#i wrote this for two reasons

[jq37]

Aelwyn is sixteen and preparing for midterms at Hudol. Uniform pressed and starched, head full of incantations and spell components. She doesn't mean to bump into Adaine and get orange juice all over her shirt but today isn't the day she's going to start showing weakness.

"You know, you really should watch we're you're going," she says archly, playing off the clumsy mistake as a purposeful jab.

Playing it off a bit too well because, the next thing she knows, Adaine is flipping her off and a bolt of queasy looking, green energy is coming towards her. Ray of Sickness. And she can't spare the spell slot for Counterspell because she needs it for her exams.

"You little bitch!" Aelwyn says once she's emptied the contents of her stomach down the front of her shirt.

"Good luck with your exams," Adaine says sweetly.

Aelwyn is eighteen and the oldest, mangiest cat she's ever seen in her life has just vomited on her shoes.

"My," she says, casting a shield spell around her ankles to stop the cat from clawing at them. "You weren't kidding. He is a little bastard, isn't he?"

The shelter volunteer looks mortified. "Oh, gods! I am so sorry. I tried to warn you--I mean, not that I'm blaming you but--"

"No, it's alright. I did ask you to show me stragglers."

The shelter worker gestures to another pen on the other side of the room. "I can show you the kittens we just got in or there are some very well behaved older cats as well if you'd--"

But Aelwyn cuts her off, scooping up the old cat--though she holds him at arm's length for now, just to be safe. "No need. I haven't changed my mind. I'll take this one." She looks at the tag on his collar. "Hector."

Aelwyn is three and, as of a month ago, no longer the youngest Abernant.

She's had baby dolls in the past but never a baby sister and this is exciting new territory. She's full of questions. When is she going to be able to walk? When is she going to be able to talk? When will she be old enough to have lembas bread instead of formula?

Her parents seem less fascinated by the new addition to the family than she is but her mother is amused when she slaps away the hand of a colleague of her father's who tried to touch Adaine before sanitizing his hands, standing between the much larger man and her sister.

"So defensive. Perhaps she'll be an abjurer."

When Aelwyn asks what that is, her mother says that it's a kind of magical protector and she likes that a lot. That sounds like a good thing to be.

At night, Adaine cries. Except, she doesn't hear it because the mobile above her crib is etched with runes that cast the Silence spell.

"But what if she gets hurt?" Aelwyn asks.

Her father brushes her off. That's what the Unseen Servants are for. But she thinks that's what an abjurer might be for too and even though she isn't one yet, that doesn't mean she can't start practicing.

So, every night, Aelwyn waits until her parents have put Adaine down for bed and then tiptoes into her room. She checks to see if Adaine is silently wailing and if she is (and even sometimes if she isn't) she presses her face between the bars of the crib and sticks her little hand over Adaine's face.

"Don't cry," she says, even though the Silence spell mutes her words as completely as the tears. "Mum said I'm an abjurer. Nothing will get you. Don't cry, baby."

Adaine grabs her hand with impressive grip strength for something so small and, within a few minutes, she's trancing peacefully.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her sister is off to save the world again. This time from a Night Yorb--whatever that is.

It feels cruel that Adaine should have to go risk her life again so soon after she just almost died--not almost died, she did die before being raised by her cleric.

She wants to come with, to help in some way. Surely she could be helpful--last quest they brought Gilear for Helio's sake!

But Adaine doesn't ask her and she can't bring herself to say the words she needs to have the conversation she wants. So, instead, she lightly whaps Adaine on the shoulder with her spellbook as she's packing for the quest.

"I know you haven't done much studying lately what with your grades being based on how many hobgoblins you kill or whatever ridiculous system Aguefort has cooked up," Adaine rolls her eyes at that, "But if you don't mind a little cram session before you leave tomorrow, I can show you how to cast Teleport like I said. Might help you stay a touch less dead on your quest."

Her tone is light but her eyes betray her: Please, please, please don't die again.

Adaine's expression softens but then she scoffs, playing her half of their game. "I don't know what a Hudol dropout who's been in jail for the past year is gonna teach me but do your best."

Aelwyn is seven and her father is cross with her.

"Really Aelwyn," he says and even though they're talking via crystal she can feel the frost of his glare. "You thought it was appropriate to call me at work for no good reason? How many times have I told you and your sister to not bother me while I'm working."

She hates the word bother. She doesn't want to be a bother. She tries very hard not to be. Maybe she just didn't explain herself well enough.

"I know, father. But Addy got really scared and panicky on the playground. She was breathing really hard and--"

Her father makes a noise of disgust. "I don't have time for this. She is in primary school now. Stop coddling her. And her name is Adaine, not Addy. Please speak properly. I'm raising you better than that."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

Aelwyn is eighteen and most of the claw marks on her arms have healed, which is nice. On her lap asleep is Hector who has apparently decided he likes her enough to use her as a radiator but not enough to submit to medical treatment without using her arms as a scratching post.

"You little heat vampire," she says as she slides her thumb across the screen of her crystal, searching for a video that will help her out. Eventually she finds one that looks promising and she calls it up.

On the screen, a halfling is standing next to a cat who is actively shredding her sweater with its claws. "You're going to be tempted to use some kind of a shield spell when applying the ointment," says the halfling. "But cats can smell abjuration magic and they don't love it. You won't get close enough to do the job. Isn't that right my darling?"

In response, her cat hacks up a hairball.

"Darling indeed," she says under her breath.

But even laced with sarcasm, the word is sweeter against her tongue than she anticipated.

She sinks her hand into Hector's fur and scratches his back for a few moments before tentatively speaking aloud. "Sleeping well, my darling?"

Hector says nothing--he's asleep and a cat. But warmth blooms in Aelwyn's chest--more than enough to make up for what Hector is leeching from her.

Aelwyn is seventeen and her father has just given her the most horrible command she's ever received in her life--and she's counting being made to sink a ship full of people in that calculation.

She knows her father doesn't expect her to delicately extricate the knowledge he needs from Adaine's mind. He expects her to get it at all costs. To ransack and pillage the memories if necessary with no heed of the consequences on her psyche. He'd probably prefer it that way--the more broken Adaine is, the easier it will be to mold her into a version of herself that is more useful to him.

Aelwyn is usually a smooth talker and a convincing liar but now, she stumbles all over her words, babbling out a stream of deflections and pleas as her heart squeezes tighter and tighter in her chest until she can't hold back the truth that she's been suppressing for years anymore.

"Adaine's just…she's a baby."

Aelwyn is eighteen and her apartment is full of cats.

She's always thought that the phrase, "One thing led to another" was a bit of a cop out--clearly there were key steps between point A and point B being glossed over--but in this case, there is truly no better way for her to articulate how she went from zero cats to ten cats in such a short amount of time.

She's sure that if she was still living with Jawbone, he'd have something to say about it but that's exactly why she isn't currently living with Jawbone.

She portions out food for all of the cats, saving Hector for last because he likes to eat curled up next to her.

"My darling baby boy," she says, lifting him onto the couch with her because the jump up is a bit much for him and his old bones. She kisses him on the top of the head and then pulls out her crystal. She scrolls mindlessly for a bit before checking her messages despite the fact that there's conspicuously no notifications.

Not that she has many people to expect texts from but she hasn't heard from Adaine in a few weeks and it's unsettling. When they weren't getting along, they were still living under the same roof. She was able to keep tabs on her, more or less. Now, they're closer than they've been in ages but barely talking.

I'm the older sister, I suppose, Aelwyn thinks. I should take the initiative.

She pets Hector with one hand and drafts a message with another: Are you alive, bitch?

She's about to press send but then she frowns and deletes the draft. After a few moments of thought, she taps out a new message: Can't believe I'm gonna say this. Miss my little sister. Everything all right?

Aelwyn is seventeen--though she doesn't feel like it.

Her mind is telling her that she's sixteen and that she was just been broken out of a jail cell in Solace but Adaine is telling her that she's just been broken out of an entirely different prison after being tortured for months even though she doesn't remember any of that.

But her body feels frail and Adaine says she's been in her mind which means she must have used the hard reset.

She's suddenly feeling very vulnerable--not because of the disorientation or the of the levels of exhaustion she can feel weighing on her like leaden chains. No, it's because of the fact that Adaine using the reset means that she must have read the treacle-y note that she left there for her to find.

It was just an insurance policy, she tells herself. There was wisdom to buttering up your savior to make sure she'd do what you needed her to do.

She manages to mostly believe it. But the small, truthful part of herself that knows how deeply she meant the words is so uncomfortable that she antagonizes Adaine until she's annoyed enough to hit her with a spell, sending her into blissful unconsciousness.

Aelwyn is nineteen and she's going to kill her mother.

Well, not alone of course. Adaine deserves the kill at least as much as she does if not more. It'll be a group effort.

It's a strange mix--the cold fury at her mother mixed with the warmth she feels for her sister, sitting across the table from her. She summons a flame to her palm, a preview of what their mother has waiting for her. She watches Adaine's eyes harden with resolve and she sees the face of her baby sister, left to wail alone silently for hours, soothed by her presence. "Let's get her."

"Yes, my dear," she says, the endearment coming freely as if this has always been their dynamic. "We'll get her."

But there will be time for that later. Right now, it's time for ice cream and seeing Adaine so content in such a simple pleasure causes the warmth in her to surge so suddenly that it would be startling if it wasn't so pleasant. The urge to voice it is so powerful that she doesn't know that would have been able to stop it at any point in life, let alone now.

"I hope we get to eat ice cream and cast magic forever," she says, words that would have been impossible for her to say one short year ago and impossible not to say now.

And, to her delight, Adaine agrees.

[artilite]

fuck you *lethal companies your in stars and time*

(long) exposition under cut (spoilers for ISAT + lethal company logs)

This au takes place around the time of sigurd's logs/before them (i haven't decided if Sigurd's crew exists here or not yet)!

Siffrin was someone who used to live on the Golden Planet before it got eaten. They may not remember anything beyond being found in an escape pod, but they're still paralyzed by fear when getting close to the selling window. He's always first in the facilities, making jumps, braving traps, and heading as deep as he can for scrap.

Mirabelle and Isabeau are the medic and fighter respectively, who both came from the same moon colony. They were both pressured into taking jobs by a work-based society, and applied for the company under the impression that it was a short, high-paying internship with nebulous risks.

Odile is their resident ship manager. She keeps a watchful eye over everyone and relays information about monsters, scrap, etc. In absolutely dire situations, she may come help with scrap. Despite claiming to be a first-timer, her badge says Leader??

Nille and Bonnie ended up with the crew after taking a chance to run away from their parents. Seeing a high-paying job that provided everything and would take them far away sounded too good to pass up. Nille lied about Bonnie's age to take them with her. After seeing the reality of this job, though, she regrets not finding another way out. Bonnie is permanently on ship-duty; they mainly type in whatever numbers Odile tells them. Nille is also a fighter, though she prefers the weighty stop sign as opposed to Isabeau's shovel.

Loop, after hundreds upon thousands of quotas, dying every possible death, learning everything they could- even the real identity of The Company- realizes there was one thing they've never done before. They've never died to The Company. Desperate for a way out, and haunted by the whispers and screams beyond the wall, they give themselves up. Maybe that would finally satisfy the monster- to have devoured every last piece of the Golden Planet. Maybe their crew could finally rest easy that way. Well, they didn't loop back. But through the dark and damp, there's static on the walkie talkie. Loop picks up, and hears their own voice just beyond the wall.

(Loop's design is the most different by far, since instead of consuming a star, they themselves are slowly getting digested. They're inspired by the visual of red crying faces from the logs :D)

[francy-sketches]

rhaenyra could say 'I wish I was a man with dick and balls' and hotd twitter would still be like 'umm she just means she wants freedom and respect but otherwise she is a FEMININE WOMAN stop making her into a man you weirdos'

[zarla-s]

I did Karaoke for my birthday a bit back and had a lot of fun, so I got to thinking about what songs these two might do, and of course they'd do Pokemon songs! I immediately thought of OK! 2000 for Kabu since the singer screams at the top of her lungs right at the beginning, haha. Larry's voice is softer in Japanese than I expected, so I thought of something a bit quieter for him - Soko ni Sora ga Arukara. It turned out the lyrics for that kind of fit!

When you become tired from trying so hard, Look to the sky as you shed your tears. The wind brushes your cheeks, I'm sure it'll say: "It's okay if you fall. You are you and that makes you wonderful!" Those that haven't been hurt cannot see the blue sky. On a journey you hesitate to walk on, your life will shine.

The OK! lyrics are simpler.

OK! Let's move on OK! If we're together, we'll be all right OK! Even if the winds change OK! Our dream won't!

Since the lyrics were in Japanese I figured I should write them out for real instead of Romanizing them, which made me realize just how long it's been since I've written in Japanese, haha. I bet my handwriting is terrible...

[patreon]

[bluegiragi]

sparring practise gone wrong!!! gone sexual!!! not clickbait!!!!

[royalarchivist]

Pac: You know Ramon, maybe one day you can start doing farms here? I would appreciate it! And I can pay you in chocolates and diamonds, you know?

Ramon: pay me by marrying my dad

Fit: No, hey– [Stammers] Ramon! Ramon!

Bagi: YES!!! Yes, Ramon, yes!

Pac: [Laughs] Nooo, Ramon! You got me- you got me right on the spot!. Dammit! Ok... I will consider! I will consider. [...]Let's make a deal: I will do that when you become a dragon. 😉

Ramon: 😑

Fit: [Laughs] Yeah, when you become a dragon, Ramon! That sounds good to me!

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

Pac: Yeah, Ramon knows about Create. You know Ramon, maybe one day you can start doing farms here? I would appreciate it! And I can pay you in chocolates and diamonds, you know?

[Fit and Bagi laugh]

Fit: That's a good reward, yeah!

Bagi: Chocolate and diamonds!

Pac: Yeah [Laughs]

Ramon: pay me by marrying my dad

Fit: No, hey– [Stammers] Ramon! Ramon!

Pac: "Pay me by marrying my dad"? Oh– [Stammers] Ramon! Ramon! Ramon!

Bagi: YES!!! Yes, Ramon, yes!

Fit: [Fit uses his chainsaw to break the sign and accidentally hits Ramon] Oh, sorry– I was trying to break the sign, I'm sorry, Ramon.

Pac: Ramon! [He does the "falls to pieces" emote]

Fit: Baby steps, Ramon! Baby steps!

Pac: Baby st– Ramon, remember–

Bagi: Yes, Ramon, yes!

Pac: [Laughs] Nooo, Ramon! You got me- you got me right on the spot!

Fit: [Laughs]

Pac: I'm gon– props- props on you, you know? It was a good– yeah. Dammit! Ok... I will consider! I will consider.

Ramon: [Nods repeatedly]

Fit: Yeah, you can't rush these things Ramon, you know? Like, it's- it's– You know? I mean– plus, you know, w– we got our own things we're working through!

Pac: [Leaning into the mic] You can't rush on love.

Fit: Yeah, exactly! Like– yeah. You know? We're working on ourselves. Yeah.

Pac: Yeah.

Fit: [Weakly] Yeah...

Ramon: [Spins in a circle wildly]

Pac: Baby steps!

Fit: Baby steps, baby steps.

Pac: One day– ok, let's make a deal: I will do that when you become a dragon.

Ramon: [Stares at the ground, resigned]

[Pac and Fit both laugh]

Fit: Oh yeah– Yeah, when you become a dragon, Ramon! That sounds good to me!

Ramon: [Tosses a potion of swiftness on them]

Pac: Woooo! Baby steps no more– I'm just kidding.

Fit: [Laughs]

[yrsonpurpose]

@rwrbmovie & @rwrbsource’s rwrbweek day 7 | favourite location / set ❣ in each other's arms

[calmbigdipper]

What you mean to me

[finallyaplaceformyrobots]

Who wants to read a piece of a crackfic that only lives in my head about tf animated megop?

Optimus wasn’t exactly paying attention to what Megatron was saying during their fight but that didn’t mean he wasn’t annoyed. It slipped out of his intake without any thought really.

“Ugh, nobody cares” Bumblebee giggled somewhere behind him and Megatron scowled.

“Be silent, keep your forked tongue behind its teeth, I have not passed through fire and death to exchange words with a witless worm”

“Blow me” was his equally eloquent response.

Megatron could tell it was an insult and Optimus knew he knew but he also knew megatron didn’t know exactly what it meant. It was a human insult, not a cybertronian one. 

None of the decepticons really got it. But all the autobots did.

Bumblebee was in hysterics, clutching his middle as he laughed ‘like a hyena’ Optimus believed the human saying went. He was laughing so hard Optimus would be worried about his need for air if they needed air. 

Bulkhead laughed too but Ratchets glare was enough to silence him and Prowl simply sighed. Face in his hand as he looked to the sky, as if asking Primus for patience. 

‘Fair’ Optimus thought.

Megatron was still glaring, likely trying to figure out what the insult meant while Blitzwing decided to go for a more direct approach.

“Vhat does that mean?” His icy personality asked. 

Bumblebee, still laughing, rose to his pedes to answer (he’d fallen during his laughing fit and hadn’t bothered to get up).

“Oh! C’mere, c’mere, it-hehe, it means” he whisper/laughed it to Blitzwing’s audial when he leaned down. Blitzwings face spun rapidly before settling on random.

“Ahahahaha!!”

“Ha! Hahahah!!” Bumblebee started laughing again and soon the both of them were on the ground, vents staring to kick in from their laughing fits.

Megatron looked at the two, fight fully forgotten for the moment. Blitzwing was hitting the ground repeatedly as he laughed and Bumblebee was practically rolling and kicking his feet. Essentially they were in hysterics.

Megatron wasn’t the only one, everyone had now stopped to stare.

“Blitzwing “ Megatron growled out “what does that mean?”

Oh he really didn’t want to know.

“He just told you to suck his spike!” Random yelled and then got back to laughing.

Megatron startled, staring at Optimus, optics simultaneously wide and glaring.

For his part Optimus merely shrugged.

Somewhere behind Megatron, Starscream started cackling and Lugnut gave an offended gasp.

Megatron looked very angry now and, well, Optimus was so annoyed that this fight was happening right now. At the same time as the premier of the first live tour of the world’s largest archival library. So what he said next also just slipped out.

“If it helps I wouldn’t actually let you”

“What” 

Okay, 1) why does he look offended? And 2 )how can he make it worse?

“Well, you’re old” 

Starscream trips over his pedes laughing, falling on his aft and ‘gasping for breath’ so to speak.

“I-! I am not old you insolent brat. I am experienced”

“Because you’re old?”

(important commentary in tags)

[malacandrax]

Hello hello!! Just wanted to say that I really love seeing your traditional drawings, they're so charming 🥺 It's pretty rare to see trad. art on here compared to digital, which is a little sad.. there's just something about the personality it has!

Do you find that the post engagement they receive is less than your digital works? Personally I've had this experience but I'm not sure if it's different for other artists 😯 It's discouraged me a lot from posting since I don't regularly have enough time to sit down and make a digital piece vs drawing in my sketchbook 😓

On a related note, is there a pen you'd recommend for sketching/doodling? All the pen drawings in your sketchbook posts are so pretty 🫶

Thank you so much! That means a lot honestly. Seeing other peoples sketches is one of my favourite things, you're right, it's generally less perfect but I think it has more charm because of that. I feel like *personally* I actually often favour traditional stuff over digital when I see it online- I have a big collection of digital sketchbooks and fav'd youtube flipthroughs.

HOWEVER yeah I think we are in the minority. To be completely honest on itch.io I've actually only made 4 sketchbook sales*, I assume there's a market out there but I ain't hitting it haha! I do have a good chunk of patrons that comment and like my sketches, which is wonderful, and I often get sweet tags on the doodles I share here- but you're right that engagement is lower. I'd encourage you do just do it for yourself, though! There's nothing like having a big stack of art in real life. Maybe that's a privileged position for me to have, at the moment I don't need to worry about engagement on my sfw art, but also it's a shame to not do something you enjoy because of numbers. (I would recommend using a scanner if you want to catch more peoples eyes. Mines crap but it's way better than photos were.)

Pen wise I am a picky bitch, I like things that don't require pressure, make a uniformish line, and ink that flows easy- so I prefer gel pen styles or fountain pens. My most recent fav were some lyreco retract gel 0.7's my partner randomly brought home from work lol, but I lost the black one and replaced it with a uniball signo 0.7 [UM-120*], honestly they're just regular gel pens though, I generally try them out in a shop and pick ones that don't blob or scratch.

My fountain pen is a pilot kakuno, which atm has that blue grey ink in (sailor 224) and I really love it. (also I put it into a water brush pen) I've also used carbon platinum for a good waterproof ink.

Good luck with your sketchbook endeavours, and thank you again!

*there are...at least two types of uniball signo, and the other one with a soft grip is bad imo.

**thank you to those sweethearts who bought the sketchbook!

[that-was-anticlimactic]

see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere)

“Why? Why are you suppressing?”

“Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…”

And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams.

[or, alya is suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]

🦊2,345 words | alya-centric, alya & ladybug friendship🦊

happy tourette's awareness month!!!

[necrotic-nephilim]

I started in DC by reading fanfics, but as I began to read actual comics, I started to be unable to read the actual fanfic that got me into it in the first place because it's so out of character.

But there are still some stories that I love to read because I love the found family trope so much, even if it isn't really accurate to the source material.

As a comics purist (sometimes), are there tropes that you like enough that you'll still enjoy a fic even if it's not accurate to canon?

oh my god this is SUCH a fun question. bc while i started with the comics, there were certain characters and/or character dynamics where i was exposed to the fanon before the canon (just bc it's hard to read everything when you start out just to read some fanfic) and so i've definitely experienced the fanon to canon transition. (*especially* with Jason Todd. i had only read 80s/90s stuff where he was already dead or the New-52 bc that was on-going when i got into comics and man. the fanon misunderstandings i had about him before i got frustrated and sat down to read all his pre-Flashpoint stuff were absolutely bonkers.) and aside from that, whilst i tend to prefer canon over fanon, i'm not past giving fanon its flowers for occasionally having really interesting insights. occasionally. so some of my fanon "guilty pleasure" tropes would probably be

Morally Grey Tim Drake - this is one where if you try to back it up with canon, i *will* get salty about it. of everyone in the Batfam aside from maybe Bruce and Cass, Tim has the *most* black and white morals. often his internal conflicts are routed in such an inability to compromise his moral views and it can cause him to clash with other characters. he's *very* stiff and rigid in his beliefs and is *rare* to compromise in even the smallest ways. i mean, DC has repeatedly used Tim Drake of Tomorrow/Savior/Gun Batman!Tim for a reason. it's to demonstrate that of everyone, Tim *cannot* have his morals compromised. there's no grey area for him. he's zero or a hundred, so if he tips over the edge of "too far" he tips *all the way*, and doing so is one of his worst fears, how he could go "too far" if he let himself. a couple panels out of context from Red Robin (2009) (which was a grief spiral for Tim to begin with) don't change that. now that said. if it's done *right*, i sort of love Tim being morally grey in fanfic. it takes a specific flavor for me, and it's incredibly important to include that mental spiral along with it, of him struggling to justify it. i don't have any interest in "Tim Drake is loosy goosy with Bruce's morals and has the highest kill count and no one knows teehee" bc it doesn't play with the interesting parts of making Tim morally grey, which are fracturing his psyche. but all in all, i think it's fun to put Tim in a morally grey area and i will read it in fanfic and i enjoy writing it a lot

Joker Junior!Tim Drake - i've not written it on this account (yet) but on my main ao3 account one of my biggest fics surrounds this concept. this is one of those "well *technically* it's canon but only in a specific very divorced from the comics universe and would not work at all in the main timeline" so, i categorize it as fanon in that 95% of fics exploring the concept are not doing so within the Batman Beyond universe, but the main timeline. i just love it. I'll take any excuse to whump Tim, but this concept is so fun. psychologically breaking Tim will always be my favorite pastime. there are so many ways to explore the long-term effects this could have on him, how it could affect the Batfam. i'm not a fan of it being used as a "gotcha" to Jason or Babs' trauma with the Joker to paint Tim as the Ultimate Victim, but it is fun to see how their relationships would be affected by being mutual victims of him. (i have a vague JayTim idea where TIm fully retires from being Robin after being Joker Junior and killing the Joker, making Steph Robin for most of his typical Robin era and Jason still tracks him down out of curiosity bc he wants to know what happened and all. very underbaked but i've got thoughts.)

Renegade/Apprentice of Slade!Dick Grayson - this is another one where yes, this happened *sort of* in canon, but i highly doubt most people writing Renegate!Dick have read or are actually pulling from Nightwing: Renegade. it's just an exploration fo the concept fo Dick being Slade's apprentice and i will always eat it up in any capacity. whether Dick grows up with Slade from a young age, or chooses Slade for whatever reason later in life. it's not anything that works in canon bc it compromises Dick morally (similar to the above with Tim) and therefore will always come across incredibly fanon in most fics. but i can't say i don't enjoy it. it's fun to make Dick a little morally fucked up and see what you can make him under Slade's tutelage.

Jason & Damian Meeting in the League -there's no world where i believe this could work in the canon comics. (maybe in the Young Justice cartoon i suppose, but even then i think it's iffy) i would go as far to say it's wildly unrealistic. i don't see a world where Ra's would let Jason anywhere *near* Damian, bc Jason was Talia's pet project that he didn't approve of. that all said, there's something very interesting about how they *could've* met and them potentially bonding during that timeframe. them being somewhat brotherly during this time because Jason sees Bruce in Damian and sort of latches onto the kid and Damian is full of wonder hearing real stories about Batman and Robin, then that getting violently ripped away by Jason leaving the League is fun to me. it's fun how that could affect them within the Batfam and all. it's super fanon to me, but i do not care. i will eat it up

Bad Dad Clark Kent/Good Dad Lex Luthor - i will admit as a late, i've been less and less kind to this particular fanon bc of everything i've argued with people about, *this* one seems the most pervasive as misunderstood fanon. i don't mind when fanon exists, my gripe is when ppl try to claim it's canon. and the *arguments* i've had over this with people who can never seem to cite an actual comic are... frustrating. but that said, i think there is something fun to this strictly in fanon. the duality of who you expect to accept Kon and who you expect to hurt him being flipped is just sort of fun for the occasional guilty pleasure fic. it can make Kon's internal conflict a bit more interesting. the same goes for the Jon favoritism from Clark, it's not a canon thing (and i rlly wish ppl understood how complicated the timeline of Kon and Jon is and any distance from Clark toward Kon isn't malice, it's that Kon is from a timeline that Clark does not remember in the current canon so Clark just straight up doesn't know the poor kid.) but it's sort of fun to give Kon that complex of being overlooked and forgotten sometimes. making Kon just a *bit* more Luthor than Kent will *always* appeal to me in fanfic, especially if he *knows* it's wrong but craves approval from anyone who will give it.

Good Dad Bruce Wayne - i'll die on the hill Bruce is canonically a shitty father. maybe not to the extreme some people write him as, but he's not great at it. that said, i enjoy it in fanfiction. sometimes, i just want silly fluff or hurt/comfort where Bruce finally gets it right and manages to comfort whatever Batkid is in the fic. one of my favorite fics of all time is hinged on Bruce being a good dad, so i think it's just fun to explore how good the relationships *could* be, if Bruce was slightly less of an asshole. i usually prefer him as an asshole, but there are times i want low stakes nonsense.

Gotham Rogues Having Soft Spots for Robin(s) - just about every Rogue in Gotham has done something absolutely irredeemable, and most of them don't like or care about anyone in the Batfamily. but if there's a fic where one of the Robins inexplicably is sort of close with a Rogue and they have a cute silly relationship out of it? I'll eat it up i fear. Steph and the Riddler are besties? I'll believe it. Tim and Scarecrow get along pretty well? give me ten of these. Rogues protecting Robins just hits a spot. the unexpected nature of the relationship, as well as the fact they see each other regularly, can make a lot of good fodder.

[caelanglang]

Aster.

“I believe in you, but I’m worried.”

Trust. Loyalty. Communication.

They really went from “you’re gonna die soon… I hate your type.” (Kanda to Allen, Chapter 8) to “I don’t want such fragile people anywhere near me!” (Allen to Kanda, Chapter 227). The tables have turned…..

[lunarin64art]

Bugvac Squad!!

I love how they connect... ;w;

 Since Kiibo was confirmed to be the actual protag of V3, I like imagining that Miu, Kokichi, and Gonta were considered the actual main characters as well(rather than Kaede, Shuichi, Kaito, and Maki of course) Which explains why all four of them were so involved throughout every chapter compared to previous “side” characters.

 Them being the actual main group also explains why Kiibo and Kokichi are implied to have woken up in the same classroom as well as why Kokichi doesn’t have much of an actual connection to the main group we see the game through.(aside from his rivalry with Kaito)

 Also, I love how Kiibo being the actual protagonist makes Miu the actual main girl of V3. Which is even funnier considering that the writers wrote Miu with the idea in mind of making her “worst girl”.

[larkral]

OKAY it's late so we're going to be as efficient as humanly possible here. I've spent pretty similar amounts of time this week writing in Finally (already, always) and As yet unnamed Red White and Royal Blue Soulmates BS (BS stands for Brilliant Shit, btw: I am obsessed with my soulmates concept), so you're going to get some of each!

Two mums

(Simon POV. There is no Baz POV in this story, FYI, so it's going to be SImon from here on out)

We don't even have to sneak out. We just take the keys off of the hook next to the front door and walk right out into the night. It's lovely. On our way to the nearest park, we walk past a community building where a choir is rehearsing, and then further into a bike-walkway. It's lined with trees, and when we get to an area where the zigging of a street gives the pathway a deeper tree cover, Baz tells me to wait under a light and walks determinedly into the trees.  I can see him moving in the shadows. Not, you know, perfectly, but if I look into the trees, there's still a bit of light coming through from the other side. If I let my mind wander, I can sometimes see a too-fast movement or a flicker of a shape that I know in my bones is him.  Then there's a long moment of stillness.  I wonder what he's found. 

RWRB Soulmate BS

(Just diving right into the "if I'm writing a soulmate fic, you better believe it's going to go hard in worldbuilding" of it all right off the bat.)

"I'm not an idiot Nora," Alex says exasperatedly. He swears sometimes she says stuff just so he can shout about it. "They rely so heavily on the idea that their empire was ordained by Divine Right because they've been exclusively letting their children marry their 'soulmates' since the beginning of time, and if those children's 'soulmates' happened to help them expand the reach of their power, then that was just God's will." Alex takes a deep breath. "Why would they ever give that up?" Nora sends a half-shrug his way, and June pats his shoulder.  "You'll just have to hold your breath against the hypocrisy, little bro," June says. "Especially because I'm pretty sure Zhara is going to forbid you from more than a polite sip of champagne."  "Don't I motherfucking know it," he says.

Thanks so much for the tags this week @thewholelemon, @that-disabled-princess, @kiwiana-writes, @bookish-bogwitch, @hushed-chorus,

@forabeatofadrum, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @monbons, @mooncello and @rimeswithpurple !! What a brilliantly active Wednesday it is today! I am *loving* all the things folks are sharing. Crafts and writing and art and life events. I absolutely <3<3 fandom. A+ work everyone!

Since it's the end of the day, I'd like everyone I'm tagging to consider this a prompt to tell me about anything you're doing lately, even if it's completely non-fandom related. <3

@stitchyqueer @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @whogaveyoupermission

@cutestkilla @sillyunicorn @basiltonbutliketheherb @roomwithanopenfire @orange-peony

@ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @run-for-chamo-miles

@petedavidsonscock @artsyunderstudy @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars

@nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @wellbelesbian

@shrekgogurt  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees

@j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles

@talentpiper11 @imagineacoolusername

[therethatstar]

phumpeem college au

phumpeem college au where they meet at some house party and basically fall in love at first sight. or something like that.

honestly i don't know what this is. it's been sitting with me too long. it's essentially too many fucking words of just one fucking scene. it might also be the longest make out scene ever...but also not really making out. just so much fucking touching. and so so so much feelings. and yeah. making out. that too.

-------

The hallway is loud. 

The music pounds. Crawling up the wall, making it shake. Up to where Peem’s spine is pressed to it. Peem can feel it, the way he shakes too. 

He can’t remember how it all happened. 

Just that the hallway is as dark as it is loud. 

Just that Phum is standing in front of him, leaning in as he speaks to Peem with that smile, a hand props up next to Peem’s head on the wall, the other curls over the jut of Peem’s hip, hot palm pressing into the bone, thumb teasing under his shirt at his skin. Like he always knows. How to touch Peem. Where to put his hands. How to make Peem shake. 

Just that the dim hallway light is falling over the slope of Phum’s neck, making his tanned skin look slightly tanner. Like Phum has been out in the sun instead of a nasty drunk college party. 

Just that it wasn’t the music making Peem shake. Just that it was Phum, thumb landing exactly over Peem’s sensitive spot, that tiny inch of skin. The one on his hip that always makes Peem shiver. His hips arch. Usually Peem has to shove boys’ hands in the right direction so they’ll touch him. There. And yet, Phum has found it. 

And maybe it was just Phum’s touch tripping in the low light. 

And maybe it’s just something some guys are good at. Knowing how to touch someone. Guys like Phum. 

And maybe it’s just Phum. 

So it was just. 

Just that Phum is touching Peem. 

Just that Peem wants to know if Phum’s skin feels as warm as it looks. 

Just that Peem gets kind of mouthy when he gets touched like this. By certain kinds of boys. By guys like this one. By this one. 

Phum’s throat vibrates as he speaks, Peem feels it against his lips. Against his mouth from where he’s got it pressed right over Phum’s skin, under that strong jaw. The one Peem wants to draw. Slightly tacky with party sweat, Peem kisses the hinge of his jaw, sucks lightly, digs his teeth in a little. 

Then he does it alot when Phum makes a noise, a groan unsticking from his chest, both his hands shoving up Peem’s shirt, finger hot and insistent grabbing at Peem’s waist. Impatient hands. Peem’s mouth drops open on a moan, all breathy, sighing against Phum’s neck. 

Phum clenches his grip, digging into the curve under Peem’s ribs. The heat bursts in Peem’s belly. His hips instinctively kicks against Phum’s and he wants to be embarrassed at how kind of desperate he already feels, already is, his cheeks are blooming with it, but Phum’s hands are big and so hot on Peem. And Peem should be embarrassed, he should be, but he isn’t. 

Because Phum is stroking his thumbs over the cut of Peem’s stomach, fingers speaking over the small of his back. Because Phum is pulling him closer. Because Phum has his face pressed to Peem’s hair, lips skimming his temple, the shell of his ear like he wants to kiss too but he’s letting Peem have this, have him. Because their hips are touching. Because they are touching everywhere. 

Because Phum is shaking too. 

Phum drags his pinkies just above the dimples in Peem’s lower back, lingering there. It makes Peem jolt, scraping his teeth over the jut of Phum’s collarbone, skin feels hot and so incredibly soft under his lips. Phum jerks, yanking Peem’s hips against his, pushes Peem farther into the wall, hot breath fanning over Peem’s ear, and fuck, Peem wants to dig his nails into those toned shoulders, hook his knees over them, press his heels into the muscle, feel the breadth of them shaking between Peem’s trembling thighs. 

“Fuck,” Phum breathes under his breath, dropping a wet kiss to the shell of Peem’s ear. “You’re so hot. How are you so hot? Are all art guys this hot?”

Peem laughs at that. He feels melty and drunk silly. Buzzing. Syrupy. Sticky with it. His face heats up. He detaches from Phum’s shoulder, his mouth, kisses it one last time. He slides his hands up Phum’s chest, up and over, pressing his fingers into his upper back, feeling the way Phum twitches under his grip. He keeps his hands where they are. 

Phum leans in and brushes his lips over Peem’s pulse point, gives him a sucking kiss when it gets him a reaction, one of the Peem’s hands climbing up to his hair as he arches his neck, lets Phum kiss him there. Letting him have him now. 

Phum rubs his palms along Peem’s waist, pressing his hot palms to his side, something casually primal in his touch, something that sends a thrill up Peem’s navel, less casual, just as primal, and he tilts Peem’s hips further, just because he can, running his tongues along Peem’s collarbone, smiles against it when Peem gasps hotly, and fuck, the stupid blush isn’t going anywhere. 

“You don’t hook up with art guys often?”

Phum pulls back, just his mouth. It’s dark but Peem can see it. The hint of red in his face. Swaths around his jaw especially. It’s more than the heat. The flush of arousal. It’s kind of unfair. That a guy who looks like Phum, with hands like his, can look this cute too. 

It’s giving Peem a whiplash. Makes him want to do more than just get on his knees for Phum. More than begging Phum to put him where he wants him. In some stranger’s bathroom. In their bed. In his bed. Phum’s. He makes Peem want other things he can do with his hands. All of them. 

Phum gives a muted shrug when he says, “maybe I have. But I can’t remember the last time my brain was melting this much for a guy.”

Peem smiles as he curls his index in Phum’s hair, brushes his fingers through the shorter strands at his nape. 

“How old are you?”

“20. You?”

“18.”

“Oh.”

Eyes wide, Peem is quick to say, “I turn 19 soon. Like really soon. I’m basically nineteen already,” he finishes, his grips on Phum frozen, the impulse to hold on a little desperately represses. 

Phum smiles, taking one of his hands off his waist to push some of Peem’s hair off his forehead, fingers careful. It’s a small gesture. A little too casual. Familiar. Maybe not the kind of thing some guy he’s tipsy almost making out with should do to him. Peem doesn’t move. Wants to shake his bangs out so Phum will do it again. 

“When is your birthday?”

“December.”

“That’s cute.”

Peem’s brows furrow at that, “why?”

“Don’t know,” Phum answers before adding, “it’s just that, you’re a winter baby and I’m a spring baby. So like, your parents basically made you on my birthday. Or around that time. That’s kind of funny. It’s cute. Or maybe it’s just you. You’re really cute.”

Peem’s heart kicks. Everything else around them feels so slow. The music. The lights. The party goers. The other couples making out. The other couples of other people making out. Almost making out. 

He presses his shoulders into the wall, cocking a brow when he asks, “you’re thinking about my parents having sex while you’re making out with me?”

Phum laughs out loud at that. Laugh that feels deep in his belly and it makes Peem’s very own belly react too, buzzing pleasantly. A little hot. The soft light hits Phum’s jaw just right, the amusement in his eyes, the strain of his throat as he laughs. 

Phum lets his laughter ring out, shaking his head, “no. just about you. How cute you are. Even when you’re being a smart ass.”

“Not really trying to be a smartass,” Peem says, even though he was. 

Phum laughs again, “oh but you are. Good at it too. You look like you could easily put me in my place, like you could make me feel sorry about it too.” He touches Peem’s face again, lingering at his jaw, “the funny thing though?”

Peem is sure of it. His heart is about to race right out of his chest. Break out from between his ribs. Slam itself smack into the obstacle in front of it. Into Phum’s very own heart. Phum. 

He knows Phum might not be expecting an answer, yet his mouth drops open, he sounds breathless, stupidly so, “what?”

Phum smiles and Peem craves for that smile. Wants it on his chest. On the sensitive spot on his belly. The jelly leg inducing, hip kicking, tingly feeling, even more sensitive one on his hip. On his cock. Between his thighs, on his back. The one place on his nape that Phum hasn’t found yet. On his ass. Peem wants it, that smiles, wants it to pull him apart and then piece him back together. 

Phum thumbs his cheek. Too slow. Too fast. Too something. “The funny thing is I’d let you. Kind of want you to–” and Phum pauses, his eyes falling somewhere below Peem’s eyes. 

Adn Peem thinks, kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. He wants Phum to kiss him, put his beautiful nasty mouth over Peem’s filthy pretty one. Because he knows that Phum thinks his mouth is pretty, had mentioned it earlier. And Peem knows his mouth can get filthy, gets mouthy. Especially when he gets under the hands like the ones on him right now. And Peem wants that mouth, wants it all over but especially there. On his own. 

His fingers have gone slack in Phum’s hair. The other hand dangling over his shoulder. It hits him then. That he doesn’t have to wait for Phum to kiss him. That he usually doesn’t wait. For other boys to kiss him. 

He doesn’t have to wait except he looks at Phum’s face and he realizes that it has gone blank. Peem’s heart thumps at the sight. At the fact that he can’t tell what Phum is thinking when he looks like this. 

Peem blanches, “what? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Phum says. His voice sounds thicker now. Like honey syrup. Like it’s running through his nerves, and it makes his spines shiver. “It’s just—I just realized something.”

“Realized?”

“That there is one thing I haven’t done with you. That there’s one thing I could be doing with you. Earlier. Right now. The rest of the night.”

Peem chews on his lower lip, tries to keep the shake out of his voice when he asks, “what is it?”

Phum grins at Peem’s badly veiled impatience. He cups Peem’s jaw fully now, palm wide and warm, his thumb long enough to stroke his chin. Under his lips. Phum moves closer. Their chests are brushing again, the fabric of their shirts rustling. Phum blocks out the light, shaded and dark, and maybe this is an illusion because Phum is just slightly taller than him but yet, he looks like something Peem can’t contain. On tracing paper. Between his arms. Inside his body. 

In the midst of the silence, Phum looks down at Peem’s mouth. At his eyes as his thumb presses down on Peem’s lower lip, making the color of it turn pink. Quietly, he says, “kissing you.”

Peem inhales. Sharps. Too fast. Everything is too fast. His mouth feels something stronger than the buzzing. Like his skin is singing, thrumming, something like an electric shock. He thinks about licking his lips, licking over the thumb that presses there. Instead he swallows, “you sort of have.”

“No,” Phum insists, shaking his head, laughing a little, “I mean. I haven’t kissed you. Like kissing you. Actually kissing you.”

Phum tilts Peem’s head back slightly, swiping his thumb over Peem’s lower lips. The heat stirs in the lower pit of Peem’s belly, in his half hard cock pressed up against his zipper. He thinks his boxers might be a little wet, although it might be the body heat of the overcrowded townhome. Party sweat. He meets Phum’s eyes, feeling his touch on him and he knows it isn’t just the body heat of strangers around them. Or the music that is punching his gut. Making him melt. It’s Phum. 

Peem gives in to the heat, parts his lips, mouth open, breath hot and sticky on Phum’s skin. He watches Phum drag his thumb down, get wet on Peem’s inner lips,  coaxing his mouth wider. He watches Phum staring at him, his eyes glazed as he catches Phum’s thumb with his teeth, pressing his tongue to it, curls around it and sucks. Peem lets out a low moan, feeling the kick of heat in his cock and he wants Phum’s mouth all over him. He wants his mouth all over Phum. 

Phum’s reaction is tenfold. 

His eyes go hazier, look downright drunk before they go wide. And they look big enough like they could bust out of his skull.

Then Phum says, “oh, for fuck’s sake–” pulling his hand away, and putting his mouth, his beautiful nasty mouth, right against Peem’s, the whole pretty filthy thing of it. 

Peem’s breath goes out. 

And he’s fucking melting right into it. Lungs. Belly. Lets. His knees liquify. Mouth and hands altogether. 

Then he fucking clings. Getting both of his hands in Phum’s hair, yanking him closer, getting Phum to hold him against the wall, to get him to take. Peem’s mouth. The space between his legs. All of it. Whatever Phum wants. All of it. 

And Phum takes it. Wraps an arm around Peem’s waist, forearm cradling his lower back, hand pressing to his hips. He sighs into the kiss, melds his soft lips to Peem’s as he crowds him in close, slides one of his legs between Peem’s thighs like it owns a place there. Like it’s already his. The muscle in Peem’s legs quake, his thighs clench around Phum’s leg, hips sort of rutting down before he can even help it. 

He feels like liquid. 

And he feels even worse when Phum readjusts his stance, their hips pressing differently, and Peem feels his cock against his own, the hot length of it through Phum’s jeans. And Phum is kissing him differently too, these sweet, wet, tiny little things all over Peem’s mouth. Too soft. Too slow for the way he’s gripping Peem’s waist under his shirt, pulling him further along his thigh, edging Peem to move the way he wants to, hips twitching with it. His cock kicks against the hardness of Phum’s thigh, against his cock. Peem’s hips stutter. Feels his boxers get wetter.

A whine climbs up his throat, embarrassment clawing at his gut, shamelessness soothing in his chest because Phum kisses that too, Peem’s whining mouth, how desperate he is, his lips curling, and fuck, Peem wants that too, to taste Phum’s desperation at the tip of his tongue. 

He fists his hands in Phum’s hair and kisses him harder, mouth gasping little breaths every time Phum moves him, licking his tongue into Peem’s mouth, letting him suck on it, yanking Phum’s hair harder. And Phum lets him, kissing him even deeper, softer, hands guilding Peem through it. 

Peem digs his heels into the floor, tries to lock up his knees like he’s trying to not lose it. His balance. His mind. Phum’s mouth. The simmering hot buzzing pleasure of it. He keeps a hand in Phum’s hair, bringing the other shakily to Phum’s belt, knuckles hitting the metal clasp. 

He hears the way Phum chokes on a breath, hands tighten on his waist. Peem’s hand goes to pull away, because they’re at a drunk college party but it’s still someone’s hallway. Yet, Peem moves one hand to hook an elbow around Phum’s neck, keeps his mouth where it is by the back of his head, and slips his hand up Phum’s shirt, pressing his palms to his hot skin. Sliding his fingers up Phum’s toned stomach, his firm chest, his wide shoulder. And Phum feels different in every inch of skin under Peem’s touch. Phum is warm everywhere. 

And Phum is laughing, his shoulders are at ease. Peem isn’t sure why he’s laughing but he’s laughing against Peem’s mouth and it feels better than Peem imagined, full and rich and light. Achy in a good way. He makes Peem chest ache with it. Feeling his laughs, his chest, against his. And Peem isn’t sure why Phum is laughing, maybe something is funny. Maybe nothing is funny. But Peem smiles back regardless, he smiles wider until they’re barely kissing, just pressing their lips together, too much teeth, too much something. It’s almost easy to ignore the throbbing in his jeans. The melty thing in his hips. His lower back. But the melty thing is on his face too. He can feel it. In his smile. In his eyes. 

Their lips come apart. The sound is sticky to Peem’s ears. Too loud. 

Phum’s hands slide down to Peem’s hips, hands leave a trail of hot, buzzing things. He holds Peem’s waists for a moment then lets go after another, taking the time to tuck one side of the tail of Peem’s shirt back into his jeans. The way it was before his hands took over his hips, his waist, his body. Like he wasn’t ever there. Like it’s not already his. 

Peem sucks in a breath. Thoughts racing. Thoughts too fast. 

He unhooks his own hands from Phum’s neck. 

“Will you go somewhere with me?”

Everywhere. Peem thinks. Everywhere. It doesn’t scare him. That he thinks he could go to any place with Phum. Doesn’t scare him to feel this way, the way he always thought it might. 

“Yes.”

And Phum smiles and he makes it so easy. To realize that he isn’t that big. That wide. That Phum is within his touch, that Phum is someone he is able to contain. Even if he has to string all of his canvases together to get down every precise beautiful angle of him. Even if he has to stretch his arms wide until they hurt. Even if he has to spread his legs until his thighs go shivery, achy. 

And the electric thing is in his eyes. 

In Phum’s hands when he grabs one of Peem’s and pulls him from the wall, leads him through the hallway, away from the far end of the house. 

And it’s on Peem’s mouth. Inside of it. 

He’s pretty sure it’s on Phum’s too, inside of him, too.