#but it was written with the ship in mind

[tsururoach]

Ioriku AU + ramble down below:

Au ramble: It's a mixture/touch and go of some stories I liked and wanted to dabble in with Ioriku:

-Riku and Tenn are children who were born with an odd amount of divine/spiritual power. However, Riku couldn't handle that level of power both because of his own health + because his power was focused entirely on his voice

-Tenn, because of his better control and because he didn't want Riku to be the one to go, enters the temple. Because of the "divine" nature of it, Riku hasn't seen him since

-Riku was given a prophecy as a child that he would die from his singing/voice, which Tenn had overheard. However, on the other end, Riku would be overwhelmed if he didn't get the release he did from singing.

-Iori is from a music obsessed bird clan, but would constantly visit the human world. Initially he did for his music loving older brother, to help him pursue furthering his music, but eventually started going because he enjoyed human things.

-Iori then finds Riku one day singing and becomes transfixed.

-At first, Iori is similar to other spirits who want possession of the voice, but as Iori listens, he realizes that while It was wearing riku's body down, the only person who can properly bring the power out of Riku's voice is riku himself.

-Iori then, properly runs away from his clan and fully pretends to be human, sealing away his bird characteristics. Becoming friends with Riku begins as an accident, because he truly just wanted to listen to Riku sing properly. (Which was difficult when the temple/exorcists kept watch over Riku outside of the forest)

-It's inevitable, but Riku's voice finally over takes him, and while Riku was recovering a stray god takes his singing voice.

-Riku falls into a depression because it was both the one thing he had shared with Tenn, and also something he had genuinely enjoyed. (Also he felt phantom pains, with it missing.)

-While without it, Riku's life would be extended, he cannot sing again.

-Iori had actually stolen a small part of Riku's voice before he went undercover as human, but struggled to return it (but had felt guilt for taking that small part in the first place.)

(This preserved part of Riku's singing was one taken from loneliness.)

-Because of this, Iori would be able to track down the stolen voice... but only after crossing the boundary to the spirit realm ... and with Riku in hand.

-It is the most extreme of extreme taboo to let a human see a spirit's true form, and can cause disaster (either for the spirit or the human). However, It's borderline impossible for just a spirit to pretend to be human in the spirit's boundary.

-Because of this, he makes a deal with Riku, that Riku cannot look at him if Riku wanted his voice back. While at this point Riku kind of vaguely knows what's going on (both because of the impossibility of events and because of tenn), he decides to trust Iori.

-Iori only partially transforms in the spiritual boundary. This makes him both weaker... but also harder to track down.

...

-Iori also wants Riku to still consider him as human, as fruitless as that is.

-They're being pursued both by the temple and by other spirits (those who wants the remnants of Riku's voice and the servant of the god)

-Iori's clan wasn't one of fighting, but he collaborates with Riku to create a song that can keep at least the spirits off their back.

-Iori plans on leaving Riku permanently, once his voice is retrieved.

[morally-earl-gray]

star wars fans are so funny bc like you can mention a background clone character who shows up in like, two episodes at most, and there will be some fangirl who's memorized his wiki page, has a pinterest fan page dedicated to him, and ships him with riyo chuchi

[sorens-bsf]

this trios dynamic 2 me 😋

[secretly-a-catamount]

Cryptid Batfam is really fun, but I feel like everyone’s missing out on Cryptid versions of the batfam’s lovers. You don’t understand, I need the their lovers to be worse. I need the goons of Gotham to be afraid of the shadows and to be just as afraid of what casts the shadows.

[observingfantasy]

The Price of Deceit

~ Shadow Milk Cookie redemption fic

Okay sooooo, ever since I saw this fanart from @frenchiefieart the brainworms refused to let me be. Questions like 'How did it come to this?' and 'What might happen after?' kept me from sleeping, so I wrote a one-shot. Which then kinda escalated...

I'm unsure about publishing my work in general, but I put far too much effort into that first chapter, and it still kinda works as a one-shot, so... here we go.🤷🏻‍♀️

Please go look at frienchiefie's absolutely gorgeous piece of art before reading. The first three lines of dialog are entirely stolen from her artwork, and the visual context really helps with the immersion. (@frenchiefieart if this kind of usage is not okay with you, please let me know and I'll change it. I never wanted to steel your ideas in any way.)

Chapter 1: Desparation

"Nilly, please, don't let them do this."

No reaction.

"You love all cookies, right? A-and we spent some time together. It wasn't all bad… was it?"

Still nothing.

"Pure Vanilla, please, look at me. I-I can't go back there. I'm not ready to disappear."

Shadow Milk was just straight-up begging at this point—he had no other options left. He was aching all over, bleeding from multiple wounds—the worst of which was unfortunately on his head, dripping blood into his eyes and making thinking more difficult than it really had to be.

"How dare you speak to him like that! Like he hasn’t already given you more chances than you ever deserved! Like you didn’t spit in his face again and again! Like you didn’t twist his kindness just to break his heart!"

Ohh, she was furious—the Guardian of the Silver Tree. Protective of her best friend and still mad at him for killing Elder Fairy. Time had done nothing to dull her fury, not through the long, chaotic years of war that followed.

Shadow Milk would be embarrassed later—about the way he flinched at every word, how he scrambled backward despite the sharp ache in his limbs. But right now, all that mattered was putting as much space as possible between himself and the cookie he probably feared the most.

He couldn't go back into that tree. He couldn't.

He would survive it—he always did. The Beasts were immortal, their magic living on even when their bodies perished. But what would be left of his mind after another century in isolation? After a millennium? An eternity?

He didn't want to find out.

But the choice wasn’t his to make. The heroes were closing in, their weapons still raised, their expressions grim.

"Please, I..."

He was still looking at his counterpart, still trying to get the other to just look at him. With his own eyes or with his staff, Shadow Milk would take whatever he could get at this point. But Pure Vanilla kept his eyes resolutely closed, both his staff and his body half-turned away from his beaten foe. Yet as long as he didn't turn away fully, there still was a chance. There had to be.

Despite what everyone might think now, Shadow Milk was well aware that he didn't deserve mercy. Or another chance. And especially not forgiveness. But Pure Vanilla knew that—and had offered him a hand over and over anyway.

Once, Shadow Milk had taken it. He had pretended, smiled, played along—a game of keeping just enough truth in his words to make his lies believable. And all the while, he had spread his influence in the shadows. With the help of his faithful minions, he had worked to crumble the very foundation of the Vanilla Republic, his counterpart had built atop the ruins of his kingdom.

And Pure Vanilla had known.

Not everything. Not the full extent. But he had seen the cracks forming, had watched as trust faltered. Had looked at Shadow Milk and saw all the lies tangled between the truths.

And still, he had reached out. Had tried to show Shadow Milk there was another way.

And the jester, oblivious to just how much Pure Vanilla really knew, had kept going. Let the rumors fester, let small wounds deepen into permanent scars. Had whispered into uncertain ears, let doubt take root where it hurt the most—between friends, between families, between those who had always stood side by side. And by the time Pure Vanilla finally acted, the damage had already been done. Friendships shattered. Councils divided. Some wounds only emotional—some far worse.

And when Pure Vanilla finally confronted him about all that, and Shadow Milk learned that the other had known but waited—had held onto the hope that there could be a peaceful solution—the jester had laughed. At his own stupidity and Vanilla's alike. Until he saw the look in his counterpart's eyes.

Betrayal, disappointment, and hurt, morphing into something harder. A determination so cold he never would have thought the compassionate healer capable of it.

That look had never left Shadow Milk’s mind since. Even now, after years of war, it surfaced in the quiet moments, in every retreat that followed, in the hollow ache he refused to name. Because that had been the last time Pure Vanilla had reached out his hand.

And now, as Shadow Milk cowered before him once more, he knew there would be no hand this time. No warmth. No kindness. Only that cold determination and resentment, where once had been hope.

"Nilla… Nilla, please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…"

He choked out between sobs he couldn't hold back any longer, as Pure Vanilla showed no signs of hearing him at all, while the other heroes were slowly closing in.

"White Lily, let's get this over with," Dark Cacao said with a finality that made his heart race.

He was running out of time. He couldn't stop himself from slowly scrambling away further, nor could he repress the absolutely pathetic whimper that tore from his throat. He was hyperventilating so badly he couldn't even form the words to try and convince them to stop. To give him another chance. To do anything but this...

Not that they would listen anyway. That was always the problem of the liars—no one believed them when they were telling the truth. But right now he just had to make them believe—somehow.

With his back against a wall and no escape, his desperate gaze fell onto Pure Vanilla once again. And when the ancient Light of Truth slightly turned his staff to look at him one last time, the former Virtue of Knowledge had one last, absolutely desperate idea.

"Wait! Please!"

When everyone paused for a heartbeat, Shadow Milk seized the moment to tear the Soul Jam of Deceit from his chest and extend it towards his other half.

Everyone froze. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard in the giant arena—where the fight between the last Beast and the heroes had taken place—was Shadow Milk Cookie's heavy breathing.

Well, at least he still knew how to capture an audience.

Shadow definitely had Vanilla’s attention now.

"What…?"

The question was soft, incredulous. Shadow Milk couldn’t blame him. He could barely believe it himself. His hand trembled, the weight of his Soul Jam unbearable in his palm.

"T-Take it."

His voice was shaking even worse than his hand. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his throat felt tight and his breathing was labored.

"Do…" He hesitated, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. "Do w-whatever you need to… do with it."

Crack it, break it, disintegrate it—anything but this.

"But please, don’t…" He choked on his own horror again, but forced himself to finish the damn sentence before it swallowed him whole.

"Don’t seal me away again. Please."

Silent tears were uncontrollably falling down his face at this point, as he waited for Pure Vanilla to please just accept his offer. It was the only thing he had left.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. And Shadow Milk realized he wasn’t the only one waiting. None of the other heroes moved to take the Soul Jam. Instead, they stood frozen, their gazes shifting between him and Pure Vanilla—some uncertain, some shocked, others expectant.

Finally, Pure Vanilla’s hesitation hardened into something like grim resolve. His jaw tightened. His shoulders squared. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and took the Soul Jam from Shadow Milk’s trembling hands.

It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil, not to clutch his most precious possession to his chest like a lifeline.

There was something dark in Pure Vanilla’s gaze—something final. Whatever fleeting hope Shadow Milk might have clung to shattered the moment their eyes met. And yet… behind the cold determination, there was regret. An apology. For what?

"I'm sorry. I wish it wouldn't have had to come to this."

Then, without another moment for Shadow to comprehend what the hero was going to do, bright shards of light pierced his Soul Jam of Deceit and Darkness, shattering it in an instant.

It was pain unlike anything Shadow Milk had ever known. Worse than when the witches had originally split his Soul Jam in two. Back then, they had cleanly sliced away the part that he had been rejecting anyway. Now, Pure Vanilla's light mercilessly carved into the deepest, darkest part of his soul and watched his everything shatter into a million pieces.

The pain was blinding, suffocating, all-consuming. He hoped desperately that he had been mistaken—that he wouldn’t survive this. That maybe his soul was so inextricably bound to that gem that its shattering meant true annihilation. Death would be mercy. No matter what kind of punishment awaited him in the afterlife, it couldn't be worse than this.

When the light finally retreated, the pain faded—slowly, agonizingly. Which probably meant that he was still alive. That was the only realization Shadow Milk could grasp right now. His body still ached all over—worse than before. His very essence had been ripped apart. Shredded. He couldn’t feel anything but pain. Couldn't hear, see, or smell anything at all.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Maybe he was? He couldn’t tell.

Then, there were hands. Touching him. It hurt. Moving him. That hurt even worse.

Wasn't he suffering enough? (No.) Did they really have to keep hurting him? (Yes. He deserved it. He would finally get what he deserved.)

His body had nothing left to give.

The last thing Shadow Milk felt was a hand on his forehead before everything dissolved into sweet oblivion, and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

next →

[barbieaiden]

signs of a storm

[pepperpixel]

Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

[bigbeautifulshark]

sweet heat lightning - gregory alan isakov

for @barelybalthasar <3

[caluupin]

I am so normal about act 5

[solidaritygaming-fanblog]

Finny, August 2024: "I think I should watch Joel and Jimmy's pov of esmp2 at the same time! I'm sure this will have absolutely NO ADVERSE EFFECTS and that I will be INCREDIBLY NORMAL about it :) "

Finny, April 2025:

[my-little-random-world]

ANNA MADELEY 𝒂𝒔 AUDREY HALL 𝒂𝒏𝒅 SAMUEL WEST 𝒂𝒔 SIEGFRIED FARNON | All Creatures Great and Small Series 1 Episode 5 — All's Fair

[disastergenius]

maybe this is a hot take but i do wonder if the initial gnarlrock incident, following argument, and (imo) anticlimactic and almost complete brushing off of that conflict occurring between Imogen and Laudna had actually led to a real conversation about Delilah/her influence and Imogen and Laudna's relationship in general (pre-established romance) would have made discussing Delilah later in the campaign easier

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

it's Tuesday somewhere so starting it off early lol

after 7x09 I had like 4 new ideas (plus maaaany more non-episode related ideas, istg lately there's so many, I don't know what to focus on lol my brain feels loud, and I feel like I'm writing a hundred things at once, I've been a chaotic mess this month istg) but for now im trying to focus on this one fic, and trying to finish whatever this is before the next episode

for now, here's a bit of bucktommy at the medal ceremony after the encounter with gerrard

___

He could punch Gerrard in the face. He really wants to, and if it was a couple years ago, he probably would – but he’s at a work event, the guy is a Captain, unfortunately, and Buck just got a medal, he’s not risking his job right now. He’s not the same impulsive kid he was seven years ago. He’s heard enough stories from Chimney and Hen, and recently some vague ones from Tommy, to know that he hates their old Cap. Tommy seems to want to open up to Buck, to let Buck truly know him, but talking about that past, about himself back then, about the whole environment is not easy, and Buck gets that. They have time to get to know each other, neither of them is going anywhere. Buck’s certainly not planning to, and when Tommy says he isn’t, either, Buck finds himself trusting him, which is very new but so exciting.

“It’s- well, it was to be expected.” Tommy shrugs, his face a careful, neutral mask that Buck’s just starting to learn to see past, then sits down when they approach the table, putting his plate down – they’re sharing it with Eddie, Marisol and Christopher, but the three of them are still at the buffet getting food. Buck takes a seat next to him, then scoots his chair closer – close enough that their knees touch, but far enough that they still appear professional. “It just threw me off. Actually, threw me twenty years back for a moment.” he huffs an unamused, bitter laugh.

___

no pressure tags: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @weewootruck @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @bidisasterevankinard @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @hoodie-buck @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @neverevan @loveyouanyway @tizniz @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples

[drjackabbots]

that last gifset made me sad that we never got a follow up to the Mel/Abbot "Talk to me at the end of the day" scene

Mel’s convinced she’s made it to the door without anyone noticing her before a voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“Dr. King.”

It’s said in that sort of way that’s not really a question even if someone else would frame it like that, and Mel lets her shoulders rise up a little towards her ears as she slowly turns.

Oh, boy.

“I’d like a word before you leave,” Dr. Abbot says calmly, and Mel tries to smile at him. She’s had pretty limited interaction with him, given that basically every conversation had the undertone of ‘this person is dying, can you please come help if it’s not too much trouble’, but she can already tell that Dr. Abbot takes no nonsense as more than just a personality trait. It’s probably more like a way of life.

“Oh, right,” she says, fiddling with her bag. “Yeah! Yeah. Of course. Sure.”

Dr. Abbot leads her a little aways from the exit while everyone else is getting all their things together. She can see the way that he glances over at Dr. Robby, who seems to be headed towards a conversation with Dana, and then his attention is on her again. He holds eye contact like it comes naturally to him, while Mel has to fight to keep it without fidgeting or turning away. He’s intimidating, and she’s preparing herself for whatever reprimand is about to come down on her head. Was it the spinal tap against the parents’ wishes? The way she told on Santos about the REBOA? Maybe the way she kept sneaking off to gather her wits? There are probably a million—

“I wanted to apologize for this morning,” Dr. Abbot says curtly, and Mel blinks up at him.

“...um,” she says, because she can’t really think of anything else. “I’m… sorry? For… what, exactly?”

“This morning,” he repeats. “When I told you to talk to me at the end of your shift.”

The conversation feels like so many worlds away that Mel has to genuinely think about it. She must’ve lived at least three lives in the span of the last fifteen hours, but when the memory finally slides into place, she bites her lip and then shrugs as nonchalantly as she can.

“Oh. I mean… You were right,” she says quietly, picking at the skin of her thumb with her index finger at her side. “I definitely feel different than I did when I came in. It was a lot. And I learned a lot! For sure. But it was…” She clears her throat. “You don’t… need to apologize or anything, even if I appreciate the thought—”

“I do need to apologize,” he interrupts, and she falls silent. “You’re an exceptional doctor, from what Robby told me. I might’ve been in a bad mood when you introduced yourself, but that was no reason for me to shoot you down like that. Especially not after the shitshow today ended up being.”

It’s a lot to take in with the way her brain’s starting to feel like it’s full of lead, and it takes Mel a second to process what he’s saying. Dr. Abbot’s a lot taller than she is, and he stands with his hands clasped behind his back like some kind of drill sergeant, and his tone brokers zero argument. But the words exceptional doctor come through clear as day, and under that stoic and sarcastic persona, Mel thinks there might be someone almost gentle there. A softness underneath the scars. Or, at least, she hopes so.

“...yeah,” she says, nodding and laughing a little. It’s not exactly funny, and there’s not a lot of mirth in it, but it’s a laugh anyway. “Yeah, it—yeah, today was a shitshow.”

“But you did good.” Dr. Abbot holds that eye contact when she tries to look away, following her like a bird. “You know that, right?”

The way he says it comes with so much conviction that Mel doesn’t even question it this time. She swallows hard, thinking of everything that’s happened today. None of it felt good, and none of it felt like she was making any progress, but… she can believe it, in this moment, that she proved herself. At least there’s that.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I tried to. I hope I did.”

“You did,” he insists, like it’s a personal mission.

Although it takes a second, Mel nods.

Then, to her shock, she gets a smile. It’s not a bright, cheerful smile, but there’s something… kind about it. Dr. Abbot isn’t like Dr. Robby, and maybe that’s a good thing when it’s needed. The smile’s gone as quickly as it came, and Dr. Abbot straightens up again from where he’d tilted his head to follow her eyes when she tried to look away.

“Don’t forget that,” he says, hitching his bag more securely onto his shoulder. “And don’t let an old shit like me get to you. This place needs more people like you. The patients need more people like you. So you keep going. You got it, Dr. King?”

A proud warmth blossoms in her chest, tendrils of it trying to reach out and brighten the tired agony of the day. It hadn’t felt like that, most of the day, but between Dr. Abbot and Dr. Robby’s affirmations, Mel thinks she might just be able to come back tomorrow.

“Got it,” she replies, and Dr. Abbot nods as he turns on his heel.

“Good,” he says, and throws a vague goodbye wave over his shoulder as he makes his way towards Dr. Robby waiting for him near the exit to triage. “Now get out of here before you change your mind.”

That’s really all she needs. Dr. Robby gives her a little wave too, and she returns it with probably too much false cheer. She can see it in his eyes that the day’s gone just as poorly for him as it has her.

Once they’re both gone, Mel pushes the door open with her shoulder and takes off down the street. She’s already thinking about how she needs to pick up Becca and how to finagle a shower without waking her up once Mel convinces her to go to bed, but the words echo in her mind. That warmth in her chest stays, beating in time with her heart as she rounds a corner and holds her phone up to her ear.

“Hey,” she says, counting down each number on the crosswalk across the street as they flicker one by one. “I’m done with my shift. I’m coming to pick you up, okay?”

Becca’s full of delight, as always. It keeps that warm feeling flickering like a campfire.

“Did your first day go okay? How do you like it there? Is it fun?”

Mel smiles, waiting for the last car to drive by as she’s hit with a familiar barrage of questions.

“We’ll see how I feel after a few more shifts,” she says, hurrying across the street. “Anyway, what about you? You’re going to have to tell me all about your day when I get there.”

It wasn’t the VA, that’s for sure, but… she could learn to love the Pitt. She could learn to make it her home, and the people there a weird, messed up sort of family. She can come back and try again.

As long as every day doesn’t end up like today, anyway.

also on ao3!

[ohlittlebluebell]

i am *this* close to writing a penemily fic i am just waiting for the writing gods to bless me with more than just the vague notions of a ✨concept✨

[nordicfiord]

It was getting cold and late.

“Why are we here again?” Cold didn’t seem bothered, though. They didn’t even have luggage - just their thoughts and tickets.

“Just because.” Contrarian shrugged, listening to the sounds of incoming local train. “Do we even need a reason? It’s not like you have ever ridden an electric train before.”

“True.” It was Cold’s turn to shrug. He breathed, looking at the steam with an almost amused look. And then he looked at Contrarian.

His friend was unusually quiet, patiently waiting for the train. Not that this bothered Cold… but anything unusual was a thing of interest. So he stared.

Contrarian smiled, noticing this look. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the stare then?”

“Do I even need a reason?”

“True.” Contrarian chuckled when Cold threw his words back at him. He sighed then, looking… tired. “Ah, it’s here. Wanna sit in the last car?”

“Sure.” Cold tilted his head, somewhat amused. But the train just got to the station, so they got up on it.

A couple of minutes later they were sitting at the half-empty last car, and the train went on its way again. Contrarian sat by the window and idly watched the landscape, almost invisible in the lighted cabin of the train. Cold sat down in the next chair, not even attempting to look in black nothingness of the windows.

“We should’ve rode sooner. Then it would actually be possible to see from them”, Contrarian sighed, relaxing a bit. “Well, this is something new, and new is pretty much always good.”

“Agreed. Though I can’t really understand, what are we supposed to do here?” Cold looked around at people, sleeping in different positions. “They sure seem like they are having fun.”

“Well, you can do that too, you know!” Contrarian laughed, but he clearly wasn’t having fun.

Cold didn’t quite understand his fascination with taking a ride or two a month on trains, that’s why he tagged along. But now, seeing how he was struggling to keep his emotions in check… Well, that might’ve been the reason.

Boring.

“Doesn’t seem like something else will happen here, so you will be my pillow.” Cold said nonchalantly, as if there were nothing to discuss on the matter. Contrarian laughed at that, and in the laugh there was… a relief.

“Well, make yourself comfortable!” Contrarian smiled and spread his wing, inviting Cold. And Cold wasn’t going to delay. He got on both free chairs and leaned on Contrarian with his back. Little bells on Contrarian’s feathers and clothing jingled softly, as Cold made himself comfortable.”

“Soft. Good pillow.” he murmured, feeling sleepy already. His pillow jingled a bit more, as Contrarian softly laughed.

“I’m glad you like it. Have a good rest!” “I will.” Cold promised, closing his eyes and slowing his breaths.

The train continued to go to its destination, Cold continued to be half-asleep, and Contrarian…

He was feeling shitty that day, and was planning to ride his mind away alone. But Cold was here too now. Grounding him. Not giving bad thoughts any chance.

“Thank you for being here.” Contrarian whispered, hoping Cold is sleeping.

Cold could barely hold back a smile.