembling hand. “And now we reconfigure the locking mechanism– can’t forget to do that again. Alright. Measurements look good. Dock secure. Yes, here we go. It’s gonna work this time.”

This time. There was that phrase again.

Mobius’ heart plummeted to his shoes with a sickening realization. Suddenly, everything made sense: Loki’s timeslipping, his frantic mood, the eerie way he was able to anticipate everybody’s questions before they had a chance to ask them.

Casey came up from the loading dock. “Mr. Timely’s ready.”

“I know.”

I know.

This wasn’t the first time Loki had lived this moment.

Loki moved back to the keyboard.

“Access denied,” a computerized voice sounded overhead. “Password required.”

The only question was how many times had Loki lived this moment.

Mobius put a hand over Loki’s before the god could finish typing in the password. “Loki.”

“Mobius?” Loki flinched. “What are you-”

“Stop.”

Read the rest on AO3

[auxiliarydetective]

AP-01: Project Apocalypse

ch. 04: Just In Time

AP-01 Masterlist

This fic is part of the Academy Projects series, a full rewrite of The Umbrella Academy with the addition of an original character, Kassandra Hargreeves. Throughout the story, you'll stumble across a few songs. This is supposed to make the fic feel as much like the show as possible, so I recommend you don't skip them.

Warnings: Canon-typical issues, death

Suddenly, a crash of thunder ended the song, lightning blitzing outside, the light an odd blue color, all electricity shutting off for a moment. Then, the pens on Kassandra’s desk flew from their position, getting stuck on the wall. Immediately, Kassandra tore open her door, just as Luther and Allison did the same.

“Courtyard,” Kassandra breathed, just before sprinting down the staircase.

Her heart was almost jumping out of her chest, her lungs about to cease working – and the worst part was: She didn’t know why! With siblings who summoned ghosts, threw knives in loops, or could bend reality through a simple “I heard a rumor”, a bunch of lightning and faulty electricity really shouldn’t be all that surprising. Or maybe Klaus had actually done it and dear Sir Reginald was giving a haunting, just to scold his children one last time, now that he had all of them in the same place again. But something told Kassandra it wasn’t any of those things. There was something else in the back of her brain, like a tiny creature running around and screaming. She barely noticed herself speeding up as well, to the point where she was sprinting in her heels, almost crashing into Diego and Vanya at the courtyard door.

With a firm push, Diego threw the door open and it slammed into the brick walls. He was the first to step out, letting out a quiet, concerned mutter at the sight. There was a crack in the sky above the courtyard, flickering blue light and a thunderous noise, the opening’s edge wavering, shrinking and expanding like bubbles of battery acid. Something about it seemed to pull Kassandra in, but Diego quickly put an end to her mindless motion, keeping her behind him with one arm.

“What is it?!” Vanya shouted against the noise.

“Don’t get too close,” Allison warned, grabbing Luther by the arm in concern.

“Yeah, no shit,” Diego scoffed.

The tension in the air was crushing and Kassandra wasn’t sure if it was something brought on by the crack or by her powers.

“Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly,” Luther guessed. “Either that or a miniature black hole, one of the two.”

“If it were a black hole, we wouldn’t be standing here,” Kassandra quipped through the confusion.

But then it hit her. Temporal anomaly. But… it couldn’t be, right? Still, the thought wouldn’t leave her mind. She barely even realized anything going on anymore, her eyes fixated on the crack in the sky. Klaus came running from behind and hurled a fire extinguisher at it in an attempt to do something about it… and it passed right through, to the white fence visible on the other side of the crack. So it was an anomaly. A portal. But it couldn’t be, right?

Suddenly, a white-hot pain shot into Kassandra’s mind, along with a bone-chilling scream. She yelped in pain and slapped her gloved hands over her ears, doubling over.

“Kass!” Vanya gasped, helplessly holding her sister’s arms.

Next to her, Kassandra could barely see Diego pulling out one of his knives. Fighting against the mental jackhammer in her skull and the tears in her eyes, she yanked at his arm, knowing that she couldn’t let him attack.

By now, there was another person at the other side of the portal, an old man, clearly trying to pass through, his screams going directly into Kassandra’s brain though no one else was able to hear them. There was something about him, something so familiar. Was he…? He was getting younger! … Was it really…?

Of course it was.

From the anomaly, a boy fell to the ground below, landing among the grass and leaves, causing the crack and the pain to disappear. Immediately, Kassandra dodged around Diego, ran towards the boy and fell to the ground next to him.

“Five,” she gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Five lay motionless on the ground for a second, then he pushed himself up, grabbing the hands Kassandra offered to him purely out of instinct.

“Kass,” he croaked, and when he looked up into her eyes, Kassandra was overcome with feelings again. But she swallowed them down.

Carefully yet surely, she pulled her brother up to his feet as she got up, picking a leaf out of his raven-black hair. As soon as he had his bearings, he let her go and took a step back, scanning the faces of his siblings who had gathered around him. Then, his eyes wandered down his own body, across the suit he was wearing, which was now far too large for him.

“... Shit.”

“Everyone else sees little Number Five too, right?” Klaus mumbled, poking his brother in the arm, which gained him a smack on the hand.

“Yeah,” Kass just squeaked. She cleared her throat. “Visible and tangible.”

“I need a snack,” Five declared, pushing his way out of the sibling circle.

Kassandra was practically glued to his heels, and only a few seconds later, the entire set of Hargreeves kids was tailing behind Five like a bunch of confused ducklings.

“Do- Do you need an update,” Kassandra stammered, “or…?”

“I need the exact date,” Five replied.

“March 24th, 2019, Dad died three days ago.”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask. What’s up with you, by the way? You look like shit.”

“You gave me a bit of a scare.”

“Eh.”

The siblings all wandered into the kitchen, gathering around the table as Five threw a chopping board and butter knife onto its surface. Without pausing, he walked over to a shelf and pulled out a loaf of plain white bread. The siblings just watched. Klaus cross-legged on the table, Diego leaning against the table to his left and Allison standing to his right. Vanya and Luther, meanwhile, had pulled up chairs, and Kassandra was standing next to the cassette player on the drawer, a little to the side, her eyes still a little widened.

“So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Luther asked.

Five, however, stayed silent and just placed his two sandwich halves in front of him. Swiftly, Luther got up, standing a good three heads taller than his brother.

“It’s been 17 years.”

“It’s been a lot longer than that,” Five scoffed, before disappearing into blue light and reappearing behind Luther – on top of the counter, so he could reach the marshmallows.

“I haven’t missed that…”

“Where’d you go?” Diego grumbled.

“The future,” Five announced.

At his words, Kassandra felt a shift in the thoughts being sent to her brain. Up until now, it had been typical Five. Cynicism, nagging, a sweet batch of affection behind sour words. But now, it was sorrow, and a deep-ridden guilt gnawing at his thoughts. Still, she kept silent.

“It’s shit, by the way.”

“Called it!” Klaus remarked.

“I should’ve listened to the old man,” Five rambled, that odd new mix of feelings only getting stronger.

But on the outside, he didn’t let anything show, just continued making his sandwich. Pulled open the fridge, snatched the peanut butter, pushed it shut, but it didn’t fully close. So, Kassandra circled the table on tiptoes, careful not to interrupt Five’s train of thought.

“Y’know, jumping through space is one thing,” he continued, “jumping through time is a toss of the dice. But it’s not like he can say ‘I told you so’ now. - Nice dress,” he told Klaus.

“Oh, danke,” Klaus replied.

Kassandra pushed the fridge door shut and relocated to leaning against the counter. None of this made sense.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Vanya stammered. “How did you get back?”

“In the end I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.” Another trademark Five explanation.

“That makes no sense,” Diego mumbled.

“Well, it would, if you were smarter.”

Diego surged from his spot on the table, only to run into Luther’s outstretched arm.

“How long were you there?” The team’s leader asked.

“Forty-five years,” Five murmured. “Give or take.”

Silence. In defeat, both Diego and Luther sank back into their seats, and everyone was staring like their eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

“So what are you saying?” Luther muttered. “You’re fifty-eight?!”

“No.” That typical ‘God, you’re so stupid’ smile. “My consciousness is 58. Apparently, my body is now 13 again.”

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya questioned.

“Delores kept saying the equations were off,” Five sighed. He wasn’t even listening, just shrugged and took a bite of his newly finished sandwich. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

“Delores?”

“Guess I missed the funeral. Heart failure, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Diego stated.

“No,” Luther said.

“Nice to see nothing’s changed,” Five remarked, then walked towards the broken wall exit.

“That’s it?” Allison called after him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say? Circle of life.”

Silence again, then everyone let out a collective sigh.

“Well… That was interesting,” Luther commented.

Kassandra just pushed herself off the counter and puttered over to the table to clean up Five’s mess. Without a word, she screwed the lid back onto the peanut butter glass and put it back in the fridge, then dug through one of the drawers for a food clip.

“Hey, Kass, are you okay?” Vanya asked, getting up from her chair to get a better look at her.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Allison questioned. “You look a bit peaky.”

“Yeah, I’m just not used to mental assaults anymore,” Kassandra shrugged. She finally found a good bag clip and took a glance at her siblings as she walked back to the marshmallow bag. “You probably didn’t hear Five scream but I did. Going through that portal was painful even for him and the worst pain I’m used to getting projected on me these days is a bad breakup. Not even a broken bone.” With a deep breath, she made sure to look Vanya and Allison directly in the eyes. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It was just a bit of a shock.”

As she continued cleaning up the various sandwich ingredients, her siblings started leaving the room, off to be on their own again. In the end, it was Luther, surprisingly, who stayed last.

“Kassandra?”

“Hm?”

“Keep an eye on Five, alright?”

“I’ll listen in when I find the time.”

“Can’t you do it from here?”

“Out of practice.”

Luther let out a heavy sigh and Kassandra tried to ignore him. But when his voice softened, she couldn’t do it anymore.

“Is it really him?” he asked.

“It’s him,” she confirmed, looking up at him with gentle eyes. “I’d recognize those brain waves anywhere, he’s just… He’s been through a lot.”

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, then Kassandra turned on the faucet to rinse the butter knife, hoping that the rushing water would help drown out the voices in her mind.

“Alright, thanks,” Luther mumbled.

“No problem,” Kassandra muttered. As Luther left, she called after him: “If you need me, I’ll be down here. Making cucumber sandwiches.”

At sundown, it was time. The Umbrella Academy emerged from the door into the courtyard, Grace, Pogo and the children, all dressed in black, with umbrellas to match. Except even there the cohesion didn’t last, since Klaus was carrying a cutesy pink umbrella and Five had been forced to wear his uniform again, having nothing else to wear in his closet. Somewhat ironic.

“Did something happen?” Grace asked, looking at her children with worry in her eyes yet still trying to keep a hint of a smile.

“Dad died,” Allison said, furrowing her brows in confusion. “Remember?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

“Is Mom okay?”

“Yeah,” Diego declared. He had walked out into the pouring rain without an umbrella or any rain protection at all. Edgy. “Yeah, she’s fine. She just needs to rest. Y’know, recharge.”

Kassandra had switched out her cotton gloves for warmer leather ones and had propped up the collar on her coat, but the cold still seemed to seep through every pore. Her large hood was placed over her head beneath her umbrella, the latter really only there so she would have something to hold on to.

“Whenever you’re ready, dear boy,” Pogo said softly, his eyes on Luther.

The Academy’s Number One held their father’s urn in his hands, whereas Klaus was lighting a cigarette with his. Luther took the lid off the urn and emptied its contents, the ashes getting wet and just plopping onto the floor. Just the sight made Kassandra’s insides recoil, and she could tell at a glance that Klaus wasn’t thrilled about it either.

“Probably would have been better with some wind,” Luther mumbled in embarrassment.

“Does anyone wish to speak?” Pogo asked.

Kassandra debated it. She swore she did. There were things she wanted to get out, things she wanted the others to know, things she had been wondering about that she would like cleared up… but that didn’t mean she wanted to speak. The same appeared to be true for her siblings and all of them stayed silent.

“Very well,” Pogo sighed, settling for a speech of his own: “In all regards, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master… and my friend… and I shall miss him very much. He leaves behind a complicated legacy—”

“He was a monster,” Diego cut in, causing Klaus to giggle.

“Diego…” Kassandra muttered in a foreboding tone.

“He was a bad person and a worse father. The world’s better off without him.”

“Diego!” she hissed.

“My name is Number Two,” he corrected her. “You know why? Because our father couldn’t be bothered to give us actual names. I’m sure you remember. He had Mom do it.”

“Would anyone like something to eat?” Grace asked, like an automated response at the push of a button.

“No, it’s okay, Mom,” Vanya mumbled.

“Oh, okay.”

“Look, you wanna pay your respects?” Diego called as he stepped into the middle of the gathering, almost into the ashes that had once been their father. “Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was.”

“Diego, that’s enough,” Kassandra said in a voice cold and harsh as iron. “We talked about this: No fighting until after the funeral.”

“Well, I’m not fighting with you, am I?” he remarked.

“Dad was a complicated man that I admit I’ll never understand,” she claimed, stringing words together fast so she couldn’t be interrupted. “But he was our father. He brought us together and, if anything, I’m thankful for that.”

“And what are we, huh? A trainwreck!”

“You should stop talking now,” Luther cut in, but for Kassandra, it was already too late.

She turned around on her heels and left, headed straight for the exit with a stone-cold face. Every cell in her body felt like it was freezing, her chest burning with a cold rage, her heart feeling like its shards were vibrating and coming apart. That wasn’t all they were, right? A trainwreck?

General Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats

Academy Projects Taglist: @therantsofawriterrr @come-along-pond @the-wyvern-institute @cherrybombgigi

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

[twh-news]

Loki season two review – by far the best Marvel TV show in years ★★★☆☆ | The Guardian

Tom Hiddleston’s lovably narcissistic Norse god is back with Owen Wilson for a spectacular time-hopping caper that may just save the MCU from certain death

If ever there was a time for a second season of Loki, it’s now. The first outing was a witty romp through time and space, in which Tom Hiddleston’s lovably narcissistic Norse god charmed the pants off viewers. There were wild cameos (Richard E Grant as a weird alternate Loki!). There was sizzling chemistry (the bromance with Owen Wilson’s Agent Mobius!). There was even the tender blossoming of love (with Loki’s metaverse alter ego Sylvie – almost certainly the most poignant romance a TV character has ever conducted with themselves). So, naturally, the Marvel Cinematic Universe chose to follow up this televisual triumph with a disastrous series of flops, culminating in June’s Secret Invasion: a slog of a show that felt like the death knell for the franchise’s entire TV future.

[Possible spoilers ahead]

Luckily, Loki’s action-packed return suggests it is more than prepared to rise to the challenge of shaking off Marvel’s track record of TV tedium. We’re taken to the exact moment the previous season left off: the aftermath of Sylvie (Sophia Di Martino) killing He Who Remains – the shadowy figure behind temporal police the Time Variance Authority (TVA). There are slow-mo chases, car crashes in flying vehicles and Loki constantly running into effigies of He Who Remains. One thing is instantly clear: you really can’t avoid season one if you expect any of the following to make sense.

A good chunk of the opener consists of Hiddleston vanishing into another timeline. His body briefly turns into something that looks like it belongs in Stranger Things’ Upside Down, while he makes the sound of a man who has eaten some seriously out-of-date scampi. “It’s horrible,” quips Wilson’s Agent Mobius. “It looks like you’re being born, or dying – or both at the same time.” There are temporal loops, baffling causality chains and the establishment of what will be a series-long plot about stabilising a “temporal loom” – whose explanation is so convoluted the characters may as well be repeatedly chanting the word “MacGuffin”. Compared to the first season’s simple thrills, it’s all a bit overcomplicated – a disappointing choice of direction, if predictable.

Less explicable is the decision to do away with the beating heart of season one – the surprisingly lovely romance between Loki and Sylvie. This time, they’re on very separate paths, with Di Martino’s character reinvented as a time-hopping assassin, while Hiddleston moves ever further from his character’s mischievous past to buddy up with Agent Mobius in a bid to fix the McTimeWotsit. This makes for more zingtastic back-and-forth between Hiddleston and Wilson, but it robs the show of emotional heft. And with Loki proving ever less of a bad cop to Mobius’s good cop, there’s less edge to that sparkling comic chemistry too.

Nonetheless, the performances are as excellent as ever. Hiddleston is fantastic in every mode, from debonair to monstrous or ashen after a brutal insult from Sylvie. Di Martino is a bubbling pot of empathy, eyes constantly dewy with sadness, when she’s not spilling over into murderous rage. Wunmi Mosaku’s reprisal of her role as a TVA agent is ineffably intense – from taking down fugitives while wearing a tangerine ballgown to subjecting goofy colleagues to a Paddington-esque hard stare. And Owen Wilson is … Owen Wilson: a twinkle in the eye in human form.

When it spreads its wings, Loki’s second season manages to have plenty of fun. By episode two it feels like a time-travel thriller, with Loki and Mobius being shot into period-specific missions. There’s a retro spy caper in 70s London, our heroes suiting up like extras in Gangs of New York for a hot pursuit through 19th-century Chicago and an attempt to track down Sylvie in a 1980s McDonald’s in which romantic tension simmers over retro cash registers. The design is spectacular throughout, particularly the gloriously stylised TVA building in which every computer monitor looks like a microwave’s great grandparent, corridors are lined with tarnished aquamarine filing cabinets and even their IT guy (played by Everything Everywhere All at Once’s Ke Huy Quan) is dressed in a Ghostbusters-esque boiler suit that drips with vintage cool.

A few episodes in, things are settling into an enjoyable enough – if not tremendously exciting – groove. Then there is a gigantic cliffhanger that upends the narrative, wrongfoots the viewer and blows the show wide open. The final two instalments aren’t available for preview, so it is hard to say whether this will kickstart the show into scaling the heights of its first season. But either way, one thing is certain: this is easily the best Marvel TV series in years – for all that’s worth.

[frankiefrankiefrankies]

((90s nostalgia / Eugenics Wars dystopian extravaganza))

Carmack led Maya down the hall and into an office. The architectural style reminded her of Starfleet Headquarters, which led her to believe she was in San Francisco, but with the windowless interior she had little confidence to back that hypothesis. Carmack sat down at the desk and gestured to the chair across from him, and Maya perched on her seat with her spine rigid and her eyes wide and alert.

“I’d rather not waste time on small talk and pleasantries…”

“Didn’t think wasting time made much difference to you.”

“It makes a difference, “Carmack explained, “In that it wears on my patiences. As do little quips about time, I’ve heard them all before.” He took a little breath and leaned back in his seat. “We have reason to suspect that antagonistic temporal agents will attempt to interfere with the launch of the Botany Bay.”

“And the fact that I exist proves that they didn’t succeed.” Maya moved to get out of her seat, but Carmack’s stern look made her freeze.

“They didn’t succeed because you were there to stop them.”

[endrinstone]

Since "The Finality Procedure" stream might have become lost media, I'm posting the notes I took while watching it, so that there's at least something for future refference, even if it's not much.

I'm putting it under a readmore because it's long as hell and I don't want to make you all scroll past all that, though I know readmores are a bit risky. Anyone is free to copy and paste this however they please.

29.12.2023 "The Finality Procedure | Showtime SMP"

Ane holds the “fireworks” event, the goal of which is to kill Ane to fix the narrative, and do it in a grand way. Strobe loses one life, and Nebula loses her last one.

It is the day for the fireworks, but first Ane needs to speak to some people.

It meets Mika Flappo for the first time. It invites Mika for the show, which will be in an hour. He’s a bit intimidated. They make quick small talk about Mika’s inventions, and part ways.

It runs into Clarye. They make a bit of small talk, and Ane invites him to the fireworks show.

It goes to talk to its ‘favourite punching bags’, its Shining Stars. It meets Neb and Strobe in their house. Neb would rather sleep through talking with Ane.

Ane asks how many lives Neb has, she says she has one. It thanks Strobe for their help. At the fireworks show Ane will die, and Xp will lose a life. Neb is glad about the idea, though Strobe is hesitant about the idea of Xp losing a life.

Ane says that its fully unarmed, with a nearly empty inventory. Ane notes thats it's unfortunate that "[Strobe’s] Boba" can't arrive, and mentions it talked with Boba a bit ago. Boba had forgotten what Ane did, and Ane enjoyed playing with her. Strobe asks if Ane caused that, it says it didn’t, that was the narrative. Neb finds it odd how Ane refers to kantje as a character, and finds it uncomfortable that it calls the two its "Shining Stars".

Ane invites them to the firework show in 45 mins, at the site pointed by the compass. 

Ane asks if they’ve met Mika, and they haven't. Ane finds Mika fun to toy with, though not as much as with those two. Ane tells Atrobe that Zoli will be present, to aggravate them more.

Ane notices that someone in chat hopes Zolister will survive, and it says that Zolister will have to live. Ane notes that Horo has been moved, but assures Strobe not to worry, she will come back.

Ane asks Neb how dying felt, and she doesn’t want to give it a real answer. It leaves the two to themselves for now.

It’d like to talk with Crumpet, the barkeep. It knew him from a past world. It taunts the audience. It explores spawn, taking a good look before it’ll die.

It calls Quakitus a cannibal, and someone in chats corrects it that she’s a former cannibal. Ane doesnt quite think she can be a former cannibal.

It finds Strobe’s bakery. It lets Strobe know via the in game chat that it's taking a cake for the thing.

It finds the prison, but decides it isn’t to be messed with right now. Pokes around at the abandoned Silva house. It wonders where kantje is.

It goes to its house to get some things. It ponders about the fear of death.

It looks at the gazebo. It heard things went down there once. The audience says kantje caused it, which doenst surprise it. It walks by the hospital, and wonders if they could have restored its eyes, though its too late for that.

Someone in the audience doesn’t remember what happened to its eyes, and it gives a rundown.

Saturn runs into Ane, asking about the fireworks show. It tells him to get by its house in around 15 minutes.

It goes to collect its Shining Stars. It ponders fear of death more.

After arriving at Strobe and Neb's, with the cake, it wants to tells them the story of the deities’ creation. Neb is hesitant to listen, but Ane doesnt give her a choice. Before it starts, it trows a potion on itself called ‘temporal injection’. It remarks that it gives it a headache.

Neb snaps quips while Ane tells the story. It's essentially the story Horo told in "Little Lamb". First there was Horologium Codename of time and stars, then Anemone Codename of reality and chaos, and Iris Codename of space and order.

Ane is merely a flawed embassy of Anemone Codename. Ane rejected its gods, and follows another one, a kinder one. 

Ane asks if the story was good. Neb says it was, but Ane being the one telling it made it unbearable. Ane wonders if that’s because of Nebs hated of it, or maybe because of Ane’s hatred of them.

The deity Ane follows is not Nyx, though it likes Nyx too. Ane thinks its patron is unkillable. It tells Strobe that Horo tried telling the fake Strobe this story.

There is little time left, so they head to the firework show. Ane laments that death always comes, and feels sorry for the Archive.

There’s a lot of people gathered near, and it reminds them the fireworks will start soon. Ane takes Neb and Strobe to its house. It tells everyone not to sleep. 

It wears named armour, a special outfit, which it describes to them: codecracker’s tracers, infinitum skirt, shifting guard, finality’s crown. nebula notes the silence trim, but Ane says that the silencers cant do anything at this point. Ane tells them it isn’t excited, but it is relieved. It asks the other two if they feared death. Neb says she doesnt fear it anymore, Strobe says she does. Ane says that is what humans feel, no matter how god-like it may appear. 

There are 30 seconds left. Ane tells the people to come more near to the crystal. Strobe and Neb are looking forward to it, bitterly.

It is time, the rest is a cutscene. Ane asks if the two are ready for things to finally end. It knows they've been waiting. Its sponsor has shown it how to fix everything. 

Flashes to somewhere else, a grand structure in space: Ane and Horo are on a grand structure in space, both sounding distorted. Ane asks if Horo wants to see her mother go, Horo says that both know that isn't actually her mom. Ane taunts her, "how sad". Horo doesn't want to fight, she doesn’t resent Ane despite what it did. This takes Ane aback somewhat. Horo has been watching, and knows that this is the only way to fix things. The Pariah told Ane how to find the Archives. Horo knows, and remarks that The Pariah showed more than the creators did. The two are being held outside of everything, before Iri is able to swap. The third one will take their place now, and the two of them will wait there, watching. “We’re all three of a kind, gods of a whim” (It is kind of hard to tell what they are saying, and to tell the two appart sometimes, considering they are both voiced by distorted Xp)

Return to showtime: Neb asks what Ane means by sponsor. Ane says it meant The Pariah, who watches over realities. Neb doesn’t know The Pariah. It showed Ane the Archives, a database of every possible correct move and outcome. Thanks to Strobe’s help, Ane will reach its finality, the glorious ending to its story, to the broken narrative. The two are confused. Ane thanks them for their gifts, and offers then a gift too: their ending. it pulls the leaver, and the probe explodes with all three of them.

“I thank you both for your great and glorious gifts. So take one of mine. [pulls leaver] Your ending! This is finality! [laughs] Goodbye my Shining Stars, it’s been a pleasure [laughs]. [barely audible through the bombs] And all of it goes down with me. It’s glorious, [inaudible]." 

Cuts to black screen. 4/5 lives now. (Presumably) Iri speaks: "I guess it’s my turn now".

The end. She remarks finally being able to rest, possibly meant to mean Ane.

[freshpuns]

25 Hilarious Time Travel Puns That Will Make Your Past and Future Self Laugh

https://freshpuns.com/?p=1482 25 Hilarious Time Travel Puns That Will Make Your Past and Future Self Laugh Time travel puns have become a timeless source of humor that never goes out of style—no matter what era you’re in! We’ve compiled the most clever wordplay that will have you laughing faster than you can say “flux capacitor.” From witty one-liners to paradoxical punchlines, these jokes exist in their own special continuum of comedy. Table of Contents Toggle 10 Time-Defying Time Travel Puns That Will Take You BackThe Past-Tense Punchlines That Never Get OldHistorical Humor That Stands the Test of TimeAncient One-Liners Worth RememberingFuture-Forward Jokes That Are Ahead of Their TimeTomorrow’s Humor Available TodayFuturistic Wordplay From Another DimensionQuantum Quips That Exist in Multiple TimelinesParadoxical Puns That Will Bend Your MindSchrödinger’s Jokes: Simultaneously Funny and NotClock-Blocking: Time Puns That Stop the MomentHands-On Humor for Watch EnthusiastsDoctor Who-Inspired Wordplay That’s Bigger on the InsideTime-Travel Movie References That Hit 88 MPHBack to the Future FlashbacksConclusion: Timeless Humor That Never ExpiresFrequently Asked QuestionsWhy are time travel puns so popular?What makes a good time travel joke?Do you need to understand physics to enjoy time travel humor?How do pop culture references enhance time travel puns?What’s the difference between a time travel pun and a regular pun?Can time travel humor work in languages other than English?Why do historical figures often appear in time travel jokes?Are there different categories of time travel humor?What makes Doctor Who references so common in time travel humor?How has “Back to the Future” influenced time travel humor? 10 Time-Defying Time Travel Puns That Will Take You Back Time flies when you’re having pun! We’ve noticed that temporal humor seems to accelerate enjoyment, much like Einstein’s theory of relativity but with more giggles. Clock-related jokes simply make minutes disappear. I was going to tell a joke about time travel, but you didn’t like it. This paradoxical pun plays with causality in a delightfully mind-bending way. Future knowledge becomes present humor in one swift wordplay. What did the time traveler say when asked about their favorite era? “It’s about time someone asked!” Temporal enthusiasts love this double meaning that works on multiple chronological levels. Time travelers never procrastinate—they just do it yesterday. We appreciate how this pun cleverly inverts our understanding of task completion by using time travel’s backward possibilities. My time machine broke down. It was a waste of time. The dual meaning here creates an ironically frustrating scenario for any chronological explorer facing technical difficulties. Did you hear about the restaurant for time travelers? It has great reviews but terrible service—they serve your meal the day before you order it! This setup delivers a perfectly paradoxical punchline about the practical problems of serving customers from different timelines. Time travel is hard to explain. You really had to be there. Using the common phrase for unique experiences, this pun transforms into a brilliant observation about the impossibility of describing temporal displacement. I’m starting a time travel business. The future looks bright! The wordplay here works because “future” refers to both the literal future and the business prospects, creating a temporal double entendre. Why did the time traveler go to 1969? It was a very good year! This pun works whether you’re a history buff or just appreciate how the phrase “good year” crosses between temporal measurement and quality assessment. What happens when time travelers meet? They have a really good time! We end with this classic play on words that connects the concept of enjoyment with the literal manipulation of time, wrapping up our temporal journey with a smile. The Past-Tense Punchlines That Never Get Old Time travel humor often relies on clever wordplay with tenses, creating punchlines that remain timeless even though being about the past. These jokes capture the paradoxes and predicaments that would inevitably arise from jumping through time. Stuck in the Past: “I’m a time traveler, but I keep getting stuck in the past.” This pun perfectly captures the irony of time travel gone wrong – when the very tool meant to free you from temporal constraints becomes your prison. Time Lapse: “I went back to the future and forgot my wallet. Talk about a time lapse!” We love how this joke plays with the common photography term while highlighting a very relatable problem applied to an extraordinary situation. Lost Track of Time: “I accidentally traveled yesterday; I guess I really lost track of time!” This pun cleverly transforms the everyday expression of losing track of time into a literal time travel mishap. Out of Fuel: “I tried to warn the Titanic, but my time machine was out of fuel!” Here’s a perfect example of how time travel humor often involves failed attempts to change history, adding a touch of dark comedy. Missed It: “I traveled back in time to warn myself… too bad I missed it!” This self-referential joke captures the ultimate paradox of trying to meet yourself, only to somehow miss the appointment. Historical Humor That Stands the Test of Time Renaissance Adventure: “I took a trip to the Renaissance; it was quite the historical adventure!” This pun combines our fascination with historical periods and the excitement of time travel adventures. Artsy Vibes: “Why did the time traveler visit the Renaissance? To get some artsy vibes!” A clever play on our modern obsession with aesthetics applied to one of history’s most artistic periods. Meet Shakespeare: “I went back to meet Shakespeare, but all he did was pun!” This meta-joke acknowledges Shakespeare’s own love of wordplay while creating a humorous scenario of disappointment. Medieval Times: “I visited the medieval times and tried to join the knights; they just laughed at me!” This pun works by playing on the double meaning of “knights/nights” while highlighting the fish-out-of-water scenario of a modern person in medieval times. Cleopatra’s Selfie: “I met Cleopatra; she was dying to take a selfie!” This anachronistic joke brilliantly combines ancient history with modern technology, creating an absurd but amusing image. Ancient One-Liners Worth Remembering Relative Way: “There was a young lady named Bright Who could travel far faster than light; She set off one day, In a relative way, And returned on the previous night.” This classic limerick incorporates Einstein’s theory of relativity into a witty time travel scenario. Clock Stopper: “My time machine is a real clock stopper!” A simple but effective pun that literalizes the idiom of stopping clocks to describe the function of a time machine. Time Warp: “When I time travel, I always pack a second pair of shoes—just in case I step in a time warp!” This joke cleverly plays on the physical impossibility of “stepping in” something as abstract as a time warp. Timely Observations: “Time travelers love history; they always make timely observations!” A delightful double meaning that suggests both observations that are well-timed and observations about time itself. Excalibur: “When I met King Arthur, he said, ‘Excalibur? More like ‘Exca-laugh-er!'” This pun imagines even legendary figures appreciating wordplay, creating a humorous bridge between ancient mythos and modern humor sensibilities. Future-Forward Jokes That Are Ahead of Their Time Looking for some humor that’s literally from the future? These time travel jokes and puns are so advanced, they’ll have you laughing before you even hear the punchline! Tomorrow’s Humor Available Today Time travelers know that the best jokes are worth waiting for—or maybe not waiting at all! “I visited the future and found out laughter is still the best medicine!” This optimistic outlook confirms what we’ve always suspected: humor transcends all eras. When dealing with time machines, remember that “time travel is like a ‘re-run’ of your favorite show,” offering familiar comfort with every temporal loop. Frustrated time travelers often lament, “I keep traveling through time, but the clock’s never on my side.” We understand the struggle—chronological adventures rarely go according to plan. Another traveler confessed, “I traveled back in time to warn myself… too bad I missed it!” Talk about timing issues! Even the most sophisticated time machine can’t solve all problems when “time travel plans are always a bit of a blur.” Futuristic Wordplay From Another Dimension Language itself warps when dealing with time travel, creating perfect opportunities for dimensional puns. “Why did the time traveler break up? They needed space-time!” This clever play on words demonstrates how relationship issues span across all dimensions. Looking for temporal escape? Many travelers suggest they need a “timely escape from this time-travel dilemma.” Wealth takes on new meaning across the timeline, as evident when travelers declare “I’m off to the future, where I’m ‘time’ wealthy.” Clock enthusiasts often joke, “Every time I look at my clock, I think, ‘Time to travel!'” Some frustrated adventurers have discovered that “time travel isn’t as ‘timeless’ as they say,” revealing the disappointment when reality doesn’t match our science fiction expectations. Stuck in a temporal loop? You’re not alone! “I’m stuck in a time loop. Can you help me break it?” remains one of the most common pleas among dimensional travelers. Our research shows that even though the complexities, even time travelers agree that time travel might seem complicated, but it’s a “tick” above the rest of scientific pursuits. Quantum Quips That Exist in Multiple Timelines Time travel humor reaches its peak when quantum physics joins the party. These quips playfully exist in multiple realities simultaneously, giving us a glimpse into the multiverse of comedy. Time flies when you’re having fun, but it drags when you’re waiting for a time machine! The relativity of temporal perception has never been more accurately described. I’m not late; I’m just arriving from a different time zone! The perfect excuse that blends mundane reality with extraordinary temporal displacement. I tried to invent a time machine, but I couldn’t get the timing right! This self-referential joke captures the inherent paradox of perfecting time travel technology. When I time travel, I always pack a second pair of shoes—just in case I step in a time warp! Practical advice for the interdimensional traveler concerned with footwear durability across the space-time continuum. Paradoxical Puns That Will Bend Your Mind These mind-bending jokes challenge our linear understanding of time and create delightful cognitive dissonance: I went back to the future and forgot my wallet. Talk about a time lapse! Financial planning becomes complicated when handling multiple timelines. Why did the time traveler break up? They needed space-time! Relationships require proper dimensional balance, especially when crossing chronological boundaries. Time travel is a real trip, but the return policy is complicated! Customer service takes on new meaning when dealing with temporal tourism. I accidentally traveled yesterday; I guess I really lost track of time! The mundane phrase “losing track of time” transforms into literal temporal displacement. I tried to warn the Titanic, but my time machine was out of fuel! This quip highlights the frustrating limitations of time machines just when they’re needed most. Schrödinger’s Jokes: Simultaneously Funny and Not Like the famous quantum cat, these jokes exist in a superposition of humor states until observed by an audience: I would make a joke about time travel, but you didn’t like it. This paradoxical punchline places the reaction before the action, creating a temporal loop of comedy. I asked my time machine for advice, but it just kept ticking me off! Personifying time machines leads to unexpected relationship problems. Time travel is fun until you realize you forgot to set the date! Technical oversights become catastrophic when dealing with fourth-dimensional transportation. I met Cleopatra; she was dying to take a selfie! Historical figures collide with modern technology in this anachronistic quip. When I met Einstein, he was just as smart as I expected! Meeting scientific geniuses from the past creates opportunities for understated humor about their legendary intellect. Clock-Blocking: Time Puns That Stop the Moment Time puns have a special way of freezing the moment and making us reflect on the fleeting nature of our existence. These witty observations capture profound truths about time while still maintaining their humorous edge. Time is a great teacher, but unfortunately, it kills all its students. This sobering yet amusing observation highlights the inevitability of time’s passage that none of us can escape. Time is like a river; you can’t step into the same water twice. The constant flow of time moves forward relentlessly, reminding us that each moment exists only once. Every tick of the clock is a reminder that the past shapes our future. This thoughtful pun connects the mechanical measurement of time to its profound impact on our life trajectories. Time is the most valuable currency; spend it wisely. Unlike money, time can never be earned back, making this pun particularly poignant for anyone managing their daily hours. Hands-On Humor for Watch Enthusiasts Watch collectors and horology fans appreciate time-related humor on a different level. We’ve gathered some puns that will resonate especially well with those who admire timepieces. What’s the difference between a clock and a time traveler? One ticks, and the other skips through time. This clever comparison juxtaposes the methodical nature of timepieces with the fantastical concept of temporal jumps. Time is an illusion; lunch time doubly so. Watch enthusiasts understand that our perception of time often contradicts what their precision instruments display, particularly when waiting for a meal. Why do time travelers never get lost? They always find their way back to what matters. Navigation through time requires the same precision engineering that goes into fine watches, making this pun especially fitting for horology buffs. A flex capacitor is the key to bragging about time travel. This playful twist on the fictional “flux capacitor” from Back to the Future will resonate with watch collectors who enjoy showing off their rare timepieces. What do you call a time travelling cow? Doctor Moo. Even serious watch enthusiasts need a break from technical terminology, and this whimsical wordplay provides just that. Doctor Who-Inspired Wordplay That’s Bigger on the Inside Doctor Who’s timey-wimey universe offers a TARDIS-load of punning possibilities that transcend ordinary humor. We’ve gathered some of the cleverest wordplay inspired by the iconic time-traveling show that will have Whovians everywhere smiling across regenerations. Time-Travel Movie References That Hit 88 MPH Popular time travel movies have given us some of the most memorable catchphrases and scenarios that are perfect for punny adaptations. Let’s explore how these iconic films have fueled our temporal humor. Back to the Future Flashbacks Time travel comedy reached new heights when Doc Brown’s DeLorean hit that magical speed threshold. “Time travel? It’s all about hitting 88 MPH and making sure you’re back in time for dinner.” This classic film gives us endless opportunities for wordplay, especially when life throws us curveballs. We often find ourselves saying, “I need to get back to the future, but my DeLorean is in the shop” whenever we’re running late or facing unexpected delays. The flux capacitor might be fictional, but our love for referencing this time-bending trilogy whenever we’re struggling with deadlines is absolutely real. Conclusion: Timeless Humor That Never Expires Time travel puns truly exist in a dimension of their own. We’ve journeyed through paradoxical punchlines crafty wordplay and nerdy references that span across history and into the future. Whether you’re a Doctor Who fanatic a Back to the Future enthusiast or just someone who appreciates a good temporal twist these jokes have something for everyone. The beauty of time travel humor lies in its ability to connect different eras through laughter. So next time you’re looking for a joke that transcends time remember that a good time travel pun is never late nor early – it arrives precisely when it means to. And that’s something we can all set our watches to! Frequently Asked Questions Why are time travel puns so popular? Time travel puns remain popular because they cleverly play with our understanding of past, present, and future in unexpected ways. They create humor through paradoxes and wordplay that transcend normal time constraints. These jokes appeal to both casual readers and science fiction enthusiasts, offering a unique blend of cleverness and absurdity that works across different eras and cultural references. What makes a good time travel joke? A good time travel joke combines clever wordplay with temporal paradoxes or ironies. The best ones create a mild “aha!” moment by subverting expectations about chronology. Effective time travel humor often plays with verb tenses, incorporates historical or futuristic elements, or creates impossible scenarios that only make sense in a world where time travel exists. Brevity and unexpected punchlines are key components. Do you need to understand physics to enjoy time travel humor? Not at all! While some time travel jokes incorporate concepts from quantum physics or relativity, most are accessible to everyone. The core humor comes from common experiences like running late, wishing for more time, or imagining visiting different eras. That said, those with knowledge of scientific concepts might appreciate additional layers in some jokes, particularly those referencing multiverse theory or temporal paradoxes. How do pop culture references enhance time travel puns? Pop culture references like “Back to the Future” or “Doctor Who” provide shared touchpoints that make jokes more relatable and effective. These cultural icons have established time travel concepts (like the DeLorean hitting 88 MPH) that can be cleverly subverted for humor. References to well-known characters, quotations, or scenarios create instant recognition, allowing joke-tellers to build on established concepts for maximum comedic effect. What’s the difference between a time travel pun and a regular pun? Time travel puns specifically play with chronology, temporal paradoxes, or the manipulation of time, while regular puns simply rely on words with multiple meanings or similar sounds. Time travel puns often use verb tenses creatively, incorporate impossible temporal scenarios, or blend historical and modern elements. They exist in a special category of humor that challenges our linear understanding of time while delivering wordplay that works across different temporal frameworks. Can time travel humor work in languages other than English? Absolutely! While specific wordplay might differ, the concepts behind time travel humor are universal. Many languages have different tense structures that can create unique temporal jokes. Cultural references to time travel may vary, but the fundamental humor in paradoxes, anachronisms, and temporal displacement transcends language barriers. The best time travel jokes often translate conceptually, even when the exact wordplay must be adapted. Why do historical figures often appear in time travel jokes? Historical figures provide instant context and create amusing anachronisms when placed in modern situations or when modern people interact with them. Figures like Shakespeare, Cleopatra, or Einstein are universally recognized, making them perfect subjects for humor that bridges different eras. The contrast between historical sensibilities and contemporary knowledge creates natural comedic tension that’s perfect for time travel jokes. Are there different categories of time travel humor? Yes! Time travel humor encompasses several subtypes: paradoxical puns (jokes that create impossible temporal scenarios), historical humor (placing modern concepts in the past or vice versa), physics-based jokes (playing with scientific concepts), and pop culture references (drawing from time travel movies and shows). There are also clock-related puns, future prediction jokes, and quantum humor that places jokes in multiple states simultaneously. What makes Doctor Who references so common in time travel humor? Doctor Who has a nearly 60-year legacy as television’s most enduring time travel narrative, creating rich ground for puns. The show’s “timey-wimey” approach to temporal mechanics, iconic TARDIS, and ever-changing Doctor character offer countless reference points for jokes. The series balances scientific concepts with accessibility, much like good time travel humor itself, making it the perfect source for temporal puns that appeal to both casual and dedicated fans. How has “Back to the Future” influenced time travel humor? “Back to the Future” revolutionized time travel humor by establishing easily recognizable elements like the DeLorean, the 88 MPH threshold, and the “flux capacitor.” The film’s exploration of cause-and-effect and timeline alterations created a template for jokes about changing the past. Its memorable catchphrases and scenarios (like Marty McFly meeting younger versions of his parents) continue to inspire clever puns and temporal wordplay decades after the film’s release. https://freshpuns.com/?p=1482 Fresh Puns

[444names]

Names generated from Lorem Ipsum

Adidat Adidate Adidateure Adidation Adident Adiderunt Adidip Adidunt Adip Adipidat Adipidate Adipiderit Adipidip Adipidunt Adipis Aliquat Aliquatat Aliquation Aliquatur Aliquature Aliqui Aliquipisi Aliquis Aliquiscit Alit Alitat Alitatatur Alitate Alitation Alitatur Ametur Ameture Ania Aniam Aniamco Aniat Aniatation Aniation Autet Autetur Auteture Auteur Auteure Cilla Cillam Cillamco Cilliqua Cillit Cillitatat Cillitatet Cillupidip Cilluptat Cillupte Commod Conse Consecat Consecte Consecteur Consequa Consequi Consequip Consercia Conserciat Conseria Conseris Conserit Conserunt Conserur Culla Cullam Cullamco Culliqua Culliquis Culliquisi Cullit Cullitat Cullum Culluptat Cullupte Culluptet Cupidat Cupidatur Cupideniat Cupiderud Cupididunt Cupidip Cupidipis Cupidunt Cupis Cupiscit Cupisi Cuptat Cuptatet Cupte Cuptet Cupteture Cupteur Cupteure Dese Desecaecte Desecat Desecte Desecteur Desequa Desequat Desequip Desercinia Deseris Deserit Deserum Dolla Dollam Dollamco Dolliquat Dollit Dollitat Dollum Dolluptat Dollupte Dolorehent Doloria Doloriam Doloris Dolorit Dolorud Dolorum Dolorunt Dolorur Dolum Dolupidunt Dolupis Dolupisi Doluptat Dolupte Duip Duipidip Duipis Duipiscint Duisciam Duisciamco Duiscing Duiscint Duiscit Duisi

Eiusmodo Eliqua Eliquat Eliquation Eliqui Eliquip Eliquis Elitat Elitation Elitature Enia Eniam Eniamco Eniat Eniatat Essecaecte Essecat Essecteure Essequa Essequat Essequatat Essequatur Essequis Esserciam Essercing Essercinim Esseria Esseris Esserisi Esserit Esserud Esserunt Estrud Estrum Estrunt Estrur Estrure Excepre Exceprem Exceptat Exceptate Exceptatet Exceptatur Excepte Exceptet Exceptetur Exerciamco Exerciat Exercidate Exercidunt Exercing Exercinia Exercint Exercit Exeria Exeriam Exeriat Exeriate Exeris Exerit Exeritatat Exeritate Exerud Exerum Exerunt Exerur Exerure Fugia Fugiam Fugiamco Fugiatat Fugiatatat Fugiate Fugiateure Fugiatur Fugiature Incia Inciam Inciat Inciation Inciatur Incidat Inciderum Incidip Incidunt Incing Incinim Incint Incit Incitat Incitate Irud Irum Irunt Irur Labor Laborehent Laborem Laborempor Laboria Laboriam Laboriamco Laboriat Laboriate Laboriatur Laborisi Laborit Laboritat Laborud Laborunt Laborur Lore Lorehenim Lorehent Loria Loriamco Loriat Lorisi Lorit Loritat Lorud Lorum Lorunt Lorur Ming Minia Miniam Mint Molla Mollum Molor Molore Moloriamco Moloris Molorit Molorud Molorum Molorur Molum Molupidat Molupis Molupte Moluptet Niscia Nisciat Niscidat Niscidunt Niscing Niscint Niscit Nonse Nonsecat Nonsecatet Nonsecteur Nonsequa Nonsequat Nonsercit Nonseria Nonseris Nonserit Nonserum Nonserur Nost Nostrum Nostrunt Nostrur Nostrure Nullam Nullamco Nulliquat Nulliquis Nullit Nullum Nullupidat Nulpa Occaecte Occat Occatat Occatateur Occate Occation Occatur Occature Officiam Officiamco Officiat Officiate Officidat Officidunt Officing Officinim Officint Officit Officitat Paria Pariam Pariamco Pariat Pariatat Paris Pariscia Pariscint Parisi Parit Proidat Proidate Proidateur Proidatur Proidercia Proideris Proiderum Proididip Proidip Proidipis Proidunt Quip Quipidat Quipident Quipidunt Quipis Quipisi Quiscia Quiscidip Quiscit Quisi Repre Reprehenim Reprehent Reprem Reprempor Reptat Reptation Reptatur Repte Reptet Repteture Repteur Sing Sinia Siniam Siniat Sinim Sitat Sitatatur Sitate Sitation Tempore Temporem Temporisi Temporit Temporud Temporum Temporunt Ulla Ullam Ulliqua Ulliquat Ulliqui Ulliquisi Ullit Ullitat Ullitature Ullum Ullupis Ullupisi Ulluptat Veliqua Veliquat Veliquatat Veliquatur Veliquip Veliquis Velitat Vendendent Vendeniam Vendent Venderciam Venderia Venderiam Venderit Venderum Veniamco Venim Vent Volla Volliquat Vollit Vollum Vollupis Volor Volore Volorem Voloriatat Volorisi Volorit Volorum Volorur Volum Volupis Volupisi

[tricyclecellanemia]

Knockout

Lyse my name from your lips,

quip and slip back inside,

let yourself die a little more

pour by pour;

nineteen queen,

all ounces accounted for

and scorned,

an epigenetic aesthetic that burns

hot this time of year;

stress-test in your chest

and the rest is blistering,

precise and withering,

eyes belied by another transgression,

temporal regression,

a concession hereof,

and midnight has grown

hostile to our love.

[friendly-neighbourhood-spiderm4n]

You Only See Me At My Funeral | Avengers x No. 5! Reader

Posting this cause I wanna read on my new account, I just don’t have the time yet. It’s unfinished and not proofread whatsoever but eh

“Mr. Stark! I have something to tell you!” Peter said as he walked into the lab, filled with adrenaline and a panicked look adorning his face.

“What is it underoos?” Tony quipped from his chair, working on the repulsers that had been damaged last mission.

“On my patrol, these two crazy bad guys with guns came and attacked me. The weirder thing was they were wearing strange animal masks. Like looney tunes type of mask. They sort of reminded me of assassins but way worst than Black Widow.”

“Did you get them?” Tony asked, turning around in his chair.

“No, they teleported away before I could even web them.”

“What we’re they wearing and do you know what kind of guns they had?”

“Both we’re wearing blackish suits, they were a boy and a girl, and they had something like a mini machine gun. Oh, and they also had this briefcase.”

“What’d the masks look like?”

“The girl was wearing a pink dog mask, and it had like long black ears. The guy was wearing a blue chipmunk mask that looked old and creepy.” Peter recalled.

“I’ll check footage, what area was this?”

“Downtown Manhattan.”

“Alright, I’ll check and see if we can find them, until then, go shower, you smell horrid.” Tony dismissed.

“Oh, right. Sorry Mr. Stark! I’ll go do that now!” Peter turned around and started running out of the lab.

“Preferably.” Tony got the last word in.

An hour had passed since Peter gotten back to the compound. He was in the kitchen doing homework by this point.

Or he was supposed to be anyway. He, however, was listening in on Natasha and Steve’s conversation who were sitting sitting on the couch in the lounge room.

“Tomorrow will mark 4 years. Don’t know how I feel.” Natasha stated quietly to Steve.

“Yeah, I know. Feels like it’s been 17 years without them though.”

Nat nodded in agreement. Peter hadn’t understood the context of what they talking about. They were talking about someone named Y/N and how they had disappeared nearly 4 years ago.

“Whose Y/N?” Peter asked, after having been confused for much longer than he’d admit.

“An old friend, disappeared coming on 4 years soon. They had powers and wanted to prove themselves. No one’s heard of them since.” Nat said, her voice sounded sad.

“Oh.” Peter didn’t know how to respond. “I bet they miss you too.”

“I hope so.” Steve was looking down at the concreted floor, voice thick with uncertainty.

Everything went quiet so Peter continued with his homework.

20 minutes or so had passed when the alarms went off. FRIDAY had told the team that some temporal vortex had opened on the landing pad.

All the Avengers had rushed to the area quickly. Indeed, there was a violent blue vortex about 18 feet off the ground. A storm had grown over head because of it.

“How do we close it?” Sam asked, standing behind Peter who had been pushed behind Thor.

“Not sure, but whatever comes out of that thing, we contain it.” Stark answered, already in his suit.

They didn’t know how to explain the next part of that interesting event. Not when the same Y/N who had been missing for nearing on 4 years fell through the vortex.

They were wearing a suit much bigger than them. Though, they looked the same as the day they had disappeared.

They, too, noticed.

“Shit.”

All the Avengers were gathered around the kitchen as Y/N poured themself a coffee.

“Whats the date? The exact date?” They asked without looking up.

“The 24th.” Peter answered quickly.

“Of what?”

“March.”

Y/N paused, contemplating something.

“Good.”

“So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Steve asked. Y/N ignored and grabbed the loaf of bread, taking out two slices.

“It’s been 4 years.” Thor said, his stare hardening at the young teen.

Y/N scoffed and looked up at him.

“It’s been a lot longer than that.” They said bitterly. They disappeared and reappeared next to Tony, grabbing the marshmallows off the shelf.

“I haven’t missed that.” Bucky said, starring at the spot with the coffee and bread where Y/N reappeared.

“Where’d you go?” Bruce asked.

“The future. It’s shit, by the way.” They grabbed the peanut butter out the fridge, as well as a butter knife.

“Called it.” Sam stared at the teen.

“I should’ve listened to you Stark.” Y/N was spreading peanut butter all over bread slices. “You know. Jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is a toss of the dice.”

They looked up. “Nice dress.”

Wanda smiled, “well, thanks.”

“Wait, how did you get back?” Nat asked.

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness foreword into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.” Y/N answered, not even looking up.

“That makes no sense.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at the kid.

“Well, it would if you were smarter.” They placed the marshmallows over one of the slices before turning the other piece over and making themselves a sandwich.

Bucky stalked towards the teen, Steve’s arm blocking his way to the kid.

“How long were you there?” Steve changed the subject quickly.

“24 years. Give or take.” Y/N took a bite of their odd sandwich.

“So what are you saying? That you’re 38?”

“No. My conscious is 38. Apparently my body is now 14 again.” You sighed, clearly annoyed.

“How does that even work?” Peter asked.

Y/N stared at the kid, not recognising his face.

“Dolores kept saying the equation was off. Eh.” They took another bite out of the sandwich and stared off at something. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

“Dolores?“ Tony asked.

“Hmm. Tomorrow marks the 4 year anniversary I disappeared. Were you gonna hold some ceremony?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nice to see nothings changed.” They clicked their tongue. They grabbed the cup of coffee and walked out of the kitchen.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Nat asked, annoyed and frustrated to no end.

“What else is there to say? The circle of life.” You disappeared into the hall.

“That… was interesting.” Peter said, looking at the adult Avengers.

“Their personality did a whole 180.” Sam grinned at Stark.

“Someone figure out what the hell happened to them.” Stark walked away from the area and towards the elevator.

You had managed to find a room where all your old stuff was. All the posters, comics, cloths and other shit you had owned from before you disappeared.

Stepping over to the closet. You found cloths you hadn’t seen in years and cloths that you knew you hadn’t owned. You also saw a lot of Mr. Stark’s old sweatshirts and tees he gave to you once he no longer wore them.

You changed into a pair of old, worn out sneakers, ripped jeans and the same sweatshirt he had worn when the Avengers had fought Loki and the Chitauri.

You looked at the jeans. You remembered how they got ripped. It was something you liked and didn’t like to remember.

“So, today, I’ll be teaching You, Steve Rogers, how to ride a skateboard.” You placed the somewhat old board into his hands and grinned at him. Excited to see him fail.

“This looks odd. Are you sure it’s safe?” He looked at you skeptically.

“I know how to ride it. As long as you follow the safety measures you’re totally fine. I will warn that it’s hard to get at first which is why yours truely will do a demonstration.”

You grabbed the other board you owned and stood on it. You used your foot and pushed yourself forward. You felt a drop and crouched slightly, leaning back. The ground curved and the board straightened into a 0° line.

You jumped up and did a kick flip. You jumped again and landed on the rail before jumping off and turning around.

You gained speed before going back up the vert ramp. You grabbed the board from under you and landed feet first on the edge of the platform.

“That was impressive.” Steve grinned at you, placing the board on the concreted skatepark ramp.

“Yeah, I was just showing off. But, if you practice long and hard enough, you’ll be able to what I just did too.” You looked at him, smiling before it fell.

He was moving off the edge and down the ramp before you could advise him other wise.

Immediately, the board rolled out from under him and fell head first into the curved ground.

“Steve!” Without thinking, you jumped from the 8 foot ramp, barely landing the jump. You had scarped your hands and ripped a hole in your jeans where your knee now poked out.

You remembered cutting the hole bigger so it wouldn’t look like you actually had ripped a hole in them.

You had missed the Avengers. You knew the others had missed you as well, but it didn’t feel like they did.

You heard a knock on the bedrooms door. “Uh, Y/N, Was it? I came to introduce myself. Could I please come in?”

The voice was young. Unlike the Avengers you had left. “Sure.”

The door creaked opened and the boy from earlier stepped in. He stood by the door as he closed it, seemingly unsure of himself.

“Um, I’m- im Peter Parker, also known as a Spider-Man. Im 16 so we’re both similar in age.”

“Physically.”

“Right sorry.” He corrected. He seemed like the nervous type who could also ramble on for hours with no end.

“Y/N L/N. I am- or was- an Avenger who kept a low profile. Unlike Tony or Steve.”

“Right, I remember hearing about you. You were, umm, you were known as No. 5.” You hummed at his recognition.

“So, Spider-boy, how’s life treating you?”

“Spider-Man and it’s been great. I live part time with the Avengers and spend my weekends and holidays with my aunt May at her apartment.” He answered.

“Don’t care.”

“Oh.”

You hummed as you lent over the bed slightly, pulling something from one of the blazers pockets, which you had worn previously and slide it into your jeans pocket.

“Alright, I’m leaving. It’s not great to meet you, goodbye.” You walked passed him.

When you found the elevator, you went down to the garage, grabbed a pair of keys and hopped into one of Tony Starks sport cars.

You drove off and went to this clinic. You went in and headed straight for the front desk.

This man in a science coat spotted you. “Uh, can I help you?”

You glanced back at him, pulling out the object from your pocket.

A glass eye.

“I need to know who this belongs to.” You showcased the eyeball to the man.

“Where do you get that?” He gave you a strange look.

“What do you care?”

He stared at you expectingly. “I… I found it… at a playground, actually. Uh, must have just,” you clicked your tongue. “Popped out.”

“I wanna return it to its rightful owner.”

The lady at the the desk smiled it awe, “what a thoughtful young kid.”

You smiled dryly at her. “Yeah. Look up the name for me, will ya?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, but patient records are strictly confidential. That means I can’t tell you-“

“Yeah, I know what it means.” Your stare hardened towards the man.

He ignored your tone and continued. “But I’ll tell you what I can do. I will take the eye off your hands and return it to its rightful owner. I’m sure he or she will be very grateful, so if I can just-“ He reached for the prosthetic.

“Yeah, you’re not touching this eye.” The man stared at you confused and taken aback.

“Now, you listen here young-“

You aggressively grabbed him by the collar of his lab coat. He let out a surprised grunt.

“No! You listen to me, asshole. I’ve come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn’t comprehend, so just give me the information I need, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

He stared at you, fearfully. “And if you call me ‘young kid’ one more time, I’ll put your head through that damn wall.”

The lady at the desk sighed. “Oh dear.”

“Call security.” The man whimpered softly to the desk lady.

You stared between the two, annoyed before shoving the adult back. They exhaled in relief as you walked back to the elevator.

You had gone back to the compound and decided to grab Clint, knowing only he would agree to help you.

“Like I said to your kid earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential. Without the client’s consent, I simply can’t help you.”

“We’ll, we can’t get consent if you don’t give us a name.” You argued. You were now in the man’s office, the one you had spoken to earlier.

“We’ll, that’s not my problem. Sorry. Now, there’s nothing really more I can do, so -“

“And what about my consent?” Clint interrupted.

“Excuse me?” The man eyed him, confused.

Clint continued. “Who gave you permission… to lay your hands… on my child?” He pointed at you, staring at the man?”

You looked at him confused, as well as the doctor. “What?”

“You heard me?”

“I didn’t touch your kid.” He insisted.

“Oh really?” Clint leaned forward, onto his elbows. “Well, then how did they get that swollen lip then?”

The man did a double take and looked at you. “They don’t have a swollen -“

Clint stood up and punched your jaw with his right hand. In pain, you grunted, placing your hand over new busted lip.

The doctors stare switched between the two of you.

Clint inhaled sharply. “I want it. Name, please. Now.” He placed his hands over the desk and lent forward.

“You’re crazy.” The man declared.

Clint chuckled. “You got no idea.” His smile fell. He glanced down and picked up a snow globe of the earth.

““peace on earth”, that’s so sweet.” He smashed the glass object over his head, breaking it. He groaned, pained and regretfully.

“God that hurt.” He clenched his eyes closed, looking up. Blood and water dripping from his head as the doctor stared at him, shocked.

He immediately grabbed the receiver off of the desk. “I’m calling security.” Clint snatched the phone from his grasp and help it to his ear. “What are you doing?”

Clint gasped gamely into the phone. “There’s been an assault in Mr. Bigs office and we need security now. Schnell!” He sobbed violently into the receiver before boredly dropping it, clattering with the other objects on the table.

“Now, here’s what’s gonna happen, grant.” Clint focused on the doctor.

“It’s… Lance.”

“In about 60 seconds, two security guards are gonna burst through that door, and they’re gonna see a whole lotta blood, and they’re gonna wonder, “what the hell happened?” And we’re gonna tell them that you… beat the shit out of us.” Clint sobbed dramatically before sighing.

“You’re gonna do great in prison, Grant. Trust me, I’ve been there. Little piece of chicken like you. Oh, my god, you’re gonna get passed around like a… you’re just, you’re gonna do great, that’s all I’m saying.” Clint grinned at the man.

“Jesus, you are a real sick bastard.” The man Shakily stated.

Clint stared at him. “Thank you.” He spat out broken bits of glass. You smiled smugly at the man.

Once you cleared up the things the security, the three of you, made your way to the records room. The doctor searched the file cabinets, trying to find the serial number that matched the one back of the prosthetic.

However, no files or records could’ve been found of the prosthetic. It hadn’t been manufactured, nor purchased yet.

The sun has settled by now. You didn’t know what you could do. The glass eye was the only lead you had. And for the moment, that was put on hold.

“So, why did you come back now? I mean, I’m glad your back, but why 4 years later?”

“I needed a certain amount of time.”

You hadn’t answered his question well. Not because you liked to be an ass. Nor was it because you had poor social skills. Except the occasional threat.

It was just too hard seeing him alive, knowing you could somehow fuck that up too.

You passed him the keys, and spatial jumped away.

It took a few tries, but you soon made it to a closed cloth store. It was mainly a second hand woman’s cloths store. Though most of it had probably belonged to 40 year old adults.

You walked through the store. You were looking for someone. Someone important you. You grabbed one of the torches, as the place was dark, empty of light other than the dim blue cheap LEDs.

You spotted an area of manikins and walked up to them.

You smiled softly at one of them in particular. She was still as beautiful as the last time you saw her. “Delores.”

“It’s good to see you.” You stared at her, god she was pretty. “I’ve missed you… obviously.”

“We’ll, I… it’s been a rough couple of days.”

You heard foot steps in front of you, your smile falling. “No!”

They started firing, bullets hit the manikins while you ducked. You ran behind one of the many cloths racks, barley avoiding the bullets.

The assassins moved towards your previous area, in hopes of killing you. “Shit, it’s them.”

You ran back to the manikin stand and grabbed the Delores whose upper body had been shot off of its legs and was now missing her right arm. You ran to the opposite rack and placed Delores down.

“I’ll be right back for you.” You ran along the aisle, trying to avoid being shot. Hazel and Cha Cha shot after you so you spatial jumped.

Bullets we’re flying everywhere. They knew where you would be as your jumps would flash a bright blue. Cha Cha was doing most of the shooting.

“You see that?”

“You said he was special. So now what?”

“You start over there, I’ll go to the other end. Meet in the middle. Shoot anything that moves.”

They started moving off again. You grabbed a hunting knife off one of the slat wall shelves and spatial jumped again.

You appeared behind Cha Cha, face hidden by her pink dog mask. Using the hunting knife, you sliced the left side of her neck. She fell with a pained grunt as Hazel started shooting in your direction and you jumped again.

You ran down an aisle, crouched low enough that your head didn’t poke over the racks. You were running back to Delores, and when you had her, you placed her in a duffel bag which you threw over your shoulder.

You ran and turned down several different aisles, the noise alerting the two assassins and pointing their guns in your direction before firing again.

You tried a spatial jump, but you hadn’t moved off to another spot in the store. You were to tired. The shooting stop. You looked over the rack and they were reloading as they continue to walk in your direction.

You tried again, only for it to fail. “Shit! Come on!” The shooting started back up again so instead you ran. You reached the same slat wall and jumped over it, narrowly avoiding a bullet.

You pulled a muscle in your leg, pain jolting through your body when you hit the carpeted ground. You limped towards the exit.

“Got him.” Cha Cha proclaimed. You turned around and looked at the two. Guns pointed your way.

Police sirens caused the two assassins attention on the glass doors. 3-4 had pulled up.

You took the chance to hide behind one of the counters before the two turned back to where you were previously standing.

“The bastard jumped again.”

“Come on, let’s go.” Cha Cha and Hazel walked off.

You were all sweaty as you cradled Delores, trying to catch your breath. When you had enough energy, you jumped to the roof of two buildings over and started to climb down the fire escape.

You got back to the compound eventually. You were going back to your room when you bumped into Steve and Sam.

“Y/N? What the hell happened to you?”

You didn’t answer Sam.

“Are you okay? Can we help?” Steve went to put her hand over your forehead, though you stopped him by the wrist.

“There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing any of you can do.” You told him solemnly.

You walked away before he could interrogate or lecture you.

You went to your room and straight into the bathroom connected to it. You grabbed a another set of cloths along the way.

You changed, only now noticing your heavily bleeding shoulder. A bullet must have cut through your skin amidst the chaos.

You sewed it up and put a Band-Aid over the wound. You cleaned the rest of the blood off your shoulder with a wet rag before getting dressed into the fresh cloths.

In the last 4 days, a shit load had happened. Hazel and Cha Cha had attacked the compound and in the process, kidnapped Hawkeye. Nat had gotten him back when the two weren’t there.

Hazel and Cha Cha had blown up the clinic. You had started dragging Peter around, seeing as he was the youngest of everyone and most willing to help you.

Steve and Bucky had found you asleep in the library, empty vodka bottle in hand and math equations written on walls which surrounded you and a very concerned Peter.

They had carried you back, drunk as a skunk while Peter tried to make sense of what you had told him.

“Everyone is gonna die, the world is gonna end and no one takes the time to appreciate me for all my effort of trying to stop that.”

Eventually, you had told Peter the full story.

Breakfast was always eventful. Especially when you were forced to eat with superheroes who believed you were to small for anything.

‘Y/N, your not allowed to use the oven.’ ‘Careful, don’t want you to break a bone.’ ‘Y/N, your to young and inexperienced to help me with this. Go make friends or go to school.’

It was frustrating, being the youngest and having saved the world twice as much as some of the Avengers.

You had been there since the Avengers assembled. Having been found by Nick Fury, and trained by several professionals, such as Clint Barton and Captain Marvel.

You stared off, trying to ignore the joke Sam made about your height. Or the joke Stark made about you being cute and adorable and unsuspectingly annoying. Or how Wanda made fun of your lack in your Special ability.

You got annoyed, grabbed your butter knife and stabbed it into the counter. Everyone fell silent.

“Y/N?” Steve questioned.

“I have a question.” You intertwined your hands and tucked them under your chin.

“Knowledge is an admirable goal, but you know the rules. No children talking during meal times. You are interrupting valuable conversations.” Stark reminded.

“I want to time travel.” You crossed your arms and leaned back in your seat.

“No.” Many said in unison.

“But I’m ready. I’ve been practicing my spatial jumps, just like you said.” You kicked back your chair and jumped, appearing next to Tony. “See?” You starred at him.

“A spatial jump is trivial when compared with the unknowns of time travel. One is like sliding along the ice, the other is akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing water and reappearing as an acorn.” Stark explained.

“Well, I don’t get it.” You shrugged staring at the counter.

“Hence the reason you’re not ready.”

You looked back at everybody, who almost all were eating their food, ignoring you. Steve shook his head as for you not to continue. You look back at Stark

“I’m not afraid.”

“Fear isn’t the issue. The effects it might have on your body, even your mind, are far too unpredictable. Now, I forbid you to talk about this anymore.” Tony went back to his food.

Clenching your fist, you walked away from the table and towards the elevator, ignoring all their attempts to stop you. You broke into a run when you went to the lobby. You ran out the building and onto the street.

The sky was gloomy, covered by grey clouds. It was notably cold. You jumped. Appearing on the same street but it was sunny and hot out. You looked around, everything was bright and their were even food stands on the street.

You scoffed. “Not ready, my ass.” You grinning, proud of yourself. Again, you jumped. Same street, but it was snowing heavily and most stores were closed.

You jumped again. Rubble was everywhere. Buildings were toppled and fire was all around. Smoke and ash filled the air. You looked behind you. You ran back towards the tower, hoping to god the building hadn’t collapsed or someone was there.

You stood outside the unmistakable entrance, or the would-be entrance. It was all gone. Everything you had. Your home, your life, your family.

“Rogers!”

“Nat!”

“Tony!”

“Anyone!”

All that could be heard was the blazing fire and your own panicked breathing.

You tried to jump. Several times. But you didn’t have the energy, nor knew how to go back in time.

“Come on!”

“Shit.”

You threw your hands down in frustration and exhaustion. You fell to your knees, your legs hurt and body felt fragile.

Years had passed. During that time, you had found found Delores. As well as all the Avengers bodies. In Starks hand, he held a prosthetic eye. You also found a cellar filled with non perishable alcohol.

22 years had passed. You were still working on the equations for time travelling back.

Though one day, some woman appeared. Seemed about 60. Having not expected her, you pointed a rifle to her head.

She offered you a deal. You come work for this place for 5 years, and after your retirement, you could choose which timeline you wanted to live in.

You accepted the deal. For the next 2 years of your life, you were a killer. You killed anyone who messed with the timeline. Eventually, you perfected your equations and in the year of 1963, where you were doing a job, you jumped back to 2017.

But, you didn’t get your equations 100%. You were 14 again. You had been aiming for where you stayed in your 38 year old body, still insecure about being treated like a kid.

“So the world is going to end?”

“From what I can gather, in 4 days.”

“How do we stop it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you got any leads?”

“The glass eye was my lead, but that trail has gone dead. The clinic exploded.”

“We’ve got to tell Mr. Stark. He’ll help, he can-“

“He doesn’t take me seriously. He’ll look at me like I’m a joke and tell me to go play with my dolls.” You glared at the floor.

“Is this why you’ve not said something sooner.”

“Mhm.”

“What if I help?”

“Wouldn’t matter.”

“Of course it would.”

“For the record, you already tried. I found everyone. Their bodies.”

“We died?”

You saw all their dead bodies. It wasn’t something you’d ever forget.

“Horribly.”

He fell silent.

“You were together, trying to stop whatever it was that ends the world.”

“How do you know that?”

You pulled out the eye from your pocket and showed it to him. “This was clutched in Starks dead hand when I found everybody.” You tossed him the prosthetic which he caught.

“Must’ve ripped it out their head right before Tony went down.”

“Whose head?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. It’s just another hunk of glass.” He passed it back to you and you put it in your pocket.

“What can we do?”

“Well, Clint gave me this broken briefcase. Said he took it from Hazel and Cha Cha.”

“Who?”

“The two maniacs that attack the compound.”

“Wait, you know them?”

“Do you?”

“They attacked me the same day you got back. Like two hours before you came through that vortex.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m surprised your not dead. They’re the best in the business, besides me of course.”

“So, what does the briefcase have anything to do with the end of the world?”

“It gives me another chance to try again.”

“How? It’s broken?”

“The commission has very few rules. Strict ones, however. One of them being that you must keep these briefcases with you at all times and to not lose it whatsoever.”

“Once The Handler, my previous employer, discovers that they have lost their briefcase, they won’t be able to return back to the commission. So I’ll give them a fake one, one that looks identical to this.” You kicked the broken briefcase in front of him, causing it to tip and fall over.

“What’s so important about it?”

“It’s a time travelling device. It’s how agents get dispatched for missions and come back. That’s why they must be kept safe.”

“How do you know they’ll fall for it?”

“Cause they’re desperate.”

“How do they know they’re going to meet you here?”

“Found their hotel and left a message for them.”

“Oh.”

Peter didn’t continue, but it was obvious what he was thinking. His face almost screamed it.

“You know, I never enjoyed it.”

“What?”

“The killing.” You looked at him, he was seated in the passenger seat, eyes already on you. “I mean, I was… I was good at my work, and I… I took pride in it. But it never gave me pleasure.”

You sighed, looking back out the windshield. It was a long road surrounded by clear fields. “I think it was all those years alone. Solitude can do funny things to the mind.”

“Bucky can relate to you more than I can, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

He goes quiet and looks at the freshly store bought briefcase. “You’ll think they’ll buy it?”

“Don’t have a choice. There isn’t anyway to know without opening it. Like I said earlier, they’re desperate. It’s like a cop losing his gun. If the commission finds out, they’ll be in deep shit.”

“I should hold onto it. In case they make a move on you. I got sticky hands and web shooters. They wouldn’t be able to take it from me.”

“Okay, Parker, but be careful. I mean, I’ve… I’ve lived a long life, but… you’re still a young man. You got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t waste it.”

Minutes passed in somewhat comfortable silence. Finally, another car came into view. You nudged Peter and pointed towards the upcoming vehicle.

The car door slammed as you closed it. Peter moved to stand on your side, the car driving passed you and stopping a little ways passed your own.

“If this all goes sideways, do me a favour and tell Delores I’m sorry.”

Hazel and Cha Cha exited their car, masks on, and you moved forward to meet them in the middle.

“The masks really necessary?”

They removed the masks and chucked them in different directions. “So, where is it kid?”

“Wow, that’s how you’re gonna start? You know, we can get right back in our car and call it a day.”

Cha Cha pulled her gun from her holster. “You won’t even make it halfway there.” She threat.

“Maybe. But as I’m sure you found out in your previous foray, he isn’t an ordinary kid.”

“He’s right. You dropped a chandelier on him, got right back up.” Hazel chimed in.

“By the time you took him out, he’d smashed your precious briefcase to a pulp.”

“Probably us too, right? So, how do we help each other?” Hazel asked.

“I need you to get in contact with your superior, so I can have a chat with her. Face-to-face.”

“About what?”

“Well, I don’t believe that’s any of your concern.”

Cha Cha scrunched her face in annoyance. “Just don’t tell her about the briefcase.”

“Fair enough.”

She lowered her gun and walked over to the payphone. One of the factors that made you choose such a vacant area.

You stepped back over to Peter.

“What happens now?”

“Now we wait.”

A few moments of silence were interrupted by the sounds of ice cream truck music.

“Is that her?”

When the truck drove past you, Bucky was in the drivers seat while Sam rode passenger. They waved, grinning at you two.

“The hell are they doing here?”

“I may or may not have told them when you went somewhere.” Peter spat out.

Hazel and Cha Cha started firing bullets at the truck and you guys. Peter stood in front of you, making sure you didn’t get shot.

Time froze though, everything stopped. Except you, you were able to move. The fired bullets remained in the air, unmoving.

You moved from behind Peter and saw the Hhandler.

“Neat trick, isn’t it?”

You stepped over to her as she pulled the crappy veil from her hat over her face. She also removed her sun glasses.

“Hello, Y/N. You look good, all things considered.”

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Feels like we met just yesterday. Course, you were a little bit older then. Congratulations on the age regression, by the way. Very clever. Threw us all of the scent.”

“Ah, we’ll, I wish I could take credit. I just miscalculated the time dilation projection, and… Well, you know. Here I am.”

“You realise your efforts are futile. So why don’t you tell me what you really want?”

“I want you to put a stop to it.”

“You realise what you’re asking for for is next to impossible, even for me. What’s meant to be is meant to be. That’s our raison d’être.”

You pulled out your gun from your waistband. “Yeah? Well how about survival as a raison?”

“I’ll just be replaced. I’m but a… small cog in a machine. This fantasy you’ve been nurturing about summoning up your family to stop the apocalypse… is just that. A fantasy.”

“I must say, though, we’re all quite impressed with your initiative, your stick-to-itiveness, really quite… quite something. Which is why we want to offer you a new position back at the commission, in management.”

You chuckled. “Sorry, what’s that now?”

“Come back to work for us again. You know it’s where you belong.”

“We’ll, it didn’t work out too well the last time.”

“But you wouldn’t be in the correction division any longer. I’m talking about… the home office. You’d have the best health and pension, and an end to this ceaseless travel. You’re a distinguished professional in… teen angsty clothing.”

“We have the technology to reverse the process. I mean, you… you can’t be happy like this.”

“I’m not looking for happy.”

She stroked your cheek after she had lowered your gun. “We’re all looking for happy. We can make that happen. We can make you… yourself again.”

“And what about my family?” You sighed.

“What about them?”

“I want them to survive.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“We’ll, I’ll see what I can do.” She placed her sunglasses back on. “Do we have a deal?” She stuck her hand out.

You looked at her hand. “One thing.” You walked over towards Hazel and Cha Cha, taking there guns and removing their magazines before throwing them two divided parts in opposite directions.

As you walked past, you noticed a bullet that would hit Peter, so you moved for it to go past him.

The Handler stuck her hand hand back out. You took hold of it and disappeared.

Just like you had predicted, the other Avengers were pissed. One of them being that you had put yourself and Peter in a dangerous situation without warning them.

You weren’t even going to mention that you had been shot while trying to get back from the Commission. They would only blow it in your face and call you immature and arrogant.

“It doesn’t matter. At least you know. Besides, it’s not like you would’ve believed me. You’d have told me to stop making shit up.”

“Whatever. Do you have any clue on how where gonna stop this upcoming apocalypse?”

“I got a new lead. This is who we have to stop." You handed Nat the letter in your hand and watched as she opened it.

"Harold Jenkins?"

Bucky's face scrunched up. "Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?"

“I don’t know, yet. But I do know that he’s responsible for the apocalypse. So we have to find him. And we have to do it now.”

“How is he connected to what’s gonna happen?” Wanda asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Wait, so you just know his name? That’s it?” Bucky scoffed. He still must have thought of you as a joke.

“That’s enough.”

“There’s probably dozens of Horsley Jenkinses in New York.”

“Well, we just better start looking, then.” You groaned in pain, placing your hand over the bullet wound.

“I’m sorry. Am I the only one that’s skeptical here? I mean, how exactly do you know all this about what’s his name?” Nat reasonably questioned.

“Harold Jenkins. You know those Lunatics that attacked the Compound?”

“Oh yeah, I think I remember those guys.” Clint said sarcastically.

“Yeah, the ones that attacked us while you were off getting a drunk.” Stark pointed at you.

“Yeah. Then. They were sent by the Temps Commission to stop me from coming back, and preventing the end of Life on Earth.”

“The Temps what?” Same hadn’t caught on, the brain dead idiot.

“My former employer. They monitor all of time and space to make sure that whatever is supposed to happen… happens. They believe that the apocalypse is coming in 3 days. So I went to Commission headquarters and intercepted a message that was meant for said lunatics. “Protect Harold Jenkins.” So he must be responsible for the apocalypse.”

Everybody stayed silence. They started at you, processing all of this. Peter was surprisingly the quickest to understand, his face lit up as all the information clicked into place.

Everyone else though…

“What do you mean, protect time and space?”

“Where is this Hazel, Y/N?”

“Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?”

“You know what else is insane?” Everyone looked back at you, while others went silent. “I look like a 14-year-old. Wanda moves shot with her mind, and Thor thinks he’s fooling everybody with that overcoat. Everything about us is insane. It always has been.”

“She’s got a point there.” Steve acknowledge.

“We didn’t choose this life, we’re just living it. For the next 3 days, anyway.”

“But the last time we tried to stop it, we all died. Why is this time any different? Why shouldn’t I go home to my kids?” Clint asked.

“Because this time, I’m here. We have the name of the man responsible. Guys, we actually have the chance of saving the lives of billions of people. Including Nathaniel.”

“You know his name?”

“I do, and I’d like to live long enough to meet him.”

“All right. Let’s get this bastard.”

“You had me at Gerald Jenkins.” Bucky confirmed he was in.

“Harold Jenkins.” You corrected.

“Whatever, I’ve already lost two good friends this week, I’m not losing anyone else.”

[deadsynapsedepository]

Chairbound musings

It is interesting to observe how very small groups of people, in chance encounters and being total strangers, seem to develop almost healing binds through conversation, if they dare to engage at least. Of course, it is easier to just ignore everybody else, but if they don't, it can be anything from passing time amicably, to sharing information, sorrow, happiness, and a whole host of other things. Truthfully, I can never be bothered joining these sorts of congregations, but I do like observing them all the more. Silently watching (most likely) ephemeral relationships unfold, the little quips, shared burdens and worries, perhaps a healthy dose of optimism..there's something to it, I find. Despite my general mistrust and dislike of fellow humans.

I wonder how much influence the setting, the backdrop of you will, has on these encounters. Whether it is conducive or detrimental. Surely each participant's mood and overall condition must play a role in it. Temporal constraints, reasons for being there, any number of factors could be listed; too many to count perhaps. We are complex organisms indeed, but I still have no desire to become any more involved than absolutely necessary. Maybe some day I will feel differently, but I haven't for the past few decades and vastly prefer my non-interference stance.

[grandhotelabyss]

Could you speak to Joyce’s real-world relationship to Wilde? Had he met him, how much do we know about his (Joyce) reading of him (Wilde), was there some continuity between their social circles?

Wilde's fall happened in London when Joyce was only 13, years before Joyce was in touch with the Irish literati. He certainly knew people who knew Wilde—Yeats, to take the most famous example—but I don't believe their circles overlapped much. As far as his reading, aside from allusions in his fiction, the main text of interest is his essay, "Oscar Wilde: The Poet of Salomé." He published this biographical piece in Italian in the Triestine newspaper Il Piccolo della Sera in 1909 on the occasion of Strauss's opera of Salomé opening in the city. The essay isn't online, but you can get it in the Oxford World Classics volume of Joyce's Occasional, Critical, and Political Writing. Here's my reading of the piece from my doctoral dissertation, necessarily oriented toward my own thesis:

In a 1909 article on Wilde that he wrote for the Triestine newspaper Il Picolo della Sera, Joyce demonstrates his grasp of the essence of Wilde’s fraught achievement. Joyce’s short piece of workmanlike journalism on Wilde, written during the ten-year process of composing A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, is for the most part painfully condescending. It reduces Wilde to “the logical and inevitable product of the Anglo-Saxon college and university system, a system of seclusion and secrecy” and speculates eugenically on “the epileptic cast of [Wilde’s] nervous system” (150).[*] Even so, Joyce rightly concludes that Wilde’s work was a “polyphonic variation on the relationship between art and nature, rather than a revelation of his psyche,” which is to say that Joyce comprehends the difficulty and sophistication of the questions Wilde’s work raises for the novelist, ostensibly committed to mimesis (151).

That Joyce sees the import of The Picture of Dorian Gray’s generic innovations is shown when he incisively quotes Wilde’s own defense of his novel: “Oscar Wilde’s self-defence in the Scots Observer should be accepted as legitimate by any bench of impartial judges. Each man writes his own sin into Dorian Gray (Wilde’s most celebrated novel). What Dorian Gray’s sin was no one says and no one knows. He who discovers it has committed it” (151). This might at first seem like nothing more than a simple quip meant to vindicate Wilde from charges laid by those who, then as now, moralize over others’ transgressions to conceal their own. But it actually encodes a nuanced understanding of what Wilde’s destruction of the realist novel of temporal progress and explicit social criticism portends for the twentieth-century novel. Each reader, Joyce implies, now becomes a writer of the text in the act of interpreting it. This shifts the burden of criticism, whether moral or political, onto the reader, who becomes a critic of society in the act of reconstructing the text of society as it manifests itself in the form of a novel. Furthermore, the identity of author and protagonist, once ensured by the protagonist’s intellectual and moral growth over the course of the progressive narrative to the stature of the author, now shifts to an identity of protagonist and reader. Readers investigate a psyche made, like their own, of cultural discourses and thus come to understand their own subjective constitution.

_______________________

[*] The piece’s occasion is a Triestine performance of Strauss’s Salomé, based on Wilde’s Symbolist drama. Joyce’s perhaps surprising de haut en bas posture toward Wilde could be explained as self-protectiveness: the latter sexually-dissident cosmopolite Aesthete tries to avoid a too-close public association with the earlier one, perhaps for fear of incurring a similar fate. On the other hand, considerations of class/religion in the Irish context may be the explanation, as the downwardly-mobile petit-bourgeois Catholic takes discursive revenge on the privileged Protestant member of the professional/colonial elite.

[mowiwow]

winter (godheim clarence)

spoilers: godheim clarence route

He does not have much to live for.

His parents have forsaken him, many fear him, and his companions have all turned into frozen monsters.

He, too, has become a monster.

The Archmage has seen death more than anybody else. He wanders the snowy tundra even within the spatio-temporal gap. All he has to cling onto are his memories, but it’s cruel, truly—

For he can only remember the frigid cold of an eternal winter. He only knows of the white blanket of death, of the lives trapped beneath an impenetrable layer of ice. He only remembers watching helplessly the first time he realizes the true nature of mages. He only remembers the lives he had to take for the sake of the world—

Footprints buried by snowfall.

All traces of him silently covered up.

What colour, he wonders, is hope? What colour are the flowers that bloom after winter? What colour are the eyes of his old friends?

He doesn’t remember.

An endless expanse. The spatio-temporal gap is not so different, he thinks, from the eternally blank canvas he wandered within Godheim.

(That’s what he tells himself, but his heart aches still.)

(He’s surprised he still has a heart at all that can feel.)

It’s only when the Archmage is truly alone that he makes a key realization—

I miss them.

He misses the playful quips of the lonely emperor, despite having no tolerance for his jokes at the time. He misses his old companions, whom he once shared warm food and drink with. He misses the sweet little girl whose stomach had no limits, the occasional moments of lightheartedness within a place as cruel as the Magi Tower. It’s a place rife with sin and the deepest depths of humanity’s greed but still, they were people who shared his burden.

“May Spring live where you go next,” the Archmage had once said to the mage he had put to rest. And the following, an oath that he cannot keep; “—and may we be reunited once more.”

And…

He misses you.

A tender, gentle warmth. A single flower standing tall and proud despite the relentless onslaught of sleet. The artist who threw themselves into the thick of things, the artist of spring. Hope.

A part of him solemnly wishes he had never met you.

The Archmage had forgotten the warmth of companionship. The warmth of someone whose fate was not looming over their head—

Ah, but that’s not right.

You, the sacrifice, meant to be killed for the sake of a world that you don’t even belong to.

The artist who still had hope. Who had a determination in their eyes to defy fate; someone who has not fallen to the numbing acceptance of their fate. The ghost of a smile forms upon the Archmage’s chapped lips as he draws out your visage within his mind.

The unexpectedly pleasant ticklish sensation of an innocent emotion. One that he cannot put the name to, but one he feels nonetheless.

Nobody bears witness to the softening corners of his eyes, the light sheen that highlights deep, melancholic blues.

(But, of course, he deserves no such happiness. It is not tragic, he thinks. Just a mere matter of fact.)

(The fall still hurt greatly, though. It is rather cruel to show a starving man the promise of a feast only to rip it all way from him.)

Quietly, the Archmage stops walking in the endless, pure white void reminiscent of Godheim’s snowy fields.

Ah, he thinks vaguely. I suppose I am no longer the Archmage.

When he looks up to see the sky, the void stares back unflinchingly.

Clarence, he thinks. His name sounds a little odd in his thoughts. I suppose I am just ‘Clarence’ now.

He’s a little tired.

After living hundreds of years pursuing one specific goal, he is now lost. An aimless wanderer with no clear destination; nothing to fight for. The Archmage’s— no, Clarence’s— head hurts as a barrage of disorganized thoughts fill his mind.

His battle has long since ended (or was it actually not that long ago? Time does not exist here, after all) and he is now reaping the rewards. The fruits of his labour; his reward is eternity.

(Hardly a reward. It’s a punishment, rather; but he isn’t complaining. His sins have gone unpunished for too long, after all.)

(A small voice in the back of his mind cries— "What sin is there in the desire to live?")

(“Everything,” another replies matter-of-factly.)

The feeling of saving a world he has been working tirelessly to save… it’s…

It’s cold.

He has spent all his life with the snow as his cloak. Clarence had forgotten how horribly unpleasant the cold was.

No snow falls. But he feels the sensation of snowflakes lightly falling upon his cheeks, of snowflakes turning dark hair white. But unlike before, he doesn’t move, doesn’t shake the snowflakes off. He remains stagnant, suddenly too tired to lift a limb.

He is rather weary. He’d like to rest.

There is no chilled winds, but he feels the tips of his fingers growing numb all the same. And when he looks down, he thinks he can see his reflection within the ice of a frozen lake.

It seems, Clarence thinks, wordlessly staring out into the endless abyss. There is no horizon to look at, no sun to anticipate in his personal prison of endless winter. I have a lot to remember.

(And as his heart aches inexplicably, he can only stand there quietly in rumination. His tears have long frozen and he no longer has the energy to scream out in pain.)

Well, that’s fine.

He has an eternity to remember everything, after all.

To remember what it’s like to be human.

Maybe he can remember what it is that he lives for.

Though whether or not he can become human once more—

A maple leaf falls and crumbles away somewhere in a world with Spring.

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