#not sure where this is going

[periswirl]

Golden trio as Kents Au (...title pending)

Part one - Part Three

In this part I wanted to look a little at the dynamic between Clark and his surprise siblings.

--------------------

Clark didn't get to go home as often as he'd like, between work at the Daily Planet and with the Justice League he tended to have trouble getting back to the farm more than a few weekends a month.

The farm and his parents were his rock; one constant in the flurry of life as a superhero journalist. He knew no matter what he could come home to Ma's and Pa's warmth.

Maybe he'd been to complacent because now, standing at the threshold of the house after months off planet, he was embarrassingly off kilter.

The house was full of laughter. Not unusual between Jon, Conner and their friends but these voices were unfamiliar. Taking a breath Clark entered the house.

--------------

As Superman Clark knew he had patience in spades, but for some reason the three kids his parents had brought in managed to push his buttons in ways no one had before.

Ma said that it was just what younger siblings did but Clark had gone over thirty years as an only child. Pa thought it was hilarious.

Now Clark didn't hate them; he actually thought they were amazing kids who'd clearly been through it. He'd been able to connect with them over being away from their planet. He made sure to make time for each of them, flying and stargazing with Danny, playing whatever new video game Tucker had discovered or listening to his latest discoveries, working in the fields and finding new vegan recipes with Sam.

However laying in the cornfield being slowly smothered, it was hard to recall any affection held. He knew it was on purpose too because he could hear Sam cackling in the distance. Why she felt the need to attack him with corn he didn't know. It was another prank in the long series they'd started after Clark's sixth visit.

Danny said they were trying to give him the authentic experience before proceeding to 'not touch him' for an hour straight (And despite what Ma said Clark knows he was using his intangibility).

Tucker was a bit less obtrusive with his pranks, choosing to change Clark's ring tone and phone background after every visit. Clark had learned the hard way to make sure it was changed after his phone blared City Girls in the middle of an interview.

He'd thought Sam was the only one refraining but clearly she'd been waiting for him to drop his guard.

At least they were comfortable.

#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #Not sure where this is going #im open to suggestions or prompts for this AU #DPDCCropCircles

[honeygrahambitch]

Part 1

One of Will's dogs gives birth to two puppies and he is trying to find owners for them and Hannibal is such a simp that he offers to take one. He is trying to show Will that he is open to take things to the next level and how else to prove that if not by taking care of a puppy? Will is really happy but at the same time super skeptical cause he knows that Hannibal is a hygiene freak when it comes to his kitchen and expensive furniture.

However Hannibal seems to be so determined that Will dares to suggest to take both puppies so they don't feel lonely. One of his eyes is twitching violently but he accepts cause Will himself was looking at him like a puppy. Saying "no" to those big blue eyes would be a sin bigger than his crimes.

He ends up naming them Gnocchi and Tortellini and he has to admit to himself that they are cute to some extent. Besides, Will promised to visit him a lot to help and that is also great cause they end up having dinner or lunch together almost every day.

The fairy tale ends one day when one of the pups goes missing...

#lmao #snippet #not sure where this is going #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #hannibal series

[mrlimesapper]

lol so, I had the urge a few days ago to make a bit of a challenge seeing what sort of character/creature designs I could come up with for a traffic cone.

I've been thinking about Traffic Cone Wizard since then. Tonight I'm starting to think about a team of "road warriors". Just... not the Mad Max kind xD Well maybe slightly Mad Max. But this is a bit more literal.

#lime's art stuff #lime's oc's #doodles #drawing #art #character design #character concept #traffic cone #traffic cone warrior #road warrior #traffic cone wizard #not sure where this is going

[yeehawpim]

The Bride And Her Flowers

Once upon a time, there was a lady. 

Unfortunately, as ladies were often obligated to at the time, this one was told she must marry. The husband-to-be was an oil baron far in the north, who her father had business dealings with. The lady did not want to leave her friend for a stranger and a strange land, but her father wouldn’t concede to her pleas.

“It’s sad,” he told her, “but we are a failing house and I no longer have the means to provide you comfort. The baron is kind and sympathetic, and he will make sure you live in safety.”

His voice regretful but firm, her father held her hands until she pulled from his grasp in disappointment. 

“I see no joy in marriage,” the lady whispered, just as firm.

“Perhaps not today, and perhaps not on your marriage day, but one day you may love him. Please do this thing and be safe, for you may find your happiness still in the rest of your years.”

She looked upon her father’s beseeching face and knew at once that she could not explain that she was not capable of this kind of love, and that its expectation would suffocate her yet. He’d loved his wife terribly when she was alive, and would not be able to comprehend an ideal life without courtship.

So the lady stared down her nose and agreed.

The sun lowered as her social duties ended, and she left to find the gardener. Her father hadn’t been lying about their worsening standing, sections of servants had disappeared along with his ability to pay them and the groundskeepers were among the departed. Now, the dandelions and morning glory crept between roses in a slow invasion.

It was there the gardener lived, her skin the deep dark of ivy leaves and words soft as clover fuzz. Behind a shed where the groundsmen had kept their tools, the lady reached a delicate arm into the darkness of a hollow tree and pulled from it her dearest friend.

Together they sat in the warmth of the setting sun and the lady spoke of her impending marriage. The overgrown topiary surrounding them cast shadows on their faces, and the gardener’s eyes winked like two oily coins in the sun. She listened to the lady’s dilemma with stillness. Only when it was finished did she speak with a voice like wind through the trees.

“I cannot follow you to this new home in the north, the land is all stone and snow with no warmth for flowers. But you are brave and clever, and I know you will find a way out of loneliness.”

Under the red light of sunset, the gardener took the lady’s hands in hers and squeezed in an imitation of human reassurance. Her mouth smiled in rows of thin, neat teeth, and her friend felt her heart warm at the effort made.

From the ankle-high grass they sat on, the gardener reached down and plucked two gifts from the obediently parted earth. With ritualistic care she presented them in two splayed palms, fingers opening like spider’s legs.

“I give this freely for your safety.” 

In her left hand, a hemlock root.

“I give this freely for your joy.”

In her right hand, a sprig of rosehips.

The gifts are pressed into the lady’s open hands and she receives them with polite reverence. Still, she can’t keep a smile from her own mouth. When the items are carefully pocketed, the lady holds out her own fist. The tilt of her eyes is all at once merry and casual as only humans can be, and when she says the words they are half a tease.

“I give this freely for your joy too, and to remember me when I am gone.”

Into the gardener’s waiting hand drops a golden bracelet, still warm from the lady’s wrist. When she smiled a thin-toothed smile it was wider than any human’s.

That night the lady slept with her gifts under her pillow and dreamed of the corners of her father’s gardens, where groundskeepers gave the weeds leniency and ignored the old hollowed tree. Long dead and crawling with moss and ants, it was just the right size for a young girl.

When the tutors came searching, they stared straight at her through the gaps and their eyes glazed until they left again. Together in the hidden dimness, she and the gardener giggled.

Autumn, and the girl hides biscuits in her pockets for a gift fairly stolen. Winter, and the gardener presents a small hibernating animal for a gift fairly killed. Spring, and they weave crowns from wild daisies and speak of the silly rules they must live by. 

Along with tutors and a loving father that nevertheless expects grace and compliance, she saw the way dew sparkles on spiderwebs and how a hare can fall in a moment to claws. 

“Etiquette and embroidery are not all the world is,” her friend’s voice whispered.

“Play this human game, but never let it make you small.”

She takes in the lessons of propriety and is silent the way a lady must be, but with the gardener, she finds her voice amongst an equal. The girl grows into a lady like a caterpillar into a butterfly, isolated and visceral. 

When she wakes, it's summer again and she is ready.

Rushed into a carriage with farewells and a promise to write, a long and uneventful ride stretches out in front of her. The wheels rattle underneath for hours turned into days. Outside, forests recede into mountain paths and breaths begin to cloud in thick clouds, there and gone in a moment.

Tucked carefully into her cloak, the outline of her gifts were the only reassurance she took as they drew near. Even with the gardener’s words in the back of her mind the possibility of a cruel husband is something all ladies know well.

It was with this thought that she arrived at her new husband’s grounds, alone as the hired attendees collected their contracts and left. She did not meet him until a day later, when he returned from a hunt with the corpse of a deer draped across his horse and the scent of gunpowder following his steps. His coat was red, and she wondered if any of it was blood, if it was a fair kill. 

When he descends from his horse she notices there is discomfort when he looks up at her— not the kind her tutors insist will be disapproval when men inevitably see she is taller than most of them, but the kind unused to formality. When he speaks she is struck with how young he is.

“I see we shall be married on the morrow.”

It sounded half a question.

“Yes, we shall.”

In the silence that followed the lady was content to watch the baron squirm. If she was to suffer the insult of being an owned thing, she would not comfort her would-be master. When he said nothing more, she turned with a sweep of her gown and left for the hallways of his manor to be out of the cold.

Unbeknownst to the lady, with her three words the man was hopelessly, terribly in love. He’d grown in a similar fashion to her in a way, with expectations, wealth, and entitlement that culminated in years of loneliness. He could not see this in himself but it is where the love was born, sprouting from the idea of a wife that he may rely on.

At dinner, they sat at each end of a long table. The orange glow of candlelight obscured his red face and stolen glances, but there was nothing to hide behind when he begins to speak.

“Your father insisted the wedding take place as quickly as possible, I’ve had the arrangements made before you arrived. My servants can show you around everything.”

When she says nothing, he continued haltingly, “I’m sure that no dress could match your beauty.”

No response comes. In the candlelight and darkened surroundings he is spared her expression of dread. There is no telling if that would have been enough to make a difference, but when she requested to speak of something else the plea was ignored. So quiet you could almost miss it, an assumption of shyness instead of unease was made.

Without the option of making her discomfort clear, the lady suffered increasingly clumsy comments about her appearance in silence. There was nothing else he knew about her. When they eventually ran out, they suffered silence.

It wasn’t until the hall started to quieten as dinner came to an end that she remembered what came next. All of a sudden the marriage bed loomed.

#not sure where this is going #from a google docs of unfinished stuff #scraps #my writing #i wanted to write aromantic fairytale #needed queerplatonic content and decided to make my own

[thewitchofstjohns]

You know our favorite TV shows and movies, the ones we build passionate fandoms and OTPs around?

We see what we want to see. We hear what we want to hear. We infer what we want to infer.

In the end, none of it means jack shit.

😐🤷🏼‍♀️

#becoming disillusioned #not sure where this is going #meh

[tockamybeloved]

WIP for Cortez

Scratching at the solid rocks did no good. No true foothold, no even ledge to secure strong fingers. 

Now he regretted not following his older brother the times the boys would escape their father’s domineering eye and their mother’s worrying hold, venturing beyond the roman canals to hills similar to the one now directly before his face. 

Cortez would take challenges - to a point. Crossing the rushing winter river, hoisting himself up a tree. But sometimes he would pause, mind calculating risk almost faster than he could stop his body. Better to have a brother shouting insults than to explain to a crying mother why he arrived home with a broken limb. That sort of injury is harder to conceal. Mud and bruises and rips in clothes were all easily mendable. 

And a fight between the boys in town was expected. That he’d not shy away from. Once engaged with fists tight, it was over quickly. Agitation became exhilaration. Then certain glorification when upon his brother’s shoulders he was declared victor and paraded down the street.

Only to arrive home and be both scolded for his bravado and congratulated for his resilience. How to possess both humility and respect would take years to master. 

But damn. This expedition would find the one near impossible to scale promontory to declare its arrival.

The paths he traversed in Córdoba were centuries old even if bare of stone pavement. Steep, yes but nothing comparable to this near vertical cliff even the plants not dare take foothold in. 

“Down here!” Someone shouted beside him. 

A thick rope swished by, and he grabbed for it, gave a sharp tug, and without care to whom above might be holding the other end leaned slightly putting his weight on the line. 

One foot in front of the other. Closely he examined the movements of the men to either side. One seemed halfway up the face already. Almost like he was an expert at scaling walls. But for nefarious reasons. Pleasure-seeking reasons. Get out quick or be shot by an angry father reasons. 

“Up you go!” The brisk order from above sounded. 

It was more by force of strength in arms that he climbed to the top, feet merely there to keep from sliding backward rather than used to walk as the others had. Glad to know if I lose my legs I can still be upright. 

A familiar hand stretched out the last foot from the clifftop. “Give me your hand.” 

“Thanks.”

“No thanks about it. Near the last man I think.”

Cortez turned behind to see before hoisting himself to the top. Fuck. He was near the last man. Six followed. Disgraceful performance for a soldier pursuing the idea that he earned rank. And he had. Conceded it wasn’t his fault the world order made sure only those with God-given authority lead indiscriminately weaker minds.  

Horrible process. Gathering letters of recommendation, securing birth rights and hundreds-year-old family documents to sit like a man already condemned for an unknown crime in front of both Church authority and the Admiralty, a vocation dependent on the credibility of other lives previously led, other persons' judgment of him. 

Prided the lineage but never possessed soft hands. Too busy riding. Running. Pretending to dig trenches so as a child he could sneak into the alcazar gardens. 

Cortez brushed the dirt from those hands. 

“Next time use your legs. See,” and Marcos began to bend awkwardly at the knees looking much like a blue heron they first took sight of three days ago. 

“I don’t intend on making this a habit,” Cortez said.  

“No one does! But we go where commanded, and this.” Marcos swallowed with a grimace before continuing, motioning down only with a hand and keeping eyes on the horizon. Looking to the beach below was dangerous, dizzying. “Right place to put a fortress.” 

“Capitán general will have us crawl that too.” 

“No no. Blast the walls clean out from under that ugly flag first. Then climb over rubble.” Marcos gave a hard pat to Cortez’s back and smiled. “Much easier.” 

Cortez drew a winded huff and smiled in return.

--

The smell of burning meat, charcoaled and savory, wafted slowly under his nose. Cortez lay on his back lazily blinking eyes open to the stars. And there were so many of them. Hazy, blurry. 

Initially the idea struck sharp. 

Clear vision. He’d not tolerate wire pinched across the bridge of his nose. Blindness! That would put a stop to his endeavor. Boarded up and locked in a stuffy room were the men who no longer saw sharply. No adventures for them anymore. Glass on, sails gone, the phrase warned. Plus he once tried to wear those infernal spectacles - his father’s precisely. Thought it might be the key to helping him learn to read faster. Nada. Crossed his eyes and made his stomach turn. 

He eventually caught on with letters, though not as fast as numbers. Those he tossed in his head so quickly it intimidated. Languages and letters took an infernal amount of time to master. Neat and precise writing came from those hours, especially when signing his name. For that he practiced until the flourish was deemed almost uncopiable. Sometimes by his own hand. Fortunately now in possession of his father’s seal made certain dealings easier. 

But the sky. Still blurred, still a soft edge of white following the curve of the moon. 

Cortez looked skyward and remembered what the doctor said the previous day. 

‘Just the humidity,’ the man explained to the patient seated low to the ground on a three-legged stool in the medical officer’s tent. 

‘You see alright in the daytime?’ He asked, having abruptly pulled Cortez’s right eyelids apart, waving a magnifying glass quickly to and fro over the organ. 

Hot breath brushed across his pried open eye and face. Cortez winced. He could almost taste the man’s breath - a mix of spearmint and boiled eggs. 

‘Yes.’

The doctor removed his thick fingers and stepped back shaking a cloth from the front pocket of the uniform to wipe the glass in short circular motions thoroughly pleased with the examination. ‘Then don’t worry about it. Light plays all sorts of havoc to new eyes out here. You’ll get used to it. Got patients who believe they’ve seen miraculous visions when it’s only a trick. A refraction in the clouds.’

‘Mirages.’ The word left Cortez’s mouth quietly. 

The doctor shrugged, giving an apathetic once over to his patient and casually murmured, ‘Sometimes.’ 

Then stepping confidently beyond the canvas door he left Cortez in a cluttered field office with medical utensils piled neatly on the desk. Strung along the walls from wooden clips hung various meticulous ink sketches of human anatomy.  

Cortez would be on the lookout for mirages. 

As for the earlier cliff. Once again he brought hands up between the fire light and night sky, a halo of orange wrapping around fingers. Ropes left calluses on softer noble hands. Sharp rocks scraped open bare skin. 

And rocks were never mirages.

#my wip #Cortez DMTNT #not sure where this is going #made myself sad with the last line #can't believe I'm writing again #might make this entirely separate from fandom #original work and OC

[jarkinesbrainstew]

I have, on multiple occasions been the most responsible person in a group. I am horrible with responsibility. I have been in charge of 2 different boy scout patrols multiple times each, even though I have only been patrol leader once. Recently, I was in charge of ~20 children ranging from 6 to 13 for a week with next to no help, and even less sleep. It sucked, but was a lot of fun.

#not sure where this is going #i just wanted to ramble

[probablyhuntersmom]

The healing and lasting love of a mom

#for Mother's Day 2023 #camila noceda #hunter noceda #toh hunter #older hunter #toh waffles #the owl house #toh edits #loz's edits #loz's art #he's her lil' wolf cub forever #in the last pic he's fetching her to go for dinner at Dell and Gwen's house #like listen: she would've played a huge role in his recovery. after the Collector Palace scene he would've sunk into the darkest depression #in the weeks and many months to follow #she'd check his therapy progress. accompany him to therapy at times and fetch him from therapy too #he needed her warmth and guiding light as foundational building blocks. to be who he was after the timeskip #they'd both always remember that night where he drowned and she pulled him out of the water #she'd make sure he had the best possible Grom Night #and he'd be eternally grateful. they'd also work together throughout the years to follow since her expertise and his can overlap nicely #he keeps visiting the Human Realm now and then. to have movie nights..dinners..road trips etc with her and Luz and Vee #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #8k #9k #10k #15k #20k

[petitelappin]

I want her to scoop him up so much. I think they would both enjoy it. Sweep the man off his feet, as they say!

#my art #digital art #bg3 #wyllach #wyll ravengard #karlach cliffgate #baldurs gate 3 #fan art #i still havent reached the point in the game where they can touch yet but once they can its over for everyone #the amount of times in camp im just like. we gotta go to karlach and remind her i/wyll want to kiss her #im sure the other companions must be sick of it #is this caption worded weirdly? its 4:30 and i havent slept bc theres been weird things happening loudly outside all night

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are here!!!

#dungeon meshi #maizuru #inutade #izutsumi #benichidori #hien #Was this the Kabru episode that really shows off how perceptive and fascinated by humans to be a foil to Laios"s monster obsession? #Sure was. Was the funny comic I made not yet quite relevant for where the anime is currently at? SURE WAS. #Funny comic will be next week. This week is for THE GIRLS!!! #Tade is adorable and a lot of fun to draw. I really love her friendship with Izutsumi. #speaking of...IZUTSUMI IS FINALLY HERE! #Initially I wasn't going to draw Beni and Hien but I would hate to let the few fans they have. #So here's some Beni and Hien. For all five of you Beni and Hein fans. #Makeup girls are wild because they'll be like 'I'm getting ready to go out!' and then take 60-90 min in front of the mirror. #I adore the bonus comics where Ryoto Kui does the step by steps of how characters do their makeup and hair. #I personally know very little about those things so it's cool to see how thought out it all is.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

“Psst! Old Geezer!”

“The fuck did you just call me–!” Dick Grayson was a lot of things–cop, detective, vigilante, handsome beyond mortal comprehension–but he wasn’t old! Twenty-three was not old! When he got his hands on that brat– “Oh, it’s you. You need to knock it off, kid.”

The kid in question had become something of a legend to the Central Bloodhaven Police Department. Detective O’Mallery had dubbed the kid “Stalky,” but Dick thought Lurky was a more accurate name; the kid lurked outside murder scenes, often showing up before the press… and sometimes, before the cops. Lurky was a short kid, easily half Dick’s height, and pale. He practically glowed, lighting up the alley Dick was guarding. He wore a black overcoat that swamped his tiny body, with the sleeves and hem cut to fit the child’s frame and a stiff gothic collar that reached his ears. Lurky’s black hair and blue eyes uncomfortably reminded Dick of—

“Nah, i don’t think i will,” the kid dismissed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “‘Sides, you can’t do anything to stop me.”

“I can arrest you,” Dick said, completely serious. “You’re interfering with a crime scene, again. I’d be well within my rights to do so.” The kid looked unimpressed. 

“Okay, boomer.”

Dick resisted the urge to murder a child. Barely. 

“Besides,” Lurky continued, “I just wanted to do my civic duty and inform you of the bloody knife three alleys over. Pretty sure it could help solve the crime scene there.” He gestured towards the apartment building behind Dick. “Andrew Grant-Williams, age 36, apartment 214. Right?”

“How the hell did you know that?”

“What, that thing with the knife? I looked for it, obviously.”

“No, about the suspect!” Dick glared at Lurky. “There’s no way you could have pinpointed who in the apartment died; did you steal a police radio!?” If he did, then Dick would actually have to arrest the kid. 

“No, I didn’t steal a police radio. Yet.” Dick tried really hard to ignore that last part. He’d done far worse things as Robin, after all. “His wife told me.”

Andrew Grant’s wife, Patrisa, died four years ago in a mugging gone wrong. Before Dick could question Lurky further, Dick blinked and Lurky vanished just like Batman. 

Even worse? Dick bothered checking the dumpster three alleys over and found, underneath a bag of kitchen scraps, a hunting knife, still bloody. 

#constantine jr au #dick grayson v parenthood #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp crossover #dc crossover #c: danny fenton #c: dick grayson #de aged danny #not sure where to go from here but i have a few ideas #this is a teaser for when I publish on friday

[likeprongstostars]

guys i promise i have other ideas i just go back to drawing domestic jegulus at every minor inconvenience

#me having 10 started wips #and my brain just goes #LISTEN... HEAR ME OUT... WHAT IF... BARE WITH ME NOW... we draw jegulus sleeping together for the 285th time #i think i keep drawing sleeping ppl bc i cant sleep myself #youve heard of living through someone else now get ready for sleeping through someone else #googling “insomnia symptoms” every 3 days just to make sure #anyways where was i going with this... #marauders era #marauders fanart #regulus black #james potter #regulus black fanart #jegulus #james potter fanart #jegulus fanart #my art

[egophiliac]

another one that I'm not super happy with, but continuing to mess with it isn't going to help! so here he is! 🦇 there was a lot I was trying to get across in this one, so uhhhhh hopefully it reads.

we're almost out of unique magics now...just Ace (and maybe Grim?) left!

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #unique magic posters #drawing lilia slightly more on-model than i usually do feels so wrong #i just want to draw the tallest spikes #lilia: (writing down his height) 5'6“...5'2” in a hat #(actually i'm pretty sure he would just write 'fun-size' but i digress) #anyway lilia. hey lilia. your magic is not cradle-specific so WHY is it called that #did it come in like 'so in like 500-ish years we're going to have a significant moment with a cradle. just trust me bro.' #'in the meantime enjoy having the weirdest magic name ever' #probably came in useful for raising kids though #don't put that in your mouth don't you know where it's BEEN #because i do #(long stare off into middle distance) i know where it's been

[rogerrrroger]

What would "Emesis Red" imply?

Complete opposite

#honestly not sure where I was going with this #it was either worse or better #so I went better #but I would love to see like a hellscape red fire one #art #ask #tf2 #roger's art #tf2 fanart #fanart #team fortress two #team fortress 2 #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 soldier #emesis blue #tf2 emesis blue #emesis blue fanart

[kelokez]

the light of my life. the sunshine of my lifetime.

#February #art #for someone who loves cats as much as i do i sure can’t fuckin draw them well #obey me #i probably shouldn’t just tag his name? how do i go about this #obey me Satan #there we go #a tag as well as a command #Satan ppl where u at #obey me fanart

[zeemczed-blog]

Orators, Pt. 1/???

"Your Karkat is weak." He was silent for several seconds as I waited for more. He shuffled through the pages, his expression betraying nothing. I hated that about him. Finally, he handed the full sheaf back to me. "Your Karkat is weak, and your John is insipid. The structure is good, but the characters can't bear the weight of the plot."

"They bear it through in the end."

"Yes, but not as they should. Too much reliance on deus ex machina. They thud and blunder to victory, not coming through as the flawed-yet-radiant entities they are." He raised his hand as he did when he was in the forum - oh, here the fuck we went, he was in Orator Mode. And still emoting as much as a godsdamned brick. "Remember, they are Us, but Beyond. To be a Human is to be Orc beyond Orc. To be a Troll is to be Elf beyond Elf. They are our fears, our foibles, and our strengths magnified to the position of the Gods that they are. They are our archetypes for a reason, novice."

"Aye, aye." I rubbed my eyes slowly.

"You have buried yourself in manuscript too long. Take six days away from it to let your mind relax." He clapped me on the shoulder twice. "Go. Indulge your passions, set your head to other things." He paused. "Have some fuckin' Rock `n Rye." I snorted. That was the most informal I'd ever heard him get. I bowed.

"Ave." And with that, I left. No reason to dawdle. A sophist like him had other students waiting.

I didn't have a car (or any other three-to-four wheeled device) waiting. I walked. Better to feel the pulse of the polis. I captchalogued the manuscript, thinking the better of just tossing it in the trash. Yes, I'd do that when I got home, but I didn't want anyone to steal the plot I'd come up with. Not until it was published and on the stage.

As I passed the Temple of the Bastard, I did decide that - yes - I needed to heed at least that one bit of advice. There was a Faygo machine there, and a few radiates later, I had my can of vaguely cherry-vanilla flavored delight. I drank, and listened.

Two drunks, arguing over politics. Nothing vital. Nothing really intelligible, given that one was convinced that Timarius was still in the Synod. A young mother telling her child that the gods didn't really exist, that they were just stories. A boxer discussing his trade with a young fan. Two children discussing the spirituality inherent in coding.

Life was messy. Life was complicated.

Life was created by the gods in their image.

He had to be wrong about it. He just had to.

#Homestuck #AU #Post-canon #Not epilogue compliant #Not Homestuck^2 compliant #Not sure where this is going #But sibkin #It's fuckin' going