#fun fact everybody !

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[cubesoda]

one Older!DTK Trio Doodle Dump Ultra Mega Supreme™ coming right up, sir!! Liz laments the loss of her status as Tallest (out of the three)

also Crona’s there

[achillesmonochrome]

I was rewatching ITSV and when I did this idea pop into my mind once I saw Peni flustered between Gwen and Miles.

And yes this is how it clicked for her I don't make the rules.

[sollucets]

brightly colored pda ray healing checkpoint

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo. (pt. 6)

I think the main thing we were supposed to see as Star's character flaw wasn't that he was acting proud/arrogant/reckless/badass (I mentioned that it's fine for him to act that way because he deserved it after everything good he did and obviously I still mean it 110%), but how that proud, charming guy was never the real him. He literally lost himself trying to feel worthy and please everyone in town. For years he's been acting the role (for a noble cause) but the price was him losing touch with the nerd he is.

Yet STILL, if only everyone had been a bit more gentle with him, I bet he'd have toned it down during the WE section, and even before that. But they all decided to let him know the truth at the worst possible time, right when he was supposed to make Clover his deputy. Right after they attacked the kid because they were jealous. It was supposed to be the PEAK of Starlo's day and they randomly threw the "we never liked any of this" bomb at him instead of trying to talk it out BEFORE things escalated. I'd be pissed too.

Oh yeah...

... his brother doesn't take him seriously apparently and doesn't realize that staying positive and strong 24/7 is tougher than it looks, especially with Starlo's insecurities (and yeah being a farmer is hard work, but so is being in Star's position; on the contrary, it's even TOUGHER) ...

Orion should try being an entertainer for a day and see what it's like, let alone doing it for years

...Solomon says how Star thought him and Crestina didn't support his life choices...

... and how he rarely talks to his family...

...and it suddenly came to me: in all these years, they didn't ever bother telling him that they did support him? They didn't bother trying to reach out to him more? Understand his passion (Ceroba doesn't get it either; once again, I don't blame Starlo for caring about Clover so much, that kid understood)? Have an honest talk?

No wonder Star stopped interacting with them for the most part. Maybe him feeling worthless came from his family? Who knows (or he was bullied as a kid for being a nerd). In any case, he clearly had to deal with these feelings by himself.

This man's been through some stuff.

P.S. I know he has flaws like everyone, but you've gotta ask yourself the important question: WHY? where did all this come from? But clearly nobody in his life ever asked themselves this. So it all kept building up till he almost killed his deputy for... status. He was SO desperate to feel valued and get his friends back (who made him feel less alone.. but ultimately just left when he needed someone the most, at least ONE person) that he was ready to go all the way to achieve what he'd been lacking his entire life: *feeling like he MATTERED.*

I wonder If he'll ever go 100% back to being his true self. Slim chances :'( this is him now. Half farmer half sheriff

[dogboycolumbo]

In Nope, when Em told the reporter that the setup at the ranch was for a verizon commercial, that was a reference to what Ian Cooper, who produced both Us and Nope, did to disguise production in real life! source

[arashi-no-saxlphone]

Aaaaall right. I'm gonna get on a little soapbox here. It's buggin me and I'm a little mad about it so I'm gonna say a couple blanket things reaaaal quick (Read: Long Post)

There is no one single "correct" way to enjoy Guilty Gear. If you've been here for 5 seconds or 30 years you're enjoying it correctly. If you're not playing the game and just getting brainrot over the characters and story you're enjoying the game correctly. If you're just playing the game and don't know who the fuck is who you're enjoying the game correctly. If you're having a nice fuckin time you're enjoying it correctly.

If you're gatekeeping folks over bs or little details, you suck dude! You suck! I don't like you! This series has a LOT of facets to it - some good, some bad, some appealing to some and not others, etcetera. Why are you being a wet blanket? I've heard the greatest theories and input on the story from people who have never held a controller, and I've learned the greatestest combos and neutral from people who have no fucking idea that Sol Badguy is the titular "Guilty Gear;" stop putting requirements on something that's supposed to be FUN what is your damn problem???

Rant over I think but just be nice. It's very easy. Calling someone a tourist about a series is an insane thing to do regardless of their level of involvement in the series. Don't do that shit. Everyone enjoys different aspects of things and that term is literally meaningless in this context - it's a hobby. For fun. This is a RIDICULOUS thing to develop a superiority complex over.

Whatever scent you get when engaging with Guilty Gear - you are SMELLING THE GAME. That's all. Don't be a loser. Bite your friends Guilt Free (I straight up forgot that is the meme version someone put on here it's KILL your friends guilt free but I'm not fixing it).

[puhpandas]

i feel the warmth in my chest (and the chill on my skin makes it that much clearer)

(1,964 words)

Evan and Gregory, while waiting those few agonizing hours before Halloween can truly begin, go outside into the chilly weather and play in the leaves.

🎃🍫👻

It's a crisp Autumn afternoon when Evan steps out onto Gregorys porch. The screen door slams behind him, and the air transitions from warm to chilly in only seconds. The breeze washes over his face like a wave, and Evan finds he dosnt mind the cold that much in this moment.

It makes his nose numb and his fingers freezing, but unlike how he usually feels about the cold, he welcomes it. He takes a deep breath, smelling the scent of fallen leaves and crisp air and the pumpkins Evan had carved with Gregory last week sitting by his feet next to the stairs. It fills his lungs, and alongside the aftertaste of Aunt Chicas cookies on his tongue, the chill is pleasant, unlike how its usually so unbearing and biting in his own home.

It doesnt take long for the temperature to wash over him fully. By the time hes stepping down the stairs, his thin,white overcoat flowing behind him, its left his shoulders shaking and his teeth chattering.

But so like he's not used to, the deep, bone chilling cold only adds onto his excitement. It's that type of chill you can only get during Halloween, with that specific vibe and feeling coming along with it. Evan has never liked that unmatched feeling. All it ever told him was that Halloween was on it's way, and along with it, Michael and his pushing and pulling and jabbing and messing with. With the addition of the neighborhood kids jumping in if they'd see him walking down the street on the one night of the year it would be acceptable to scare him with scary masks and bloody fingers and camouflaging cloaks, it made for a pretty dreadful day.

He takes another look at his costume, a ghost, with white flowy sheer fabric that makes him look like he floated right down from the clouds. Underneath is a white sweater and pants, and his makeup is done to make him appear ghastly and, well... dead. Eyes sunken in with deep shadows and complection pale.

Gregory is matching with him, kind of. Gregory's costume is of a murder victim. Hes wearing sort of varsity jacket with a plastic knife stabbed in his gut, and his face is painted with bloody makeup and a faux black eye. Gregory hadn't explained the specific costume he called a 'Zombie Murder Victim High School Football Star', just gotten excited over the fact that they matched with their undead themes.

Its Evans first year matching with someone. His first year having someone to go trick or treating with. Theres something about this year. It doesn't leave him guessing. It doesn't leave him on edge, wondering who will strike first, all while being so uncertain but sure at the same time that something will go wrong. This year, he has Gregory and his family. This year, he has people who actually care about how he feels, and understand how to have fun.

This year, he knows Michael will be across town with his friends, and that his father will lock himself in his workshop. He knows that the neighborhood kids wont dare mess with him now, because of how many times Gregory has shown them a thing or two over the better part of this year.

This year, Evan isnt dreading the coming hours. He isnt hiding in his room, celebration or joy for the Holiday nowhere to be found, because he has to watch his back and sides. This year, he isnt considering running away for the night, even though he had always known he would never be brave enough to do it.

Instead, he's going trick or treating with his best friend, and he only feels excitment and anticipation, compared to the stark contrast of last year where all he felt was on edge and trapped in his own house.

The sun is only just setting by the time he steps onto that little pathway leading to the backyard from the front porch. Waiting for it to get dark has been agonizing. It had only gotten too much when he and Gregory were sat in front of a movie they'd seen a thousand times, makeup and costumes done, and unable to sit without wiggling or fidgeting, and Gregory had jumped up and gone "That's it! I can't just sit here anymore!"

That's why Evan's followed him outside. For the better part of the day Gregory has been more restless than a bored puppy.

Evan thinks the description fits when he finally catches up to Gregory and finds him digging through the shed in his backyard. Evan doesn't really know why he came out here. Theres much less to do outside than there is inside, but his intentions become clear when he moves to stand by Gregory's shoulder, and he goes Aha! while retrieving something.

Evan stares blankly when Gregory pulls out a rake, turning to face him and grinning at him. "Want to build a leaf pile and do cannonballs in it?"

He doesn't even have to ask.

It's not long before they're trekking through backyard, browning leaves crunching under their sneakers as they head to that big tree in the middle of the yard. When they get there, they waste no time grabbing the big rake and making the inklings of a pile on the flattest bit of ground.

The rake is heavy, and Evan can barely control it, if how it swings around and almost hits Gregory in the face is any indication. The handle is ice cold on his fingers, but it only makes Evan that much more aware of the excitment thrumming through his veins.

With Evan using the rake, Gregory takes to getting on his knees and shepherding the leaves to the pile with his hands. Gregory laughs over the dirt under his fingernails and how the still-damp leaves from the light shower earlier are chilly on his hands, and it makes Evan abandon the rake and get on the ground with him.

It takes longer than it should to finish the pile. They keep getting caught up in throwing the leaves at eachother like snowballs and using their hands to push waves at eachother like they're in a pool. The leaves end up more scattered than the were originally, and Evan has to get the rake again.

By the time they finish and theres a huge pile of damp leaves sitting in front of them, the sky is a dark, deep blue with the horizon a yellow. The sun is only barely peeking through the trees, and it's enough for the automatic porch lights to come on.

With the lack of sunlight, it's gotten that much colder. Evan's shivering enough that it makes his laughs warble, but he doesnt care. He doesnt care about the cold.

They only take a short break before they jump in. Evan lays flat on the ground, damp excess leaves and ice cold dirt underneath him. His throat is dry from the chill and how much he talked, and laughed, and his cheeks are sore from smiling too much. His nose is numb, and the thin, cheap Spirit Halloween costume does nothing for keeping him warm, but he doesn't need it.

Through the cold, it makes the warmth blooming in his stomach that much clearer. It makes the laughter bubbling in his chest and the excitement that the fun isnt even over, yet, he still gets to go trick or treating with Gregory after this, that much more apparent.

He has the warmth that spawned inside of him from spending time with his best friend and having fun with him to keep him toasty. So unlike his own home, where the chill is all there is. No warmth or comfort to adhere for that fact.

It's only now that Evan thinks that maybe, he doesn't really dislike the cold. Just how the cold is what comes with his unfeeling house and unpleasant family members and uncomfortable atmosphere.

Because here, right now, as he lays on the freezing ground, sky darkening above them and the last bit of leaves on the big tree in Gregory's backyard fluttering in the chilly breeze, he realizes he likes what comes with the cold, and not what the cold comes from.

With the cold comes the awareness of the warmth unfurling in his stomach. With the cold comes drinking the delicious, steaming hot chocolate Aunt Chica made. With the cold comes bundling up with his favorite sweaters, cuddling up under a fuzzy blanket, and watching a movie with Gregory.

With the cold comes those agonizing few hours before Halloween truly begins, and making a leaf pile with your best friend.

Evan knows his all-white costume is dirtier by the time he finally gets up, the knees of his white jeans brown and dirtied, but he doesnt have time to dwell on it when all he hears is a breathy laugh before hes shoved face first into the leaf pile.

Even through the leaves submerging his head, he can hear Gregory cackling. He sputters when leaves get in his mouth, and while regaining his footing after rolling around a few times, he wastes no time shooting up and grabbing Gregory by the shoulders.

Gregory yelps when hes yanked down with Evan, and all Evan is aware of when his eyes shut in glee from how hard hes laughing is the soft, scratchy, earthy leaves beneath him, the breeze in the air that just screams Halloween, and Gregory's body fallen on top of him.

Gregory grabs some leaves and smushes them into his hair. All Evan can do is screech at the wet chill before grabbing his own fistful and doing the same. Leaves fall over them like a wave when they roll around, wrestling in the yard.

They only stop when they get too tired to keep going. His costume is definitely dirty by now, damp like the leaves and dirt. The scent of wet earth and the cold and Halloween washes over him, and all he can find in himself to do is grin, and giggle breathlessly and chatter with Gregory as he lies on the ground, shoulder to shoulder with him.

Its almost pitch black by the time Freddy opens the door leading to the backyard, stepping outside, Frankenstiens monster costume and all. "Kids? Are you two ready to go? Its almost time for trick or treating!"

Evan only shares a fleeting look with Gregory before they both shoot up, previous exhaustion from their little fight completely gone. Evan runs side by side with Gregory to the door, his costume with the mud stained hem flowing behind him, and all Evan can feel in this moment is warmth, despite how his nose is numb and his shoulders are shaking and theres this chilly, floaty feeling in his chest.

He knows that there are definitely leaves in his hair when he steps inside after Gregory, and when the heat of the home blasts him in his face, making his freezing face tingle, the warmth prickling and sharp, Evan finds that with the cold can come the warmth, and maybe it isnt so weird that Evan feels nothing of the sort when it comes to his own house, and his own family.

It was never about the cold.

Just like how the warmth with Gregory and his family has never been about the temperature.

He only has time to grab his candy bucket (shaped like a mummified teddy bear) before he and Gregory are shooting through the front door, racing to Freddys car. He smiles even wider when the cold air rushes across his face again, and he can hear Gregory's footsteps next to him and Freddy and the others' voices behind them.

ao3 link

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

SAME, Kinji…⭐️

[muppet-facts]

Muppet Fact #774

The "Everybody Sleeps" segment, originally from season four of Sesame Street, was refilmed entirely for season 24.

Sources:

Sesame Street. Episode 0406. November 13, 1972.

Sesame Street. Episode 3026. December 7, 1992.

[acaciapines]

hey acacia pleaaaase tell me more about dess and chara in the dess raises kris au

OH I'D LOVE TOO

this got. long as hell so its under a cut. can you tell ive thought about this so hard. literally more people need to consider this relationship okay IT HAS IT ALL...

so! youre dess. you've just had what asriel is calling 'a mental break' but what is to you descending down into the bunker which is REAL and WRONG and NEEDS TO BE DESTROYED, and its done something to you, and your best friend doesnt understand, and nobody understands, and this thing is going to kill your sister and it is going to use asriel's little sibling to do so. and then one day, weeks later, when asriel still wont believe you and you are slowly losing your mind, he goes out to tour colleges.

and kris is staying at your house. and there is nobody to stop you. and asriel doesnt believe you but if it is his little sibling stuck up in everything, and, and, and...

and then the next thing dess knows she has descended into the bunker with a five year old and come out somewhere else, somewhere FAR AWAY, and. by the time shes back in her right mind shes in way way too deep to ever go back. she CANT go back. besides, what help was asriel? he never believed her! her BEST FRIEND, and he wrote off everything she was scared about!! thought she was making it up, but she WASNT, and she'll PROVE IT, and she'll SAVE THE WORLD, and then they'll see. then they'll all see.

that town, that bunker--it is going to kill her sister. and dess will do everything to keep her sister safe.

even if it means she has to lug a kid around.

so, time passes. dess wanders. kris wanders with her. dark worlds here work sort of like mystery dungeons in the pokemon mystery dungeon series, but a lot fewer people know about them. there ARE, though, forums, and small local places where people meet up and swap stories and try to defeat them, which is where dess needs to be, but she cant do any of that with a five year old. so she takes to leaving kris at hotel-rooms and daycares and doing her best to schema-hunt (this group calls dark worlds 'schemas'), and its when picking up kris one of these times that dess meets chara.

chara has also had xir own run-ins with schemas. its what led to xir having frisk--getting stuck in a schema that was Awful for xir mental health, led to a lot of self-hatred around being a loveless aromantic, and a few dubious situations later xes pregnant and after xir own childhood of never being wanted and realizing that as bad as everything leading up to this has been xe WANTS this kid, xe has frisk. for two years chara struggles as a college dropout and a single parent barely scraping by, still dealing with lingering schema-trauma xe cannot talk to anybody about, and...then xe meets dess.

its not a love story, because both of them are aromantic, and chara doesnt love, anyways. but its two people who have been struggling and alone and scared finding someone else who UNDERSTANDS. its how dess finds someone who believes her when she talks about the schemas, who doesnt write her off. its chara making a friend for maybe the first time in xir entire life. its how theyre both trying to raise kids on their own but its not so hard when theyre together.

the honeymoon stages are REALLY good. its chara who has never been anybody's first priority, but now xe is dess's, and it is probably the closest xe will ever get to understanding why romantic love appeals. its dess who has a place to actually REST, not her and a five year old hopping around hotels, but somewhere she can call home. dess and chara can talk to each other about everything, about anything. about the things they've seen in the dark and the deep. about how scared they are for the kids.

they get an apartment together. they get married. they make up a new last name to share. the kids start going to school. chara officially adopts kris. neither of the kids remember a time without dess and chara both around. things seem like they might actually work out.

but dess is so RESTLESS, see. she has this amazing place, with the people she loves most in the world, but as chara settles down xe starts to put xir time in the schemas behind xir. devotes xirself to being a parent, to going to parent-teacher conferences, sitting through meltdowns and fights and being the parent xe never had in xir life. dess hates how kris clings to her whenever she is around. it makes her itch. like shes being held down.

dess starts spending more time on online forums. staying out later and later. goes out on trips--for a day, two days, a week. meets other people like her, people who dont know how to stay in place, people who need to find and close schemas, who save those trapped in them. she maybe starts to miss chara's calls. she maybe misses kris's birthday. she loves chara more than she loves anybody else, and that includes the kids. she comes home and can barely last a few days before she has to go again.

shes not meant to be pinned down by kids. shes supposed to be OUT THERE, saving the world. she and chara fight, more than they ever used to. she hates it when chara cries but she doesnt know how to make it better. maybe if she keeps running, keeps diving into the dark, she'll figure it out. maybe when she saves the world everything will be okay. then she can rest. then there wont always be this nagging fear at the back of her head, this nagging fear that everything she has is going to come crashing down around her. then all the missed calls will be worth it, all the broken promises made okay.

she's dess. defeater of schemas. and one day she'll make it back to that bunker, and destroy it, and her sister, the sister she hasnt seen in a decade, will be safe. one day she'll call asriel and this time he'll believe her, and forgive her. one day she'll go home and sit down next to chara and this time when she promises to stay, she'll mean it.

just a little longer. then she'll fix everything.

(meanwhile, chara is back at home, waiting for a wife that wont come back. sometimes in the middle of the night frisk creeps into xir bed and asks why dess is never home, why chara doesn't divorce her. chara doesnt know how xe is supposed to tell this child xe very nearly did not have that dess is the only person who chose to love xir because she could. that dess is the only person who was there when chara had nobody else. that sometimes when it is very dark xe thinks back to the schema xe was stuck in, for so very long, and the prophecy xe heard there. how xe saw dess and some part of xir knew, then, that surely, this is who those ancient words spoke of. dess, with her glorious warmth and light.

chara is the one who stayed behind. chara is the one who deals with all the struggles of raising two children-now-teenagers, who watches kris, waiting always for dess to come home; frisk, who doesnt speak of her at all. xe doesnt know if xe's doing the right thing. xe just wants xir kids to be OKAY, and, selfishly, to be loved by someone even if xe can never return the feeling.

one day frisk comes sobbing to chara and spills everything: that kris, who has only ever wanted dess to be proud of them, who knows dess is one who slips into the space between light and dark and comes out again, has dove into a dark world of their own, and has not come back out.

and chara who already knows xe will dive into the dark xirself if that is what it takes to bring kris back safe wonders if maybe xir selfishness is what will get xir children killed.)

[ratwithhands]

Happy Emmet/Kudari Day!

Heard from someone on insta that today was Emmet day, and since he's my favourite twin out of the two (sorry Ingo fans), I thought I'd put up something nice

Today is also International Asexuality Day! Wishing the best for fellow aces out there ^^ Fun fact I hc the twins as ace/aro pretty much all the time

Hope you fellas like the art and I'll see you after work's done!

[hyperfixationtimego]

they're very special to me

Original Comic || Commission Info

[the-drayster]

[ @flygon-is-birds asked: ]

I FPRGOT YOU HAD A FLYGON CRFEJCIEFOJCOEFW

What do you mean that's my incineroar

[somethingsomethingcomic]

probably should've guessed

[cream-and-tea]

hi... felt compelled to draw Pallas and Agnes based on this pose. your enthusiasm abt them is infectious and they've captivated me a little. very neat little guys™ A+

HI. HI HOLY FUCKING SHIT OH MY FUCKING GOD.

i’m being so serious when i say that i have no WORDS to describe how much i love this you’ve captured them so well LITTLE GUYS from my BRAIN ❤️💗💖💕🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️

also your style????? absolutely incredible this is GORGEOUS! i am saving it on my phone forever and ever and ever this has made my night!!!!