#and my ot3 agenda

[arc-angel-o]

I've been thinking of Rabbit and Toad's color coding as just warm vs cool colors but actually I don't recall red or purple being associated with them so what if it's gonna be

Rabbit - yellow/orange

Toad - green/blue

Natalie - red/purple

Up until now I've been mainly associating Natalie with yellow to signify her being team rabbit, like how we also see Liz also connected to blue as opposed to Rabbit's yellow

But like what if Natalie's favorite color is also purple like me 😍💜 and you can throw in magenta and other pinks because those are types of reds and they're all ranges

[fawnnbinary]

Just wanted to draw his tits (and his tummy a lil bit💚)

[borgialucrezia]

i love when the besties thank me for getting them into the cesare/lucrezia/juan incest polycule ot3 🫶

[littleshysheep-at-da]

At this point I think it’s physically impossible to convince Kyouya does not purr.

Like hear me out. Goblins were very Rodent (Hamster) coded so I feel like they probably communicated with a lot of squeaking/chirping noises. But due to depression during the war Kyouya stopped really making those noises but when he’s relaxed he ends up using those vocal chords to communicate respond to things (and he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it). So I like to think he purrs instead of snoring. Look maybe that’s more Cat than Rodent but fantasy Monsters means I can do what I want lol.

Also I am on my OT3 Shun x Katia x Kyouya bullshit and I’m never coming off it. I should really think of a Ship Name but small Fandom means tagging their names is better for visibility.

[chibistarlyte]

i want an instance where gumshoe gets really injured on a case

like maybe in trying to apprehend a culprit, he gets shot and has to be rushed to the hospital

and i want phoenix and miles to be beside themselves

like. miles endlessly pacing, jaw clenched and heart racing, mind going a million miles a minute thinking of all the potential outcomes of the situation and growing increasingly frantic and panicked as the idea of losing gumshoe becomes more and more real

and phoenix trying his best to comfort miles because he knows how important gumshoe is to miles, but being terrified and panicked himself because he also treasures gumshoe, not just as a coworker so-to-speak but as a dear friend and he can't imagine a life without gumshoe in it

and despite a close call during surgery, gumshoe lives and miles and phoenix keep a constant vigil at his bedside while he recovers. meanwhile, gumshoe doesn't understand why they're so scared and morose, tries to lighten the mood and joke around that he's too stubborn to die and "aw, don't spend so much energy worrying over someone like me, pal" and stuff like that

and miles and phoenix are just "you idiot, of course we were worried!" and wanting to throttle gumshoe for even daring to think he's not important enough to them to be worried over

may or may not end in three grown men trying to cuddle on a tiny hospital bed. because gumshoe deserves all the cuddles

[transfagore]

[hexcoeur]

Someone watching Ais picking a fight: I can fix him.

Vere & MC: I can make him worse.

[unfinishedslurs]

Nancy as Orpheus (stoncy)

inspired by this work by aletterinthenameofsanity

“My boys,” Nancy snaps, like the words are ripping themselves out of her chest, “are in that hellhole. I’m not leaving them there.”

Eddie pales further, and for a moment Nancy resents him. For caring about her, for trying to stop her. “You’ll die,” he says quietly. “I can’t—I can’t come with you like this. Wait for Robin, Nancy, please.”

She doesn’t know how Eddie ever thought himself a coward, when it’s so clear that he’d follow her if he were capable of walking. He’s not hers, not like Steve and Jonathan are, but he cares so much. Her heart swells. “I won’t die. Not without them.”

“Nancy—“

She smiles as reassuringly as she can. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“And if you’re not?”

“Write a song about me.”

“Come and get them, Nancy Wheeler,”  he coons in her mind. It’s a cold feeling, slithering up her spine like a snake. She doesn’t let it get to her, just takes a deep breath and grips the knife on her hip. 

The Creel house is only two miles from here. As long as she stays away from the vines and keeps quiet, the monsters can’t find her. And if she makes a mistake, Henry won’t tell them.  

He thinks himself a god. All-seeing, all-knowing. Omnipotent and powerful. He’ll let her get close, let her see the life bleed from their eyes before he kills her. He made one fatal mistake, though, and it’s that he underestimated her. 

He’s more than a man, but not as much as he thinks. And she’s Nancy fucking Wheeler. 

She’s getting out of here, and her boys are coming with her.

“You’d lay claim to them?” He smiles, cruel and awful. “You, who doesn’t deserve it? Death follows you like a lover, Nancy, like these boys do. How long did you think you could go without leading another to their demise?”

Her hand falters, and he moves closer. “Fred makes a lovely decoration, don’t you think?”

Unbidden, her eyes follow his gaze to one of the pillars, and she gasps, tears springing to her eyes when she sees the mangled body there. God, Fred. 

“He was in so much pain, and you never even noticed he was struggling. Poor boy thought he was going to hell. I saved him, released him from his suffering. Do you believe in Heaven, Nancy Wheeler? Barb did.”

Barb went to church every Sunday. Prayed every night, hands clasped at the foot of her bed. Once, during a sleepover, Nancy heard her asking forgiveness. When she asked what for, Barb turned pale and quietly, firmly told her it was nothing. 

“She thought she was in love with you. She needed salvation. I gave that to her. Sad, lonely little Barbara, bleeding while her best friend abandoned her to the mercy of a monster. Was it worth it, Nancy?”

She can’t stop staring at Fred, even as her vision blurs. Barb, her first friend, her first kiss, her closest confidant. Sixteen and alone and dying because Nancy was young and ready and willing to leave her behind for a boy.

“Was it worth it?”

She shakes her head. 

[setaripendragon]

Cress - Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 Okay, so I wrote this a while ago in a flurry of inspiration, got stuck, and... then didn't do anything with it. But I'm actually really proud of it, so I'm going to throw up what I've got, because I feel like I've fallen into the habit of not posting stuff, and that's just sad. This was inspired by a fic I read over on Ao3, The Telling of Fortunes, which... absolutely did not go in the direction I was expecting (still an excellent fic), and inspired me to take the premise and run off in the direction I thought it would go. Calliope gifts Dream another child, and this changes things.

It has been nearly seventy years since Dream was imprisoned, and over fifty since anything last changed. He has become used to the monotony of his imprisonment, even as the very nature of his existence makes ignoring the passage of time impossible. So mired in his unchanging circumstances is he that he doesn’t notice, at first, when something does change.

“Oneiros,” three voices call, in unsettling harmony, “harken to us.”

Dream raises his head sharply, and if he could breathe in this prison, his breath would have caught. The Fates stand arrayed about his prison. The Mother stands before him, between him and his guards, who are muttering amongst themselves. He cannot see the other two without turning his head, each of them equidistant from the other. In any other circumstance, being so surrounded would be unsettling, but as it is, he feels only relief at their presence.

That is not to say he expects a rescue. The Fates do not interfere so. And yet, here are ones he would not call enemy, and if Alex Burgess tries to shoot them… Well. He will not find what is left behind so easy to sweep away as he did Jessamy’s corpse.

He returns his attention to the Mother and inclines his head the barest inch. He will not give his captors any more than he must, but the Fates demand respect, even now. Even here. The Mother bows her head in return, which is a shock. Her eyes close, and for a moment, Dream could almost say she looked grieved.

“We are come on behest of another,” the Crone says, and Dream turns his head towards her to show he is listen.

“Calliope,” the Maiden adds, and this time, Dream turns more fully, to stare directly at her, eyes widening. He opens his mouth, but stops before he can shape the name. He will not give his captors that. Not for any boon or blessing in existence. The Maiden smiles in knowing gratitude, but Dream does not think he is imagining the way it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

“Why?” he asks. Mouths, for there is no air inside his glass prison. At least, none that he can make use of, bound in his vessel as he is. His guards have moved from their post, are circling the moat that keeps mortal magics from interfering with the arcane sigils, excited by his movements as they cannot see the cause.

“A gift,” the Crone tells him.

“A burden,” the Maiden counters.

“A duty,” the Mother corrects them both. And that is the word he is more familiar with, one he feels down to his bones and beyond, into the dreamstuff that he makes and is made of, so it is to her he turns for an answer. And it is from her that he receives one.

The Mother flips back her shawl, and reveals that the Fates did not come alone. In her arms there is a babe, swaddled in cream silk, and as it is exposed to the air without the shelter of the Mother’s mantle, it yawns and begins to squirm.

Dream’s mouth drops open. Not to form words, for he has none. He does not understand. This can only be Calliope’s child, and yet, the Maiden called it a gift. Calliope has gifted him a child before, but has since sworn never again, so this cannot be as it appears to be. He tears his eyes away from the infant to meet the Mother’s gaze. “Why?” he asks again.

“Because she bid it,” the Mother tells him, simple and unconditional.

“Calliope cannot care for the babe as she is now,” the Crone states, unsympathetic.

“We cannot change her fate, but the child’s is within our power to alter,” the Maiden adds with just a hint of playful mischief.

As if Dream isn’t deeply alarmed by the notion of a Calliope subject to a fate that even the triple goddess will not interfere with. “What fate?” he asks. Mouths. The Maiden smiles at him, knowing and amused.

“She called for you, when we bid her name it,” she tells him, like she is imparting a scandalous secret.

“We bid her choose another,” the Crone snaps, fierce and angry, but when Dream turns to stare at her, he sees the pain beneath. “She refused.”

“There was no other she would trust,” the Mother mourns.

“We warned her; the fate that awaited in your arms would not be kind,” the Crone adds bitterly, eyes roving pointedly over the cage in which Dream is trapped. His eyes are drawn to the babe again, now mewling for attention and being fussed over by the Mother. Truly, if the child was given into his keeping at this moment, it would surely perish. That, indeed, would be the kinder fate. For if it is not mortal enough to suffocate, it will live as he does; without. Only it will not be aware enough to know that it can, and so it will struggle, and struggle endlessly, for a breath that will not come.

“She said that even the fate that awaits the child of Calliope and Oneiros would be a better one than awaited the child of Calliope and a mortal,” the Maiden says, wistful with sorrow. The words stab clear through Dream’s heart, and he raises a hand to his chest to press against the ache. There’s a clamouring somewhere beyond the sphere, beyond the Fate’s presence, but Dream ignores it, closing his eyes against it.

“She knew not of what she spoke,” the Crone complains.

“She knew enough, sister-self” the Mother chides. Dream feels a chill. What could possibly hold such power over Calliope to threaten her child that she believes giving it unto Dream would be the better fate? “Well, o Lord of Dreams?” the Mother prompts, and Dream opens his eyes to meet her gaze as she lifts it from the babe in her arms to raise her eyebrows at him. “Will you take her?”

Dream thinks furiously, frantically. He cannot say yes, and condemn an innocent child – Calliope’s child – to this cage with him, and yet, he cannot say no, and return her to a fate that even the Mother deems may be worse.

“We need an answer, o Lord of Dreams,” the Maiden demands. Dream drops his eyes, unable to settle his thoughts, but knowing he cannot take either of the paths laid before him.

“O Lord of Dreams,” the Crone echoes mockingly, sourly. “The choice is yours.”

Dream’s eyes snap up. “Mine,” he echoes silently, deliberately, holding the Crone’s gaze. Just the hint of a smile begins to lift one corner of his mouth.

Nose almost pressed to the glass, Alex Burgess rears backwards. “What?” he demands. “What was that? Did you hear-?” he asks of his lover. Paul shakes his head, eyes beginning to widen, a look of horror beginning to dawn.

“Alex… what if he can’t speak?” he asks slowly, and then reaches out to his lover with sharp, jerky movements, shaking the other man. “Dear God, there’s no air in there. We have to- we have to do something-” Alex shakes his head, and the two continue to babble desperately at each other.

Dream ignores it all.

“You would take her, then?” the Maiden asks, intensely.

Dream tips his head, not a yes, but not a no. “My choice,” he mouths.

There is a long silence. At least, silence among the Fates and Dream, for beyond them there is a cacophony of mortal chaos, but it does not touch them. “Yes,” the Crone says finally, intense and waiting.

“I accept this burden,” Dream mouths. The Mother closes her eyes on a shaky sigh, the Maiden makes a small sound that could be sorrow or relief, and the Crone snarls wordlessly. The Mother begins to step forwards, and Dream holds up a hand to stop her. She halts. So do the mortals. “I did not say I would take it,” he reminds her. Her eyes widen.

“What is he saying?!” Alex Burgess demands in a panic. “What is he looking at?!”

“Calliope already refused all others,” the Maiden says, stepping around the cage to come to her sister-self’s side. “Apollo, Zeus, all the gods, all the pantheons.”

“Not a god,” Morpheus agrees. The child is part mortal, after all, if not quite half any more; not with Dream’s claim upon her.

“One of the Endless, then?” the Crone challenges, also closing the distance so that the three are arrayed as one. “I did not think you trusted your children unto Death’s embrace.”

Dream flinches. But then, cruelty is the province of the Crone, so he takes the blow with as much grace as he can muster in his present situation, and lets the barb slide. “No,” he agrees. Not a one of his siblings is fit to raise a child, not even Death, though if he had to pick one of them, she would be his first choice.

“Then to one of your subjects?” the Maiden wonders.

“A child cannot live on dreams alone, sister-self,” the Crone snaps.

“No,” Dream agrees.

“Then where?” the Mother asks patiently.

“Where else is left?” Dream challenges.

There is another moment of silence. Not of incomprehension, but of disbelief. True, if this were even a single century ago, Dream would not have indulged even the fantasy of such an idea for more than the heartbeat it would take to dismiss it. But he has no good choices left, and this, at least, will spare the child the burden of his failure.

Hopefully.

“A mortal?” the Crone demands, incredulous.

“What do you even know of the mortal realm?” the Maiden asks, half-laughing.

“Will you bid us leave her with mortal authorities? Abandon her on the steps of a temple? Return her to her blood?” the Mother challenges him right back, gentle but cutting.

“No,” Dream denies. “There is but one mortal I know beyond the Dreaming.” He will not say the name, not while his captors watch, desperately trying to read his lips, to get his attention, to demand his subservience. They will not have any of it; not one thing of his will they pry from him.

“Robert Gadling,” the Maiden concludes, and Dream inclines his head.

“You think he will help you? After how you treated him at your last meeting?” the Crone prods, scornful.

There is truth to her words. Dream knows it. He was cruel without cause, and Hob would have every right to refuse to aid him now. But for all his flaws, Hob is not a cruel man, and Dream does not think he would leave a child to suffer for Dream’s mistakes. Besides, it is the only avenue he can see that has even the slightest chance of ending without bringing ruin to an innocent life.

“I can but hope.”

[mimi123meg]

frothing at the mouth watching the rundown job, like it really is The Poly Episode of TV. They had no fucking business having that much polyamorous energy like your honor they are dating. They are together and they love each other. They would literally all die for each other and i love them they deserve everything.

[weregreatatcrime]

Nobara, looking at Yuuji and Megumi: I can take them

Gojo: haha in a fight? no way

Nobara:

Gojo: ...in a fight, right?

Gojo: you meant *in a fight, right?*

[a-pale-azure-moon]

Hey look, I got Chrom's husband other half! xD

[redshoes-blues]

Obviously a canon ot3 would be top-notch, show-stopping, immaculate, etc. but I’m honestly so here for any breadcrumbs for the fic writers to work lol

[nevermoredragon-main]

Pt2~ of incorrect quote generator

[koushirouizumi]

{DaixRiku} {Caps by Me} (DO NOT RE-USE WITHOUT ASKING)

[lilbittymonster]

I don't have gposes of Aymeric and Kitali's "how it started" but I do have the reverse meetcute fic. TL;DR is she very much did not like him and was extremely suspicious of him for several months into HW. And for his part, he was the fanboy who idealised her and put her on a pedestal only to have his perception of her shattered and rebuilt.

Here's the "how it's going" though:

And for Estinien...

How it started:

How it's going:

And for the three of them:

They're all bisexual married and in love thank you for coming to my TED Talk

Hey... hey anyone with wolships or other FFXIV ships (since I know not everyone's characters are WoL).

Show me your "How it started // How it's going" can be gpose, art, writing. I just want to know about your ffxiv ships. Can be OCxOC, OCxNPC, Polyships, multiships, or anything else I didn't account for.