#time loop

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

guy who's stuck in a timeloop for so long he stops wanting to leave it. guy who started out trying to escape but slowly grew used to and became comforted by the familiarity of the repeating day. guy who is no longer who he was before the timeloop. guy who is offered a way out and violently refuses it because he can't leave, doesn't want to leave. guy who escapes the timeloop by chance or force or accident and doesn't know how to live anymore. guy who keeps going through motions that don't match the situation and keeps having conversations that aren't actually occurring. guy who panics every time he realizes he can't predict the next instant. guy who left the timeloop but still lives with it.

[arachnid-party]

heh. nice argument. unfortunately for you, i’ve been trapped in a time loop for the last 6 months and i know exactly what to do [kisses you with tongue]

[yunisverse]

sometimes i remember my first ever experience with a time loop story when i was like 8: Help! I'm Trapped in the First Day of Summer Camp by Todd Strasser.

The title says it all; kid goes to camp, makes friends with "cool kids" and gets peer pressured into being a shithead and a bully, wakes up the next day with things reset to arriving at camp.

But the thing is, this book is part of a series. Most of the books are this same kid getting caught up in body swap shenanigans, but he had gotten caught in a time loop once in a previous book. So he knew the score. He just needed to not be a jerk today. Cue him being overly nice to the point of blatant insincerity, making everyone wildly uncomfortable. No growth, just trying to appease the forces that be. Loop continues looping.

Yadda yadda, finally figures out how to be a genuinely nice kid who stands up to bullies and makes friends with the nerdy kid, etc etc, got everything perfectly right.

When that loop doesn't work he immediately throws himself off the bus to camp to kill himself. Loop again.

Finally, having resigned himself to never escaping the loop but at least he can dedicate it to being a good kid with nice friends, a thought occurs to him. There's one thing he hasn't done a single time in all the loops.

He brushes his teeth before bed. And wakes up the next day.

and frankly, i think more time loops should be hinged on morality-neutral mundane tasks. escape the time loop by taking your meds. free yourself by taking a shower. my man todd was a visionary

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Pines Birthday today

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, and he jumped when the sound stopped.

"Hello? Stanford Pines speaking?"

The phone was back on the hook before Stan could even process the jolt of anxiety that shot down his spine. He stared at it, hand sweaty and shaking slightly, then groaned and leaned forwards to rest his head on the top of the box.

"Couldn't even handle that much, huh?" He grumbled. The warm night air didn't respond with anything other than a few bugs and a distant hoot, driving in the fact that he was standing under a single street light, way past when any decent person would be asleep in front of a closed gas station.

With a sigh he pushed away, then stumbled over to his car.

It was still their birthday after all, hopefully he could find another bottle before it was over. The stars overhead, those he could see, twinkled sadly as he walked over, cold and distant.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang a few times, not enough for him to prepare for... whatever he was doing.

"Hellos?" Fords voice came through, slightly confused, "Stanford Pines speaking? Can I-"

The phone was back on the hook before Stan even realized he was moving. Anxity buzzed along with the alchohal, and he groaned and put his forehead on the top of the pay phone box.

"Idiot," he muttered, "why do I always do this to myself."

With a sigh he pushed away, then shuffled over to his car. Hopefully he could find another bottle somewhere in there, before the clock struck midnight and the day was over.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It barely started to ring before Ford picked up, voice irritated.

"Hello? Who is this? If this is a prank, then-"

Stan slammed the phone back down on the hook, breathing heavy. It was always worse when Ford picked up already in some kind of mood, and now all his darker thoughts were crawling up from under the not really pleasant buzz and his skin was crawling from a combination of sweat and nerves.

He really needed to stop doing this. It never really helped (it was the only thing that kept him going some days).

With a sigh he pushed himself away from the phone booth and stumbled back to his car, the night air silent and still around him.

Hopefully he'd find another bottle somewhere in there, could drink away his rattled nerves and pass out.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang once, then Fords voice cut through the silence, furious.

"Enough! If this is-"

Stan hung up, rattled. Must have caught him at a bad time. He sighed, rubbing his face, before turning to walk back to his car.

There had to be a bottle in there somewhere, something to take the edge off.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, beating out a rhythm.

It continued to ring, filling the silence around him. Eventually the ringing stopped, and the sound of Fords answering machine made his slump in... feelings.

"You've reached Dr. Stanford Pines. Unfortunately I'm not at home, or busy with world shattering research. Leave a message, and I'll call back as soon as I'm able. Probably."

Stan sighed, then hung up. In a way he'd gotten what he'd wanted, heard his brothers voice, on the other...

He shoved himself away before he could spiral into thinking what Ford might be doing on their birthday. The nerd was probably doing some crazy research, curing cancer or whatever he got up to.

No need to pester him.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang once, and he jumped at the sound of Fords voice, then paled at what he said.

"Don't hang up," Ford said, low and quiet, "Or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looking down at his stomach, some combination of confused and terrified. Was- Did Ford finally figure him out? Was he waiting at the phone for the next time Stan called? How willing was his brother to go through with that threat, because Stan already lost on organ, he really didn't need to lose anymore.

After a moment Ford let out a sharp exhale and muttered something under his breath.

"That finally got you, huh? Listen here, I don't know who you are, but-"

Stan hung up, slumping over in relief. Ford didn't know, Stan had just caught him in some kind of mood, where he was threatening people who called him.

For some reason?

"Lucky I called you and not ma, Pointdexter," Stan muttered with a smirk, thinking about how their ma'd tear into Ford for his weird phone mannerisms.

Feeling a little better, and somewhat unnerved, Stan pushed himself away and strolled over to his car. There might be another bottle in there somewhere, might be worth rummaging around to look for.

Or he could drive outside of the small town he was in, far away from civilization. Sit on the hood of his car, look up at the stars.

Yeah, that sounded nice.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. Ford Picked up at the first ring, cutting through the silence.

"Don't hang up," He said, irritated, "or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looking down at his stomach. What on- who answered phones like this?

Why did it sound vaguely familiar?

Ford muttered something on the other side, then "Ok, so that worked, now, who is this? Because this is-"

Stan hung up, somewhat rattled and confused. Not only was that the weirdest way to answer a phone when you didn't know who was calling, it sounded way too familiar coming out of Ford's mouth. Like he'd heard it before.

Weird.

Stan shook it off, then grumbled as he made his way back to his car. There was probably another bottle under all that mess, might be worth rummaging around to see what he could find.

He'd also have to take off a few layers. It was way hotter than earlier, sweat making his clothes and hair stick to him uncomfortably.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. Ford Picked up at the first ring, cutting through the silence.

"Don't hang up," He said, irritated, "or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looked down at his stomach, then paused.

That felt weird. Like deja-vu or something. Ford grumbled, then said, slowly and with confidence, "I know exactly who you are."

Stan opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Before he could question how on earth Ford had finally figured him out all these years, another voice muttered something in the background, voice pitched like they were asking a question.

"Trying to figure out the identity of a prank caller, now if you'll excuse me, I-"

Stan hung up, slumping over in relief. Ford didn't actually know, he was just talking big talk and hoping Stan would out himself.

It had almost worked too.

Stan shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, settling himself as his stomach rolled and he...

Felt less buzzed than before? At some point the slight feeling of alcohol in his system had vanished, leaving him feeling shaky and tired.

And sweaty. It was really hot out here, too hot for it being the middle of the night. He squinted up at the dark sky, grimacing at the lack of stars and the dead silence all around him.

Whatever. He shoved himself away from the payphone and-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling lost and unbalanced, like some fundamental truth of the universe had shattered.

"Ha! It worked!" came Ford's voice, full of glee and a little manic, "Didn't think I'd call you first, did you!"

"No? I- what's happening here?"

"Whats happening is I finally got you this time!" Ford yelled into the phone, "Thought you'd get away without consequence, didn't you? That you could call non-stop for six hours straight and not face any kind of repercussions for depriving me of my sleep and ruining my night? Well listen here-"

"Wait, hold up," Stan interrupted, a little lost and a lot irritated at the fury Ford was directing his way, "You called me. I haven't called anyone yet. I just got here."

Ford went silent, then the dial tone hit his ear as he hung up. Stan looked at the phone, then set it back onto the hook, bewildered. Less than a minute later it rang again, and Stan picked it up.

"....Hello?" he asked, already cringing at Ford's low voice.

"So it wasn't the wrong number," He said, and Stan could feel the way he was gripping his phone just by the sound of his voice, "I don't know... Wait a second. Stanley?"

Stan hung up, then turned and ran to his car. He could hear the phone ring again behind him, but he was already panicking and throwing himself into his car, keys-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentativly grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling lost and unbalanced, like some fundamental truth of the universe had shattered.

Again?

"Stanley!" Ford yelled at him, making him jump, "What- No. I don't care about the reason. Stop calling me like this! I'm not sure what made you think calling me over and over would do anything but infuriate me, but it stops now!"

"What," Stan asked, confused and slightly panicked, "What are you talking about, I just got here? How did you know it was me?"

Silence, then "What? What are you talking about. You didn't just get here, we just talked, less than a minute ago."

"No we didn't?" Stan said, brow furrowing in confusion, "This is the first- uh. I mean. Happy Birthday? Moses this got away from me. What even is this."

"... Happy Birthday? Stanley, our birthday ended five hours ago. Its June sixteenth now. That happens when you spend six hours calling someone over and over."

"No, that can't be right," Stan muttered, looking around at the pitch black surroundings and dead silence all around him. His car was barely visible on the edge of the street light above him, everything else was nothing but darkness. If he'd been sitting here for six hours, he'd notice.

Wouldn't he?

"No, its still the fifteenth," Stan said, somewhat shaky, "I- I just got here? You called me before i could- uh. Call someone else. Not you."

Silence, then a burst of sound, and muffled voices. Stan stood there, pulling at his collar and trying to cool himself down. It was really hot out here actually, way hotter than it was a moment ago. He wiped his brow, then grimaced at the change still clutched in his hands.

"Stanley," Ford said, making him jump. His voice lacked the anger from a moment ago, instead deadly serious, "How long have you been standing there."

"Uh.. I don't know, less than-"

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling strange. This felt both like something he'd done before, and like he was suddenly stepping right out of reality. It wasn't right, but the wrongness of it wasn't odd.

"Stanley!" Stan jumped at the sound of Ford's voice. It sounded relieved, and he continued speaking before Stan could ask him how he knew it was him, "Stanley listen, I need to know, how long have you been standing there?"

"uh," Stan looked around in confusion, sweat beading on his forehead as the darkness around him seemed to deepen and the silence around him made the noise on the other side of the phone seem louder, "I don't know, a minute? I just got here? How did-"

"OK, don't hang up! I need you to promise me you won't hang up!" Ford's voice sounded strange, rough like he was on the edge of tears.

Or he'd been screaming.

"Alright? I promise? Whats-"

"Good, good. Now where are you."

Stan pushed down the spike of irritation and confusion, leaning against the pay phone instead. It was getting hot out here, the darkness of the night and the awful light overhead making it seem like there was nothing out here but him and the pay phone. He couldn't even see his car from where he was standing, the Stanley Mobile parked just outside of the ring of light.

That didn't seem right, but Stan shoved the feeling down and focused on the conversation.

"New Mexico. Why does-"

Ford interrupted with a curse, and he could hear more paper shuffling around and a muffled voice.

"Too far, that's too far. And I've just been- ARGH! Stanley! Stanley, I need you to tell me whats around you, what do you see."

"Nothing? Its the middle of the night, and kinda overcast? I can barely see my car."

He squinted in the direction he'd parked it. From here he could just make out the deeper shadows of where it was parked.

That-

That seemed wrong.

Weren't there stars before?

"Stanley listen to me," Fords voice pulled him out of his spiraling panic as he realized he could barely see anything out here, even the sidewalk. The only things that weren't covered in shadows were himself and the pay phone, standing out like a beacon in the dark.

"I need you to run." Ford said, "Doesn't matter where, just pick a direction and go. This is important!"

"Run?" Stan asked, the silence around him pressing in like a physical weight, "Why? Whats-"

"RUN!"

Stan dropped the phone and sprinted down the sidewalk, away from the pay phone and into the dark. He breathed heavily the moment his feet left the small circle of light and-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling...

Terrified. Something wasn't right, hadn't been right. He was off kilter and lost, like a sailor who realized he was sailing a boat in an open field. On the other side of the phone a familiar voice cursed, and something else slammed.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, making his shoulders tense at the tone and the way Ford knew it was him, "Stanley don't hang up! I'm- I'm going to figure this out, alright! Tell me what you see!"

"Ford?" Stan asked, shaking slightly and breaths coming in short gasps, "Ford, whats- how did you know-"

"Focus!" Ford snapped, "What do you see?!"

Stan looked around, and froze.

There wasn't anything around him. Nothing but pitch blackness, the small ring of sidewalk around the pay phone, and the pay phone itself, bright and vibrant.

"Nothing," Stan muttered, clutching the phone tighter and taking a step closer, "There- there's nothing here. Why's it so dark? And- and when did it get so hot?"

It was sweltering, the humid air pressing against him and making everything worse as the feeling of his soaked clothes sticking to his skin made him feel like he'd been dunked.

On the other side of the phone Ford cursed again, and Stan clung to it like a life line. Out here there was nothing but dead silence, even his gasping breathes barely reaching his ears.

"Stanley listen," Ford said, and Stan pressed the phone to his ear, like each word Ford said was the only thing stopping the darkness from consuming him too.

Maybe it was.

"You've been eaten by an entity that feeds on high concentrations of negative energy. Its stuck you in a loop, and its too late to try and escape physically. I'm going to try and- I'm going to try something, just- just hang on, and- and you'll be OK."

Stan gaped at the phone booth. He hadn't seriously thought the darkness was going to eat him, and now it turned out that he already had been. Eaten. Something had eaten him while he'd been trying to call his brother in a glum mood.

Suddenly the heat felt far more threatening, the darkness physical, and the phone booth the only thing between him and loosing it completely.

"Alright." Stan choked out, huddling closer to the phone booth, "What- what's the plan Sixer?"

Ford didn't answer, but he could hear his brother yelling something over the phone, distantly. It was a small comfort, but Stan clung to it regardless.

Ford would figure it out, he always-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, beating out a rhythm.

It continued to ring, filling the silence around him. Eventually the ringing stopped, and the sound of Fords answering machine made his slump in... feelings.

"You've reached Dr. Stanford Pines. Unfortunately I'm not at home, or busy with world shattering research. Leave a message, and I'll call back as soon as I'm able. Probably."

Stan sighed, then hung up. In a way he'd gotten what he'd wanted, heard his brothers voice, on the other...

A part of him wanted to go back to his car and mope, the other, larger part, urged him to sit at the base of the phone booth.

So he did.

He huddled at the small ball, bringing his legs up to grab his knees and stare out at the darkness around him. A small thought in the back of his mind told him he needed to be worried about how still the night are around him was, how the dark shadows pressing in were caressing his feet, how the heavy, humid air was starting to sound like something breathing down his neck.

How the thick heat wasn't normal for so late at night, especially in a desert.

He pushed the thought away, sighing and looking down at his feet.

Ford was probably asleep. The nerd had a full life now, studying bugs or curing cancer or whatever it was he was doing up in the woods. Probably had a private birthday party, got some presents, celebrated properly.

Moved on.

What did Ford need with a guy like Stan anyway. Stan had left, and Ford had excelled without him, gone farther and higher then anyone in their family ever had. Who knows how much further and higher he could have gotten if Stan had never been there in the first place, dragging him down.

The darkness was closer, crawling up his ratty shoes, and he watched them disappear, apathy overtaking any worry.

What was the point.

It didn't hurt, didn't feel like anything. The light overhead flickered, and he sighed, dropping his head onto his knees as the air got hotter, he got sweater, and the ground blinked in and out of existence.

His legs tingled as the shadows crept up them, before he lost feeling completely.

It was nice, sorta.

Well no, it actually sucked and was terrifying, but the part of him yelling to move, that he didn't want to die, that if this was it he needed to go down fighting, was crushed under the weight of...

Everything.

He dragged his eyes up to see the shadows crawling up his knees, then grunted as something tugged at his chest and-

P U L L E D

A strangled sound came out of him as something yanked at him, until he was stuck floating in some kind of warped, dark and blinding void. Lights whizzed past him, in thousands of different colors and patterns, and he could feel and see some kind of glowing, ghostly hand grabbing his chest and tugging him up, while the shadows clutching his legs tried to drag him back down.

They pulled him in both directions, leaving him stuck somewhere he was pretty sure people weren't meant to be. The numbness in his legs vanished, replaced with a thousand tiny needles digging in and making him writhe, while the hand's grip started slipping. Stan grabbed at it, terror hitting him full force as he watched what he was pretty sure galaxies explode or something or maybe all of existence at once?

Whatever it was, it seared itself into his brain and tore apart the apathy that had been settling over him. He had no idea what the hand was or where it came from, or anything at all anymore, but he was pretty sure it was better than the darkness trying to bite his legs off.

The giant hand tightened its grip and pulled harder, ripping Stan out of the shadows. Without them Stan hurtled up towards wherever, and he cried out as he was blinded by light and-

Slammed into the ground. Stan wheezed at the noise that assaulted his ears and the light piercing his eyes. After so long in the dead silence of the night it was agonizing, and he groaned, breathing heavily and legs back to being numb.

"Stanley!" came Fords voice, and Stan forced his eyes open to see his twins face, looking down at him upside-down and with heavy bags under his eyes. His face was slightly scruffy and his clothes were rumpled, but his smile was huge and he looked relieved

"Ford?" Stan muttered, confused, "What- what happened?"

"Stanley," Ford said again, collapsing next to him and pulling him up into a bone crushing hug. Stan pat his back, then grimaced at his soaking wet hand and drenched sleeve. Now that he was out of wherever he was before, he realized not all of the wetness was his gross sweat. There was some kind of grey liquid sticking to him, sticky and numbing his fingers.

"Stanford, let go of your brother," came an unfamiliar voice, "We need to take a look at him, and who knows what all... that. Is."

"Right, right, of course." Ford said, leaning back and still smiling. Stan grimaced at the thick strings of grey stuff connecting them, and Ford looked down, finally realizing he'd covered his whole front in whatever it was when he'd hugged Stan.

"Interesting," Ford muttered, grabbing a vial from his pocket and scooping some of it up. Stan watched him, suddenly exhausted, until Ford capped the vial, grabbed another one, and scooped some more goop off of Stan's face.

"Hey," Stan grumbled, waving a hand at him with a scowl, "stop that. What is this, what- didn't I- huh?"

Stan blinked at Ford as his brain started becoming mush, and he looked down to see his pants shredded up to his knees and his most of his shoes missing. Tiny scratches covered both of them, sluggishly bleeding and numb. The bottom of his feet, where he could see them, were red and irritated, but still as numb as they'd been before.

"Didn't I call you?" Stan muttered, as some other, non-Ford person sat down next to them with a giant first aid kit and wearing a pair of rubber gloves, "Its our birthday."

"No, it isn't." Ford said, and Stan slowly turned to see him taking his shirt off and shoving it in a plastic bag, "Our birthday ended five hours ago."

That.. sounded right? Stan bleary remembered.... way too many short phone calls, with Ford's voice getting more and more angry, then stretches of him not answering at all, before Ford would pick up again, furious.

Except for the last few, where Ford finally started calling him, asking more and more desperate questions about where he was or what he saw.

"Hot Belgian Waffles," Stan said, watching Ford strip everything covered in goo off while this other guy started prodding his legs, "Something tried to eat me."

"Ah, but it didn't!" Ford said, stripped down to his underwear and wandering off with the bag, "Our DNA is close enough to use as a focus for a summoning spell, and we managed to pull you straight out of its pocket dimensional stomach! Its probably furious!"

Ford sounded way too giddy about pissing off some kind of shadow monster that ate people. More importantly,

"My car." Stan said, watching Not-Ford use a pair of scissors to cut his ruined pants off, "Its still in there."

"No, I don't think so!" Ford called out, "The small area you found yourself was most likely a constructed replica of the area. Creatures like that don't have the ability to pull full sections of our dimension away. More than likely your car is right where you left it."

"Maybe." Stan muttered. There was a chance Ford was wrong after all, or that his car had been stolen when he'd gotten snatched. Ford wandered back into view, wearing a pair of pajamas and rubber gloves, and holding another plastic bag and a tub. He set the bag next to Stan, and Not-Ford started putting his shredded pants into it.

His legs didn't look too bad, just covered in long scratches and still numb. They weren't even really bleeding much. If he hadn't seen the shadows clutching his legs he would have thought he'd been attacked by a swarm of cats.

Again.

Something touched his face, and he flinched. Ford was holding a washcloth, and the tub was full of bubbly water.

"Sorry Stanley," Ford said, going back to wiping Stan's face, "But we need to get this off as quickly as possible. I don't know if its digestive fluids, a numbing agent, or something to amplify your negative mood. Best to be cautious and study it later."

Stan nodded, then blinked slowly as Ford started wiping his face again. He looked around the room, taking in the shoved aside couch, the giant, red circle (and that better not be blood) with various symbols around it, the TV, and bunches of electronic do dads and gizmos.

This was Fords house, probably his living room. And Stan was sitting here, on the floor, at five in the morning.

Whatever goop was covering him must have been numbing his feelings (that or the exhastion of being awake so long without realizing) becaue he couldn't muster up the energy to feel anything about it.

"Happy Birthday," Stan muttered, before he closed his eyes let himself fall back onto the hard floor. Ford said something, but he was too tired to try and decipher the words.

They could always talk later.

[connergoessupersonic]

Play this gayme

my timeloop game is "too gay" and you should play it

[substitious-bastard]

stuck in the time loop but i just use it as a free day off. im not even trying to get out. i am teaching myself to knit. i am crocheting. i am cooking. not even doing anything crazy. just escaping capitalism for a week. day 375 and im not sure what lesson it's trying to teach but i've taught myself to handmake lace so all is well

[thisdastampdoesnotexist]

[dontlistentothemmoose]

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol* moon’s stuck in a time loop. do you have extra ammo? this won’t be enough. nasa employee: enough for…what? astronaut: *finding extra clip of ammo, pocketing it, and getting back on the rocket-ship* don’t worry about it!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *emerging from supply closet with a space harpoon, getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut:   oh hey u guys are back early astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: what?  nasa employee: how did you know what i was going to say?  astronaut: *punching in key pad code for base evacuation signal, getting back on the rocket-ship* i told you…moon’s stuck in a time loop. *red warning lights begin flashing*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *rifling thru bookshelf of operating instructions, selecting one that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: moon’s stuck in a time loop. hey, do you have anything to eat? i’m starving. *opens random drawer, finds nothing, closes it* nasa employee: a time loo- uh, we don’t have food in here…we can’t…eat in the control room, only the break-room. astronaut: *sighs* nasa employee:…my lunch is in like 10 minutes, though, and if my lunch is actually STILL THERE and not STOLEN, AGAIN, i can share it with yo- astronaut: nah, that’s ok…no time. *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* or…too much time. but thanks, anyway. OK, bye! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: you’re…welcome? wait, a TIME LOOP?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: yup. nasa employee: …?  astronaut: *sitting down next to nasa employee* so…do you ever like…wonder what the meaning of life is? the secrets of the universe? nasa employee: aren’t you supposed to be ON the MOON?! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: hey, what the hell is that? astronaut: that’s the code red override klaxon. moon’s stuck in a time loop. oh, and there’s an explosion imminent. But don’t worry, we can deal with that tomorrow. So, you have any siblings? *pulls beer out of space suit, cracks tab* want a drink?

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: do you know frank in IT? nasa employee: what?  astronaut: do you know frank, who works in IT?  nasa employee: yeah, but why are you guys back so early?  astronaut: moon’s stuck in a time loop. call frank, tell him there’s a virus in the security patch and the system’s compromised. then get the hell out of the base.  nasa employee: wait what? what? where are you guys going?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* back to the moon. it’s stuck in a time loop. call frank!  nasa employee: *picks up phone* ugh, straight to voicemail. i wonder wha- *alarm begins blaring*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: *grim silence* nasa employee: i said, you guys are back early…hey, what are you…?  astronaut: *randomly opening drawers until they find a pair of scissors and some duct tape, getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. *sticks head back out the door of the rocket-ship* by the way, if you go to the break-room in exactly 2 minutes and 45 seconds, you’ll catch the person who’s been stealing your lunches for the past two weeks. nasa employee: what?! WHO IS IT?! *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: *running for the break-room* FUCK!!!!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *sits down, sighs, pulls a beer out from their spacesuit* moon’s stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: …ok, and? hang on, how did you get a beer? you can’t have that in here. astronaut: what do you know about project floyd? nasa employee: I mean, the usual amount? i’m not really on the project anymore, why?  *alarm begins blaring*  astronaut: COME WITH ME TO THE ROCKET-SHIP, we don’t have ti-

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: yeah. moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *loading a pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. see you tomorrow. maybe. nasa employee: WHAT?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what?  astronaut: *sighs, rubs hands over face, and loads pistol, before getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop. and, uh…you should call your mother like you’ve been meaning to. and tell her you’re not actually mad and that you will come to dinner tonight. you’re gonna be hungry. nasa employee: wait, what? WHAT?? how do you know my mom?! why am i gonna be - *alarm begins blaring* 

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” starting to get back on the rocket-ship, but dropping everything with a horrendous clatter* FUCK! goddamn moon’s stuck in a time loop. *alarm begins blaring*

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back early  astronaut: moon's stuck in a time loop.  nasa employee: what? also, hey, where’d you get that duffel bag? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” shoving them into the bag, and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop.

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back earl-  astronaut: *grabs nasa employee and kisses them passionately*  nasa employee: what? WHAT?! astronaut: *loading a single pistol and getting back on the rocket-ship* moon’s stuck in a time loop, sweetheart.  nasa employee: what?!? astronaut: a time loop!!! i love you!!! get out of the base!!! stay alive!!! nasa employee: *presses fingers to lips, confused but intrigued, as alarm begins blaring* 

nasa employee:…. nasa employee:… nasa employee: ho hum what a regular day at the office *alarm begins blaring* nasa employee: what the hell is that?!

nasa employee: oh hey u guys are back earl-  astronaut: *grabs nasa employee and kisses them passionately*  nasa employee: what? what?! WHAT!?!? also, hey, where’d you get that duffel bag? astronaut: *grabbing two pistols, an extra box of ammo, a pair of scissors, some duct tape, a space harpoon, and a booklet of operating instructions that says “AIRLOCK MANUAL OVERRIDE INSTRUCTIONS,” shoving them into the bag, then cupping nasa employee’s cheek with free hand* moon’s stuck in a time loop. nasa employee: the moon’s stuck in a what?! astronaut: a time loop, sweetheart, but we don’t have much time ourselves, so you have to listen to me RIGHT now nasa employee: *faintly* …“sweetheart”?! astronaut: in 2 minutes and a few seconds, you need to go into the break-room and find frank. nasa employee: wait, frank from IT? astronaut: yes. nasa employee: how do you know he’s gonna be in the break-room? i can’t just call him at his desk right now? astronaut: how do i know this?! because, one, time loop, ok? and…also…because…heismaybetheguywhohasbeenstealingyourlunchfortwoweeks nasa employee: that BASTARD i KNEW it astronaut: BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT’S IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW. hey! listen to me! go in there, catch him red-handed with your burrito, and tell him lunch is on you FOREVER if he goes RIGHT NOW and checks the last security patch - because there’s a virus and the whole system’s compromised. then you need to get the hell out of this base, ok? nasa employee: …ok. ok. and…and what about you? astronaut: *cocking pistol and getting back into rocket-ship with duffel bag* me? i’m gonna shoot for the moon.

EPILOGUE:

nasa employee: so, how many loops in total? astronaut: i mean, it was hard to keep track. somewhere around six months, if i had to guess. nasa employee: damn. astronaut: yeah. nasa employee: and in those six MONTHS, the best zinger you came up with was “shoot for the moon”? astronaut: hey, you know what, i had some other stuff on my mind! nasa employee: i mean, i guess. it sounded like you found time to flirt with me each time. astronaut: yeah, like i said. other stuff on my mind. *they look at each other, blush, and look away* astronaut: sooooooo. you’re sure your mom is cool with me coming over for dinner? nasa employee: can’t make the day any weirder. plus, i owe you for ratting out frank, right? astronaut: he did help us save the world; we can’t be too mad at him. nasa employee: you’ve had a little while to get over it, i might need some more time. and it wasn’t even your food! astronaut: ok, that’s fair. what if i buy you lunch to make up for it? nasa employee: hmm, when? astronaut: tomorrow? nasa employee: well, i’ll have left overs from my mom, and you might too if you play your cards right. day after tomorrow? astronaut: honestly, anytime is good for me.

*FADE TO BLACK*

[lucifers-simp]

I'm free tomorrow if you want some help dealing with that

People tell me to not get stuck in the past and think about the future. Well I am, but the future is the past because I'm stuck in a time loop

[lizard-ratt]

Again?

Because I am incapable of not writing new fics while working on my old ones, I have written a first chapter for a new fic idea. It's heavily inspired by Time Loop fics. I cannot promise it is good. Thank you for your understanding.

WC: 4,083

Content Warning: Death (he gets better, I promise), Descriptions of child neglect, phantom pain

Steve Harrington was six years old the first time he died. It was the first time he had been left home alone, though at that time it had been an accident. His parents forgot to hire a nanny while they went on a weekend trip. He tried to call, but he couldn’t remember what number to call, so he gave up pretty quickly.

Steve did remember his parents telling him to be good, so that’s what he did. He ate a lot of cereal, and he didn’t touch anything that didn’t belong to him. What he did touch went right back in its place, right where he found it. He was careful with his toys, but it was still really boring, so he swam a lot.

It was the middle of summer, sun beating down on the back yard, but Steve loved it. He could slip into the swimming pool and mess around for hours if he wanted to. He swam until he couldn’t anymore. On the way out of the pool, his foot gripped onto the pool ladder wrong and he fell. His head hit the corner of the pool and things went dark.

He woke up in his bed, pain pulsing behind his temple. He coughed and coughed, like he was trying to expel something from his lungs, but he couldn’t figure out what. They burned, too. He stayed in bed after that. He hurt too much to do much of anything, so he focused on not crying. Harrington men didn’t cry. Echoed in his mind over and over again. He didn’t realize what happened, and later the memory would be so fuzzy he wouldn’t make the connection. 

The next time it happened, Steve was home alone again. He was twelve years old, and there was no nanny. This time, it was on purpose. Apparently, a year old child was old enough to take care of himself, and Steve didn’t want to disappoint them, so he told them he could do it. They left him a hefty stack of cash for groceries, which he shoved into a shoebox underneath his bed, and told him to be good.

The week went on as normal. He tried to make himself something simple instead of ordering out (again), and it didn’t taste awful. He swam, having gotten over his uneasiness with the pool, finally. He took his bike out to Benny’s Diner and got a free slice of pie and a nice talk with Margaret for his effort. 

Steve was having trouble sleeping, about two days before his parents were set to come home. He wandered his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. From where he stood, sipping at it, he got a good view of the two men sneaking into the house. They wore all black and had giant, empty backpacks strapped to them. They looked like burglars.

Slowly, hoping to not get the men’s attention, he eased himself out of sight. Or, at least, he tried to. The man on the left caught the movement, and in one quick movement, the man had a gun pointed at Steve. 

Given the chance to predict what might have happened that week, Steve never would have guessed that he’d be held at gunpoint by an intruder. He also wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be shot, square in the face and wake up with a pounding pain behind his forehead. 

The pain was too much. It blurred Steve’s existence down to a single point, making it impossible to really tell what was going on. He might have screamed, cried, or a million other things. The pain didn’t fade, but after what could have been hours, Steve managed to become more aware of himself despite it. He was still in bed, drenched in sweat, and he figured that it was a nightmare. Right? That made sense. Nevermind the lingering pain and how real it felt. Nevermind how wrong the explanation felt.

Steve pushed himself to get up, ignoring the nausea that swirled in his gut at every movement. He dragged himself into his bathroom and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. It gave him enough relief to think.

Steve took his sweet precious time scrubbing the sweat from his skin, then got dressed and moved to his calendar. His calendar that marked how long it had been since his parents had left and when they’d be back. The one he could have sworn that he marked off every day. According to the calendar, though, his parents had left just the day prior. 

He shook himself off and decided he only thought that he’d marked the calendar. He fixed his mistake and moved on.

That week felt like it took longer. His headache took its time in fading away. (It did, however, fade. It eased from the explosion of pain behind his forehead to something much more manageable). His parents didn’t come home when they were supposed to. Steve wanted to call to ask what the holdup was, but they were clearly very busy. They were so busy they didn’t even call to let him know they’d be late, like they’d promised they would do. So Steve just let it happen. He tried cooking another meal, and it was edible. He swam some more.

The nightmare came back a few times, but none of them felt as real as that first time. They were hazy, the details were blurrier. Even though it felt real, it didn’t take him too long the next morning to tell himself it was fake. 

About a week after the first nightmare, he was in bed. He couldn’t settle. Something buzzed beneath his skin. 

He got himself a glass of water. 

As he stood in the kitchen, the buzzing in his skin got worse. Like he was waiting for something. The men came into the house, and they looked exactly the same. The same outfits, the same backpacks. Carefully, Steve placed his glass down and turned to run. He wasn’t quite enough. Shouts followed after him. He made it to the door, but something exploded behind him, and pain slammed into his back. 

He hit the floor hard. He tried to drag himself up, but his legs wouldn’t follow his commands. After a split second of observation, he found he couldn’t feel his legs at all. His ears rang, but through the haze, he could hear an argument. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, words too muffled to decipher, but it was angry.

Someone came up from behind Steve and flipped him over to his back. He whimpered as the pain flared so much worse. It was too much. He barely even noticed the growing wet spot beneath him.

The man was speaking to him. He said something, but Steve could barely make out the individual syllables, let alone the words that they were a part of. As gently as possible, the man lifted Steve up. It hurt, like everything hurt. Steve might have cried out as he was jostled. Finally, his ears cleared enough for him to hear what was being said. 

“-taking him to a hospital,” the man addressed the other burglar. “Do what you want. I won’t say anything, but he needs help.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Something else exploded, the man fell back, dropping Steve in the process. Steve, that time, heard himself cry. It was ugly. The other burglar walked forward, stopping a few feet away from Steve. He lifted the gun to point at Steve’s face.

“Sorry, kid. It’s just business.” A third and final explosion rang out. Steve woke up, and the headache was back.

His head screamed at him, but this time, his back screamed at him, too. His legs hurt just as bad, if not worse. With a shaky hand, Steve reached out and pressed a finger into his thigh and he prayed that it would work. 

A barely there pressure broke through the pain in his body, and that was enough to tell him that he could feel his legs again. He gave his foot a little jiggle and regretted it immediately. He stayed in bed that day, working his way through the breathing exercises that he’d learned from his P.E. teacher. Doing nothing but breathing made it pretty effective.

It took Steve a while to get to his calendar. When he did, he froze. He could have sworn that it was well past the day his parents had left. He also could have sworn that he had marked off every day for the last two weeks, but there in front of him was an unmarked calendar showing the last week in June. 

The question popped up: what if he did mark off the calendar that first time? What if that nightmare was real, and he got sent back in time and found himself back to the Monday of the last week of June? What if he did it a second time?

He kept a closer eye on things. He pried himself out of bed, dragged himself across the floor (it still hurt too much to move his legs) and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. He managed to feed himself. He didn’t swim, and he waited for some kind of proof that he was wrong, but it never came. His parents never called.

He hid that night. He hoped that he would wake up the next morning. He stayed underneath his bed, the pain in his legs had finally eased to a dull ache, and he didn’t want to bring any of the pain back. He hid and listened. He heard the two men discussing what they had found. He heard them call each other “Al” and “Randy”. He heard them discuss the value of what they found. 

His bedroom door creaked open.

“Jesus…” Al said. “The Harringtons must hate whoever lives in this one…” 

“I think it’s their kids,” Randy responded. “See? There’s summer homework on the desk.”

Steve heard papers being shuffled around. 

“I don’t think the kids room will have anything valuable,” Randy went on. “We have a good haul. Let’s get outta here.”

Al stopped him. “Not quite so fast. This isn’t just any kid. This is a spoiled brat. Check under the bed first.” 

Steve froze. Al wasn’t the one checking. Randy was clearly upset by Al’s actions before. There was a chance that Steve would be fine. 

Randy shuffled, kneeling down beside the bed. A flashlight beam hit Steve and he gave Randy a look, silently begging the man not to say anything. Randy froze, for a brief moment, he stared at Steve. He nodded gently, barely perceptible. He swept the flashlight beam up and down for a moment, then stood back up.

“Nothing. Just blankets and other kids shit.”

Al went quiet, then in a dangerous tone said, “Now why don’t I believe you?” 

“Because you’re a paranoid son of a bitch?” Randy fired back.

Steve could barely breathe. Al was a Bad Man, and if he looked under the bed, Steve was toast. He would die and wake up Monday, fresh pain burning through him, and he’d have to try all over again. He really didn’t want to try all over again. 

Apparently, luck wasn’t on Steve’s side. Al knelt down and shined a flashlight directly on Steve’s face. Steve shut his eyes before the bullet hit him in the chest. It made things a little bit easier. 

Monday morning, Steve decided to call the police. Problem number one was telling them something that they would believe. If he said something like he died and got sent back in time so he knows that two men named Al and Randy are going to break into his house and rob him, he’d get in trouble. Problem two was telling the truth. It’s illegal to lie to the cops. He could get in trouble for that, too. 

In the time it took to wait for the pain to go away enough to exist, he came up with a truth-lie. He’d tell the cops something that was true, but made them think something else happened. 

 He took a cold bath to help with the pain, then carried himself to the phone and dialed 911. 

“911 what’s your emergency?” A lady answered. 

“I think someone is going to try to break into my house,” Steve said. “There were these men and they talked about taking stuff. I think one of them had a gun.” 

“Okay, may I ask who I am speaking to?” She asked.

“Steve. Uhm, Steve Harrington,” Steve answered.

“Okay, and where do you live, Steve?” Her voice was soft, but professional. She kind of sounded like his teachers. 

He rattled off the address. “What’s your name?” 

“My name is Melissa. It’s nice to meet you. The police are on their way right now. Can you describe the men to me while we wait? Is there any way we might be able to identify them?”

Steve hesitated. Randy was nice. Randy wasn’t Bad like Al was. He didn’t have to tell Melissa everything, did he?

“One of their names is Al, I think. One of them called the other Al. Does… does that help?” 

“Yes, that does. What did Al look like?” 

He described the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, a beard. He also described the first man, but only because the lady asked. He wasn’t supposed to lie to the police lady, either. 

“Ok. The police are a minute out. You have been a huge help. We will do everything we can to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“You have been very brave, telling me all of this. You should be very proud of yourself.”

A knock sounded at the front door. “They’re here.”

“Okay. Go ahead and let them in. Stay safe and have a nice day.” 

“Bye.” 

Steve hung up the phone and made his way to the front door. There were two men there. One a little older and one a little younger. They looked at Steve like they were a little surprised that he was the one to answer the door.

“Hey, there kid. My name is Officer Andrews and this is Officer Callahan,” the older one said. “Are there any adults in the house?” 

Steve froze for a minute. That sounded like one of those trick questions, but he couldn’t fathom why it would be. “No, they’re on a work trip right now. I can give you their secretary’s phone number if you need to talk to them, though.”

That was the wrong answer. Both Callahan and Andrews got visibly more upset, but looked like they were trying to hide it. 

“Sorry…” he said. He hunched his shoulders, tipping his head down.

“It’s alright,” Callahan said. It wasn’t. “Can we come inside? We just have a few questions, then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

Steve stepped aside. In all honesty, he didn’t think he’d make it that far. He was waiting for them to yell at him for lying, but they seemed to be taking him seriously. He wondered how long that would last. 

He guided them into the dining room to sit down. Way too late, he realized he was supposed to offer them something to drink. 

“Do you, um, do you want something to drink? I can, uh, I can make coffee. We have water. Juice?” His voice got quieter as he spoke, in a way that would have had his dad shouting at him to speak up, but the cops just shook their heads. They still looked upset. 

“Tell us what happened, exactly,” Andrews ordered.

Steve nodded, swallowing his anxiety. “There were these men,” he pointed to where they came in every time. “They talked about taking stuff. One of them had a gun. They, uh, they didn’t see me. I like to hang out in the backyard, ‘cause there’s a pool and stuff.”

Callahan wrote in his little notepad. “Can you describe to us the men?” 

Steve swallowed again, mouth dry. “One was really tall. Dark hair. I think he had a beard? Uhm. The other guy called him Al. He was the one with the gun. Al looked really mean. Like he would, uhm, like he’d use the gun on the other one if he made him upset.” 

Callahan nodded seriously. “Do you think this Al is making the other man join him on the job?” 

That would make Randy innocent, right? He wouldn’t get in trouble? Steve grabbed on the chance with both hands and nodded, almost too much. “I don’t know anything else.” He told them.

Andrews reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve flinched, and Andrews froze. At a slower pace, he placed his hand down, projecting his movements more. “You did good, kid. Do you have somewhere you can stay while we investigate this?”

Steve didn’t like that question. His parents were still out, and would be until he fixed whatever was broken. His friends were strictly for school, so he couldn’t stay over at their houses. He didn’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins or whatever. Did it make him a loser to say no? Would they be upset?

Steve took too long to answer, and Andrews nodded. “That’s okay. You can stay at the station until we can figure something out, for you. Okay?” 

Steve agreed. 

“We’ll get in contact with your parents,” Andrews went on. “We have you until then.”

They told him to pack a bag for about a week, including some toys and things to distract himself with. Andrews sat at the door while he packed, watching carefully as Steve gathered his things. Callahan was on the phone, trying to get through to the secretary and seemed to be having issues.

Steve knew it was rude to listen in on others’ conversations, but it was difficult to not keep an ear out, when Callahan was getting progressively louder. 

“Someone could be robbing the Harrington’s house, putting their young child in danger!” Callahan snapped. “He’s not making it up! That boy was terrified! He’s not just asking for attention, he saw a man threaten another with a gun.” A pause. “Sure, yeah, leave them a message. Have the day you deserve.” Callahan slammed the phone back on the hook. 

“Come on, Callahan, let’s go.” Andrews gently pat Callahan on the shoulder as they headed out.  

On the way to the station, Steve got to sit in a police cruiser, which was cool. He was in the back, where criminals went, but Andrews and Callahan assured him it was because there wasn’t any more room up front. He still felt uneasy sitting where bad people sat, where people like Al sat. 

“We’ll find the men,” Andrews tried to reassure Steve. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

Steve nodded, and followed quietly as Andrews guided him to a couch with a little table in front. 

“We’ll find someone who can watch over you. Until then, stay here. Okay?”

They left him there for a while. A nice lady checked on him every once in a while, but she was busy. Callahan and Andrews were coming and going a lot, and it was a lot. Steve stayed quiet, waiting. He was good at waiting. He could be quiet, make himself small, make himself unnoticeable. 

After what felt like years, Officer Andrews came up to him with a picture. “Is this the man you saw?” he asked. “The one with the gun?” 

It was a headshot of Al. The man was holding a sign that said, ‘Al Munson’. Steve nodded.

“Yeah. That’s him.” 

Andrews nodded grimly. “Okay. Thank you,” he sounded genuine. “You’re being a huge help. We’re still looking for a temporary guardian for you. Do you think you can wait here just a little bit longer?” 

Steve agreed. He was good at waiting. He was getting tired, but he could keep waiting. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome.”

They left him there again. Through the windows, Steve saw it was getting dark, but he didn’t get into his pajamas. They brought him something for dinner, and they brought him a blanket so he could sleep on the couch for the night while they kept looking for someone. It was late at night, while Steve fought the onslaught of sleep that they brought in Al Munson and his son. 

They brought Al in first, shoved off somewhere that Steve couldn’t see. He could hear, though. He could hear Al’s angry shouts. He said mean words and insulted everyone in sight. He swore up and down that he hadn’t been anywhere near the Harrington house.

Next, there was the other boy. He was angry. He crossed his arms and didn’t respond to anything that the cops said. He even told them to “fuck off”, when they pressed. One of the cops, not Andrews or Callahan, looked very angry. They guided the boy over to Steve and told him to be good. Steve didn’t stare, because staring is rude, but he did take a passing glance. The boy was skinny, bony. His clothes were a bit too big on him and fit oddly. His hair was buzzed and he looked miserable. Steve wanted to hug him, but he got a feeling it wouldn’t be welcome.

“What’re you in for?” The boy asked.

“They said my house wasn’t safe,” Steve said, “and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Are you the rich kid my dad was gonna rob?” 

Steve nodded. “He was mean to Ra-” Steve stopped himself. “He was mean to the other man.”

“Randy, right?”

Steve glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. “Yeah.”

They went quiet, both a little lost in thought. “What’s your name, Rich Kid?” 

“Steve. You?” 

“Eddie.” 

They sat together for a while. Neither of them had anything to say. After a little bit, an older man came in, looking harried. “Eddie?” he called. 

Eddie shrunk in his seat, head dipping low. 

The lady at the front desk pointed back to them, and the man’s gaze snapped over to Eddie. He rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug. The man only had eyes for Eddie, not even seeing Steve. “Eddie,” the man repeated.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie muttered into the man– Wayne’s– shoulder. 

Steve looked away, choked up. He didn’t think about his own parents, who were still unreachable, or his nanny who used to hug him like that. He didn’t think about any of it. It wasn’t important. 

Wayne gestured for Eddie to get up. Eddie followed for a few paces, but stopped. He turned to Steve and waved. Steve waved back, and they were gone. A little bit later, Officer Andrews came back and kneeled in front of Steve. 

“We found him,” Andrews said, like Steve hadn’t seen the entire scene play out. “He had written plans to break into your house, and the other man, a man named Randy Olsen, agreed to testify against Al. We’re going to make sure he goes away for a long time.” 

They did, eventually, find someone to watch over him. Benny Hammond of Benny’s diner, they said, had an emergency foster license and would look after him. He tried to ask about his parents, but the cops got all shifty. They said they were still trying to get in contact with them.

Steve liked it at Benny’s. Benny was really nice, and he gave Steve some ice cream, even though it was past his bedtime. He did ask some weird questions, in the tone that Steve’s parents got when they were testing him, but he couldn’t figure out what he was being tested on. 

“Do your parents leave you alone a lot?” he asked. 

“Do they hire babysitter’s?” he asked.

“Do they ever get too busy for you?” he asked.

Steve answered honestly, because Benny was nice, and lying was bad. Benny nodded through everything Steve said, then told him he was brave, but Steve didn’t know why. He didn’t do anything hard. Maybe because he went to the cops about Al Munson? But he would have said that before the weird questions. 

Steve still said, “Thank you,” because it was a compliment.

Soon after, Benny ushered him to bed. He told him to sleep in, since it was a late night. Steve thanked him for that, too. When he fell asleep, he was content.

[clara-scintilla]

☽

[thestuffedalligator]

It is November of 1893. You have just killed a vampire. Exhausted and worn, you close your eyes and rest.

You wake up. It is May of 1893. You are on a train en route to Transylvania. Your diary says you have had queer dreams lately.

You try to believe it.

(An old woman puts a rosary in your hands. You accept it without question.)

You are a guest in a castle you have never been in before (you recognize every hallway and know without trying that every door is locked). Your host is a man you have never met before (you killed him you killed him you killed him he had turned to dust and there was blood on the snow).

One morning you cut yourself while shaving.

There is nobody behind you in the pocket mirror’s reflection.

You turn fast, and the razor is like a Kukri knife in your hand.

[future-crab]

How could I forget:

One of my favorite parts of Hadestown is the way Hermes slips so seamlessly between participant and narrator. The fact that he knows from the beginning how the story is going to go, but still plays his part, surrounded by people who don’t know they’re characters in a tragedy. And he plays his part well. Every night, he tells Orpheus, “You want to talk to her? Go on," and every night, he asks, “Just how far would you go for her?” Every night, Orpheus asks him, “ It’s not a trick?” and he tells him, “No, it’s a test.” And every night, when the cycle starts again, when his voice is so broken with grief that he can barely get the words out to tell the audience - the audience that he and no one else has known was there the whole time - “Don’t ask why, brother, don’t ask how he could have come so close. The song was written long ago, and that is how it goes,” when Eurydice appears - fresh-faced and alive, with no memory of what has just happened - to ask, “anybody got a match?” he wordlessly extends his matchbook to her, and lets the story start anew. Someone’s got to tell the tale, whether or not it turns out well.

And still - AND STILL - every night, at the very beginning, he says, “Maybe it will turn out this time, on the road to hell, on the railroad line.”

[wpmz]

everybody talks about escaping the time loop but no one ever talks about what happens after you escape the time loop. how do you cope with normal life after spending eternities learning and relearning the exact same series of events? do you struggle to remember what it was like before? what happens when life is no longer predictable, when you can no longer rely on the routine you have gotten to know so well? do you fall into old habits, perform rituals that once served meaning but now divorced from their original context appear strange? do you talk to someone, thrown off by how their responses are familiar yet not the same repeated phrases you have grown to expect? do you wonder how you ever lived without being able to know what happens next? do you fall back into that same routine, desperate for the sense of familiarity that had grown so comfortable to you? yes, time moves forward now, but did you ever truly leave the time loop? can you, now that it is all you know?

[theshadowrealmitself]

All those videos of people being so distraught about the tiktok ban and then stitching it being like “😬 anyways-“ is exactly why you would never see me do wild shit during a timeloop, cause the second I did, the loop would break, everyone would remember what I did, and I’d have to pretend I didn’t have a little breakdown