So Married with Grubs. I know some hardy folks have been waiting for the conclusion of it all for a very long time, and Iâve honestly run out of excuses (beyond âmy collaborator is no longer in the Homestuck fandom and is too busy to try and collab on this anymoreâ and âreal life is the pitsâ). Do I still intend to finish it all? Yes. Yes I do. Will it take a long time? Yes. Yes it will.
I would just like to express my deepest appreciation for all of you who have read any of my Sherlockbound stuff and enjoyed it, especially those of you who let me know you enjoyed it! On my worst mental health days I go back and reread all the nice comments, itâs really something thatâs kept me going.
So, TL;DR: Married with Grubs will be finished if itâs the last thing I ever do. Yâall are awesome. I love you.
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I had an idea, using 1 song describe each of you homestuck fanchildren.
:D I have been sitting on this ask for so long, I hope that you like this list!
(For those of you who want to know wtf Iâm talking aboutâŚlook here and here, and donât judge me)
Also I disregarded the âone songâ rule bc thatâs silly, youâre silly, anon :P I wanted to include links, but this got so far away from me I donât have the energy. If you want me to go into detail about why I picked each songâŚidk, ask or something, Iâm just not gonna do it right now.
(OH HEY for bonus playlist about Seb and Jasper that will make you hate me as much as I do...here!)
Django: Honey Iâm Good, Andy Grammer (Bonus: Sexy and I Know It, LMFAO)
Dakota: Live Like You Were Dying, Tim Mcgraw (Bonus: ALL Toby Kieth tbh)
Aubrey: Iâm in Here, Sia (Bonus: Big Houses, Squalloscope)
Wednesday: Magia, Puella Magi Madoka Magica OST (Bonus: Ghostbusters, Fall Out Boy ft. Missy Elliot)
Dayvee: Battle Cry, Ludo (Bonus: Whatâs Going On, SLACKCiRCUS)
Gus: King and Lionheart, Of Mice and Men (Bonus: Control, Halsey)
Seb: Float On, Modest Mouse (Bonus: Heart Of Stone, Iko)
Jasper: Marry You, Bruno Mars (Bonus: Breathe, Ryan Star)
Des: Blow Me (One Last Kiss), P!nk
Sam: Ghosts That We Knew, Mumford and Sons
Dean: Send Me On My Way, Rusted Root
Casey: Tomorrow Will Be Kinder, The Secret Sisters (Bonus: I Would Walk 500 Miles, Kenny and the Scots)
Rodrey: Uncharted, Sara Bareilles
Angel: This is Gospel, Panic! at the Disco (Bonus: Video Games, Lana Del Rey)
Dale: Popular, Wicked soundtrack (Bonus: Wonât Say Iâm In Love, Hercules soundtrack)
Bennet: Photograph, Nickelback (Bonus: Cover Me Up, Jason Isbell)
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I was inspired by recent asks regarding the nature of Sherlockbound as a post-game AU. Written in the most pretentious of stream-of-consciousness character-hopping style. @splickedylit, I hope you see your contribution in here you wicked wonderful person.
It always begins and ends with a door, John thinks, and then wonders where the thought came from. Itâll pass from his mind soon enough, in the soft twilight hours, at the soft caress from his beautiful trollwife. But it takes months before John can hold his son and feel like itâs real. He stares at his hands sometimes, spacing out, lost in a daydream where a tornado feels like a feral cat eager to follow his directions, lost in a blue planet lit by the tiniest bugs. He hefts hammers like they should weigh more, mistimes his blows and smashes his thumb instead of the nail heâs aiming for. He takes the lead sometimes without thinking, issuing suggestions like commands, and his friends follow, equally without thinking. He heaves awake in the middle of the night crying for his dad, his dead dad, his dead dad that he only lost once, because losing him more than once would just be cruel. Surely the universe isnât that cruel. Surely not.
*
 Dave has always made claims to multiplicity of self, starting way back at twelve when his Emo Phase was kicking in and he made blog titles like âWelcome To My Twisted Mindâ unironically. (The Emo Phase lasted all of four months, suffering a swift and brutal death via Bro and Dirk.) By thirty-two heâs grown practiced at ignoring the jolt every time he holds Tereziâs hand, like there are hundreds of him that have held her hand like this before, thousands that didnât, billions and billions of Daves all experiencing and not experiencing this one moment. He feels the weight of them during odd momentsâstrolling a movie set, or hefting a longsword, or tapping the camera app on his phone. Moments and moments and moments ticking along where he does the action millions of times, and doesnât do it millions more. Time is dead Daves, he thinks sometimes, and doesnât laugh.
 *
 Rose learned long ago there are some questions that arenât meant to be answered, but it took her far longer to learn there are some that arenât meant to be asked. She communes with eldritch beings who call themselves âhorrorterrorsâ (what an absurd word), who tell her things that make her wonder sometimes. She once asked them why she knew them by name before sheâd ever met them, ever cracked open a book, and blacked out for hours. She awoke feeling refreshed and assumed she slipped into a nap while meditating. (She assumes. She does not swallow it as truth.) She traces the skin of her wifeâs shoulder in the mornings, imagining that it luminesces independent of the sunâs glow. She other times imagines driving her knitting needles into monster eyes, imagines a trident puncture in her gut that feels terrifyingly real until she shifts and returns to her body. She looks at cue balls sometimes like they hold answers, and sometimes she canât stand to wear black, because it could swallow her. Sometimes.
 *
 Jadeâs fascination with the stars waxes and wanes, but her dedication to pushing the limits of reality has never faltered. Her hunger for knowledge is only sated when she makes some life-changing discovery or another (todayâs is isolating the gene that carries certain cancers). She sits back, satisfied. She lets herself be complacent. Then once the paperwork is submitted and her discovery recorded for posterity, she moves on. Thereâs always something just out of her reach, she feels, staring at the stars. Thereâs something there. There is. Some greater truth tying all of it together, a thread binding up the universe. Universes. Space and matter and all that therein lies, she thinks as she draws her hand across the sky like she can feel the fabric of reality. She could expose the inner workings if she just tried hard enough. But there are some things she canât do, no matter how hard she tries. She canât overcome the voice in her head that whispers donât. Not canât, not shouldnât, but donât. Thereâs fear in the word, but not the kind that fuels her. Not the kind that she disregards.
 *
 Karkat dreams, like his hatchmate dreams, like his ancestor dreamed. He doesnât remember the dreams, but now and then thereâs something in his veins that pulses, something other than blood and fury. He never thinks to keep a dream journal, not like Kankri, because he read Kankriâs dream journal and it terrified him. Terrifies him still. There should be nothing of consequence about a gray planet with two moons. Itâs the most absurd of dreamscapes, he thinks, like worlds made of lava and skyscrapers, of blood and mountains. Weird brain crap, he thinks, like winged dogs and universe frogs, like made-up words (god tier, echeladder, sylladex, fraymotif). Stupid. Just the babblings of the unconscious. Just that. Itâs just dreams. Heâs never met the people he holds dearest more than once, more than just the first time. There are no other times. He doesnât lock eyes with strangers and have the thought Iâve known you before. He doesnât hold his partner as she snores and think this is centuriesâ worth of familiar, I knew you before I met you. He doesnât look back on childhood memories and think thank gog it worked out differently this time.  He doesnât. He doesnât. He doesnât.
 *
 Sollux hears voices of the damned sometimes. Heâs heard people alive and well next to him screaming in agony, and heâs heard the guttural death-rattles of most of his friends. Their voices were young, impossibly young, how long has it been since his voice cracked like that or hers was so high? He sleeps in high-grade sopor most nights and he takes migraine pills, and if it werenât for the occasional true voiceâwere it not for the sound a person makes during a fatal car accident just moments before it happens, the last words she said to her son echoing in Solluxâs ears and confirmed for truth years laterâheâd ignore it all. Heâs heard so many deaths for Dave he has to limit his contact, because thereâs only so many times you can hear someone choke on their own blood before it becomes morbid. He hears so many deaths that donât happen, that could never have happened, they almost drown out the deaths that do.
 *
 There are invisible scars on her friendsâ skin. Feferi can see them, sometimes through their clothing, a tracework of injuries and maimings that never happened. In direct sunlight she could swear the others must see them tooâthey must see the two stab wounds in Karkatâs chest and the three in his stomach, musnât they, they have to see the jagged lines across Dirkâs throat and the looming open hole in Kanayaâs torso, the splash of burns on Aradiaâs body and the bruises on Nepetaâs face and on and on and on. She once traced a finger along the line bisecting Eridanâs body just to see what happened, and he didnât even react. She touches the ragged hole in her chest often, and feels something stinging slightly. She told Sollux about them once, just about her own. He went silent for hours and she never brought it up again. Sheâs learned to visually tune them out by now. She almost never sees a new one.
 *
 Calliope houses more pieces of herself and others than most people, but even with Scratch and memories of Caliborn and the fragmented, stitched-together thing that is her own soul, she doesnât understand everything. She dabbles in time control and warps space regularly, but when a Very Insistent Voice tells her to stop, she stops. She never thinks (anymore) to ask the same questions Rose often does, that Jade does, that so many of her other friends skirt around without conscious knowledge of the fact. She keeps a firm, modest belief in an afterlife and a forelife, and lets that assuage her.
 Scratch howls sometimes, howls about holes in his own knowledge and about holes in his memories, and Calliope is practiced at shutting him down. But if his memory has holes, she canât explain why there are extra bits stuffed into hers, why she dreams sometimes of a stage and a white wig and firefly wings. There are childhood doodles secreted in her home somewhere that she canât look at now without feeling unsettled, doodles of figures that look strangely like friends she hadnât met back then wearing fanciful hoods and pajamas. Caliborn destroyed most of her art portfolio, when they were a child, then would lay quietly in the wreckage and chew on his claws, his free hand curled around his ankle. Itâs. Just us. Just you and me. Little sister, he would say to her, and then laugh. One day. It will be. Just me! And it was just him, for so long. It was just him, and just her, floating through life like it was a deserted world, he gaining strength, she hiding herself away. She asked him once, if he understood their shared dreams. He spat at the wall and tore her drawing of a girl with blue hair and a lollipop in half.
 Itâs just us. Just you and me, he repeated savagely. Just you and me. All the rest. Is noise.
Question, since Life with Dirk and Jane takes place in a reward world what happens to a player when they die, do they just wake up outside of the 5th wall?
In my mind anyway, they wait in a sort of heavenly holding area until all the players have died; then they spin out into the next reward world. Itâs like reincarnation on a universal scale.
(Maybe they arenât allowed to remember their âprevious livesâ because if they knew how many variations of life theyâd lived, how many people they loved that never existed like their kids, how many worlds theyâve hopped through...iâm not sure it would end well at all.)