Clockwork sneezed.
Then he paused. He never sneezes. He’s a ghost; ghosts don’t get sick. Not since he locked up the last Ghost Virus in his vaults. Why did he sneeze?
He sneezed again. Oh no, was that a headache coming on? His eyes felt tired and his skin was itchy. Was that a tickle in his throat?? Were those spots on his arm?? Shit, time to go check on his vaults to make sure nothing escaped. All hell would break loose if there was a ghost epidemic again.
Clockwork turns to leave the room, and in his haste, his scepter taps the very edge of a tall and thin grandfather clock he’d just been working on. The clock was made from a red-stained cottonwood he’d procured from the heart of Kansas many years ago, and it was gilded in delicate gold that shone with age and looked well-loved. Despite its height, the clock was a strong one, and didn’t tip over when the Ghost of Time bumped it.
It did, however, shift a few of the loose cogwheels inside. A few of them dropped out of the clock, and one even fell to the floor and rolled away. The ones that stayed inside rattled ominously for a moment before settling into their new spots. The clock kept ticking, but the time was off now. It skipped a few seconds, just enough for a listener to notice, before suddenly reversing the hour and minute hands.
Too bad there was nobody nearby to pay attention to the now-broken clock.
—
Danny was a strange boy. He knew that. Everyone in Amity knew that. Even his mentor, Clockwork, called him strange every once in a while. He liked being strange. It was fun being unpredictable. Having a Time Medallion stuck in his chest certainly helped in his shenanigans, since it meant he was technically separate from the time streams. He had pulled off more than one prank on his pseudo-grandfather by using this to his advantage.
Sometimes, however, Danny’s freedom from the time stream caused him more trouble than he thought it was worth. Like right now, for example.
He was simply at home, battling dinner with his sister while his parents were making a batch of fudge. Suddenly, Danny felt the time stream shift and writhe in a way he’d never felt before. He shivered and sneezed, thinking nothing of it. Clockwork made tiny adjustments all the time, there was nothing to worry about.
Except there was. When he opened his eyes, there was now a baby in his house.
One minute it was just him and Jazz at the table, the next, a baby in a red high chair was giggling and clapping along with Jazz as she tried to cut up the double-dead hotdogs into smaller bits for the child to eat.
The baby wasn’t a ghost, Danny knew. But when he looked around, evidence of a baby living in the Fenton house laid everywhere. The rocking chair in the living room now had a side table with two empty bottles on it. Pictures hanging in the hall had been changed to include the child. Toys were scattered around every corner, just waiting to be stepped on. Neither Jazz nor his parents had blinked at the sudden change.
In fact, Danny discovered, everyone in Amity Park seemed to think that this baby had always been with them. Even his best friends and rogues didn’t bat an eye! Danny was now a middle child, while everything else stayed the same.
But Danny knew. He knew something was wrong. This baby didn’t belong here.
He had to talk to Clockwork. He had to find out who this child was.
The child named Clark K. Fenton.
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See, in the second episode of s4 we see that the panic room actually looks sort of cozy. It's fortified like crazy and whatever, but inside there's beds, there's a couch, there's a desk and books and pictures!! So my question is - why did they take all this stuff out when they threw Sam in there?? I mean were they scared he could use something in there as a weapon?? He was already locked in a steel metal box what was he going to be able to do - even with his powers? Did Dean call Bobby up and was like alright Sam is sucking demon blood we need to lock him up - make sure it's as uncomfortable as possible tho. Lets go to the extra effort of taking everything of comfort out of there so this detox is as uncomfortable as possible. Like sure, take dangerous stuff out of there but they couldn't have given him a book or something? Why did he have to sit there with nothing to do but focus on his horrific withdrawal symptoms?
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i've been seeing rumors that apparently discord filehosting will no longer be functional by the end of the year (no source for it yet from discord itself but there are a lot of people discussing it here and on reddit). this means if you're lazy like me and use discord to host the images you use in your games, like so:
it will no longer work. the image still exists, but that link doesn't, and it won't show in my sidebar. this link in the code is from june/july of this year, and here is a different discord link that i just generated today, and you can see the difference with these new query parameters, is, ex, & hm:
i'm not sure if that link in my code will expire in the same way these new links will, since obviously my old link does not have these parameters, but i figure it's better to be safe than sorry. so this is me telling you to get an account on an actual filehosting website like mediafire (that's where im going) or dropbox, etc
even if this does end up just being a rumor/not set in stone, it's a good excuse to move your images onto an actual hosting site.
obviously you may also include your images in the .zip file that you upload onto itch.io, so this may be completely irrelevant for some of you, but i tend not to do that because...? i like to make things difficult for myself.
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thinking about college-era mattkey when nobody can tell if they're actually dating, and asking feels too direct but matt almost never goes anywhere without mike and mike starts every story with matt's name and sometimes jam breaks into their apartment in the afternoons so they can crash before theater rehersals and finds them napping under a shared blanket on the couch or in matt's bed, so tangled together as to be almost indistinguishable and their fridge is a myriad of the life they've spent together with polaroids and blurry printed-out phone screenshots and movie tickets and handwritten notes in matt's messy scrawl and when matt's hair gets long, he lets mike braid it even if mike still isn't very good.
and when anne makes a joke about them acting like a married couple they share a look and mike says something about tax benefits and matt doesn't play guitar for anyone except mike and mike never goes to their favorite coffee shop without buying matt a drink too, and once they live off-campus they adopt a cat and say they're her dads, and matt's her favorite even if mike is usually the one to feed her in the evenings and they take family pictures for the holidays to send to all their friends and professors, from the walters family, and they visit each other at work when their schedules are different because they live in one another's pockets and eight hours apart feels like a lifetime and they're not even sure if this is what dating is, if they're boyfriends or something else, but they're both so flighty they'd rather keep their domesticity without having the conversation they both think about far too often.
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you feel better now sam?
"..."
She...doesn't feel better, really. She stopped the heavy crying, sure, but she hasn't fully calmed down. It might take her some time...no one can blame her: personal jabs at her regarding her familial issues just...triggered something horrible in her, and she still feels very hurt. Now she's just tired...she needs the rest.
"...she's been crying for two hours, Alastor: we can't even calm her down."
"..."
"Alastor? Hon?"
"...I..."
...the smile on his face dropped the moment Sam closed her eyes, and he wiped her tears.
He had to stay strong for his little girl...his little girl. He never would've thought he would use those three words when speaking about her. Yet he simply did so, and it made him all the more soft. She was sweet, quiet, and had bursts of energy: he admired that. She was a good dancer, a singer, and loved anything about the Roaring Twenties: but she clung to him and trusted him, and that's what drew him to her.
This was his adoptive daughter now...his and DT's. He had to show her love, and not break promises. She didn't have to worry about him and DT drinking...which was good.
He was swarmed in his thoughts, he was tuning them out unintentionally. He was focused on getting Sam to calm down, but the more she cried, the more his heart shattered.
"...I failed her."
The tears said it all: literal. Tears. He cared for her more than he let on, and it was making him sentimental...in the best ways, however.
"You didn't fail her, hon."
"I did. I should've been there when that wretched anon shattered her with their commentary. I should've been there to comfort her sooner...but I wasn't."
"That doesn't mean you failed her. You found out when you could, and what matters is that she's safe in your arms. That she calms down."
"...but what if she doesn't...?"
"...you're going to hate this idea."
"How so...?"
"If she doesn't calm down in the next twenty minutes, we...we take her to Black Hat."
"...Black Hat."
There's fear and nervousness in his voice now. They tried to ease their husband by gently placing their hand on his leg.
"If she doesn't calm down. If she does, then disregard. I mean...everyone has already tried getting her to calm down, or talk...Mordecai hugged her for Christ's sake, and that didn't work! Ghirahim tried calming her by taking her hair down, but also nothing! Another person she confides in is Black Hat. He'll surely be able to calm her."
"...if you say so, my love."
"We'll get her through this...trust me."
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