#all in the name of survival

[mxtxfanatic]

”I’ve learned a grisly skill”

I usually don’t like modern AUs of ancient-setting stories, but a modern (maybe mafia au?) retelling of qjj about how Shen Zechuan ended up turning from “that nice kid down the street” into leader of one of the most feared gangs on the block

[stil-lindigo]

the fox god.

a comic about a trickster.

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creative notes:

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all my other comics

store

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

weird hearing "were you a Theatre Kid" "were you a Sports Kid" "were you a Choir Kid" "were you a Dance Kid" bc no? i mean i did all of that and more but resented ever minute of it? actively avoided sticking with anything? i was a "In This Family After School Activities Are Mandatory Kid"

[braemjeorn]

we don't talk abt these two mentors enough

only had less than five minutes of dialogue each it's like a cameo, but it's my favourite cameos

[lazylittledragon]

now we have to see dorian/astarion and gale/cyra on a double date lol

they’re going for brunch

[iknowicanbutwhy]

Tfw you (currently obsessed with ISAT who never plays pokemon) play a soul-link nuzlocke with a friend (in for a world of torment) and you can't pay attention to a health bar for the life of you nor remember what types are weak to what.

Spoiler under the cut :)

Guy how did you manage to un-evolve yourself

[keferon]

Hey, saw that you're having a bit of rough day. :(

I'm almost finished the next part.

But, would you like Prowl to bully "the wet bread moron" Josh? (as a treat. there's a part I could slide it in) Like a little petty revenge like get back at people being jerks to orcas?

-GLC

Oh I would absolutely love that yes🥺👉👈

[beaulesbian]

Shanks vs. Kid, episode 1112 ||| Roger vs. Oden, episode 965

Divine Departure!

insp by @wyvernslovecake 's tags!

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

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The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

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When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

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[theshinysnivy1]

Professor Layton when you start the series: what a nice puzzle man. Lovely puzzle gentleman. Does the silly point thing and solves the mystery. Funny guy :)

Professor Layton at the end of the series: is there any aspect of this man’s personality that he didn’t construct out of grief, carrying on the legacy of those he loved even at the expense of his own identity? Even his name is a fragment of someone loved and lost. He’s a walking coping mechanism. What the hell.

[canisalbus]

I've actually been brainstorming the circumstances that Machete could conceivably use to fake his death and run away with Vasco. I was thinking that it would take "divine intervention" levels of luck (as while faking one's death is generally planned in great detail, I almost feel like the opportunity would have to land in Machete's lap for him to consider it.) I'm embarrassed that I didn't think of burning a corpse sooner. Also, he would need to take a new name, which provides a nice symmetry to his story. I wonder if he might choose Sebastian, based on those paintings he and Vasco enjoy so much? (I hope this isn't presumptuous, I'm just very invested in your characters.)

I didn't even consider the need for a name change, you're totally right. I don't know what he'd pick though. Sebastian would make sense, but I've been thinking of the possibility of them getting a cat in modern AU and naming him Sebastian, so that one is kind of taken.

[metropoliswhite]

Solitude.

[deerspherestudios]

I hope you dont mind me repeteadly coming back and asking so many question, but would mychael be very sensitive to his surroundings? Personally i like to play hide and seek and jumpscare my friends so would that be possible to do with mychael?

He's pretty sensitive, I'd say! Not to the point of being paranoid but more about being aware of his surroundings mostly.

His ears flick if he hears something that might catch him off guard so the chances of sneaking up on him for a jumpscare is less on being quiet and more about getting him when he's distracted with something else.

[mollysunder]

The Black Rose has Already Infiltrated Piltover and Zaun!

You know how there's speculation that this shadowy figure has to do with LeBlanc because LeBlanc and members of her Black Rose group do the eye/eye makeup glow thing?

Well the conspiracy only goes deeper! Last year, nearly to the day, an exclusive splash art for LeBlanc's Rose Quartz Prestigious skin was released on CN servers.

Do you recognize that familiar face in the background?

I do!

It's Local Cusine (LC)! You could argue that it's just an easter egg. But why is Local Cuisine in Noxus? LC's presumably a sex worker from Zaun and here he is hob knobbing in Noxus, in a splash for LeBlanc of all people.

How do we know this a Black Rose gathering? Well, we can see that the window in LeBlanc's splash art matches the same design used in the homes of other members of the Black Rose in Riot media.

We also know that many Black Rose members wear masks upon first appearance so that their identity will be anonymous to other members. If you look closely, you can even see that the shadowy figure from the trailer is wearing a mask around their eyes as well.

And can you guess which character we met wearing a mask in their very first appearance?

It's Local Cusinie!

But what does any of this mean? Well, LC could have been sent as a spy by LeBlanc herself to test the Medardas' loyalty to the Black Rose. If Swain is truly set to take power by season 2, then many powerful families affiliated with the Black Rose WILL be purged.

Maybe LeBlanc's sent LC to have them killed herself. The Medardas may be loose ends to her, because Ambessa is only loyal to preserving her family and may in fact expose the conspiracy further to Swain to her and Mel if she could.

Or maybe LC has his own agenda. Maybe LC is related to the Ionian princess Ambessa killed. You don't have to be from Noxus to be a part of the Black Rose, the organization predates Noxus itself. And frankly, Black Rose members and their related assets do their own thing pretty often, their web of plans can even bite LeBlanc in the butt.

[hitorimaron]

Inspired by Drive Far by @solitude-of-stars

[shezit]

Stuff like this intentionally spreads misinformation. So outsiders believe these two unrelated adults are siblings, making those who ship them look bizzare.

(Why not use Shiros name...?)