#and then onto ao3 and here

[th4t-bug]

Oh.

There's five followers

Welp guess I'm gonna have to write in place of practicing for my speech in class the jaw after tomorrow /silly

[rebornofstars]

really whats interesting to me is that if u stay involved in a fandom long enough u get an evolution of scrolling from: ooh! - ooh! - ooh! - OH i didn't realise this was a trope - ooh! - OH - ooh! - ooh!!

to smth more like: read that - read that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - omg that one looks SO GOOD i love the trope subversion - wrote that - read that - oh my friends have been screaming about this one - wrote that - oh LOOK it's my mutual - read that - FRESH MEAT LETS GO SAY HELLO and its

SO beautiful and joyous. being a member of a community is fun!!!!! being so familiar with a tiny corner of the internet is fascinating!!!!! seeing the connections between yourself and other people is crazy cool!!!! we're all here on the web page together!!!! i see you and i love you!!!!!!

[greenerteacups]

I really love how you write Draco and Ron.

Because Draco is in love with Hermione, and it’s easy for him to love Harry (and Draco loves him, fiercely), but then with Ron there is this feeling. For some reason, whenever I see lionheart!Ron from lionheart!Draco’s point of view, it’s almost like Ron is shrouded in golden light, but also Draco is so Not Allowed to Feel Things for a Weasley.

But like what if you had a friend who is ready to share EVERYTHING he has with you, and he has precious little things, and none of it you were taught is Important TM, but he has so much love that you’ve never seen this much love in your life, and he is so bold and open with, just like you are bold and open with power and money. And what if he only liked to give things and never take anything. And what if he was the most stubborn asshole in the world but also the funniest and smartest person in the world at the same time. And what if your father hated his father, but his father called you his without hesitation, because this friend can give you even that. And his brothers are your brothers. And his mother is your mother. And what if by accepting it you betrayed your dead father and alive mother, but also survived.

And also what if you fell in love with the same girl. And he doesn’t even believe that you love her and suspects that you are just playing, thus withdrawing that love and trust that he has been giving you for five years?

Unfortunate!

Unfortunate!! As is the fact that I'm going to walk outside and lie down in the street and howl! Thanks!!

[suegodvester]

One drink and straight to bed, he vowed to himself.

“A water?” The barman scoffed. “The poor man’s choice, I see.”

Wally chuckled. “The choice of a man who just got here from a trip longer than you can imagine. D’ya got any rooms free up in this place or?”

The barman’s face softened, and he laughed as he went to grab a glass of water. Returning, he leaned in as he handed Wally his drinks. “We do, but tell me, have you ever been here before?”

A blush rose up his cheeks as Wally shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” he laughed awkwardly. He suddenly felt very looked at.

“Curious.” The man pulled back, then nodded to himself. “Gotham usually doesn’t show herself to people who haven’t been here before, well, unless she has plans for you. Or so they say.”

“Gotham?” Wally blurted out, eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He laughed, not because he was happy, but he couldn’t help himself from laughing at his own stupidity. Of course, with all the weirdness going on around here, how didn’t he realize this sooner?

He did it. He found the no-man’s-land that was particularly starting to look like an any-man’s-land to him. The place he had been looking for all along.

“You know, there’s some rumors about-” The bartender started, then stopped dead in his sentence and looked up behind Wally. Right then, Wally felt two, strong hands clasp onto his shoulders.

“You’re in my seat.” A deep, bouldering voice said, the two goons behind him snickering loudly.

Wally looked around him and noticed the two chairs besides him had indeed come up empty. Still, he shrugged and tipped his drink back. “And I was having a really good conversation.” He shot back, not getting off the chair. “Please, do continue.”

He heard a couple “Ooh”’s and “Shit”’s and snickers behind him as the saloon fell silent. All eyes fell on him, or well, them, as Wally shrugged the hands off his shoulders and leaned forward.

“Funny, kid.” The man all but growled. The bottle in his hand -some dirt cheap brand of beer, Wally guessed- came into his view as Wally skillfully -although accidentally- dodged the bottle when he turned the bar chair around. The glass made a painful shattering noise as it came into contact with the edge of the bar, sending shards everywhere.

His attacker staggered back, the intoxication visible in how he tripped rather gracefully against one of his back-up buddies. Immediately, everyone at the bar shot up from their seats and started screaming. Some people saw this as the perfect time to throw some punches around, and Wally winced as he heard the rough sound of a cracking bone right next to him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, the way this bar fight came to be, but now everyone was in on it. Everyone, except for Wally. Shit, had he really just started this? He frantically looked around, hoping to spot a way out of this mess he had so swiftly created. Hells, he hadn’t even been here for over ten minutes and he already-

A hand slipped around his wrist, and the strong grip pulled him out of his thoughts as fast as he was pulled out of the saloon. When the cold night’s air pushed his hair out of his eyes, his mind cleared. Loud screams and thuds against the walls and floors, although a bit more muted now, made him look at one of the windows.

What just happened?

“You’re really quite something, y’know?” An amused, cocky voice startled him fully away from whatever was happening inside the saloon now, and he traced his eyes to the figure in front of him.

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot. Part 2 now out!

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy. divider from here.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn’t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[aphel1on]

my favorite type of blorbo is "entirely new types of trauma being invented for them within this very story" kinda characters. "the dsm cannot even begin to adequately describe what is going on in there" kinda characters. "they shouldn't be scared of therapy, therapy should be scared of them" kinda characters

[catboy-artist]

Aortic Work Of Art

Void Dragon tries his hand at writing fanfiction.

Content Warning: Cannibalism (it's graphic)

[whisperwritingstuff]

i'm back with reverse beasts, to wrap it up! or at least with what i consider to be a good endpoint for this set of writing for them, i'll be back sometime to noodle around with less polished stuff in this verse almost certainly. content warning on this one for some gore (consensual+enjoyed by all participants). enjoy!

-----

The tangle of limbs and magic eases Grian through a warm, smooth rise to wakefulness.

A pair of wings blankets him, soft and sleep-warmed. Mid-day light peeks through the gaps, illuminating their nest-den.

For having committed himself to something so big last night, very little feels different under day's light.

Quiet little coos slip from Grian's lips, only causing the pair using him as a pillow to snuggle closer and give a back and forth volley of sleepy clicks. Grian adds a few clicks of his own. Flock-Pack. Fondness. Covet-treasure-keep.

The clicks come more easily to his understanding now, rather than being sounds that just happen.

"Man, I missed a trick with not just being a Vex in the first place, you guys have got it good with all this lazing around and indulgence." Grian stretches as much as he can while being used as a cushion for two determinedly sleepy cuddlers.

"Vex is best." Scar mumblie grumblies.

"There's some upsides." Cub concedes, sounding awake despite not looking such in the slightest. "Did you get to pick?"

"Huh. Yeah, I guess. Kind of?" Grian flexes his hand. He is all of himself. But he's also who he is in this body. The kind of thing Grian tries not to think about too hard, when he's not in the mood for a splitting headache. "Couldn't tell you what the thought process was now, but, it had intentionality."

"You're Vex now. No takebacksies." Scar gnaws at Grian's shoulder, teeth needle-sharp.

"Yeah. But I'm not not avian, too." Grian muses.

"Being something while being something else." Cub says, like that's all he has to say about that. Maybe it is. Maybe it's a knowing look between a cloud of spores and a smear of glowing goop. Maybe it's a kind of coexistence already practiced.

Maybe it's nothing at all.

"For you hyping this up as super scary dangerous, it feels kinda chill." Grian comments, flicking Scar's cheek.

“Choke yourself.” Scar orders, plainly.

A blur passes over Grian’s mind, then his hands are around his throat. He can’t. Stop himself?

A tick of damage rocks him, breaking apart his straggling thoughts.

“Stop.” Scar calmly orders.

Grian’s hands fall away.

“So that’s a neat trick.” Scar clicks cheerfully.

Instead of formulating words, Grian surges forward and takes Scar's lips in an aggressive kiss.

"Told you so. You owe me those diamonds." Cub says, behind them. Scar flips him off, which only leaves Cub chuckling.

Once Grian's got enough kissing-biting Scar's lips out of his system to feel like most of a person again, he shuffles himself more upright, spreading his wings.

He won't admit it, but Grian's glad that whatever becoming Vex means, magically, it didn't mean he had to give up his wings. His colorful rainbow of feathers, and his new marks- His Marks. Dark and bright. The light hits them, and Grian wants to admire them for hours.

Feathers spread, presenting soot-like streaks and riotous color alike. This time when he feels steady fingers slip between the feathers the static in Grian's brain is just a low, pleasant tingle behind his eyes. Softening his thoughts, but not completely tearing them away.

Scar cups Grian's cheeks, taking the weight of his drooping head as Cub's hands continue carding through the feathers and further melting him.

"Aw, pretty thing, you like taking a break like this?" Scar coos to him, pulling a slow and leaden nod out of Grian. "So good for us." Scar rewards him with a kiss on the nose.

Grian offers up no resistance to being laid out flat on his stomach, his wings laid out to either side of him. Quiet words overhead, before the bed dips, and lifts.

Nothing Grian has to care about, as his wings are tended to. Somewhere, Cub has gotten a cloth, and Grian watches from above as he uses it to methodically wipe down each and every one of Grian's feathers. The bits of real soot and debris and occasional splashes of gore from the Mansion that had all gotten between his feathers removed, a relief.

Time rolls past in calm waves. Warm, savory scents drift over to Grian.

A blink, and then Grian's sitting at the table, a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. His stomach vehemently reminds him that it exists, with the smell of meat and spices enveloping him. So he might as well dig in.

Thoughts come back to him in the way of rabbits poking their heads out of warrens to greet the day.

“Could use some sugar.” Grian comments.

Scar leans over, tipping a bottle of amber-gold honey, to pour a drizzle into a spiral atop the surface of Grian’s stew. “Better, your highness?” Scar teases.

A spoonful, with a considering hum as Grian ponders the tastes. Perfect. “I find it adequate.” He graciously replies.

While Scar is preening, Cub swipes the honey bottle and dumps the rest in his own bowl.

"Hey-" Scar protests, well too late to do anything about it.

"Snooze ya lose, man." Cub shrugs, going back to his eating. Grian chuckles.

Scar ends up eating out of Grian’s dish as much as his own, so Grian just dumps the rest of Scar’s stew into his own bowl as soon as Scar’s attention flits away, getting him a renewed round of blustering protest as well as a Scar plastered to his side to properly share his bowl.

All in all, a fun meal, and one that erases any lingering aches from the prior day’s fights.

Scar steals Grian’s hand, pressing a kiss to the crater where missing fingers should be. Fingers he’d lost, all too stubbornly trying to cling to something that was breaking down Cub right before his eyes. That he’d lost, treating Scar like a prisoner, a danger to the happy illusion Grian hadn’t been willing to leave.

“You won’t mend this on your own, will you?” Scar asks, tone quietly serious. The sort of soft so different from Scar’s usual brightness. Not unheard of, merely rare.

“Hasn’t felt right.” Grian shrugs. What has he done to earn them back, after all?

"I disagree." Cub says, brushing Grian's hair out of his face, and tucking it away behind the tiny wing there. Cub's hand lingers briefly on the feathers, tracing the shapes of the markings.

"How can you disagree with my feeling." Grian chuckles.

"Feelings are the easiest thing in the world to disagree with, my dude." Cub shrugs. "They don't even bring their own citations."

"That's because you don't listen to them right." Scar bandies back.

"Sounds fake." Cub shrugs.

“Your face sounds fake.” Scar bleps at Cub.

“So, if you’re not going to argue with your feelings, we will.” Cub turns back to Grian.

“And your feelings are being jerkfaces, so they get time out. You don’t have to always listen to the parts of you that think the worst of your actions.” Scar carries on.

“You don’t get to condemn you. That’s our job now.” Cub adds.

“As is the reverse.” Scar flips over Grian’s hand.

“The vote is unanimous.” Cub says.

“Motion passes.” Scar nods. “Mend this. For us. For your thoughtfulness and your effort, you’ve earned it.”

“For our selfishness, become whole.” Cub nods.

Grian, swept up in the energy between them, finds himself nodding as well. His guilt eases. It's not his burden to adjudicate. They're the wronged parties, the authorities here.

The magic pools easily into Grian's palm, his own body always more malleable to him than the world around him. First, unwinding the healed-over scars, revealing slick meat and shattered, jutting bone. Second, building out the framework of bones, joints, flesh, skin, claws. Third? Filling in, the growth one layer at a time of real palm, real fingers.

And then it's done.

Grian allows his hand to be taken, allows Scar to examine and flex it. To pass it over to Cub.

"Is that... okay?" Scar asks, in hushed tones. Grian's sure he did it right, so he huffs mildly.

"Moves right, meshes cleanly." Cub confirms. "Hurt?"

"No." Grian answers, as if that should be obvious. Because it should be. It's just a tiny bit of a hand, he'd fixed far more than that before.

"Good." Cub presses his lips to the new skin, though they feel less cool than Grian expected. Lingering heat from the stew?

Finally, they let him have his hand back. Grian flexes the fingers himself, curling each up and testing the claws against the meat of his palm.

...something's not right about that.

They're not dull! But they're not right. Not the same as his other claws on that hand.

Grian really looks at the new part of his hand for the first time and sees the way rosy cream blends into silvery-blue. His new claws are straight. Not curved, as his other claws are.

It doesn't feel wrong, though, even though it's-

Cub's hand and Scar's hands settle to bracket Grian's, laid out in a neat row on the table. The pale silvery blues of their skins match Grian's new fingers. Their claws match his new claws.

Oh. Huh.

Vex fingers. Vex claws.

Yeah, that feels right.

"You are a bottomless wellspring of delightful surprises." Scar steals away Grian's hand again, pressing a kiss to the palm.

“Told you I was a bit Vex all along after all.” Grian snickers.

“Hey! No you didn’t! And retroactionly doesn’t count!” Scar protests.

“Sure counts to me. I was right~” Grian sing-songs.

"Someone never learned how to be a gracious winner." Cub chuckles.

Before Grian can answer, he's rocked by a sweet cascade of power, flowing down from his tiny wings and leaving him melted onto Scar. What tiny bit of brain Grian manages to hold, he turns to purple sparks, dancing down his leg, to be kicked out onto Cub's leg.

"Well, if you both insist, how could I refuse?" Scar's words ring clear in Grian's mind, pulling his attention away from the way Cub slumps in his chair.

Blissful attentiveness.

"Come with me, my sweets, we've got a whole world to explore~" Scar draws Grian and Cub with him, a flanking pair, blinking out into the sunlight.

Moments flash past Grian.

Sunlight. Leaves.

His Summoner’s words.

Blood. Bone.

His Summoner’s touch.

Air. Clouds.

Water. His Pack’s touch.

Flowers. Dirt.

Cool metal. Flickering torchlight.

Grian comes back to his mind sore and content, tucked into Scar's side on an iron bench. Too tiredly lethargic to turn his head, but hearing loud purring clearly from Scar's other side. In answer, Grian's breaths out turn into vibrating coos.

"We really did do good work in here." Scar hums, pleased.

Flock sounds. Good flock sounds. Safe noise.

Grian folds a wing over both of his troublemakers. His Vex. His flock.

His chosen problems.

The moment is quiet and sweet for too long, leaving Grian simply having to slide his fingers up under the side of Scar's shirt- Getting a lazily intrigued hum- before diving into a tickle attack of knuckles over Scar’s sides!

Scar yelps, then shrieks when Grian doesn't let up, but he can't go anywhere when bracketed by Grian's wings and the wall and-

Suddenly jerking toward Grian, Scar reveals a grinning Cub behind him, devious, opportunistic hands lifted to join Grian's game.

Even better.

Grian throws himself back at Scar, trapping Scar in a whirlwind of four seeking and relentless hands, pulling peals of gasping, shrill laughter out of Scar, who can only impotently twist in place between them.

While they're at it, Grian realizes he can see into Scar's inventory, without needing to look. The memory of Cub dragging Scar's sword out of him surfaces, and Grian has to wonder-

Well, only way to know is to try. And only one particularly mischief-bent item to grab.

"Looks like you're the one that's very lucky." Grian snickers, and then he lights Scar on fire with Scar's own flint and steel.

A far cry from the last time he was set ablaze, Scar slumps down in place, remaining seated. Little whines of pain join his panting for breath, no effort made to shove past the arc of Grian’s wing.

It’s odd, watching Scar burn like this. Up close and personal. In stillness, other that seemingly involuntary squirming.

By the time Grian’s brain catches up with the thought of maybe dousing the flame, it has already mostly petered out, aside from some lingering flickering tongues of flame crossing Scar’s arms.

"You want a bite?" Scar offers up his burning arm, barely trembling as the flame licks over his sleeves and along his skin.

Grian presses forward, sealing his lips over the final bit of flame, putting it out. This time, his bite down into Scar's flesh is a little crispy, a little smoky. Melts in his mouth, without that rubbery chewing issue.

Even pulling back with a generous mouthful, the wound on Scar doesn't bleed. Just a bright patch against the darker colors of the burn. Something about it is dizzying to stare at, to feel the satiation of meat spreading through himself, and understand that is Scar's body nourishing him. To feel in himself the satisfaction of a meal almost finished.

A grunt. Scar swats around blindly toward his other side.

Cub's face, popping out from around Scar's torso, sharp grinning teeth dripping with viscera. Cub waves a well overly cheery greeting to Grian.

"Just help yourself, why don't you." Scar huffs a laugh, his voice shaking with a faint quiver of a tremor.

"Oh, don't worry, I will. I will." Cub vanishes back behind Scar, drawing another grunt out of Scar with what must presumably be a new bite.

"Don't mind him, his table manners go right out the window when he's hungry." Scar rolls his eyes.

The sound of wet sucking crunches could not be more evident.

"I- guess you just taste that good. Maybe he's onto something." Grian only briefly falters before his mouth kicks in anyway to keep talking.

"Oh you have got to try this, man." Cub moves himself boldly onto Scar's lap, then drags Grian in for a kiss. Fresh blood explodes over Grian's taste buds, washing away the char flavor.

The tang of blood gives way to sweetness, as Cub presses a morsel of flesh into Grian's mouth.

Grian's eyes roll back with the divine flavor-sensation of biting down into it. Power, electric and sweet, courses through Grian, leaving tingles in its wake.

"His liver basically self-candies itself in magic. One of the best parts." Cub explains eagerly.

Scar jolts under Cub with an accompanying squelch. Cub lifts a long, dark strip of glistening organ meat out of Scar's gut, holding it up to the torchlight. Grian leans in, mouth open, for Cub to lay it on his tongue. Sweetness overtakes Grain again, shimmering and brilliant across his nerves.

"You taste brilliant." Grian sways, pressing in to kiss Scar's paling lips.

"Feast." Scar encourages, rapturous.

Cub's arm vanishes up into Scar's torso, a no-magic trick all too tangible. Scar holds so, so rigidly still, barely breathing. A faint breath turns into a cough, turns into a spray of blood dusted over the shoulders of Cub's labcoat. A burble of blood dripping off of Scar's lips.

"Here, lung should be soft enough for you." Cub holds out a new piece of Scar's viscera, arm stained in red up to the elbow.

Drawn in by the fascinating newness of it, Grian carefully takes the chunk of lungs into his mouth. On a whim, Grian delays his exploration of that new texture, licking Cub's fingers clean first. A quiet pause of a moment between them, needing no words.

When Grian gets to chewing it, the bit of lung is... spongey, almost. Cakey. Grian isn't quite certain whether he likes it or not. Certainly not as much as the liver, or the grilled skin, but at least more than the ungrilled skin earlier.

Ranking the edibility of various parts of Scar is not exactly how Grian thought his evening would be going.

"I'd get you some brain, but I don't have my tools with me. Trust me my guy, it's worth the fuss to get some out without killing him, the texture is almost like pudding. Like a good flan. A good flan." Cub explains, setting Scar to moaning under him.

"Next time, then." Grian finds himself saying. More surprising than saying it, he discovers that he means it. Again. That some part of him is curious about what Scar's brain would taste like. What Scar will sound like while they take it, if this is how he sounds just thinking about it.

"Next time." Cub echoes with a nod. And then Cub casually rips out what might be a whole kidney? From Scar’s body, to tear into and devour.

Vex fangs really are marvelous things, aren't they? Sharp, wicked points, designed specifically for the rending of flesh, for tearing through organs like so much tissue paper. Glistening with gore in the iron-reflected torchlight, points making for perfect drips of blood in fangy smiles.

Grian's heart flutters, just watching Cub. The unrestrained mess Cub makes of the organ, so different than Cub’s usual controlled precision.

A creature, Grian's creature, turned loose on the world.

Turned loose on their Summoner. Empowered in devout consumption.

To eat. To make a part of oneself. Grian has tasted many facets of Scar before, supped and feasted on his highs and on him brought low. On wars, on tricks, on endless smiles.

And now, on his flesh, offered up with tremblingly genuine words.

To take responsibility for another's life. To nurture, from one's own self.

Grian knows he's in good hands. Wicked, terrible, too-clever hands. Warm, tender, too-sweet hands.

Grian cups Scar's cheeks in his hands, pulling Scar close, devouring the pained groan off Scar’s lips. Clammy lips, flagging gestures. And yet, Scar still manages to press into the kiss, to slip his tongue between Grian's lips.

Not long now.

Grian catches the silvery beast in his teeth, giving only a moment of pause, of anticipation, of clarity-

Grian bites.

He needs more force than he thought he would, Scar grunting and keening in pain as Grian fails a clean bite through once, twice, third time's the charm.

Scar shivers and shudders, caught between Grian's consuming kiss above, and Cub's obscene slurping and munching into his torso below.

Scar's tongue is tougher than Grian imagined, less pleasant. But such a small chunk is manageable, and once he starts really teething on it, a honey-sweet feeling leaks through Grian's senses.

Scar laughs, the sound of it clear despite his lack of breath. Grian feels the sound of it echo through his bones, answered by a chuckle of his own that joins Scar's laughter. Cub's cackling weaves in to mingle, high and wicked and unrestrained.

The perfect trifecta of sound, filling Grian's chest-

And then there were two. Cub thumps onto the bench, Scar's lap simply no longer present.

Grian swallows down the last bit of Scar's tongue, the honey-sweetness of it radiating into his whole chest. Cub is already up and circling, picking up any outer spray of items they hadn't already automatically pocketed upon Scar's death.

Cub's offered hand. Rippled purple.

The plunge into the frigid river, washing away the evidence of their gory deed. Quick hands scrubbing one another before the creatures of the night can find them, singing chirps escaping Grian no matter the danger of sound.

Simply floating out of the entire concept of wetness.

Cub's hand again, this time blooming into the brightness of indoors.

Tumbling into warmed sheets, clean and comfortable, flanking Scar.

"Welcome home." Scar greets, adoring. He clicks flock-pack, then chirps the same, sounds Grian eagerly answers and Cub snaps his fingers along to.

Grian's wing, feathery and warm, extended to cover the three of them. Yet more delightful, Cub's wing, leather-soft and glowing, blanketing atop it.

Their nest-den home, no matter the odd shape of it.

As if they even needed it, Scar snugs his arms, one each around Grian and Cub, and squishes them close to himself. Clearly, he doesn't be displaying an adverse effects from being eaten to death. Unless somehow finding a way to be even more snuggly than his baseline counts. Which. It might. Hm. Jury's out on that one.

"You're thinkin' too hard." Scar bleps at Grian, flicking his tongue out.

All answers are lost to Grian, as the pale glow lighting their wing-bundled space reveals Scar's tongue to have healed with gradient to a deep purple tone at the tip.

Before Grian can gather himself, matching dark purple clawtips catch Scar's tongue. "Meow." Says Cub, in his causally flat tone.

Grian can't stop the snickers that spill out of him, watching the indignation and amusement and fondness run across Scar's expression. Scar’s solution, of course, is to simply lean forward and envelop Cub's fingers completely in his mouth.

"I'm sure Joe's taking good care of her." Cub answers Scar's hum around his fingers. "She'll probably be running Holmdel by the time we get back."

"We ought to think about that, shouldn't we? Going home." Grian says. Something about that feels like it will make everything that happened out here real. Or would it be less real? Would they go back to how they were? Tuck it away into a chest, like a last red life lost? Like a season departed?

Grian rubs his headwings back and forth over his own cheek. The colors there won't fade away, even if he returns to the sea. His flight feathers, as well, darkened.

"Yes!" Scar exclaims around Cub's fingers, before lifting back off of them. "We need you to fill our dens proper with those girthy crystals of yours~"

"Your den. My bed." Cub corrects, only getting an eye roll from Scar.

"You promised, you made a deal, you gotta." Scar presses on, when Grian shakes his head in amusement.

"No, not- I mean, yes. I will. I was- Of course I will. All the crystals you two want. But! You're going to have to take your preening lumps without complaint, you hear me. No whining."

"I would never, good sir! Narry a peep from me against it." Scar presses a hand splayed over his own heart, which drags Grian in close.

"You might need to work on making a gag out of one of them, if you want him to follow through on that." Cub comments, mildly.

Watching Scar gasp and try to squish all the air out of Cub, Grian has to think to himself, that he's never quite figured out how Scar does this. This pleasant sleight of hand, where Scar just takes his worries, and through some sort of baffling conversational alchemy, he replaces them with things so much sillier, that Grian can't take them seriously enough to brood or work himself up worrying about.

An astounding skill, and deftly used. Of course they'll continue this at home, Scar makes that sound like a given, like it never even could have been in doubt. Each of them have made their choices, haven't they? Grian willingly bound himself to them, a heretical union ringed by fire, under the stars, witnessed by no one but himself.

Something stumbled into, almost stumbled out of so many times, but valued too much to abandon. Trying again, and again, and again, until they got it right.

And they have, Grian thinks. Gotten it right.

This feels right.

A little flighty, a little all over the place, but a comfortable sort of chaos. An excitement that carries with it eagerness, discovery and delight.

Grian had never thought he would get to experience becoming again, but these two always find a way to surprise him.

"Sleep tonight, you unruly pillow. Tomorrow-" Grian rests his cheek on Scar's shoulder. "Tomorrow we take this home."

"Sounds good man." Cub doesn't even bother stifling a yawn as he settles down on the other side of Scar's chest.

The man the myth the pillow himself, Scar, fakes the world's loudest snoring as his only answer, setting all three of them off in a fit of giggles that feel lighter than air and brighter than sunshine.

[bonehuntr]

maybe don't involve yourself with the fandom if you can't even handle a gender identity headcanon.

these characters have already been put through a wringer, it REALLY doesn't matter if people see Harrow as a femme/butch/whatever. it also does not matter what you see Pal as. he wears a nurse dress and writes smut. personally, he's headcanoned as a transmasc butch AND a transfem butch in my house, depending on how we're talking about him (AMAB Pal is a trans woman that doesn't have enough time to understand her egg, AFAB Pal is transmasc and has always used he/him). in fact, there's very few characters in the locked tomb that haven't received at least one headcanon in my heart.

none of this fucking matters. you're in fandom space. let people have fun or stop interacting with it.

[aherowhowashappy]

was going through the archives the past few days rereading some all time favorites and something I’ve noticed is that nobody does sid’s autistic traits better than older fics (not to randomly armchair diagnose someone idek just in the sense of the characteristics he has that I as an autistic person identify with) and I think that’s because of the difference in how he was seen versus his image now. By this point everyone is so used to sid’s superstitions and rituals and awkward mannerisms that they know how to work around them and even expect them as part of him being the great player that he is, whereas 15 years ago he was still coming out of being a bit of a punching bag for the league and seen as a whiner who needed everything to be a particular way, so the media emphasized those traits more.

[tragically-jane-doe]

Mentally preparing myself to dig through my ao3 history for one specific superbat fic

(by chance any if the homies know it Bruce Wayne gets outed as like a homophobe (he's not he's just insanely deep in the closet) and he has to convince the league that he's not by slowly coming out as bi to everyone I'm pretty sure he comes out to Diana first in way of lasso)

Edit

Sadly I'm pretty sure it has been deleted I've gone thru two months worth of backlog and only had 2 deleted fics and by comparing ao3 history to my google history I'm pretty sure it was called different constellations (I pressed on the link like a dummy and its only showing as 404 error as the name now 😔)

(the other deleted fic was batman's playlist where that damn manwhore seduces superman by listening to wap on repeat during a workout)

On my knees begging ao3 authors to just orphan their works instead of deleting them please babes

[ends-of-the-wayward-storm]

"I Know You" Part 1—Only Once

[Original picture is from alchemivich, who had originally extracted it from the game. Edits and other effects were made by me.]

Summary

Malleus passed through the mirror that led to his dorm. Now that the matter of determining how to retrieve the magic stone had been settled, his mind seized the opportunity to recall that moment at the Botanical Garden.

He knew those wings. It was what he remembered the most of that fae he met just once all those years ago. Well, years was an understatement. But either way, it had been a very long time. And he had become convinced that they were never to meet again.

~~--~~

(AO3 Link Here!)

(Part 2)

[Aaaand here it is! Boy this took way longer than it should have.😬 But anyway, this has actually been sitting around for roughly 2-3 years mainly because I didn't think I would ever be posting this anywhere. But here we are! This fic and the series it's a part of (called "I Know You") is one of my favorites I've worked on for TWST, so I hope you guys enjoy them as much as I do.😊]

[nicbutnasty]

in from the cold

Max F/Lando | 400 words | G rated for cosy winter fluff

Heavily inspired by Max and Lando's photos from their skiing trip.

Read on AO3

Max is already curled up in front of the fire when Lando walks in and unceremoniously deposits himself into Max’s lap, nearly knocking his phone to the floor in the process. There’s not really room for two people in the armchair Max has claimed, but Lando squirms until he’s mostly comfortable, still fidgeting until— “Mate, your hands are freezing!” Max yelps as one of Lando’s hands finds its way under his fleece, the other swiftly following it. He tries to pull away, for fear of losing his nipples to frostbite or something, but Lando’s got him trapped.   “What’ve you been up to? Your trackies are soaked, too, Bob.”

And they are: from knee to ankle, the fabric is sopping wet, leaving damp patches on the sherpa blanket over Max’s lap. No wonder Lando’s freezing. 

“Been making snowballs,” Lando replies from where he’s got his face buried in Max’s shoulder, his red nose a pinpoint of cold on Max’s jaw. This close, Max can hear his teeth chattering slightly. “Chucking them at Ed. For Instagram. Thought it’d be funny.”

“No gloves?” Max asks.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, tickling Max’s jaw with his bright pink beanie. 

Max shoves at him, ineffectively. “Alright,” he sighs, “Get up, strip those trousers off, and then get under the blanket. You’ll catch your death in wet clothes.”

“Buy me dinner first,” Lando jokes, flashing one of those ridiculous grins of his. As if he thinks he can stay curled up against Max, making the whole setup cold and damp, purely through charm.

Max doesn’t justify that with an answer, so Lando reluctantly extracts himself from Max’s fleece and slides off, making quick work of his wet joggers. 

“You’re the one with the Formula 1 salary, Bob,” Max finally retorts, probably too late. “Maybe you should buy me dinner sometime.”

He pulls back the blanket and beckons for Lando to join him, making room for Lando’s back against the armrest and legs across Max’s lap, socked feet tucked in. 

“Maybe I will,” Lando murmurs from where he’s pressed up against Max’s fleece again, head half-tucked into his armpit. “Maybe I will.”

Ed traipses through with the rest of them later, when Lando’s half asleep on Max’s shoulder, their legs intertwined. “Alright, you two,” he nods, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to see the two of them curled up together.

Which, he supposes, maybe it is.

[emmg]

Mad respect to everyone who puts in the effort to make cute, pretty, or just downright stunning graphics/accompanying gif sets/mood boards for their fics and chapter updates. Like, you didn’t have to go that hard, but you did, and it’s always such a treat to see. Not only are you feeding us with amazing stories, but you’re also plating it like a five-star meal. Mwah 💋

[mewfortress5]

Happy halloweenie, as quote a friend I showed this to, "VAGINA FOREHEAD AU?"

[souenkun]

Birthday month photo dump! 🥂

Today is my birthday, and I turn 25 this year, yippee! 🥹💖 as my frontal lobe fully develops going forward, here's to more writing of my beloved pokemon sillies 🍀