#GOD I HAVE SO MANY FICS TO FINISH

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened…'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

[quinn-pop]

let’s do some autistic meta knight headcanons!! over explaining my interpretation of meta knight yet again wooooo

this orb has NO idea how to talk to people!!! outside of work anyway. a lot of this is partially due to upbringing (suppressing his emotions all the time) but he does not know how to express emotions, like…at all.

this goes into a few things

1. yeah talking is hard. even after figuring out what he wants to communicate he will struggle. conversation can be so overwhelming, especially under pressure. he will need time lol

2. because of that, forming connections is hard. i really don’t think meta is much for shallow relationships, and certainly not early in the timeline. which also means he has very little experience with friendship. so a lot of the relationships he did have went kinda neglected, and issues that probably could’ve been worked on by talking became…*cough romk* escalated.

3. honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if meta convinced himself he couldn’t feel emotion (anymore) until like. katam-ish. he tried very hard lol

vulnerability is terrifying. (though this gesture here is also just comforting, like his little cape cocoon thing he does.)

unmasking—yeah im taking the mask thing very literally here—is a big deal and a very slow process for mk. i’m sure he has a lot of feelings on that lol. it served as a way to ensure no one could ever, y’know, see him.

i can’t say i think he’d ever fully ditch it—there’s always gonna be some days that are more stressful than others and if having it could help him get through it, it just makes sense. mainly when working.

it really is about vulnerability. granted, i don’t think he has the most expressive face (in my head every astral just tends to stare at things) but i doubt he has much control over it. can’t fake a smile but also can’t hide it. probably blushes easy because yeah, astrals; just look at kirby’s face.

just the idea that someone might be able to read his expression and know what he’s feeling before he’s ready for them to (or even understands it himself…) yeah he doesn’t want that

but emotional turmoil aside, i think his mask also hides a lot of his stims

remember that whole “suppressing your feelings” thing? yeah turns out that ignoring half your instincts isn’t a good idea. so in true meta knight style, he tries to stim as subtly as possible

1. he has the least control over his wings, so they will flick and twitch on their own. they’re usually a good indicator of how he’s feeling, not unlike the body language usually seen in cat ears and tails lol. flapping is also an extension of this of course, though he probably suppresses it more.

2. this also effects when he takes his wings out. pretty much every time he’s excited or nervous it just happens. kinda makes me wonder if his wing cape ordeal might also go into the suppression thing… (i’d say yes, but using a cape is also very comforting so it’s not necessarily a bad thing)

3. going back to the mask thing; he stims a lot underneath it. think like biting or pursing your lips. he bites his tongue and clicks his mouth. that sort of thing. his mask also makes it harder to notice that he is constantly sighing, humming, grumbling…all that

one nice thing about the mask though is that it helps a little bit with lights!!! woo

(look at him and his magically floating glasses)

sensory stuff—i think he’s mostly bothered by light and sound. maybe a bit of texture. he’s pretty sensory avoidant and perfectly happy standing off to the side not touching anything.

the one exception to this is physical affection, which is, despite all of this, most of how he shows affection. it’s a lot easier to hug someone than to try to explain your feelings for them, after all.

i think he would like pressure though. so that’s probably part of it. and i’m pretty sure there’s some connection in here to fighting (dang, is that the only way he knows how to get his energy out?)

anyway, pretty much all of this is in contrast to kirby, who i would gladly nominate as the champion of Doing Whatever He Wants. he might pick up a few bad habits, but he will never mask the way meta knight does. he might not understand how he feels, but he’s in tune enough to express it…usually.

this is a very good thing for meta because it helps him to do the same thing. kirby’s so energetic, it’s hard to not want to stim with him. it reminds meta to be kinder to himself and explore his own emotions. he can also help kirby understand themselves, so this connection is very important.

yeah, at the end of the day, everything kinda just boils down to kirby and mk as parallels

this is the conclusion i promise

to me, meta’s arc is about growing stronger by growing kinder, and this is mostly by learning to be kind to himself. letting himself be a person again, loving and understanding other people, and eventually, letting go of all the expectations placed on him and doing the things he’s always wanted to do…

autism headcanons are fun for me because it’s cathartic to write, but at the same time, it just makes sense in this sort of narrative. meta is, to me, inseparable from these things. and so is kirby! that’s a dynamic that’s a lot of fun to play with, and it’s at the heart of my kirby interpretation.

if you actually read all this WOW thank you

[s0lemnhypn0s]

i havent been very well lately but one of these days i gotta talk abt how much i think people are seriously overlooking the potential of trans man dragon (in favor of being weirdly transphobic toward crocodile) (and i will fight everyone abt that). i think the concept of dragon giving birth to luffy is just so much more interesting and complex than anything else really. the love he felt for his child, compounded by the guilt he feels for having left that little kid behind. his child doesnt even remember him. what kind of father does that make him? Alexa play Never Love An Anchor by The Crane Wives

[unlikelypandahologram]

me wide awake at 3am and running on fumes: MegOP AU...Hades and Persephone...OP is Persephone and Megatron is Hades perhaps...haha just kidding...UNLESS?????

(no but seriously the thought started off as like, a crack fic idea but the more I think about it the more it weirdly makes sense?? like, Orion Pax = Kore and Optimus Prime = Persephone, and there's already a whole life and death thing going on with how often OP dies and comes back to life lmao. so that kind of suits him actually

and Megatron is Hades because...come the fuck on do I even need to say why lol. man spreads death everywhere he goes. and Alpha Trion can be both Zeus and Demeter for Orion. or he's basically Zeus but not horny, either works)

[allthislove]

This is an excerpt from the book I'm writing about Anansi & Hermes, but you could also think of it as an IWTV (AMC) AU. These beautiful monsters definitely inspired me a lot. If you like supernatural stuff, mythology, queer romance, and the like, this book will be for you!

Just in case it wasn't clear:

Hermes - Sam

Anansi - Jacob

“What are you doing?” Hermes asked warmly as he stepped into Anansi’s small kitchen, the handsome young form he’d taken on covertly working over the counter, his back to Hermes. Andre, he was calling himself. Andre, after the legendary African-American actor who had portrayed Hermes so wonderfully in a hit Broadway show. Hermes couldn’t help but be warmed by the choice of name. Hermes had noticed the connection, the first time he heard Anansi introduce himself as Andre. It was the day after their first night together, rekindling what they’d always known was inevitable. Their bond. Their need for each other. More than just love— some invisible tie that bound them to one another, always leading them home to the other’s arms. Then, he realized that Andre was the name Anansi had been using since he’d started his life in New York just a couple of years earlier, the name printed on his documents, on his New York State ID card. He’d wanted to ask Anansi about it– if he was right about the name’s origin. Anansi never usually put much thought into his names, just choosing things that sounded nice and fit the era and the place. But Anansi confirmed it for him casually one day as if the Spider could sense Hermes’ curiosity.

Now, Hermes’ curiosity was piqued by the odd behavior of the Spider in his humble NYC kitchen, his slim body pressed against the counter, his shoulders hunched forward just slightly and his head tilted forward with a kind of focus. Hermes pressed forward into the kitchen, and his eyes caught a glimpse of something metallic in Anansi’s hand. It was a kitchen knife, the kind with a black handle and a stainless steel blade that you might buy at a discount from a big box store. Unremarkable in every way. Anansi, though, was pressing the blade into his all-too-human wrist, and he sliced it easily, the blood seeping from the wound and halfway filling a small glass jar that was placed on the counter in front of him. Hermes swiftly took the knife from him, his godly hand grasping Andre’s wrist and healing it immediately. Their eyes met. Andre seemed startled by Hermes’ speed as much as he seemed ashamed to have been caught.

“What are you doing?” Hermes repeated, this time exasperated– horrified by what he’d witnessed. Surely, Anansi hadn’t brought him to this life, to Andre, only to end things. No mortal death ended Anansi for long. He shed human personas like a second skin, and easily crawled into the next one as if the previous had never existed. But Hermes had never seen him end one on purpose.

“Never mind,” Andre said, his brown eyes shifting back to his task as he took his wrist away from Hermes pointedly. Those were the words he’d repeat when he was doing something magical that he didn’t want to explain, but Hermes hated the dismissiveness. He was a God of Olympus. He dealt in shadows and cunning just as much as Anansi did– maybe more, if he allowed himself to be honest about it. He stood just behind Andre’s shoulder, and he watched him take the bloody knife and reopen the wound, the young man only wincing a bit as if the pain of the blade was nothing more than a mild annoyance.

“Andre will die, Anansi–”

“He won’t. Never mind,” Andre said evenly. Hermes watched as Andre drained blood from his wrist into the jar again. When the jar was full, Andre pushed his bloody wrist into his mouth and fumbled for the jar’s lid.

“Why are you collecting a jar of your blood?” Hermes asked. The blood shimmered like rubies. Anansi’s blood wasn’t golden, the way an Olympian’s blood was. It was red, like them. Like the humans. But the divinity of his birth was still evident in it. Humans had deep red blood that was beautiful but mundane in its shade and consistency. Anansi’s blood almost glowed, and it seemed to shimmer like so many galaxies caught in a jar.

“Never mind, Messenger,” Andre muttered around his wrist, his mouth bloodied from the wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding, that ruby blood seeping over his pinkish-brown lips. Hermes sighed, and he took Andre’s forearm in his hand, easing the wounded wrist away from Andre’s mouth and he covered the wound with his hand, healing it. Their eyes met again, and Andre nodded a bit to thank him.

“The wrist,” Hermes said, “is a great place to get a good blood flow, but it’s difficult to stop the bleeding. There are arteries there–”

“I know,” Andre said evenly.

“It’s why they do it when they’re tired of living,” Hermes said pointedly. Andre scoffed.

“I never tire of living, Hermes,” Andre said evenly. Hermes swiped the blood from his lips and chin, his thumb lingering on Andre’s beautiful brown face. “If I don’t give him blood, he’ll lock me away. And you know I can’t live as a caged bird.”

“Who?” Hermes perked a brow.

“I’ve said ‘never mind’ three times, my love,” Andre replied curtly. He picked up the bloody knife and stepped over to the sink, rinsing it. “Not everything is the concern of your kind. Clean the counter for me, will ya, Merc?” Hermes scoffed at the old nickname, but he cleaned the blood from the counter with a wave of his hand. 

“Is this ‘he’... someone I should be concerned about?” Hermes asked casually, trying not to sound as worried as he felt. Anansi sometimes played with things he shouldn’t. Old things. Things that even the gods didn’t truly understand. Andre gave him a look, and Hermes fought a smile. “I know. ‘Never mind.’ But I do mind, Anansi.”

“All will be well as long as he gets his jar of blood,” Andre said evenly. “If I’m gone for a few days, don’t you worry bout me, lover.”

“Gone? With him?” Hermes inferred, and he studied Andre, watching his head nod, his long locs dancing against his back as he did. “Spider.”

“Mmm,” Andre put the cleaned knife on the counter beside the sink and he grasped his jar of blood, capping it up tightly. 

“Are you bound by something?” Hermes asked, barely hiding his concern.

“Ain’t that deep,” Andre said swiftly. He glanced at Hermes, and he smiled at him, holding up his jar of ruby blood, in it, shimmering galaxies of his divinity.

[warlenys]

i need to go fucking crazy over house again

[evanescentsun]

SSBDAY2 | Time Capsule

During spring cleaning with the Uzumaki, Sarada unexpectedly comes across a picture that Nanadaime took post-mission after seeing how Sasuke n Sakura fell asleep like that<3

[manicpixiedreamjop]

so upset that I can feel my terror hyperfixation fading just as there’s a joplittle resurgence building someone throw me back into it please

[celestialseawitch-ff]

Tom Riddle AU -- snippet

Tom couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He grabbed his cloak and apparated out of the rundown flat. He arrived in Hogsmeade under the cloak of night. The lights of Hogwarts were still lit. It wasn’t yet curfew. 

Tom raised his hood over his head. He made his way to the edge of the forest, where he knew the entrance to the secret passage lay hidden. He cast the password and slipped through the tree. Spiral stone steps led him down the tree and beneath the earth. 

He lit his wand and strode through the passageway. It was dank and crumbling. Clearly, no other students had found it in some time. Then he reached the collapsed ceiling and realised his mistake. The passageway was blocked.

Tom cursed under his breath. He waved his wand and muttered a few spells. The stone bent under his power. The stone groaned as it shifted into a jagged and dangerous looking archway. Tom passed through the passage and continued onwards. 

Eventually, he reached another set of steps that led him up into the castle. A large painting popped open and Tom entered Hogwarts.

The warmth of the castle’s magic greeted him like an old friend. It took him back to the years he had spent as a professor’s assistant here. It had been an enlightening experience for him to be able to live in his home without the pressures and eyes of his Slytherin peers.

Tom took a moment to breathe in the familiar magic. Another twinge of pain cut through him. He hissed in annoyance. Time to get rid of this problem once and for all. 

He hurried through the nearly empty halls, following the thread of magic towards the origin of his problems. He side-stepped into a classroom and waited for the magic to grow closer. He heard the clicking of boots against stone and small sniffles. He peered through the sliver of light to see a girl walking through the hallway alone. She was cradling her hand to her chest.

The pain. She was injured.

Tom’s annoyance tripled. Was she too stupid to go to the Hospital Wing? He bit back a growl and waited for her to pass by the classroom. The second she was past, Tom silently sprung from his hiding place. He wrapped a hand around her mouth to smother her scream of surprise as his other hand clamped down on the wrist of her injured hand. He smoothly drew her back into the dark classroom and closed the door behind him.

He wordlessly and wandlessly cast a notice-me-not on the door as well as a silencio. The girl's scream into his hand was muffled.

“Quiet,” he snapped and raised her hand for inspection. 

There was a scar on her hand. I must respect my superiors. A blood quill. Tom’s lip curled.

“Don’t scream,” he hissed and released his hand from her mouth.

The girl spun around, wand out and pointed at his throat. He still held her wrist tightly in his hand. Tom looked down and met the eyes of the girl he knew was a descendent of his in this reality, at the very least. The moment he took her in, he knew she was his daughter.

She had his dark eyes and equally dark curls. They had the same mouth and chin. She looked so much like him. More importantly, she looked like her. The stubborn tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes. A Gryffindor through and through.

“Let go of me,” she hissed at him.

“Where did you get this scar?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think you’ll find,” he responded as he took a step closer, “it is.”

Her eyes flickered and then widened. “It’s you. The new person in the magic.”

He raised a dark eyebrow at her. “You can differentiate the persons in the family magic? I’d say it’s impressive, but the only other person is a ragged mess.”

“It hurts,” she confessed softly.

“Yes,” he drawled, “I imagine it does.” He nodded to the nearest desk. “Now sit so I can heal your hand.”

Her eyes narrowed. He released her wrist and she cautiously took a seat. He pulled out the chair beside hers and held out his hand. She eyed him warily.

“Who are you?”

“Someone annoyed by this constant pain in my magic because you refuse to go see a healer. Now, give me your hand.”

Her lips twisted. Finally, she gave him her hand. She was entirely too trusting. If he were her father – which he was not – he’d have scolded her firmly for that. But she did not belong to him. Not really.

Tom pulled a pouch from his pocket and summoned a collection of healing supplies from within. She gasped lightly.

“Is that an undetectable extension charm?”

“It is.”

“They’re illegal.”

His dark eyes flickered up to meet hers. “Only if you get caught.”

She pursed her lips, amused but trying to look like she was disapproving. Her mother used to do the same thing. The thought cut through Tom’s chest. He returned to the task at hand. He wasn’t going to stay here. He wasn’t going to get involved. He was already breaking every rule in the book by interacting with her at all.

“Does Minerva know about this?”

“Professor McGonagall?” Her shoulders relaxed at the mention of the older witch. 

Tom looked up. “Well?”

She shook her head. “She’s at St. Mungo’s. Umbridge cast four stunners to her chest.”

“What?” Tom hissed, voice filled with ice.

Her eyes widened. She swallowed visibly. “Umbridge is in charge now.”

“She did this?” He raised her half healed hand.

She nodded.

Tom made a noise of disgust. “This world is a mess.”

“Who are you?” she asked again.

He didn’t respond as he gently wrapped her hand. 

“I’m Hermione.”

Hermione. Shakespeare. God, he was so predictable. Such a beautiful name. A powerful character. A queen. 

“I didn’t ask,” Tom seethed, furious with himself for being so weak. He never should have come here. He never should have given in like this. The sight of her face and the feel of her soft, warm magic would haunt him until the day he died.

[paperhats-and-evil-schemes]

Me: //brushing up on my old Paperhat fanfics to make sure I'm getting details right for the new one//

Me @ my past readers:

[olenvasynyt]

I can't stop making WIPs and never finishing them but I have been working on my draft for an Elain Week fic and oh my god I legit made myself cry THE ANGSTTTT

[silcobrainrot]

I wish I could stop taking my own writing so fucking seriously so I could just post fics when I type the last word instead of doing a minimum of three drafts, sometimes six. I’ve been torturing myself with this nightmares fic for months.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

oughhhhh T_T i need to read . i need to read i need to readddddddddd

[grillbyz]

still thinking about the. asgore's winter alarm clock dialogue like. If they ever finish this (please) imagine waking up one day to asgore divorced-reemurr saying "he was... my rudolph" ab some guy he used to know like

"I was... his Santa. He was... my Rudolph." With those sprites. like. Oh he was yours and you were his, huh. Sir. Sir--

hello, sir, what was that about the mistletoe--

Oh so. he uses the same nickname your ex-wife used for you. Is that so. The very same huh---

Oh so you wanted to show him the sun huh. You wanted to hold his hand and bring him to the surface and show him the beauty of the sun didn't you

[carlos-tk]

sometimes i can’t believe i was posting wips every single wednesday and sunday for literal months like who even was that person