#and they're good for experimenting with styles.

[havendance]

Okay, I want to play too. Building off of @dustorange's post and @silverwhittlingknife's post

I think, how I would play this: the circus still happens obviously.

And then Dick dies when he's 16 in circumstances similar to Batman #408, where Dick is shot by the Joker and it causes him to fall to his death. (Dick has to die by falling. To me.) Bruce isn't able to catch him.

Bruce is obviously devastated. Going off of Silver, we'll say no Robin!Jason in this AU. Jason can get away with stealing the tires off of the Batmobile of an extremely grieving Batman. As a treat.

Tim is also devastated. I usually have Tim being 3 at the circus, so I guess he's 11-12 when this happens.

I think the fact that Dick was the only Robin in this scenario means that Tim is more reluctant to push himself as a replacement Robin. That and the fact that his HERO Dick Grayson died means I think that he's slower to act.

Eventually though, things get bad enough in Gotham that he does just because someone has to and he ends up as Robin. We'll handwave the details for now.

I think that Dick should get to come back to life during the Knightfall Saga. As a treat.

He comes back to Gotham just in time to see that there's a new Robin and watch Bruce get his back broken.

Tim's been Robin longer before Knightfall in this AU, so he's got a little more experience, but he's also 14, and while Bruce is lying in the Batcave and they don't know whether he's going to wake up or not, and he's fetching the medicine in that one comic, he runs into this unknown, edgy looking vigilante who blames him for Bruce getting his back broken and it's just everything he's been thinking to himself.

Dick sticks around in Gotham long enough to see that there's a new Batman and of course Bruce has someone else he can get to do that. Of course he doesn't need Dick. He runs off to go do like, black-ops vigilante work somewhere.

I think he and Tim do run into eachother once more before Dick leaves town though and Tim's like 'I know I'll never be as good as the first Robin, but that just means I need to learn everything I can' and tries to bother Dick into teaching him stuff because he can tell that this mysterious vigilante is way more skilled than him.

Dick mostly avoids Gotham, but I think they keep running into each other, coincidentally. Tim ends up teaming up with him during Contagion instead of Catwoman and they're both in Paris at the same time etc etc.

And eventually on one of these team-ups, Dick does a quadruple somersault and Tim sees it and everything clicks together and he imminently runs away because that's Dick Grayson and Tim has been talking up the first Robin all this time and it's a lot okay?

I think this is about when No Man's Land happens so Tim goes to go hide in Gotham and help out Batman and become a National News story and all that jazz instead of thinking about it.

But afterwards, Tim is ON THE CASE. I think he doesn't tell Bruce about this because if Dick hasn't told Bruce then he probably has his reasons? And what he was actually wrong? (Even though he knows he isn't)

And then, um, let's put the Dick and Bruce finally confronting each other during Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive because Dick comes back to Gotham when he hears that Bruce murdered someone because he doesn't want to believe it, but I think he also can't have that same bone deep belief in his innocence that he does in canon because of all the estrangement.

So he attacks Batman and demands to know the truth (without revealing who he is) and Bruce won't answer. Bruce also doesn't know how this mysterious vigilante knows he's Bruce Wayne/got accused of murder, so he low key suspects DICK of framing him, which normally he'd be too busy being Batman full time to care, but here he also recognizes some of Dick's fighting style so he starts investigating him to uncover the mystery.

Meanwhile, Tim noticed that Dick is back in town, so he's trying to recruit Dick to help him get to the bottom of this. He knows Dick's identity now, but he doesn't tell Dick that, he just drops various hints that he knows and hooks Dick up with a line to Oracle (who he has also not shared his conclusions with other than a vague 'there's something about him')

And hmm somehow this all resolves with like, Dick's identity getting out and him and Bruce talking face to face. Bruce is just so desperately amazed that Dick is there, meanwhile Dick still has various issues that are not resolved and it probably ends with Dick running away again and Bruce holding himself back from chasing after him like he desperately wants to. Because if Dick doesn't want anything to do with him then that's just his right because Bruce WAS the one who got him killed.

He does stalk Dick from afar though. Just without initiating contact. Tim and Barbara are more pushy about trying to hang out/talk with Dick in the aftermath.

To skip ahead, I think Bruce leaves Dick the Batmantle after he 'dies' as this last ditch attempt to share how much he loves and respects Dick.

And this getting long so I think I'll call it here.

[tossawary]

When writing both original fiction and fanfiction, it's my personal preference and style to remind people who characters are in the narration when I feel it might be needed. It's especially handy when bringing OCs into a fanfiction. Example: "The person calling out to them was [Character's Name Here], the baker they had met earlier that morning." This quirk of narration often reads to me as the POV character internally reminding themselves who someone is.

Sometimes, a character is quite bad with names or wasn't given one, which is where it's handy to refer to this other character by a fixed epithet. Example: "The person calling out to them was the square-faced man from yesterday, who had given them those bad directions." OR: "The person calling out to them was the mayor's daughter." This reads to me as though the POV character is distinguishing people by a particular feature or remembers them by their relationship to someone else, which is a common way to remember people, until their own name becomes more fixed in your mind.

I also think it's important to keep an epithet / title the same across a scene. Epithets are best used, in my opinion, when that particular feature or quality is actually relevant. It's a little weird for a POV character to suddenly think of their own husband as "the tall man" unless his height is suddenly important in some way, and it might confuse the audience into thinking another person is in the room. If a character doesn't have a name, then "the square-faced man" or "the mayor's daughter" effectively becomes their name, and it's confusing to have a character's name change too much with every other paragraph. (It would be fine to also refer to "the mayor's daughter" as "the girl" or "the young woman" as long as there aren't any other nameless girls speaking in the scene.) Keeping the same title allows it to blend in in the same way that the word "said" does, rather than break up the flow of a scene.

Not every person or character is bad with names and remembering people, of course, or is inclined to give them funny little internal titles. There are people who are very good at names. There are tricks to use to get yourself to memorize names as you're introduced to someone. Narrative styles are going to be different by author and by the current POV character. (Sometimes, you might want the audience to be confused and disoriented!)

In fact, thinking about how different characters think about each other is one of my favorite starting places for crafting a perspective voice. A single character might be referred to in the narration as "His Majesty" by one character, "my husband" by another character, "the king" by a third character, "the usurper" by a fourth character, and "Dad" by a fifth. The name that a character calls someone else by will often say a lot about their relationship and their opinion of that other person. If the prince appears to think of his father as "the king" rather than "Father", that implies something about their relationship.

But back to introducing character names, you as an author, in my experience as a writer and reader, generally can't rely on the audience to easily recall very minor character names unless they're very distinct or the character was introduced in a particularly memorable way. Like, if you introduce a character as the protagonist's best friend, Mary, and immediately start refering to her as Mary because it's followed by a conversation between the protagonist and Mary, that's fair! It's reasonable to expect the audience to just learn Mary's name here! But then if Mary disappears after Chapter 1 and doesn't show up again until Chapter 10, I think it's reasonable to subtly reintroduce her to the audience again. Example: "It was Mary smiling at me from the doorway, and I jumped up to hug my best friend immediately."

Like, there's no one way that you have to refer to characters and introduce them and reintroduce them, of course. Characters have different levels of importance and sometimes we don't really need to know who they are. Sometimes, an author wants an audience to feel grounded, to recognize people, and sometimes they want their audience to feel lost and scared. It's all situational. Style is a thing.

But because it's all situational, this is something I like thinking about and I think it's something worth studying when you're reading original fiction. It's interesting to pay attention to how characters enter and exit scenes in different forms of media, and how the narrator introduces them and how other characters greet them aloud. (Shakespeare comes to mind as a neat thing to look at, to see how theatre does it. Comic books and films and visual media will do it differently to a text-only story.) The audience doesn't have the background that you, the author, carry around in your head all of the time, and you often need to give them a helping hand in keeping your cast of characters straight. Even in fanfiction, without including OCs, not everyone in the audience has the whole canonical cast perfectively memorized, and not every character in any given cast actually knows every other character! It's not just OCs who need introductions, whether those introductions happen subtly or a character enters the story with a bang.

Kind of another side note:

One of my favorite character introductions comes from the book "The Princess Bride", in which Princess Buttercup is kidnapped by three men who are referred to only as "the Spaniard", "the Turk", and "the Sicilian". You don't know their names for quite some time. Buttercup doesn't know these people.

You only learn the Spaniard's name when the Sicilian leaves him at the top of a cliff, tasking him the Spaniard fighting and killing "the Man in Black" who is pursuing their kidnapping. When the Spaniard is about to fight someone to the death, the book pauses to tell you that his name is Inigo Montoya, and then there is an ENTIRE CHAPTER dedicated to Inigo Montoya's long and tragic backstory, in which you learn about his decades-long quest to find the six-fingered man who murdered his father. And then the book abruptly dumps you the audience back out onto that cliff, where Inigo (no longer just "the Spaniard" and no longer just some random kidnapping thug) is about to fight for his life.

I think it's a terribly fun piece of whiplash that suits the comedic style of the book really well. (The book is a little different to the movie and there are things about it that I don't like, the movie gets across a level of a sincerity and love through the acting that the book misses in places, but there are lots of really funny elements to the book that the movie sadly couldn't cover.) The transformation from "the Spaniard" into "Inigo Montoya" is really neat to me.

[zahri-melitor]

A Quick, Somewhat Joking Discussion of 'the Best Ways To Get Into Comics' (TM)

Be 10-14 years old, pick up a random comic at the library/bookshop/someone's collection and become obsessed. This is proven the best method and the level of confusion engendered by it is actually more useful long term than any other method. (At that age you are going to fall deeply in love with random texts that are never going to quite have the depth your brain imparts on them)

Mention to a friend who does like comics that you want to 'get into comics' and said friend, knowing your preferred types of tv shows and books, your favourite characters and having asked what you're hoping to read, carefully picks out something that is objectively a good starter comic that fits your tastes and makes your brain go brrrr. (god tier level, that friend is a keeper, also congratulations on the fact you are never going to replicate the feel of reading that first comic again)

Lurk or hang out in some fandom space where you are regularly exposed to discussions of comics that includes actual panels and storylines of recent comics, and work out from that what seems to have a vibe you like, so you go and pick up that run (solid option, being able to taste various writers and styles of run before diving in gives you a better chance of choosing a run that hooks you, I was introduced to so many runs via scans_daily in this way back in the day).

Wander into a library or comic shop or bookshop that has a decent number of comics with the idea that you want to look into reading these, and then flip through a bunch of trades in what you think you want to read before something catches your eye and you pick that up (less likely to be a definite hook, but has the benefit of being far more likely than any option listed further below to involve newbie-friendly art. And newbie-friendly art is something that isn't discussed enough in terms of recommendations but is one of the biggest reasons people just getting into comics bounce off the format).

Only here will I mention recommended character reading guides. In my experience they're useful in certain contexts, particularly for characters who have hard-to-trace chronologies, for finding out what runs that person considers essential to the character, for untangling the order of comics in particularly confusing large events, and for narrowing down and directing people where there's a big chunk of material to read about a character. My objection is they tend to be treated like gospel by newbies, they frequently don't consider whether the artwork is going to make their eyes burn, quite often they are more focused on the 'best' stories for a character rather than the 'most accessible stories' for that character (these are two separate concepts!) and they tend to sell a narrative of 'don't read X' where X is quite often a comic which people don't enjoy but where an important event happens or is simply an older comic that's particularly affected by community expectations and standards having changed since it was written.

You know that '75 Years of Comics' series of prestige hardbacks that DC did? They're great to hand to a newbie looking to get into a specific character or mantle, because it's got stand alone stories that are highly regarded or solidly introductory about that character from each era, they can page through it and work out what version makes their brain happy, and then follow up on those leads into more reading. (Expensive but perfect for libraries)

The first trade of a recent run for the character in question by the current or second most recent writer. Most runs when they change lead writers are going to have some level of onboarding simply because a lot of people DO switch what they're reading depending on what team is on the book, and by going with a current run you manage to sidestep a lot of the 'this feels weird and old' problems.

[thebrainrotsreal]

FINALLYYYYYY. My guys of the jury, this has a tracked 30 damn hours and boy does it feel like it. ANYWAYS, I return for more AU shenanigans because Get Redeemed Loser AU lives in my head rent free. Felt like a nice way to experiment with more vertical style comics? Which is SM EASIER TO PANEL THAN CLASS LAYOUTS. I get why they're so much more common nowadays. Comic,,, so satisfying but at what cost,,, i'm tired. So proud of the top half tho :3.

Okay back to AU brainrot, Mark and Wasp fighting over one of their core differences! I think this is early in their relationship where Mark still thinks Wasp can at least understand what it's like being Nolan's son, only to get smacked in the face with how pride Wasp holds in that title. Anyways, look below to see my suffering made into video.

local artist redoes like 4 damn panels 8 bajillion times and screams into the sky ♡ also if you want fic of this au you should read the fic that @avisisisis wrote about it, ooooo you wanna read it so bad, it's good :3

[starpirateee]

Hi!! Could you write one of the Curtwen prompts I made, yet didn’t cut it? I love your writing style!!

Honestly there was a bit of deliberation here because you put some really good ideas out there on the form, but I did say I'd write em myself, and by all means, I'll still do it! So, I decided to go for this prompt:

Would you take a modern au from me? Can I do that?

I mean, I'm going to anyway, because I have a dire need to call Curt and Owen husbands (and also for wider Starkid lore), but i just thought I'd warn you beforehand!

"Agent Carvour, have you found anything yet?"

Owen leaned back away from his research. He'd been looking at the same page now for a while, trying to make some sense of it. Redacted government files were hard to get hold of, but even harder to make ends of. His system had been trying to translate it, but not even he had the software for that.

"Quite possibly, sir. I have a few sources, at least."

"What have you got?"

With an air of something that was almost excitement and almost elation, Owen pulled up a series of documents and started the walk through them. "Well, sir, the easiest source was from a few years ago. There's a company in Michigan that's been trying to conduct various temporal experiments under their parent company— some kind of analyst company, I think. They're surprisingly ordinary. Anyway, apparently the experiments just… Stopped. They never drew a conclusion on whether or not their research was connected to what was on the other side."

This had all started when Chimera had dug up a series of centuries old reports about people claiming to have looked into the eyes of old gods. None of the people had known each other, but all of the reports showed some form of consistency, and all told of great, unknowable power.

So, they had decided to look into it, to see if there had been anyone else who'd dared to brave the process of trying to find an answer. Owen was one of those lucky enough to find himself with the resources to start a thorough investigation.

"They didn't finish?"

"No, I don't know what happened, but the reports just stopped one day."

"Is there anything else?"

"An american government report, but it's as hard as you can imagine to decipher. Most of it is redacted…"

"Anything worth noting?"

Owen nodded, carefully turning back and switching the tabs. This felt a little like he was giving a presentation that he hadn't prepared for, and he hadn't felt like this in quite some time. He took a breath, trying to slow down the rampage that was going on in his head. "They started in the early noughts. 2005, to be precide. That's the earliest I'd gotten without looking at those old reports from the pioneers. A branch of the military tried to build a gateway to the other side, to investigate what existed outside of our plane. I don't know names, only one. The name of the man who performed the experiment."

"They got this gateway open?"

"Yes, sir. And they sent someone through. I think there's a good reason why his is the only name they disclosed."

"Why?"

"Because he was declared dead, sir."

His screen still displayed the document, and the man's name sat among the black markouts, clear enough to see. Cross, W.D. Apparently, he'd ventured into the portal, and nobody heard from him or saw him after the date of the experiment. They gave up the search after a month, and after that, Colonel Cross was indeed declared dead.

"So, another dead end?"

"Maybe not. I'll do what I can to uncover this with what I've got available, but it was scanned, so…. It might take some time." Owen was normally confident in his abilities, and uncovering government documents was a difficult yet necessary part of the job. There was something almost genuinely enthralling about scraping off the parts that the world's governments wanted to keep secret. It felt like giving people a small yet surprisingly effective slice of justice every time.

"Keep looking, Carvour. We need to know if this is viable, or even worth our time…"

If Owen had any kind of normal life— if he and his husband didn't both do the dirty work for secret operation services— he would have a blast trying to decide how to describe the intricacies of what he'd been researching lately. The throws of domestic life confounded him to no end, which was why it was so funny when he and Curt tried to imitate that.

The otherwise simple question of "how was your day" turned into a battle of who could craft the most believable lie that better concealed what they'd actually done. Neither wanted to jeopardise their jobs, and Curt had always been brilliant at crafting stories, so it was never dull.

He started to think about what today's excuse would be. Something about pioneers, or the Oregon trail, or perhaps he could bring up that old, dead colonel somehow, that would be interesting to add to the pile.

--

"You know what I'm gonna ask already…"

By the time he got home, Curt was already waiting for him, and the mid-spring sun was starting to set. For anyone else, it was a day at the office, but the trails he had begun to uncover had really put all other days at the office to shame.

He laughed softly, having prepared this answer a number of hours before, and took up a position on the couch. "No, love, you first. I insist."

"Fine, okay," Curt answered with a chuckle. "It was nothing really, just your standard… But, the bear returned, and in about a month, I'm gonna get really rich and run off to central Europe, with a really pretty lady and a dollar store box of magic tricks."

"The same bear from last month?"

"Yeah. Bastard won't leave me alone."

"Sounds wild. Are you coming back after your plans to run off with this really pretty lady?"

"Plan is to cut myself off after three weeks, but at this rate, I might not make it two."

"Not good enough?"

"Owen, I'm a bit too gay for that." To sell his point, he flashed his wedding band, and Owen laughed harder. "Besides," he added, covering his own bout of laughter. "Who needs a fake wife when I've got my own right here?"

Owen shot him a faux-offended glance. "How dare you!"

"You might fool the guys at work, O, but you couldn't pretend you don't think about it…"

Or that he hadn't been experimenting in that part of himself in little segments since he was seventeen. Turns out he suited long hair better, and he wouldn't hesitate to admit that he both looked and felt rather good with the occasional flourish.

"You know me well..."

"I should hope so! Anyway, what're you keeping from me? How was your day?"

"Office, just like you. I've had a conversation with a pioneer, and tried to erase marker pen over the body of a dead soldier. Oh, and I tried to teach myself statistical analysis."

"Jeez, that was— that was a whole rollercoaster there, huh?"

"Mhm, I've been busy."

"You can say that again, god… So, a pioneer? Like those guys that travelled to Oregon?"

"Yeah. Quite interesting people, if a little paranoid." Something other than their oxen might be watching them would've been a perfect addition to the statement, but Owen felt that was a little too close to the line to pass, so he decided not to add it.

The important part was, apart from the knowledge that Curt was on an assignment in a month's time, both of them were none the wiser. Curt didn't need to know that he had started the deep dive into a pack of eldritch gods and was even slightly nervous about the outcome.

He didn't sleep well that night. He knew that he had right to believe that this was all one great hoax, that there was something in the water that made the pioneers mass hallucinate this supposed watcher. They all travelled on the same trail, it was entirely plausible that all of them found the same hallucinogenic and envisioned a thousand eyes watching them and their familes. It was less of a coincidence when two subsidaries of larger companies started describing details of experiments that led them to discovering other beings beyond just the watcher, of course, but he still wasn't sure whether he was privy to believing any of it.

There was something about redacted government files, though, that were meant to be believed. There was a reason they hid information from the public, and that was often because they had found something worth disclosing in the first place. That meant huge news, large press cover ups… The whole works… And that was the last thing any self-respecting government with something to hide would want. Owen imagined the size of the initial press conferences for dealings like Roswell, how many people must've shown up to that conference, under the impression that they were going to get answers, only for the press to redact the next day and claim that it was no more than a weather balloon.

He felt like he was dealing with a weather balloon of his own right now. This was something that this branch of the military clearly didn't want people knowing. The only reason they'd had to disclose any information at all was because one of their own had died looking for this information, and they had to provide the closure for whatever family he had left. Part of him wondered what they'd said, how they'd tried to cover up this man's imminent demise at the hands of another dimension. What did his family know? Was he ever given a sendoff?

When Owen tried to sleep that night, plagued with the thoughts of how much his research was worth, and what really happened on the other side, he couldn't get his head in the right place to take a suitable rest for long enough. Flashes of colour— brighter than anything he'd ever seen— danced behind his eyelids, chasing each other in sequence. Blue. Purple. Yellow. Pink. Green. White. Blue…. He didn't have much of the capacity to think, not when those colours started consuming his subconscious thought, but he spared a moment to the hope that he may get answers of his own if he stuck around long enough.

"He thinks he's brave… He thinks we don't know about him…"

Whatever dream he had been having was taken over by blurred edges and violent pangs of pain that he was sure he could feel outside of this existence. Everything faded out, leving only ruin in it's wake. Broken pieces, scrambled signals… Owen didn't even try and make sense of it, he already understood the futility of trying. There was nothing left in his mind but those colours and those voices— for he was sure there was more than one. A sickening chorus, holding perfect time with each other.

"He's foolish, if he thinks he can go further without us finding out."

"Owennnn…"

"We know what you're doing, Owen…. It's not going to last."

He'd thought about meeting his maker before. He'd thought about the possibility of death, the idea that he may not live to see another day eventually. It was hard to deliberate something so serious in his early thirties, but his line of work called for it. He knew that he had a dangerous job, and that there were few who would be able to save him if something happened.

But, he'd never considered the possibility of his own demise to this extent before. In the formless remains of his dream, where he was forced into hearing these voices talk about his death and how soon it would be to coming, he had pause for deliberation. And it wasn't good.

He had to strain to take control of his own voice, in this space that was once his own. Once so sacred, now scarce and left entirely to the whim of whatever was taking residence in his mind. This was a bad idea. All of this research was a bad idea, and he was suddenly more aware of that than he was anything else. Never before had he had such a violent urge to overturn everything he'd worked on for the sake of something this seemingly trivial.

"There's nothing you can do. It's already started. This is bigger than me…"

"We know that. You're not the only one we have heard trying to work your way into what is ours… Choose your next step carefully, Owen. I'm sure we would delight in taking you in the same direction as the others…"

Before he could really ask what that meant, he was left entirely alone. The ruin of his dream still stood strong, which was strange enough given that the voices had left him alone, but he had the strangest feeling that there was more to this landscape than just what he was being shown. He started to wander, to look around in an attempt to find the real end to all of this. His mind was a wasteland, taken over by the lack of colour and the apparently deafening absence of those voices that had only appeared a moment before. He felt empty without them, although he knew nothing more than the sequence of colours that paraded through his vision.

Blue… Purple…. Yellow…

The pattern was familiar, like he'd seen it before somewhere. And while he wasn't resting easy, he couldn't force himself to wake up, either. No matter how hard he tried, he was just left stuck, wandering the expanse until he found what he was apparently looking for.

Pink…. Green…. White… Blue…

The expanses of his mind stretched out into a road, occupied by nothing but empty space. He supposed that was mostly his own fault; he had known for years that his imagination was never one to be put on par with anything else. He couldn't so vividly picture that which others could, and he'd never really had much of a capacity to dream, either.

So, this warning was strange. Seeing such vivid, bright colours in the back of his mind, knowing that he couldn't have conjured them himself…

He started to walk the road, curious enough to want to know where it went.

"Owen?"

That voice wasn't like the ones who had left moments before. That voice had a personality, and a person to go with. It was warm, though scared. Human all the same. And Owen knew the shape of it.

"Owen?"

Owen let his instinct lead him down the road, through it's many curves and winds. Eventually, the road gave way to what could only possibly be a stage. There was a set of stairs to one side, that he let himself climb before he could think to wonder where they led, and then the familiar voice gave way to a man in the wings, staring at him with desperate, fear-lined eyes. Of course he knew the voice, and of course he had never tried to doubt himself on the matter.

He tried to advance towards Curt, but he took a hasty step back, shaking his head.

"Curt?"

"Prove you're Owen."

"I'm sorry?"

Curt hesitated, and then slowly emerged from the wings. Even though he stood on the light of the stage, it still looked like he was carefully enveloped in shadow, like the darkness was a comfort to him. Owen looked around, wondering what had made him so cautious, and whether it was still around. Had Curt seen what he'd seen? What had those things whispered to him?

"I'm not falling for it again. Tell me you're actually Owen…"

Owen frowned, not wanting to dwell too much on why Curt was so afraid to reach out to him and realise that all of this was as real as they could get it. "Curt, love, I don't know what you want me to say…" There was a certain desperation about him too. Improvisation had never been his strong suit, but he wass confident that, given the right prompt, he would be able to convince his husband that he was who he said he was, to quell any discrepancy that it may have been otherwise.

"Don't. Show me… What happened on your 25th birthday."

The pieces fit into place, and Owen nodded dutifully. He had been out in the field that day, a strikingly hot day in the middle of June. The two of them had barely ended up with three hours together by the end of it, and they'd gone out drinking to celebrate what little time was left of his birthday. He'd never been particularly big on celebrating, but Curt had insisted. They were newly married then, and getting used to the idea of sharing a life with someone else. That was one of the first nights following their wedding when Owen truly came to realise that he'd made entirely the right decision, and that there was nobody he'd rather share his life with than Curt Mega.

"My 25th… That was a home ground mission. I was in the state."

"What happened to you?"

Owen smiled, somewhere between fondness and a need to hide the melancholic air that hung about that question. He pushed up the sleeve of his jacket, and huffed a weary breath of laughter. "I was trying to make my exit, but the suit jacket caught on a fence. Here…" With his sleeve rolled to just the right length, Owen held out his arm and pointed out a pale flash just below his elbow— a jagged scratch that had never quite healed right. "That's what happened after the fabric tore. Is that enough?"

Curt had known about the scar. He'd also known about the story. He was pretty sure that nobody else knew, though, so in his head, that had always been his fallback option in the event that he was ever sure Owen needed to prove himself. Those stories lined up perfectly, and while Owen had missed out on some of the details, in the grander scheme of things, he'd gotten it exactly right. He shifted, letting a knowing smile cross his face through the fear that still gripped him.

"It's really you…"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Curt's approach was still careful, premeditated. Even though he knew the truth now, there was still something about him that screamed a lack of trust directly into his ear, and it made actually reaching out for Owen so much harder. "You… You were trying to kill me."

"What now?"

"I know what I saw…"

"I don't doubt you, but I would never… I swear it on my life."

"I know, that's why it was strange… I— What the hell's happening?" This stage was the only thing connecting the two of them to reality. There was nothing beyond it but the end of the road that Owen had travelled down, and nothing behind it but black, empty space.

Owen let his instinct take over. If the two of them were going to face the unknown, whatever and wherever this was, then they were going to do it together. They always had, and they always would. That was the way things worked, especially for the two of them, because their lives were built so heavily on the idea of distrust that any semblance of the opposite they could get, they would cling to. Normally that was exclusively each other, and so the world wasn't usually much larger than the two of them.

Their hands connected in the middle of the emptiness. Owen pulled Curt Closer to him, and the two of them stood side, performers to an unknown audience, marionettes for something larger than themselves. They exchanged a glance, and Owen registered the warm, homely spark residing in Curt's eyes.

"I think we're trapped in a nightmare, crazy as it sounds," he tried to respond, but he wasn't entirely sure where this was going to go. "I can't wake up, but I remember falling asleep last night."

"Me too. I fell asleep before you did, you were still reading."

"Right, and now there's this. Whatever this is. did you, by chance, see those colours too?"

Curt nodded. "They came before you did, before the- other you. Blue, and purple, and yellow…"

"…Pink, and green, and white..?"

"And then blue again."

Owen heaved a sigh. "Curt, there's something I have to confess. It's safe to do so now, there's little that could get in the way of what I have to admit, but this is one of those things I wouldn't be able to tell you awake, you understand?"

There was a moment's pause, in which Curt tried to work around Owen's phrasing. Both of them felt the incredibly revealing sense that they were being watched, so Curt understood that Owen had gone into the professional mindset— switching off his senses for the sake of making as much sense of something as possible. It was always how he rationalised his way through situations, and it hadn't failed him yet.

Eventually, Curt nodded again, as the words started to sink in and he started to get a sense of what was being said. "This about what you told me this evening?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid there's a little more to it than what I told you, but I suppose that was rather obvious."

A nervous breath of laughter left Curt, only partially voluntary. "I thought there'd be a bit more to it than erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier…. What the hell kinda explanation was that, anyway?"

"One I spent a good hour crafting, thank you very much. I thought it was clever."

"Better than a pretty lady and a box of tricks?"

"And a bear, yes."

"… And the bear. Right. Well, what's that mean? erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier, what're you saying there?"

"I've…" This is not going to get you done for. Those documents were already top secret before you saw them. And if it gets you out of this nightmare prison, then surely it has to be worth it. "I've been uncovering sealed military case files that might explain what's happening to us right now."

Curt's eyes went wide. "Fucking what?!"

"It's all part of the job. I can't… I can't elaborate. Know only what everyone else knows: that the only reason any part of this is disclosed at all is because someone died during one of the experiments."

"What's that got to do with what's happening here?"

"That's what they were researching."

That seemed to click to some degree. At least, Curt seemed to understand a few of the larger pieces, perhaps the more obvious ones. "The colours?" In his head, there was an experiment, someone tried to make sense of whatever that was in their shared mindscape. Someone— a soldier, presumably, had died in the middle of these experiments, and now Owen had gotten tangled in this mess through his agency, and the two of them had been dropped into the same nightmare.

Owen nodded. "The colours."

At the moment he said that, a loud rumble disrupted their moment and forced their attention out into the expanse of nothing. Laughter— multiple sources with varying shrieks and gasps that couldn't be placed to a single source— burst from behind the wings, and from in front of them, and from the endless expanse of black that surrounded them. A loud crack followed, and Curt swore as the stage splintered beneath his feet. For a split second, his grip loosensed, and the next time the ground rumbled, they were torn apart by the growing crack in the stage. He staggered back, and the two of them ended on opposite sides of the stage, the crack between them growing and delving deeper into the unknown.

"Owen!" He called, trying to regain his footing but falling back.

"Curt! Hold on!" Owen yelled through the growing laughter, scrambling back to reach out for the pulley system backstage. He needed a foothold on something, a way to sturdy himself so he could regroup and think. It was too loud, he couldn't think in this kind of heat, with this kind of mess, and Curt, and-

Another crack. The stage was starting to fall away from itself, split not quite perfectly in two. Owen's breath ran short. In the swirls of colour and mayhem and possibilities, he saw a way out. One chance to get this right, and to make sure that they both survived the fall while they were still stuck here. He gripped the rope tight, levering himself further towards the crack, and looked to Curt. "You're gonna have to jump it!" He called, desperation winning over any attempts to stay sane. "Don't worry! You know I'll never let you down!"

"Are you crazy?!" Curt managed, staring into the gap. "I can't jump that, it's too far!"

"Curt, before the whole place splits in half, you have to get over here!"

"What if I don't make it?"

"Trust me! Please!"

Curt backed off a few paces. Owen stood ready, one hand gripping the rope wrapped around his wrist, and the other reaching out as far as he could, waiting for a move to be made. After a singular preparatory breath, he sprinted for the gap, and pushed off from the splintered wood at the edge.

He reached out.

Owen reached out.

Their fingertips connected briefly in the space, and then Curt slipped away beneath his grasp.

Owen threw himself forward, feeling the rope worming itself free and burning his wrist in the process. He'd promised. He wasn't going to let Curt fall. And he was nothing if not a man of his word.

Curt's eyes squeezed shut, preparing for an endless fall through the ineviatble. Something laced around his wrist and he felt himself stop moving. Exerting all the caution he knew to exert, he looked up, and caught a familiar whiskey brown staring back at him.

"I've got you!" Owen breathed, and Curt fought to angle himself so that he could get a better chance to grab the broken stage floor. When Owen started hauling backwards, Curt managed to get a hold of the edge of the stage, and made it a joint effort to haul him to his feet. "You're alright… You're okay…"

Curt essentially fell into Owen's arms. Owen held on tight, like he could lose his partner at any second to the swirls and the crevice. He stared out into the emptiness, ignoring the very real pain that he could feel at his wrist but cherishing the very reel feeling of Curt's shirt underneath his hands. The very air seemed to shift. Owen wasn't previously aware that colours could get angry, but this green that flooded the space behind his eyes was pissed. He could feel it.

So was he. Pissed, and way more desperate than a man ought to be.

"Alright," he muttered once, and Curt drew back ever so slightly. He noticed Owen was staring off into the greater expanse, and hoped for all it was worth that he couldn't see something out there.

"Alright!" His voice got louder, and he tried to mask his utter despair in an authorative tone. "I get it. You hear me? I get it!"

Everything fell eerily silent. The only sound that remained was the pounding of Owen's heart in his ears. He took a breath, strangely certain of himself. Glanced at Curt. Spared his attention on the void again.

"That soldier… Wilbur Cross? That was your fault, wasn't it? There's a good reason nobody can get very far into digs like these, and it's because you strive to kill them before they do. Nobody ought to know what's on the other side, and that's why nobody does…"

"Owen, what're you doing?" Curt whispered, but to no response and little avail. Owen was lost in whatever he was about to say.

"… But, I've heard talk of bargains being made here, so how about it?"

"Your desperation speaks for itself."

Owen had to pretend that that— the voice from the middle of nowhere or what it had said to him— didn't bother him in the slightest. He steeled himself, not sure where to direct his attention but knowing he'd probably have it right no matter what he chose. "What do you say, am I allowed to make a deal?"

The air shifted. Owen didn't receive a direct answer, but he knew that he'd been allowed to continue. "If I don't continue— if I go back, and tell my people that it's an impossibility, that it can't be done— would you let him go?" Another quick glance at Curt, as if the green something needed clarification, or as if he knew what he was signing himself up for.

Curt was frozen in place, his eyes wide. He'd heard every word as it echoed in the void, and he hated what it was implying. His gaze was fixed on Owen, fear blazing through his face. "No, Owen—" his voice came out weak. As far as literal interpretations go, that was not a good one. He didn't understand what was happening, but it terrified him to know that Owen was being so calm about this, while he could be selling his life away with nothing more than a few choice words.

Owen frowned, and muttered an apology he was sure only Curt would catch. The green grew angrier, setting a violent fire behind his eyes and forcing him onto his knees as the pain flooded his body.

"You better not be fucking with me."

"No! I— I wouldn't! I'm serious! I'll call it off, I swear on my life, just… He has nothing to do with any of this. It's not his fault."

The thing considered, holding Owen firmly in place while he deliberated. Curt couldn't move— he didn't dare, lest something happen to Owen that put him in more danger than he was already in. All he could do was force himself into keeping his breath steady, and not thinking about what a single wrong move could do to either of them. His eyes landed on the friction burn winding neatly around Owen's wrist, and he decided to focus on that for a while; the only other colour in a void of blackness and green.

"Very well."

That was the last thing Owen heard. Some part of his mind just shut down, and he collapsed to the floor of the stage. He didn't hear the way Curt screamed his name, or the return of the chorus of laughter. His eyes closed, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up with a start, underneath the sheets of his own bed, gasping for breath. He sturdied himself out, and once he was sure that he was real, and definitely in a familiar space, he looked over to Curt, and found him still asleep.

"Curt?" His voice was soft, but his mind was a knife point of tension. If that had gone wrong, then why was he the one to live through it ant not Curt? He tried again, biting his lip. "Curt..?"

Curt groaned. His eyes opened slowly. The relief that Owen felt hit him like a tidal wave.

For some reason, Curt was entirely surprised to see that Owen had made it through to the other side. He managed a weary smile, and tried to get his vision into focus. That was one of those decisions that he immediately came to regret. As soon as he brought himself a little more into the real worls, he noticed that the brown in Owen's eyes was stained with something else, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Dripping down his irises was a flash of toxic, unsettlingly bright green.

[cowboy-robooty]

PruPan (Prussia x Japan) For the grid

I know who sent this. I can smell your prupan and self-ship wif japan from a mile away **heart eyes emoji** thank you for being the only mf who wants to hear my opinions. anyways so i thought about it and realized actually prussia and japans dynamic is the greatest thing ever. Because see i believe in cuck japan romantically FOREVER. i think japan has like best broship in the platonic dating style (if you experience that shit you know what i mean) with america and like hes emotionally fulfilled from that but also he desperately wants a boyfriend or girlfriend or oysterfriend just anyone to have that shoujo romance and tentacle freak sideways tango with. but the thing is that he literally always fails and is in one-sided crushes Forever and always and its always japan crying to his best bro america about his fail ass love life and america is like lol couldnt be me! but it's fine because he still has his best bro and like yknow... its like how family and friendship is two different things that are both need. like moral orel about the f words (family, faith, friends) but with b. bros, booty, and bazinga... like idubbbz! (as long as you have one of those you won't be lonely). but anyways see i believe japans biggest crush of all is on italy and obviously prussia has his huge ginormous crush on italy too but like i think that actually they are aware of eachothers crushes but dont care because they dont see eachother as threats at all bc theyre like "omg this dude is so cooked he aint even competition lol i feel bad for him" towards eachother.

and i think its actually really funny because see prussia is a desperate motherfucker and honestly not hard to pull at all. like if you have sex with him hes the type who goes "uhmm youre my boyfriend now right?" or if you confess to him hell take your feelings genuinely seriously and think about it and 90% of the time end up saying YES!!! I LIKE YOU TOO!!!!!! and japan is also desperate but he would literally date anybody Except prussia. like it's like how italy will fuck anybody Except Prussia. LIke japan could potentially get together with anybody under the right circumstances except prussia lol even if they were trapped in alkatraz together for 18 years he would never be prussia's prison boyfriend he just doesnt have the capacity to love him. and its really funny because prussia is literally the only mf who has the capacity to feel romantic love towards japan in a twist of horrible fate because japan pissed off cupid in his past life and will never ever fucking win at romance. The only conceivable way is if he asked out prussia but prussia is the only mf he would rather die a virgin with while stranded on an island for 3000 years with than fuck and try to repopulate the planet with yaoi babies. so yeah they compell me a lot in this sense because this is fucking hilarious and amazing and I'd like for them to act pitying to eachother about their crushes on italy bc they're like "mhm mhm yeah you have a chance (lying)" even though they both strapped in the same jigsaw trap lawl. but I dont think i ship them because of what i said above. thank you for sending this though this was some really good shit to think about and i think ill draw them interacting more because this is an incredible discovery.... best discovery since alfred wagner and the tectonic plates !

[paintpanic]

Yet another drawing page..

I like to do these ("these" being big pages of low-to-medium-effort drawings) often because I feel like they help me get better at drawing. The better my medium effort stuff gets, the better my high effort stuff gets. That's the idea, at least.

[fictionadventurer]

There's something about reading really great writing that's so relaxing. You can just sit back and let the words wash over you, knowing that you can trust the writer.

[non-un-topo]

My Neekeys over the last two-odd years. I was curious to see the changes 🤔

[scoliosisgoblin]

Which version of Rick is your fav?

it's so hard for me to choose tbh. HOWEVER, I'd say Evil Rick

then I'd say it's C-137 and Memory Rick

I love how pathetic™ Evil Rick really is tbh. love that he's being controlled by his Morty. can you guess who my favorite Morty is?

[storm-driver]

kh4 rambling below the cut

im hoping they include multiple character campaigns for KH4. not just because i wanna see characters be playable that we havent seen in a while, or at all. but also because i feel like a whole game centered on sora in quadratum would get really difficult to tell a story in. not because interesting things couldn't happen. but the series has always had everyone venturing to other worlds to help progress the plot.

having sora, as limber and mobile as he was in that kh4 trailer, be secluded to a city, feels like he'd outpace the world itself and you'd end up traversing the same maps for tens of hours of game time. im sure there's gonna be plenty of narrative to push that world around, but i just dont wanna be in that single world the entire game.

it's part of why i wasn't the biggest fan of chain of memories. i didnt hate the story, and i didnt dislike castle oblivion. but KH excels at having the characters just be all over the universe in their journey. COM sorta shirks the responsibility of telling its story in one world by having illusions of the other worlds. but the most important parts are still only in castle oblivion. and after an hour or so of those cutscenes, it really starts to dawn on me how much ive grown used to the white walls of the castle.

perhaps that was the point? it's been a handful of years since those days, so i couldnt say anymore. ive grown up a lot since then, thematic choices will appear different to me from when i was a kid.

i digress, it'd also be a shame to bring back the whole main cast properly in kh3, free of their shackles or imprisonments, and then have them scarcely appear in the next mainline game. the hints that kairi will be training with ventus, terra, and aqua are already there, which gives me hope. donald and goofy are out looking for sora on their own, while mickey is on his way to the old scala ad caelum. it definitely FEELS like everyone is gonna be present.

im simply praying.

[pinacoladamatata]

You have no right to be that funny in tags. How am I supposed to explain to my mom why I was laughing.

[mariemariemaria]

yall prophet song is SO good

[sokoe]

some crocs and gators i drew recently

[unproduciblesmackdown]

the most recognized as comedic song being the best part of the movie musical because the conventions that serve as a mode of communicating ideas, for example "people just bursting into song" or "choreography" or "'noticeably stylized' cinematography" that accentuates nonliteral nonrealism-invoking choices, are regarded as Silly or Frivolous. and the effort to shove everything else that's more "serious" into what is expected to be read as dramatic cinema that's not stylized in any ways that seem too "Genre" which only makes [but someone's singing?] underwhelming and out of place because no other elements are supporting it

[bouqueue]

THE SPARROW AND HER BOY

art cred: darling @tither  birdie & @empyrcal‘s frank