#...vaguely

[seashoreships]

Manny "No Game" Vargas

[ink-the-artist]

pet portrait

[feenmies]

birthday

[nishitanis-left-nut]

march me where did you go

[chirp-featherfowl]

the horrors, jimmy solidarity, and other vaguely homosexual things that plague martyn inthelittlewood on a daily basis

Martyn does not startle awake so much as he flops unceremoniously out of bed, and he briefly thinks about drowning in the nearby water as Scott looks down at him with equal parts worry and amusement.

Our will be done, Martyn thinks, with a vile taste in his mouth, and it’s just like them, he supposes, with the rhyming and almost-accurate duometer; you’d think being part of an omnipotent monolith would give you some knowledge on basic poetry. (Missing syllabl--without the e, shorthand being an excuse for illiteracy, a foolhardy bit by an ostentatiously placed portal plopped nonchalantly--)

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, head tilted. "You were muttering. In your sleep."

(KILL HIM. KILL HIM. KILL HIM. TAKE YOUR TIME BACK. KILL HIM. YOUR WELL DESERVED TIME. KILL HIM.)

“Uhhh. Hm,” Martyn replies, intelligently.

Being the Boogeyman, or, alternatively, being under the influence of the Watchers, wasn’t really a magic possession (KILL HIM) brain controlling thing, but what does he know? Two interactions with the Listeners; the Watchers scrap the whole world.

Maybe they got bored.

(KILL HIM.)

“Just fine. Had a nightmare, fell off a cliff. You know,” he waves his hand, airily. Scott is still standing over him, eating an apple, blandly, and Martyn is woefully underprepared for the indignant re-realization that Scott is incredibly hot (KILL. HIM.), which is unfitting and seems kind of like a gut punch compared to the awfully unromantic murderous yelling that is being wormed into his brain.

“It’s usually me who’s doing the falling off of things,” Jimmy says.

Martyn blinks. “Sorry, what,” he replies, to Jimmy, who is quipping as if he is not both unnoticed by Scott and not dressed like a ten year old’s Halloween impression of a teenager’s idea of cool.

“I asked if you needed help getting up.”

Martyn lurches, just a little bit, and Scott jerkily hovers over him, apple left to the whims of the hardwood floor.

Jimmy picks up the apple. “Hey, was this always so--” he gestures, in the grandiose Jimmy way of his, “--purple?”

It is very purple.

Jimmy is being rather blithe, especially considering Martyn’s not-paranoid, not-horrified, not-panicking state still on the ground. Everything seems drawn and staticky; a sort of spiral curls itself neatly behind Jimmy, demurely--maybe--polite, reserved, rhyming still but a great deal better than those Watchers, no bedrock, just a circle in the center with half finished loop--

“Looks a little bit like an ear, maybe?” Jimmy says, with an apple stuffed into his mouth.

Scott is still holding out his hand, ever the hero.

“Help would be great, yeah,” Martyn answers, weakly.

[hopeisour4letteredword]

I bet that the Klapollo Kid will never heard about uncle Kristoph, right? But they'll have Trucy as aunt and that's awesome, right?

auntie trucy is gonna be sooo cool as soon as baby learns some object permanence

also, depending on how canon compliant you're feeling, uncle clay!!

but yeah uhhhh i think it'll be ~*a while*~ until teddy hears about uncle kristoph and the nitty gritty details of how his daddies met

[webgeekist]

I don’t have a title for this one. I just imagine this being something Korra sees mid-fight and then...idk. Apocalypse, probably. How can she even think with those eyes around?