#timetear

[timetear]

the cosmic horror is incomprehensible to you! i can visualize and handle it just fine! we're dating.  ///  @lichestr & @timetear​ writing two original characters.

[frauddity]

@timetear​​, for howie, a little something for which you did not ask.

         ‘ how, ’ jay says, letting its conversational purpose—a ‘how’ as in ‘how’d you get in here’ or ‘how’ as in their name—remain a mystery until he’s certain he’s being looked at, not through. (it’s the latter, howie. he’s calling for you. he knows ‘how’ you’re standing here because he never locks the shop when he naps in the back of it.)

         ‘ you look cold. ’ knowing what age-bracket-in?appropriate noises he’ll make if he tries to sit up, jay chooses instead to wiggle for the illusion of giving howie space on the couch. ‘ come lay on top of me and make weird observations. you’ll thaw faster. ’

[metuere-now-exspiritment]

@timetear // charles 

“There’s people on Instagram nagging me, and it’s all your fault.”

Sprawled on a couch nicer than everything in her own apartment combined, she’s got her legs in his lap and her phone waving every which way. 

“All your friends. All you social media influensters.” Close enough. “You’ll all be the death of me, darling.”

[lichestr]

@timetear​. 

     she sits. it sits. the kitchen table yawns between them with as much distance as a desert. she scrubs her hands against her face, almost entirely too uncaffeinated to process anything. finally, tiredly, ‘ did you send another mailman to hell? ’ 

[ssoliv]

[bugdown]

chell kiss wheatley!!!!

hap new! / @timetear. 

     chell is new to this— this … well, everything, really. it’s hard to continue traditions she can’t remember. it’s hard to find the things she loves when she can’t recall ever loving them. she can’t comment on ketchup, she can’t comment on mustard. she’s never read a book with her after-eyes (after, because it isn’t like she knows what came before) and, unless she finds something written entirely in binary, she certainly can’t manage it now.

     but wheatley is easy.

     he shouldn’t be, either. not with all of the awful things they went through. sometimes her fault, sometimes his. but maybe that’s it. maybe that’s the trick: they did it all together.

     the earth is greener than she’d imagined. cleaner, too. colder. none of it is familiar to her. she sits huddled next to wheatley, expelled breath turned foggy and white in the winter air, seeking warmth at his side. he runs hotter than any human she’s met so far. something with the processors, she thinks, or the circuitry sparking inside of his chest. so, she sits as close as she can.

     they’re finally out. free, boundless soil to explore. anywhere in the world, anywhere they want. the idea of going alone didn’t occur to her. and if it had— who would she go to? who could do better?

     anyone, glados might say, still too sharp.

     chell doesn’t want better. she doesn’t want different. she wants wheatley. imperfect, impractical, and warm against her side.

     even when he chatters on and on. he fills her silence, fills her hand with his, and reads her as keenly as anyone else might read book. who else?

     she squeezes his hand, a call that slows his tongue to half-silence.

     ‘ am i going on again? ’ wheatley asks. ‘ you can stop me anytime, you know. really. any time. just — ’ he cuts himself off with a laugh, almost nervous. as it always is. just squeeze my hand, is what he was going to say- is something he has said many times before and will likely say many times after.

     they aren’t alone, not distantly, not really. there are people scattered all around them, paces away at least and meters at most. there’s a hush on them all, a warmth and a weight in the silence that’s finally caught her notice.

     she squeezes his hand again. and this time he looks at her.

     a new year, she says, extricating the one hand and telling him once she has both free. she doesn’t understand the significance, not fully, but she thinks she likes the idea. something about freedom.

     the crowd is no longer silent, a rush of cheers rolling over them in the final snapping of a clock’s hand. he looks away, off toward the noise.

     she goes for his cheek, but then he’s turning again to say something, gleaming eyes and excitement in the wake of something new, something bright— so whatever it was finds itself smothered under the press of her mouth on his.

     and if she could laugh, she could, but he cracks and does it for her— a good laugh, a full laugh, a laugh that suggests he doesn’t mind the way things landed, either.

     she thinks it’s a good enough compromise as any.

[abouttiimeadjacent]

#hi marty add another kooky old man mentor to your collection.

i love marty’s kooky old man mentor collection with my entire heart

[shatterdom]

@timetear liked

     “ — aaaanyway.” Hermann’s come and gone in a flurry of complaining and honestly, really, truthfully, deep down, being real here, Daniel is glad to see the back of him. He waits until the sound of his footsteps has faded before he turns back to Newt. “I have no idea what’s up with this thing.” He means the drift device he’s holding, kind of limply and at a distance, like it’s going to start spitting acid at him. It might. How is he to know. “And I could go to engineering but,” he makes a face, “I didn’t. You’re smart, you can fix it, right?”