#if its good enough for the ​goose its good enough for the gander

[odinsblog]

I think Republicans just need to “get over” Trump’s earsassination attempt. If it’s advice good enough for the families of murdered children in Uvalde, then it’s good enough for them.

[deliciouskeys]

Me: I already wrote Tentacles for last kinktober. It's old hat now that it's actually part of canon. Why bother.

Me after staring at @vanshoundd and @annetess' art about it for like hours: Okay maybe I'll write it after all. (Thank you for your art 🤤)

Cozy corner kinktober 2024 prompt #11: Tentacles

Free and Wild and Beyond Good and Evil

Butchlander 3.1k; TW: noncon, violence, teratophilia, uh... idk just not very wholesome at all. Please excuse me.

There was never any real plan, Butcher admits to himself as he drives down the empty dark highway. Something something, Frenchie said the virus might be strong enough to kill Homelander, something something, it would have to be airborne which would start a supe plague and make everyone piss and moan about Butcher committing biowarfare genocide, something something, it was going to be a last resort. A plan Z, only nebulously conceived. So what was Plan A, really? What was good for the ganders (Ezekiel, Victoria) was unlikely to be good for the goose, but Butcher just can’t help but crave the visceral feeling of ripping Homelander apart, if not with his own bare hands, then at least his tumor’s jacked up bare hands. Cancer— it was really living up to the name. Butcher feels like he’s been possessed by an alien creature, cancriform, heinously ugly, and unbelievably strong. It’s just too tempting not to try, even though trying and not succeeding isn’t really a good option at all with a near-omnipotent supe like Homelander.

Butcher just has so little to lose. He’s a husk of a human being, and he feels more like a shambling, crumbling meatsuit to carry the cancer to its destination, its rendezvous with fate.

“I’ll get you your revenge, don’t you worry,” Kessler assures him and Butcher wants to hurl just a little bit knowing his cancer can just talk to him, choose whatever guise makes him feel at ease, through a literal neural link to his brain, even though Kessler seems to have chosen headquarters in a metastasis somewhere near his solar plexus, shooting tentacles out into the outside world like the rays of a black sun. “I’ll get you your revenge and you’ll get to experience every moment of it. I won’t leave you hangin’.”

+++

Homelander should have known not to take such obvious bait. Homelander should have remembered that the last two times William Butcher took it into his head to fight him, he very nearly succeeded in overpowering him. Or at least depowering him, with the help of a certain relic from the 1980s. At least that wildcard is still stashed in the federal freezer in DC. But Homelander should have realized that William Butcher announcing that he was ready to keep their scorched earth promise meant he came to play. Maybe he was touched that William called Vought’s headquarters and asked to speak to him. Maybe he was flattered to hear his phrase be used like code between them, even though they never seemed to entirely agree on its meaning. Maybe he was genuinely craving to finish William off before his illness got to do those honors.

Something prompted him to zoom over to the abandoned warehouse in Jersey City, without consulting Sage, without trying to locate Ryan and make sure he was safe, without doing much of anything besides walking straight into the ambush. Can it really be called an ambush if it’s announced beforehand? Homelander counts it as an ambush, because he expected to see William at half speed, that much closer to death with that growth in his brain no doubt spreading further. Instead… instead, before he can even locate which corner of the warehouse William’s heartbeat is coming from, a dark sticky tendril rapidly twines itself around his face— around his eyes first and foremost. Homelander let out only one snarl before something similar winds itself around his neck and begins constricting all breathing. Whatever it is, it’s moving fast, violently fast, and Homelander is astonished to feel just how strong whatever is trapping him is. His fingers scrabble at what feels almost like a plant vine around his face and neck, but he cannot wedge his fingers in and pry it away or apart. It’s squeezing him tighter and tighter… from what godforaken obscure corner of hell did William pick up this supe with boa constrictor powers? That Homelander can’t recall from Vought’s files at all? 

Homelander tries not to panic, tries to orient himself, but he just feels more of whatever has him in its grips touching his legs. Not only touching his legs. Wrapping around his ankles, lassoing and pulling them flush against each other so that Homelander loses his balance and ends up suspended in the air. He thinks he’s hovering in the air through his own power, but whatever is holding him has got an iron grip and he suspects that he’d still remain suspended in the air even if he dropped himself down, held by this… thing, sticky, reeking of something oddly familiar and off-putting. The long vines holding him start winding their way around his body in tight coils towards each other, the one at his ankles proceeding to spiral up around the rest of his legs and the one from his neck proceeding to wrap his shoulders, pin his arms straight to his sides as it travels to meet its twin. Homelander is terrified to realize that no matter how much force he exerts against the long rope-like sentient arms, he can’t free himself. He’s never been overpowered like this… but that’s not really true is it. Last time he got pinned down against his will, William was one of the three perpetrators and Homelander had no doubt he was the ringleader. So where is he now? Homelander can hear his heartbeat, can smell him, his cigarettes, his beard oil, the tea molecules circulating in his veins and out his pores, and yes the vile stench of disease, and it’s overwhelming and all around him. 

When Homelander renews his struggle to free one hand, a vine snaps against his knuckles painfully. “Knock it off,” William’s gruff voice tells him. Only then does it finally dawn on Homelander that the mystery supe managing to wrap him up like a mummy is Butcher himself, and that the sickly odor is exactly that— the smell of something that should be inside the body, the smell of something greedy and selfish and hogging all metabolic resources. It’s what William smelled ever so faintly of last time he saw him in the hotel kitchen, and now it’s on full blast so Homelander didn’t even place it as the same smell at first. A faint smile passes Homelander’s lips, always feeling pleased to finally recognize something. But that’s about all he has to be pleased about. The situation is dire— he cannot move and now he feels the distinct sensation of William’s two… arms? Vines? Tentacles? Trying to rend him in half. In vain so far, but the tentacles are so forceful, so persistent, that Homelander becomes worried when he hears popping sounds around his compressed ribcage. It’s not his body losing integrity like poor Vicky’s did though— it’s his suit giving up the ghost and getting shredded, the tentacles accidentally peeling him out of his clothing, rolling pieces of it toward his neck and others toward his ankles. Homelander tries to open his eyes, look through. Just getting a glimpse of the scene could help him figure out his best chance for escape, but the tentacle wrapped around his head is squeezing it tightly, as if hoping it can pop his skull open like a nut. It can’t, but Homelander also can’t open his eyelids against the constant pressure. He feels a breeze across his skin, he feels tatters of his suit still hanging off random limbs, but he’s largely naked, and the tentacle regroup, wrap around him again, and this time Homelander can’t help but squirm. It’s just too much sensation against his bare skin. ‘Stop’ he tries to plead but the tentacle squeezing his neck shut doesn’t let him do more than wheeze hoarsely and unintelligibly.

“I ain’t enjoyin it, I’m trying to rip him in half, hard as I can. Ain’t my fault he’s a durable motherfucker.”

Homelander desperately listens in, trying to identify someone else’s heartbeat, breathing, anything, trying to figure out who William is talking to, but all he hears is the cacophony of blood rushing through each tentacle as they twist and tighten ever more around his body. He can’t make out anyone else’s presence in the warehouse.

He still struggles against the grip he’s in, still tries to wriggle the hundreds of tentacle coils loose, but he has a sinking feeling that he’s immobilized until Butcher decides to relent.

+++

They’ve been in this deadlock struggle for more than an hour. Butcher isn’t so much physically tired as mentally weary. Homelander’s nude, and Butcher has never seen him like that before, even though most of him is hidden under the tentacles trapping him in place. Butcher watches the supe’s body periodically still making a valiant effort to escape, muscles shifting, flesh bulging around each tentacle constricting him. His skin is shiny and Butcher’s not sure if it’s the supe’s sweat or whatever clear sticky mucus his cancer’s tentacles keep secreting.

“Look at you two perverts. You’ve found a new bonding exercise!”

“Just shut it,” Butcher says very quietly, through gritted teeth, hoping the supe in his clutches is too preoccupied to overhear him talk to himself like the madman he’s become.

+++

Homelander wonders if the long time without taking full breaths is taking a toll on his brain functions. He’s stopped struggling against his confines. The tentacles can’t hurt him like they did Vicky— that much is clear. And Homelander is for some unfathomable reason both panicked and blissed out. He’s panicking at the level of strength he’s faced with here… He can’t bear to say it, but Butcher’s tentacles seem stronger than him. That doesn’t seem possible. Maybe they’re also ebbing his strength so he can’t get away. That’s a terrifying thought about a terrifying power. But he also can’t help but sink down and relax his body. The tentacles wrapped so tightly around him, trying to rip him in half, are also holding him so confidently, like a warm angry embrace. He knows Butcher’s trying to kill him, but not having his eyesight and not having enough oxygen is making his mind reel with bizarre thoughts in the darkness. There’s a warmth in his chest, knowing William is staring at him, knowing William is trying to twist and wring him out like a human towel, to no avail, not knowing how long it’s been because time has lost all dimension, but knowing William has been obsessed enough to hold him suspended in the air for quite a while.

He gasps when he feels a free end of a tentacle caress his face. The sensation could never be mistaken for a human hand by texture— the thing creeps across his skin leaving moist trails, moves unctuously with no bones inside it— but he can feel the intention behind the movement and it’s William through and through. And with his eyes forced shut, he can imagine the real scene but also see it as William spooning up behind him, holding his entire body in a chokehold, and caressing his face. It doesn’t matter if it’s affection or lust or even hatelust. Homelander leans into the touch, not only because he thinks distracting William might open up an opportunity to escape, but because firm, strong touch like this is instantly addicting.

+++

“The fuck is he doing?” Kessler laughs, watching Homelander clearly trying to push into the touch. “I was just going to stuff his throat, see if I can’t get him to stop breathing completely.”

Butcher doesn’t reply. He thinks it’s funny that Kessler has the need to explain his intentions. They share a brain, after all. They both feel it, no matter how they deny it. Butcher won’t deny it. If he can’t rip him apart, he wants to fuck Homelander in every hole he has. Maybe try to stab a new one into being while he’s at it. Enough with the foreplay. He presses a tentacle against the supe’s lips, preparing for a fight to push in, but the fucker parts his lips and offers no resistance. The only fight he encounters as he plunges in deep down his throat is he has to loosen his own grip on the supe’s neck, to allow some space for the tentacle to travel through.

+++

Homelander may have welcomed the tentacle into his mouth, but he still bucks in discomfort, gag reflex attempting to launch the thing back out, tears squeezing out of the corners of his shut eyes at the pain, yes the pain of feeling the tentacle invade him deeper and deeper, the pain of the tentacle’s diameter getting thicker and thicker as it pushes itself in, until Homelander feels like his throat can barely accommodate it, burning pain in his lungs as his airways are completely blocked off. No oxygen at all now. He won’t die from this, but he might start to get delirious, if he isn’t already. He can’t even moan, his vocal cords have no space to vibrate, stretched taut around the thick tentacle still plumbing his esophagus and god knows what else. So he can’t emit a sound, can’t really budge in protest when another tentacle presses into him from behind. He can’t say his body lets the tentacle in, because his body feels like it’s doing everything in its power to push out whatever just forced its way in. But it’s futile, and it’s not even under his voluntary control. His voluntary control is to quiet down and surrender to the sensations. Yes, he’s being violently spitroasted. Maybe Butcher still hopes there’s some path to killing him here. Homelander’s mind can’t even be bothered worrying about that possibility. He feels like he’s drifting, consumed by an uncanny deja vu, as if he’s been here before. Suspended, weightless, immobilized, attached, blind, muffled. At first he thinks it’s something from his lab days, one of many memories he’s largely buried and never unearths. But even though he’s anything but, he feels safe. Not much of what went on down in B6 felt safe. Maybe he just feels safe in the knowledge there’s nothing he can do, but it feels like more than that. With his eyes still forced shut, a strange vision materializes in front of his eyes. He’s in the womb, unborn, curled up and cramped but oh so warm, warm walls touching him on every side, muffled voices far away above him, his mother talking to someone, swaying when she walks and the fluid around him moving slightly with each step. Is it even possible that he could retain a memory of something like this? He grasps on to it, whether it’s a real memory or just a fever dream, because it feels so cozy, so safe, so loving, and even when he’s brought back to reality, to his body screaming for air, screaming for being able to free itself to move, screaming to push the thick intrusions inside of him back out, the alarm bells in his body seem far away and dull and irrelevant. He’s incredibly calm, maybe in a drugged, oxygen-deprived way, but it feels like bliss. Like fucking enlightenment.

+++

“He’s getting off to this shit. Un-fucking-believable.”

Kessler might feel the need to comment and distance himself from what they’re doing, but Butcher stays silent, lest talking break the spell Homelander seems to be under, watching the supe’s limp, pliant body accept everything he gives it.

“You’re one sick puppy, you know that?” Kessler comments, clearly uneasy as Butcher reaches a tentacle out to wrap around Homelander’s cock and that’s the one thing that causes his body to jerk violently again, but only once, accepting this too.

+++

Feeling that part of him touched brings Homelander out of the memory. It feels good compared to everything else inflicted on him so far, but it also brings him back to concrete, painful reality in a way he doesn’t like. He gags when he feels the thick tentacle slide out of his throat, scraping across his teeth as it exits. Homelander closes his jaw a few times, feeling soreness in his joints and in his throat, mouth full of thick saliva mixed with whatever sticky residue the tentacles leave everywhere. He coughs, spits, cries, there’s snot leaking from his nose and he can’t even wipe it off. He tenses when the tentacle around his head unravels as well and he blinks, adjusting to the light before staring down at Butcher standing below, finally seeing where the tentacles are coming from. His lasers power up, not even a conscious decision but probably a response to all the pain stimuli and seeing the culprit, but just as quickly a tentacle still wrapped around his forehead swivels his face away, and the laser cuts across the warehouse wall, missing the target.

+++

“Hoho, that was close!” Kessler laughs but doesn’t criticize the strange decision to uncover his captive’s strongest weapon.

Butcher looks on impassively as he fucks in and out of his nemesis’ lily-white ass, which gives a satisfying jiggle on every thrust of the dark tentacle. His mouth free now, he’s able to give little plaintive sighs and moans at each motion, and Butcher kind of wishes he could see his facial expression, but it’s just too much risk to have his eyes pointed anywhere but away.

“Do it,” Kessler says leaning in next to him. “You know you want to try.”

Butcher shrugs and  briefly unravels the tentacles holding his legs together. Homelander bucks, as if trying to make a break for it, as if his upper body isn’t still being held fast by a bunch of other tentacle and as if the tentacle fucking him isn’t making it absolutely impossible to slip out backwards. Two tentacles wrap themselves around his legs, spreading them wide, probably painfully wide, because Homelander’s lasers go off again, a pathetic attempt at defense through offense again, considering his head is being held in a vise making sure he can only see the wall.

“That’s it, do it for her,” Kessler says, nodding slightly toward Butcher’s opposite shoulder. Butcher isn’t going to turn. He knows who’s standing there and he doesn’t want to see her face. He knows damn well this isn’t justice for anything she suffered. Just two monsters going at it, pretending they don’t absolutely love it. Homelander’s done pretending. His body shudders against the tight grip Butcher has on him, and spills on the floor with a sad sounding moan, visibly sagging in his confines before making the most pathetic movement to try and get away from the intrusion still going on behind him.

“Fuck him raw. Fuck him to death. A man’s got to have a limit doesn’t he?” Kessler cheers him on.

Butcher’s not so sure.

AO3 link

[cottoncandybitchfuck]

Neverafter

“Because you were lied to does not mean that everything was a lie. Do not take the crimes of those who have manipulated us and put them at the feet of the world." -Cinderella

“The real friends, the ones that make miracles happen, the ones greater than any treasure you could find on any adventure, they see the wolf in you and love it too.” -Grandma 

“Purpose, true purpose is always down the scarier path through the darker part of the forest.”-Grandma 

"You are seeing something you absolutely should not see, the face of a divinity you do not worship, the smile of a devil you never believed in." -DM Brennan

“The face moves as though no expression of contempt can satisfy it.” -Brennan

“Real? I don’t give a shit. I don’t come from a nice story. I believe in you, and I believe in me, and I think we’re just real enough.” -Scheherazade 

“The thing that’s approaching you, It’s not as vast as what you perceived in the ink, but it’s closer to that than it is to you. And the problem with this thing is that unlike the things in the ink, it’s getting bigger, and it’s getting angrier. And it knows you.” -Brennan

“As the Gander and Goose have their powers within the realms of the Neverafter, times of shadow, times of plenty, the wolf is death which is endings. Which in a land of stories endings are perhaps the most important thing.” -The Fairy with the Turquoise Hair

“I met death, and death wants me to live! I don’t want to go back to my other story where I listen to my fucking elders!” -Ylfa 

“Gerard has already lived his story, and what happens after happily ever after is that more things happen, or I’m just going to be a two dimensional piece of paper.” -Gerard 

“Do you think that you found true love, or do you think you just found the first person that could turn you back into a prince?”-Rosamund

“Don’t learn lessons from my torment.” -The Gander

“Sometimes when you feel like your whole point is to be a helper, you just have to help at any cost, and that’s pretty unhelpful. Sometimes I didn’t have a good answer, and I should have just said that, and I’ll do better to just tell you when I don’t know.” -Cricket

 “You don’t get beginnings without endings, okay?” -Ylfa

“Some things simply are, and in time, all things will end. But if you fear that you have made a pact with something that cannot live within your heart, then what comfort i can offer is this. In no corner of the long ages of all the worlds that i have walked, have I ever for one moment felt the desire to devour everything.” -Big Bad Wolf

“Sometimes things are too late to be rewritten or undone, but there are more blank pages ahead of us, Little Red.” -Big Bad Wolf

“There is no story you can begin without making the promise of its ending, and only strange and very dangerous things try to make a story that never ends.” -Big Bad Wolf

“It is a deep and unsettling dread when you realize that you can, by taking charge, cause harm. It is an even deeper dread when you realize that in taking charge, you will cause harm. You will not make every perfect choice, and the fear that you will make some choice that does some wrong within the world is exactly what your enemies are hoping will stop you. So, we do as best as we can to do as good as we can, but not to let the Neverafter fall into the fate that the faeries intend for it.” -Snow White

“I think the story that’s happening now, I’ve come to learn, will maybe lead to something better. Because you’re right stories don’t just end.” -Gerard

“I don’t think you get love just by deserving it.” -Rosamund

“Everyone you ever knew who told you they would keep you safe as long as you behaved was already hurting you.” -La Bete

“All the finery in the world, is just a mask…” -La Bete

“Live your life without apology, little girl. It is never wrong to tell the truth about what you are.” -La Bete

“It’s never too late to decide who you want to be.” -Tom Thumb

“How convenient that in the moment of learning the lesson, you no longer need to have learned it.” -Brennan

“Because either all the bad things that happened to you were random, just chaos, hundreds and millions of choices of other people that just have nothing to do with you and your own story, or all the bad things that happened to you were destined to happen.” -Cinderella

[chungledown-bimothy]

Top 5 Ally PCs?

oh hell yeah let's fuckin go

1- pete conlan my best friend. he's such a disaster but is trying his best. fant-asma knuckle tattoos. wild magic sorcerer. he's never done anything wrong in his entire life, actually.

2- margaret encino. she's such a disaster but is trying her best. society if her INSANE call to the guards play in battle of the brands had worked. diet boston cream pie yogurt. found out the best friend she's definitely not in love with is engaged, so she became the sugar mommy for a hot dog-shaped space ship and its crew of people who are as fucked up as she is.

3- liam wilhelmina. he's such a disaster but is trying his best. seed guy. his best friend is a pig. he's peppermint batman, and before that his body "was like a walking apology". he must have known preston was almost certainly going to die with lapin, but he sent him any way just in case. he was the first to say slammed down big-style. aroace king.

4- kristen applebees. she's such a disaster but is trying her best. okay look. i'm exmo and gay i Understand Her. if i roll a nat 20 can i be alive. of course a 14 is good enough to ribbon dance to the ground safely. worst inspiring speeches of all time. created a buzzfeed god. raised worshipping a sun god and then started dating a werewolf cleric with a moon goddess. 1d4 gay spit damage.

5- timothy goose. he's less of a disaster but definitely doesn't have his shit all the way together and is trying his best. old man who just wants to save his son and go back to his husband, but gets roped into babysitting... them *gestures vaguely to the rest of destiny's children*. he's the gander.

[bush-cookies]

The Best Biscuits for Coffee

We all know that there's nothing quite like dunking a biscuit in a lovely cuppa. Of tea, that is. But what about the coffee lovers amongst us; surely we deserve a piece of that action too? There are two sides to enjoying coffee and biscuits, and they don't always go together. On the one hand, there's flavour. It's gotta taste good, right? A well-earned coffee break is not something we take lightly. But then there's dunking. How much do we need to dip that biscuit...

What Biscuit Goes Well With Coffee?

Coffee is an entirely different animal from tea, and what (as they say) is good for the goose is not always entirely good for the gander. Coffee pairings are not always easy, but one thing is for certain. You need a biscuit with a bit of character. Something that will stand up, look coffee straight in the eye and announce 'Here I am'. The Rich and Chocolatey Coffee likes chocolate. And chocolate likes coffee. There's just something there that cannot be denied. Dark chocolate is bold, and the two bring out the best in one another. The creamy sweetness of milk chocolate tames the wild intensity of coffee into something more comforting. Something mocha-esque. A chocolate-coated biscuit is most definitely not made for dunking. But that does not mean it can't be the perfect partner for a cup of coffee. On the other hand, the classic chocolate chip cookie offers the perfect balance of chocolatey flavour with a slightly gooey texture that soaks up coffee like a sponge. The Buttery and Flaky Oh, the joy of a buttery biscuit! It's like a hug for your taste buds, and when submerged into a warm Arabica blend, it soaks up all that robust coffee goodness. The classic shortbread biscuit, with its crumbly texture and rich flavour, is the partner your coffee has been pining for. The Rough and Ready Sometimes you want something just a little more robust. A rugged dunker full of flavour like a classic Anzac bikkie. The Spicy and Aromatic Spice up your coffee routine with something that packs a punch, like these ginger and date biscuits. Dip them into a latte, and the creaminess of the milk perfectly complements the zesty ginger bite. Sweet and Creamy Cream-filled biscuits sit somewhere in the middle. They also completely divide the crowd. Whilst they will stand up well to a decent dunking, would you really want to?

What Biscuits do you Dunk in Coffee?

Debatably, there's an art to dunking. It's all about the timing—the quick, strategic plunge into the coffee, allowing the biscuit to soak up just enough liquid while retaining its integrity. Nobody wants a biscuit graveyard at the bottom of their cup. As any tea lover will tell you, just because a biscuit tastes really really good, this doesn't necessarily make it dunkable. There is an art to successful dunking and, let's face it, when you take taste out of the equation tea and coffee pretty much boil down to the same thing. So, let's explore the art of biscuit dunking. Timing Just like a perfect handshake, there's the right amount of time for a dunk. Too short, and you miss out on the coffee infusion; too long, and you're fishing for biscuit remnants at the bottom of your cup. Choose your weapon Not all biscuits are built for dunking. Go for something sturdy that won't crumble at first contact with your brew. Texture A slight softening from the coffee can elevate the texture to a whole new level of deliciousness. Flavour pairing Think about the coffee's undertones—nutty, fruity, chocolatey? Pick a biscuit that complements or contrasts these flavours. Nail your technique Dunk at an angle for even saturation and to prevent half the biscuit from soaking too much while the other half remains dry as the Sahara. Make it your own Because rules are made to be broken. Happen to like the biscuity sludge at the bottom of the cup? Go for it. Like the way a chocolate biscuit melts like a mocha? Have at it. Remember, the most important rule in the art of dunking is to have fun and enjoy your coffee just the way you like it—biscuit and all! Whether you are a coffee purist or a cookie monster, there's a great big world of biscuits waiting to be explored. Your ideal coffee companion is out there. To all the café owners listening in, knowing your customers' preferred coffee-biscuit pairings can turn a good morning routine into a great one. Maybe it’s time to jazz up that display case next to the cash register! Explore our range of handmade Australian biscuits and find your perfect pair. Read the full article

[residentsofhollowville]

He lies down on his back and drifts until the water starts to drag him down. It's cathartic, in its way, to not be the responsible one for a night.

Cypher clearly has no plans to join, but he's alright with that. What's good for goose is not always good for gander, and this is comfort enough.

He laughs, and then lets go.

Open RP :D

<< He's back in his forest, where he belongs. He can smell - feel - people within its boundaries, and yet he can't find it in himself to chase and hunt them. Once, not too long ago, he would have grown excited at the prospect of a new victim. >> << Now he finds himself revolted if he thinks too long about the blood on his hands. >> << He stands now in his clearing. The dirt is bumpy from shallowly buried bones and tree roots. He sits in a small patch of moss and mushrooms, on his knees with his head down. It's late, but he doesn't want to sleep, anyways. He only wants to think about the numerous people whose bodies lie inches beneath him in the soil. >>

[vipetriol]

Embarrassment of Riches

“ Abubu’s birthday is coming up. ”

Who could’ve possibly imagined that five words alone, spoken offhandedly by one of the juniors, would be enough to set off this outlandish chain of events? 

Jamil, that’s who. 

From the moment the sentence was uttered, he had known himself to be doomed, for his fate had already been sealed. 

Fulfilling ludicrous requests has been part of Jamil’s duty for as long as he’s had use of reason and, at this point, they should no longer phase him. Under Kalim’s leadership, seeing to the preparations of inopportune, asinine parties has become long since become part of his daily routine at Scarabia. As might be expected of someone living under such a regimen, Jamil is hardly a stranger to making last-minute arrangements for grand events conceived without a modicum of foresight or a semblance of sound judgement. 

Under regular circumstances, birthdays are actually the most tolerable of those instances. At the very least, Jamil can prepare for those banquets in advance. Though ostentatious and wholly unnecessary, they remain relatively innocuous, and he supposes there’s no real harm in making members of Scarabia feel appreciated. 

Problem is, Abubu is not a student. 

No, of all things, this esteemed member of their dorm happens to be of a more pachydermic nature. 

Indeed— Scarabia abruptly decided to hold a banquet for an elephant. Then, at the eleventh hour, and to no one’s surprise, the responsibility of arranging it had befallen Jamil. 

As it does. Every time. Without fail. 

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised. This much is nothing unusual, and it’s hardly the worst thing he’s ever had to deal with. But that thought does little to quell the aggravation brewing within him. If anything, it magnifies it.    

A birthday party for an elephant, that much is fine, but it wouldn’t stop there. Why would it? Oh no, of course it wouldn’t. Once you throw a banquet for one of the animals, you must celebrate the entire lot. Every peacock. Every monkey. Every camel. Every bear; anything to keep them from feeling unappreciated or hurt! What's good for the goose is good for the gander, says the turn of phrase, but with the ever-present soreness of his hootenanny injuries, Jamil would rather not think about idiomatic geese. 

Now, he’s standing halfway across Sage Island, loading a number of toys onto Kalim’s magic carpet. The ‘party favours’ he’s holding had been especially commissioned as a gift for Scarabia’s entire menagerie; each of them attests to an intricate and fine crafting, and they are as beautiful as they are expensive. However, having been commissioned at the last possible moment, timely delivery all the way to campus hadn’t been possible, and Jamil was tasked with picking them up himself. The sheer number of knick-knacks was so excessive it’d prove impossible to fly back on the carpet with them, leaving Jamil effectively stranded. 

The carpet must share some of his frustrations, because its tassels flail dejectedly under all the added weight. 

« Sorry about this, »  he sighs, running a hand across the silk in a feeble attempt at comfort. « I don’t want to do this either, you know…»  

Once everything’s been placed and secured, the carpet begins to ascend slowly, rising over Jamil and towards the sky. 

« Make sure to get those to Kalim safely, » he instructs. « I’ll catch up with you later. »   

Almost as if nodding in affirmation, the carpet’s tassels shake once again before it takes off. As it fades into the horizon, Jamil is left alone with his greatest source of torment. 

Looming behind him is an object wrapped with dull fabric. It stands at almost three metres in height, and weighs several hundreds of kilograms. With no broom, no carpet, no source of transportation at his disposal, Jamil must find a way to get back to campus, somehow bringing along this accursed thing. 

Why… 

Why! Why? 

Why?! Why him?!?! 

Beneath the dirt and patches You are a diamond in the rough, @hyaina

[raevenlywrites]

for the polyamory meme: zane/rei/danica for A1 or J2

J2

I don't know how we came to this. I am standing between my two men, as I have done countless times before. But instead of breaking up a fight, I feel like almost like a third wheel. They are talking about our latest session in the bedroom of the many weapons, Rei regaling Zane with stories of my temper, of moments so private I could have only experienced them with Rei, my best friend. And here he is, sharing them with my husband.

I shouldn't be embarrassed, but somehow, unsurprisingly, I am. In the past, I could only share myself with Rei. And now, that I am meant to share myself only with Zane, I freeze before them both. And they carry on without me, somehow having formed a friendship out from under me. I do consider Zane a friend, I realize, but no where near as close as he and Rei seem to be. I don't know how I missed this.

"It's a pity you two don't share better." Zane says it with the forced lightness I now recognized as his most vulnerable. "The things Adelina could teach you..."

"Are you talking to Danica or me?"

I hear challenge in Rei's voice, and heat. That brings a blush to my own cheeks, and I almost want to ask them if I should just leave the two of them alone. But Zane's hand tenses on the small of my back, and I realize he has not brought this up at this moment on a whim. He's been planning this, and for whatever reason, he wanted me here as a buffer.

I wish he'd told me. I don't know how I would have reacted, but I would have had a chance to do so in private. Now, I feel I have to put my own feelings aside, to help the most important men in my life through whatever happens next.

This won't spare Zane from my temper, only delay it. Perhaps I will seek Adelina out on my own and ask her for new ways to torture my wicked prince.

"I think I'd like to see how Adelina punishes you," I say boldly. My smile deepens as I feel them both stiffen in surprise. "You certainly deserve it."

Zane's laugh rings out, his touch shifting into a one-armed hug. I lean into him, pleased to have delighted him. Being with Zane has taught me how to have many emotions at once, and how to hop lightly from each one like a dancer, beat to beat to beat. We can discuss my issues later. We can only enjoy the playfulness of this moment now.

"I certain do," Zane agrees. "Though if you are too rough with me, I may have to call our Rei in to stand in our stead. Big, tough warrior such as himself can surely take whatever punishment you care to dish out."

We both look to Rei, Zane for an answer, and me because I feel like making him as uncomfortable as his stories about me made me. A little turn about is good for goose and gander alike.

But Rei goes quiet, and I see that our teasing has hit a nerve. I am still not accustomed to thinking of my childhood best friend as the son of falcons, or what that means. I slip my hand into his, and, feeling its not enough, wrap my arms around his waist. With my face against his chest, I can hear his heart beating too loudly, too fast, feel the rise and fall of his broad chest as he wills himself to calm.

"Don't hide," I whisper. The words are habitual to me now, repeated so often by myself and Zane. Zane who is behind me, and adding his arms to mine.

"Don't hide," he echoes. "If the bondage play bothers you--"

"No."

Rei's answer is too swift, too sharp. There is an edge of lie to it, then, and his power is forcing him to reconsider the words he'd been about to say. Another deep breath, and I think that perhaps it is easier for him to answer with our faces too close to truly see him, and our arms holding him too close to be distant.

"All memories of the White City are hard." And I don't need to know that Ahnmik binds him to know those words are true. "But the pleasure of bondage, of watching you beneath the ties and ticklers... No. The play itself does not upset me."

There are deeper issues to work out here. This is not surprising. I squeeze Rei tighter, and wonder fleetingly if even this much compression might do something for him. I don't know that I can give him my body in the way that a wife might, in the way that I have not yet given myself to anyone, not even Zane. But, if I can learn to dance to Anhamirak's drums...

Maybe I can learn to dance to Ahnmik's beatings as well.

Thank you so much to @qaraxuanzenith for being patient and to @adie-dee for reminding me that I've been meaning to work on this stupid fic again XD

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

[manjuhitorie]

HITORI-ESCAPE 2020 : Hitorie’s Free Concert Live Stream - December 7th 2020

In celebration of their newest single, curved edge, Hitorie streamed a full length concert! Setlist: Polaris Senseless Wonder Namid[A]me Garandou Mae Zero Banchi SLEEPWALK Loveless Gekijougai Talkie Dance Unknown Mother Goose Karanowaremono Ao curved edge In it they announced the release of a new album! Named... REAMP! Febuary 17th can’t come soon enough!!! It will even include songs written by not only Shinoda, but Yumao and ygarshy each as well! Concert report below:

Initial Impressions: ＊ SND’s shirt has Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe printed on it. ＊ He has a stageprompter to assist with lyrics as well. He struggles to hit the high notes but he nails the high octane power chords. wowaka used to wing when his would sing, so he would slip on his lyrics, and make silly faces, every other song live. I see SND is playing it safe, now that he’s the one in charge of the crazy lyrics!!! Prelude leading into... Polaris ＊SND gets riled up and turned thhe「誰も知らぬ明日へ行け　誰も止められやしないよ」lyric into a rowdy 「止められやしねえよ」 . Equivalent to “No one can stop us” being turned into “No once can fucking stop us” or so. Shinoda “We’re Hitorie, enjoy the show.” (This ‘Hitorie desu, yoroshiku douzo’ was always wowaka’s stock concert phase.) Senseless Wonder ＊”Woo-hoo”’s or unintelligible noises made in the riff music breaks. ＊Yumao sings the backup vocals.  ＊SND wiggles his foot on his Wah pedal to make the wonky sounds.

Intermissional MC

Shinoda “This marks the beginning of Hitori-Escape. We are called Hitorie. Everyone please stick with us.“Heavy breathing “Hold up. I jumping around too much right off the bat.. I jumped around too much... All I did was hip and hop around a little bit... Haah. I’m gonna drink some water, drink some water!” SND walks over to the amp where bottles lie atop then proceeds to take a big sip. Yumao also follows along with a drink. Yu and SND can be seen conversing, but only SND’s “You got that right.” can be heard. SND returns to the mic “Take a gander, everyone. Even Yumao-kun is already sweating as well. This sparkly sweat of ours.. We will try to deliver you guys our sweat at the highest quality we can offer, deliver it as much as possible.” While SND is talking Yumao makes signs, such as 2 fingers up, towards the staff. “Well then, let’s chug along. Enjoy the show everyone.” Namid[A]me ＊There’s bubble popping sound effects in the intro now! Yumao is in charge of this, see his MacBook + mixer (+ a handy setlist printout) setup on the table beside him. All with a music program open primed and ready... Right before the song you can even see Yumao click his computer as well! 

＊ Yumao sings backup vocals, the whole chorus has his deep voice echoing. The small amount of notes are so concise and moody live... ＊ SND tops the outro off with a “Wasshoi!” Garandou Mae Zero Banchi ＊ Melodramatic piano bit added before the intro. I wonder where this was sampled from... It sounds like SND uses his stereo chorus pedal for his part as well. Shinoda “Thank you.”

Intermissional MC

Shinoda “Uhm.. At the end of our previous live stream I had said ‘Next time we meet will be at the concert hall.’. Sorry, that was a lie... We’re meeting at a live stream yet again. We’re Hitorie, enjoy the show.” Yumao taps his cymbals gently to create the classic concert mood starter sound. SND “That, that’s good! That’s the stuff! That’s the stuff. Without that stuff I feel the silence responding to me.” He motions at the empty auditorium. “That stuff’s nice, nice. I guess ‘cause, y’know. ‘Cause you two have already been y’know. Performing in front of people.” Yumao, hits his cymbal, cue a “Bwaa~n” sound. SND “You can fool me with that shit. No ‘Bwaa~n’ will work on me. You had 2 whole opportunities in a row, yesterday and the day before.” (Referring to Yumao’s appearance in Touyama Nao’s anniversary concerts.) Yumao hits his cymbal yet again, cue a “Shwaaan” noise. SND scoffs “What a kind and swe~et reaction.” SND “I’m the only one. The only one here who hasn’t stood up in front of people. My only upcoming chance will be at ‘Countdown Japan’, at the end of the year. Then in January I’ll be doing our limited fan club concert at Shibuya WWX. Back to back. What the hell is up with this year? What the hell, huh? Huh!!!” SND playfully pounces in Yumao’s direction. Yumao hits his cymbal again. “You’re saving my butt with that. Thanks, truly. Alright. From here on I’m to bring you a few songs without a guitar, only a mic in my hands.” Yumao “1, 2, 3, 4” SLEEPWALK ＊ SND gets on his knees and wiggles to walk on the floor during music breaks, is he imitating a sleepwalker.. ＊ Ygarshy presses a pedal right after every song ends, presumably his tuner, to mute and prevent static. He strums and slaps with his fingers, no pick, for every song. SND “2020 is slowly nearing its end, but, what’s everyone’s opinion on love?” Loveless ＊BONK 

＊ Includes Shinoda flopping around on the floor, squatting like a yakuza, and an outro with SND and yg having a mini string instrument battle! They huddle together! Yumao pounds away! Gekijougai ＊ Additional nebulous intro.  ＊ Yumao is really worked to the bone in this banger! Featuring yet another more intense battle between yg and SND. SND “Alrighty! Ah. Where are y’all now? Where are y’all right now? It doesn’t matter where you are, just dance along to Talkie Dance!” Talkie Dance ＊ During the riff breaks SND chants  Soi! Yoisa! Soi! Hoisa!” Like wasshoi, these are traditional shouts primarily used by O-mikoshi carriers in JP festivals! SND really seems to enjoy using old-fashioned words in a stylish way. SND “Upon this ending year, this one is with love from wowaka!” Unknown Mother Goose “Sing along with me!” ＊ Per usual, Yumao and ygarshy both pitch in for the ‘Oh oh oh’ harmonies. “Sing, please!” ＊ The background vocals in the Unknown Mother Goose are also confirmed by the man himself to be “Give me love”. He had responded to someone with “Oh! You’re sharp!” when asked about it!

Intermissional MC

“Are y’all having fun? Me, I can’t stop sweating. Help me. I can’t stop sweaaating.” SND changes to a high tone voice, “Ah~ This is awesomeee. Methinks this is awesome but, but I gotta say, I’m the only one here who hasn’t had a chance to perform in front of people, no kap.” He returns to his normal tone. “I hold a grudge. I’m always the only one being fucking left outtt. I can't let go of my grudge.

At least look me in the eyes, guys. Ah, whatever. On New Year's Eve I’m gonna appear in Countdown Japan, I’m gonna! ...What does it feel like anyway, performing in front of people? What does it feel like, may I ask you fine young gentleman?” SND’s voice turns to demonic. “Oiiii. Don’t just fucking nod at me. Don’t make up some new common language. You’re over there using no words, bitch.” His voice returns to normal. “Well, whatever. Enough of that. It’s no use staying jealous forever.” Yumao taps his cymbals... “Don’t just fucking ‘clang clang’ either!” Yumao laughs. “You laughed, you laughed! You laugh: you lose, you!”, they all smile. “Uhm... On December 31st, New Year's Eve, we’ll be at Countdown Japan. Please come if you can, hope to see you there. Now then! Next year, I’m talking about next year, it will be the 7th year anniversary of our major debut. In celebration, and to kick off the new year, we have booked Roppongi’s EX Theater for two days, January 21st and 22nd,. This is all I can say for now. Details will be announced later. ...Now let me drink some water.” ygarshy is all done tuning and at attention. Yumao keeps making cymbal sounds to fill the empty space. “I... Today, here, is uhm, Yokohama’s Bay Hall. It’s the place where ‘Swallowtail’ was filmed. When we arrived this afternoon I saw the windows and practically screamed. It’s Yen Town Band! It’s where Glico sang ‘My Way’! I alone was freaking out. Noone was on board with me.. I’m all alone, yet again.... The camera zooms in on Yumao, “Don’t just smile! Don't just smile at me With that said. Our 7th anniversary hits next year! So, here is our very first song, which represents our beginning....” Karanowaremono Ao ＊ Many emotional spotlights.

Intermissional MC

SND “At long last, this time has come. Huh! Mister Yumao-san!” SND glares at him. “Perhaps I may revel in a sip of water as well. A sip of water!! ... By the way what time is it? Yumao, in reporter voice “It is currently eight thirty seven.” SND “I see, it’s eight thirty seven. That's crazy. So today, our new song released, as you folks may know. Our new song called curved edge was released. Did you give it a listen? If you haven’t then please do, but also, the music video for the song will be public today at 22 o’ clock, please enjoy it. That’s the immediate future. But let’s talk about the faaar future.... On February 17th will a new album be released. We made an album. curved edge is a song written by me, and naturally it will be included in the album as well but, that’s not all.” He wags his finger towards the others, “This wiggly windy head of brown-colored hair and, this other wiggly windy head of black-colored hair have even each written a song for it as well. The title is R-E-A-M-P, REAMP. To be released on February 17th. Keep your eyes peeled.” he tapped his temple as he said this, “Please!” Ygarshy bows. “Ahhh, we made it!” Shinoda starts coughing, “Excuse me. Coughing without covering my mouth is not good. I'll be careful. Ah, I’m so nervous. I’ve grown nervous this far in. Alright, this next one will be the final song. Thank you so much for bearing with us. We are Hitorie. As farewell, here is our new song. curved edge.

Text:

I have also written up the original Japanese quotes! Thank you Tamagotoji for the huge help! ORZ For those looking to follow along with the concert, or learn new words from them, or enjoy!! Please enjoy! 

https://www.evernote.com/l/AolVRKvLGRpFN6l0MApPe5xuRXQOI4kFeTg

Bonus tech lore

Disclaimer: Only old photos exist of their pedalboards exist, as the cameramen did a fine job of concealing them. Since there’s no new evidence of change, I’ll assume these old findings will serve as foundation for their current setups as well!

[grapecaseschoices]

I debated whether to take your bait, since im bored ill entertain you

Dear, I wasn’t trying to bait you -- there is nothing about you that I want to catch.  You were making a half assed callout regarding something you only know half the story to, and I decided to answer you because it was unfair. It is funny you talk like I am trying to instigate shit when youre the one to @ Mishka. What do you think luring her to your childish post would do? White woman solidarity? 

, is the poor baby angwi that they got called out on their behaviour?

Are you five? I feel like I’ve stepped back into early aughts tumblr discourse. Are we all not grown here?

First of all, i never sent(besides this post), nor encouraged any “hate” towards adm, nor would I care enough to do so, is the poor baby angwi that they got called out on their behaviour? That’s too bad, but unfortunately i have nothing to do with what people chose to do once they read LM’s post

But ADM is responsible for how people react to information provided? All she said was “this is who you’re working with”. And people reacted accordingly. Some people decided to crowd around LM, other’s decided to wash their hands of her. If she, and you, are not responsible for other’s reactions to your exaggerations --- why is ADAM responsible for how people reacted to her interpertation? If there is no point in putting blame on callouts for the reactions they garner, then WHAT WAS THE PURPOSE OF THIS OG POST? 

Especially since, as stated, this is old shit.

nd please, stop making your race into your entire personality, its honestly extremely boring to see,

qwe45t4weqw324s I see. Are my comments only valid if I talk about my or ADM’s neurodivergence? Because that is what LM did. And that’s what you mentioned as well.

Why can’t I make my race my entire personality, in a conversation triggered by a charatcer’s BLACKNESS, but white people can throw in their mental health and past experiences in a situation has nothing to do with it?

Is LM’s autism her entire personality then? Your whiteness seems to be yours -- because they really weren’t kidding about it being a brain rotting drug.

you all use the same language and put labels on yourself to make people seem racist whenever you feel likI e it

I just felt like bolding this.

im not and never caree about adms race, and mind you, i never mentioned it here,

You didnt mention her race but you did mention race. 

what i did, is call out the ridiculous actions of this very special individual with zero compassion.

You made a callout over a months old situation. And you did it - as stated - making a lot of assumptions about people / a situation, you seem to know nothing about.

If it mattered so much to you, why did you not say something back then? I did. I messaged LM privately, with consideration to her point and asked her to please consider mine. And she didn’t say bupkis. Maybe if I had sent a direct @ and talked about how her fic triggered me, she would have paid me attention.

Someone writes about how this whole thing made them want to kill themselves and the first thing you do is make this about race,

Let me phrase it another way for you: Someone called out what they felt was racism, and the person who did the act decided they wanted to make it about their mental illness [instead of take accountability]. Does that make sense to you? As I said before, LM is allowed to react how she wants or feel how she wants -- but weren’t YOU the one who just said that LM and you arent responsible for any reactions sent to ADM, I take that to mean that you refute responsibility to how SHE reacts and feels ... I am confused as to why what is good for the goose isnt good for the gander?

and try to put me in the light of some white opressor whos jumping on them.

I mean I didn’t say that but if you FEEL that way. /shrugs

You’re over 30, yet you feel pressed about me defending someone whos in their 22

Dang, Iet me go tell my in her 60s supervisor and in her 80s aunt they can never speak to my benefit, even tho they care about me. It seems defense only for those in the same age gap. Gonna go leave my not even double digits cousins to the elements.

Adm can take criticism? Yeah by telling whoever criticised them to kys, and labelling the person as a ‘white girlie’

She did not. And okay, I’m done with this. White girle is the indignant hill you wanna die on?

Will I be accused of telling you to kill yourself bc I said die?

Question: Did you even read LMs post? Or did you run here like a little doggie the first chance you got?

Well, I mean it takes a bitch to know a bitch, right dear? Woof, woof.

But I did! But seeing I am the only one here who can process information. I will let you continue to think that post where she justified shit bc her brown friends said it was fine “acknowledgment”.

I hope you have a peaceful day! Deep breaths, darling! No need to respond back~

I hope you're proud of yourself, couch warriors of the wayhaven fandom, specifically you, @ava-du-mortain who can only pick on people like @/ladiemars from the security of your big horse and immersive ego. The fandom is basically a cess pool full of entitled people who are too weird about FICTIONAL characters, but you honestly raised the bar for me. Do you realise that your actions have consequences, or do you just type shit out and think that whatever comes out of your empty skull is justified??

How many times does @seraphinitegames have to tell you all to be normal?? Do you not realise that your behaviour is directly reflecting on the work that you are so fiercely protecting?

Do you seriously think that if you go around telling people to not interact with someone because you have some wild ideas in your head about that person, that the author is going to do what? Pat you on your head? Or the character you're defending is going to say thank you??? Or that putting a bunch of labels on yourself and covering yourself in an image where you appear as someone oh so compassionate is justifying the way you behave or the kind of things you say?

Wake up, you're not in kindergarten anymore, and this isn't your playground where you indicate your own rules, for the love of god I do not believe in, you HAVE to act your age, because this is embarrassing. You don't like some blog? Block them, move on. You don't have to bring them on the verge of suicide and make them seek therapy just to feel better about yourself.

You're not earning any brownie points for your shitty behaviour.

[mackinmacki]

You’re Not Allowed to Say That! (White Rose Week #5)

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: White Rose

Word Count: 2194

Rating: T

Synopsis: Weiss attempts to teach Ruby that swearing isn't very ladylike, to mixed results.

Prompt: Curse

Links: FFN | AO3

———————————————————————————————

It started simply enough. Ruby and Yang were standing on opposite sides of the room, tossing a ball back and forth to each other. Zwei, who had been sent over through the mail for a visit, was happily pacing between them, trying to grab the ball should it be dropped. Weiss, as careful as she was, made sure to repeatedly mention that the two of them were going to break something. It was no surprise that neither of them heeded her warnings.

Now, at least nothing broke. That was the good part. Unfortunately, one of Yang's errant throws nearly broke Ruby. It was too high and too far. Ruby, with outstretched arms, jumped back and tried to catch it. However, it was just too high, and it hit off the wall. She followed suit, banging the back of her head hard against the drywall. Zwei, Yang, and Weiss all immediately started running towards her as the ball bounced uselessly away.

"Oww, fuck!" Ruby groaned, sprawled out on the ground and holding her head. While Zwei and Yang dropped down next to her, making sure she was alright, Weiss had stopped in her tracks. She stared open-mouthed at Ruby, playing back repeatedly what she had just said.

"Ruby!" Her shrill scream caught everyone's attention. All eyes were on her, including Blake, who had been idling around before that moment. "You can't say that!"

"Wha? Say what?" Ruby slowly sat up with help from Yang, rubbing the back of her head and looking at Weiss. It always seemed like she was doing something wrong, but she couldn't fathom what she had done this time.

"That word!" Weiss shouted back, telling her absolutely nothing about what exactly she had said that was so wrong. "It's not very ladylike to curse, you know." 'Ohh!' Well, now it all made sense. Ruby immediately started to giggle, which naturally made Weiss's temper rise. "And just what are you laughing at, Ruby?!"

"Are you trying to tell me not to say 'fuck', Weiss?" When Weiss visibly cringed, Ruby burst out into fits of laughter. "Ow ow, my head, ahahaha owowow! Stop it, Weiss! You're making me laugh too much!" 

"Me?! That's your fault for messing around in closed quarters! And maybe you deserve that for not listening to me." Putting her hands on her hips, Weiss looked like she had just sucked on a lemon. "Cursing is something uncouth women do, Ruby. It's for low class people. As our leader, I expect better from you."

"Aww Weiss, there's nothing wrong with swearing." Yang stood up once she made sure Ruby was okay, ambling over to sling an arm around Weiss's shoulder. "Sometimes saying something's good just isn't gonna cut it. You gotta say that it's bitchin', ya know?"

"I do not know," Weiss retorted, sliding out from under Yang's arm and stepping back, frowning deeply. "You're a bad influence on Ruby, you know that? I bet you swear like a sailor in front of her, and she ends up emulating you. You need to improve your vocabulary, Yang. Blake, back me up here."

"What?" Blake, realizing that she was being dragged into the conversation, tried to slip unnoticed back into bed. "Don't bring me into this conversation. I don't care."

"Like hell you don't!" With surprising speed, Weiss caught Blake before she could sneak under the covers, grabbing her arm and forcibly dragging her towards the sisters. "You're of sound mind, Blake. Wouldn't you agree that swearing is for those who have weak vocabularies?"

"Well, I don't personally swear." She could feel herself sweating, thinking about the copious amounts of swearing in some of the more risque literature that she read. If only Weiss knew there were worse things Ruby could be saying than swear words, like what the main character of the most recent book she was reading was doing to their love interest in the back of a train car. She had a feeling someone as stuck up as Weiss would never recover. "But I'm not going to police other people's dialogue."

"Then you are an enabler." Weiss let go of Blake's arm, shaking her head disgustedly. "I'm disappointed in all of you for this behavior. Especially you." She pointed at Yang, who looked visibly shocked.

"Me?! I didn't even swear! That was all Ruby!"

"Wow, way to throw me under the bus, sis..."

"Yes, but I know that you were the one who taught her to curse like that." Glaring at Yang, Weiss grabbed Ruby's arm and took her towards the door. "If you'll excuse us, I have some lessons to teach Ruby about the art of conversation."

"Aww man! Yaaang, help me!" Ruby squirmed in Weiss's grasp, but didn't have the full heart to yank herself away. "At least take Yang instead! She's the bad influence!" When it came to throwing sisters under the bus, what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Whatever the fuck a 'gander' was.

"Yes, but Yang is irredeemable. I can still save you." There was no more room for argument. Weiss pulled Ruby out of the bedroom and slammed the door, Ruby's cries for mercy fading the further away they got.

"Well then," Yang muttered, scratching at her scalp. "I feel like I should be offended by that, but at least I don't have to deal with a Weiss lecture. Maybe being irredeemable has its perks."

"That's one way of looking at it." 

——————————————————————————————— "Alright Ruby, now let's say you're in a situation where you get hurt." Weiss had taken Ruby up to the top floor balcony, where she was attempting to teach her partner proper etiquette. Considering that Ruby had cursed while getting hurt, that seemed like a good place to start. "Instead of saying the f-word like you did, why not try just saying 'Ow'?"

"Aww, but Weiss, I can't help it! If I hurt myself like that, it just comes out, you know?" Ruby really didn't see what the big deal was. Who cared if she said 'fuck' a time or two? She hadn't expected Weiss to be so anal about it. Hehehe, anal... Probably shouldn't say that out loud either.

"That's because you're not trying!" Weiss huffed in frustration, wondering for a moment if Ruby was also a lost cause. No, she didn't believe that. Unlike her uncouth older sister, Ruby was a much nicer, better-spoken girl. There had to be a way to show her the error of her ways, also known as the error of Yang's ways. "Once you stop using curse words, then it will become more instinctual for you."

"I suppose..." Ruby sighed, shaking her head slightly. Why was this such a big deal to Weiss? Her swearing wasn't affecting anyone. Sure, people were sometimes surprised at the mouth someone as cute and innocent as she looked, but that's what happened when you grow up around people like Yang and Qrow. Besides, they were just words. What was the problem, really? "Don't you ever feel like swearing, Weiss?"

"Of course not! How dare you even insinuate such a thing!" The nerve of Ruby to think she would let such rough words leave her lips. She had been raised better than that. "A proper woman doesn't devolve to swearing when things aren't going her way. That's a lesson you'll need to learn, Ruby."

"That's a lame lesson," Ruby muttered, though she had to quickly take it back when she saw the look on Weiss's face. "Uh, I mean, it's not a lame lesson?" That did not change her expression at all. "C'mon Weiss, this is silly! I'm not as prim and proper as you, okay? Sometimes I swear, and that's okay! Everybody does it!"

"Don't be so broad, Ruby. Not everyone swears. I don't." Ruby was being difficult, but that was normal for her. She had been difficult to deal with since the day they met. That didn't mean it was time to give up, though. Weiss was going to get through to her, no matter how long it took. Well, eventually she would give up, but now wasn't that time.

She spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince Ruby that there were better uses of her vocabulary. Between tips and different words, she threw all of her arsenal at the team leader. Maybe it stuck, but at the moment, it seemed she had still left Ruby unconvinced. At that point, she was tired, and she decided that they would need to reconvene another time.

"Alright, let's go back to the dorm," she sighed, wondering if she had gotten through at all to Ruby. Looking in her eyes, she couldn't tell. Maybe this all was for naught, and Ruby was as far gone as her sister. She would still try, though, at least for awhile longer. There were more connections between herself and her partner than there was with her and Yang, anyway.

"Yay!" Ruby hopped up happily -- a bit too happily. Shaking her head, Weiss got up after her, and the two of them headed off of the balcony. However, being distracted by the entire situation made Weiss less cautious than she usually was. Without her eyes fully focused on what was in front of her, she accidentally rammed her elbow into the side of the door, sending a sharp pain right up her funny bone.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" She cried out and grabbed her elbow, hissing in pain. Barely avoiding hitting Ruby, she hopped around in pain, biting hard on her lip. When she was finally able to calm down and let her pained arm drop down, she noticed that Ruby was staring at her, a huge grin on her face. "What? What's so funny, Ruby?"

"You swore, Weiss." Ruby could barely contain her laughter at that point, her entire body shaking from the effort.

"What?" Weiss blinked, thinking back on what she had just said. When she realized what had come from her lips, her entire face visibly paled. That was saying something, considering how pale she already was. At that point, Ruby couldn't hold back any longer. She collapsed to the ground, holding her stomach as she laughed boisterously. "Stop laughing, Ruby! Stop it this instance!"

"Weiss said a bad word! Weiss said a bad word!" Ruby was howling with laughter, barely able to get any words out. By that point, Weiss was blushing furiously, trying to glare Ruby into silence. It wasn't working. "Wait 'til I tell Yang!"

"You will do no such thing!" Seeing Ruby trying to crawl her way down the hall, Weiss was forced to toss her dignity to the side as she dived for her partner. Ruby let out a cry of surprise as Weiss landed on her, pinning her down to the ground. "Don't you dare tell anyone about this! Especially not Yang!"

"Weiss! Get off me!" Of course, Ruby was stronger than Weiss, which made it easy to buck her off. While she wasn't physically strong, Weiss made up for it in dogged tenacity. She held on for dear life, refusing to let Ruby escape with her semblance and tell the world that she swore. That was going to go to the grave with them, even if they both had to die right then and there.

"Not until you promise not to tell anyone!" By that point, Ruby was basically dragging Weiss across the floor. They were both getting their outfits dirty, but there was more at stake than needing to throw them in the wash. 

"Promise not to tell anyone what?" Both of them stopped what they were doing, looking up to find Nora and Pyrrha standing above them. Nora had a big grin on her face, already sensing there was some gossip in the air that she was excited to hear about. As for Pyrrha, she looked somewhat awkward at the position she had found the two of them in, but a bit curious as to what was going on.

"Nothing!" Weiss covered Ruby's mouth before she could blurt anything out that didn't need to be said. "Nothing at all!" Now Nora was the one with an increasing grin, and Weiss didn't like that look. She had been around Ruby, Yang, and Nora enough now to know that whenever any of them were grinning like that, bad things were to follow.

"Ohhh boy, I can't wait to tell Yang that you're trying to get busy with her sister right in the hallway!" With that, she started running down the hall, leaving Ruby and Weiss in her dust. The two of them stared at each other, realizing that this was much different than either of them had anticipated happening. They both began to blush as they rolled off of each other, jumping to their feet and running after Nora.

"Nora, that wasn't what you thought it was!" "Get back here, Nora!" Ruby activated her semblance, disappearing from view. From her end of the hall, Pyrrha could only hear a loud scream that sounded distinctly like Nora. With a sigh, she shook her head and started to walk in that direction.

"Maybe leaving Mistral was a bad idea."

[whetstonefires]

I feel like the old saying “what’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose” (and its inversion applied as applicable) doesn’t get enough appreciation.

Possibly because it turns up so often in its lesser form with ‘good’ rather than ‘sauce,’ which loses a pretty major layer of meaning from the assertion that “gender is irrelevant, because the sex of waterfowl cannot be detected when you are eating them.”

like. as theses go, that one goes fairly hard.

[quillomens]

Good Omens: The Cottage, His Darling

This is the fourth in a series of fluffmeister fics, here on Ao3.  This is what a short commission is like, less than 2k!   Also, reblogs help a lot more than likes?  <3 <3

Crowley has been jumpy and uncomfortable in his own skin lately.  Aziraphale gently offers a solution.

-------

Aziraphale, even as an unemployed angel, could still sense the emotions of others.  After all, his angelic abilities were still intact, and his empathy wasn’t even considered a miracle so much as a natural sense. There’d been a time, as humanity grew and multiplied, that he’d been overwhelmed by all their myriad of feelings pressing in on him; indeed, he still rarely chose to put himself into long-term crowded situations.  He’d learned to block it out, control what he wanted to “hear,” and that had made life much easier.  The only people he’d never been able to completely tune out had been his fellow angels (so shocking at the end, their anger, their thirst for war, where once there had been love) and Crowley.  

Given his beloved’s tendency to attempt to be cool, calm, and collected at all times, Aziraphale didn’t consider it cheating to peek beneath the surface.  And, as Crowley occasionally (most of the time) managed to fool himself into thinking he was as cooly evil and calm as he claimed, this meant that often as not Aziraphale knew more about what his demon was feeling that Crowley did himself.   Therefore, it was Aziraphale who first noticed that Crowley was feeling antsy in his skin one random Tuesday as they walked beside the sea.  

He didn’t mention it. One didn’t; it was a very personal thing, and by all rights it should be Crowley who decided what to do about it. What Aziraphale could and did do was nip by Crowley’s tailor in London and pick up a few items that he took home and hung neatly on Crowley’s side of the wardrobe.  

Crowley usually miracled his clothes, save the few staples he had personally tailored, but Aziraphale still felt the happy little flurry of warmth when he saw the items Crowley had added to his wardrobe, and he wanted to try and return the favor.  He didn’t have Crowley’s eye for modern style, but of course Crowley’s tailor did.  The woman was a mad genius, or so Crowley claimed; Aziraphale found her a bit overwhelming, though always polite.

(Crowley had no idea they had met, believing she would be a little too much for Aziraphale, and, if he had known, would have been horrified to learn that Aziraphale introduced himself while wearing his old standby outfit and a small basket of loose teas.  He would have been further astonished to find out that the way to his tailor’s tattooed, pierced, black-loving heart happened to be a small basket of loose teas, and she was very fond of “Anthony’s angel.” )

Two mornings after making his additions to Crowley’s rarely opened wardrobe, Aziraphale was pulled from his morning reading by a discontented grumbling from the covers curled up on the other side of the bed.

“Good morning, dear,” he said softly, because too much enthusiasm as Crowley was waking up could lead to the most baleful of snakey glares, and it did hurt his feelings a bit to be snarled at.  

“Nggk,” Crowley muttered, managing to curl all of his human limbs into a petulant ball.  

Aziraphale gave his hair a fond pet.  “Why don’t you take a shower?  Or a bath? I’ll have some lovely tea waiting, just as you like it.”

The syllabic noise was more accommodating this time.  “Bath? I can start the water for you?”  A negative sound.  Crowley did generally prefer showers.  “Shall I assist you in getting out of bed, or shall you wait a while longer?”  This question was asked with a smirk that made yellow eyes pop out from the sheets and give him a sleepy  glare, followed by:

“…Yes.”

So Aziraphale gently unwrapped his demon and nudged him to his feet, all yawning inches and silk pajamas and disastrous hair.  The angel loved morning Crowley with a tenderness that ached, because it was only after everything, when they became this, that he was allowed to see him in such a vulnerable state.  “Off you go,” he said, giving Crowley a nudge forward at the small of his back. Crowley’s “thngzz” was enough like a thank you to make Aziraphale chuckle to himself.

His polite demon.

As soon as the door to the bathroom was closed behind Crowley, Aziraphale crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out the new items, laying them out neatly on the miraculously made bed.  He gently ran a hand along one piece, smoothing out a couple of tiny wrinkles, before humming a note of satisfaction and bustling off to the kitchen to make tea.

He was heartened to feel the shift in Crowley as he came out of the shower.  Aziraphale tried not to constantly eavesdrop on Crowley’s feelings, but the last few days his darling had felt so terribly awkward and unhappy, and Aziraphale was a little nervous that perhaps he’d gone too far in his attempt to help.  But there was a sense of surprise, and then that spicy flavor of love that was intrinsically Crowley.  

Aziraphale smiled and moved the tea set, with croissants for himself, to their little kitchen table by the windows over Crowley’s incredible garden (envy of everyone in the village, and Crowley’s little bit of evil, spreading jealousy and grumbles among the most dedicated gardeners).  

“Good morning,” came Crowley’s voice, just a touch softer than usual, and then hands were on Aziraphale’s hips and a warm kiss pressed in his curls.  “You’ve been in my half of the wardrobe.”

“What’s good for the goose,” Aziraphale said tartly, dressed himself in one of the lovely vest and shirt combinations Crowley had bought him, “is good for the gander.”

Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale knew he’d chosen exactly the right cliché as Crowley came around him to perch on the table (heaven forbid Crowley sit properly in a chair).

Crowley picked up her teacup and brought it to her lips.  Her hair was styled differently-still short, but just a little softer-and the blush of lipstick clung to the side of the cup as she looked almost shyly at Aziraphale.  “How did you know?” she asked, trying to sound aggrieved and failing spectacularly. “I wasn’t even sure yet!”

Aziraphale smiled. He reached out and ran his thumb first along Crowley’s right jaw, then the left, the prickle of a minor angelic miracle dancing in its wake.  Crowley could guarantee that her beard not grow when she wanted, but a little insurance never hurt.  “You’ve been restless, my dear.  I took a chance.”

“Well.  Not a bad one,” she eyed him ominously, because she was a demon and had an image to maintain, “this time.”  Her glasses were tucked neatly in a pocket included purely for that purpose. “Where did you find it?”

“Your tailor.  She said it was just the thing.”  Aziraphale glanced over the outfit.  Crowley had made adjustments, of course, but the overall look was what Aziraphale had brought home: layers of black cloth wrapped off the shoulder, the “snakeskin” belt with it’s golden eyes, the asymmetrical skirt.  She’d decided on shortening the front and wearing exquisitely tailored slacks underneath, and added a kick of golden heel to her version of shoes. “It does look lovely.”

 Crowley scoffed.  “Of course it does,” she said airily.  “I always do.”  Then she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before resting her own there.  “Thank you, Angel,” she said softly, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks pink up a little. Crowley, the brat, grinned sharply as she always did when she made him blush.

“Oh hush and drink your tea,” Aziraphale told her.  “We’re still going to the sale at the botanical gardens today, I assume?”

Crowley, her good mood bringing out her inner (really, very outer) femme fatale, draped herself artistically across his lap and sipped her tea.  How she fit comfortably  when he was in a straight backed chair was an ode to her confusion concerning snake vs. human spinal columns.  “Yes we are,” she said, pecking a kiss to his cheek.   “You owe me a romantic date among the roses.”   She reached out, happy and settled in her own skin again, and tempted Aziraphale’s hair into proper curls, humming one of her old lullabies under her breath.  

Aziraphale tipped his head obediently and wrapped a steadying arm around her waist, thoroughly pleased.  He had centuries of holding Crowley at a distance to make up for (no matter what Crowley said about understanding), and there was nothing more incandescent in his world than his darling, comfortable and happy and well-loved.

[gumnut-logic]

Dirt (Part Six)

From here.

Lots of happening in this, bear with me for the necessary plot solutions (sooo hard to write, my goodness, hurts the brain). More emotive stuff in Part Seven to come ::hugs you all:: Many thanks to @vegetacide for reading and fielding my wibblies :D

-o-o-o-

John Tracy knew how to swear extensively in thirty-two different languages.

None of them were vile enough.

Who were these people? His fingers danced across searches, bringing up political situations, cross-referencing intel. The uniforms were legitimate, but the actions were not.

His brothers’ vital signs danced holographically in the corner of his eye. Alan was unconscious and well into hypovolemia, Virgil was showing signs of internal bleeding and Gordon had a hole in his shoulder.

Scott’s pulse rate was going for the record.

Colonel Casey was inbound, but John was not inclined to put all his trust in the GDF, godmother or not.

“John, I need detail.”

John shunted everything he had to Thunderbird Shadow. Their security officer was livid...of the calm and killing kind.

Lady Penelope was not far behind in mood or ETA. Several sharp and nasty communiques had flown back and forth between the American Embassy and FAB1, Penelope’s lilting tones cutting like knives.

Pink flashed and he automatically linked Penny in. “John, I have an identity. These are not genuine military, but a faction taking advantage of the disaster situation. I have spoken to their president and he claims the man at the centre of this is one Joshua Kasdan, a thug disguised as an extremist. I’ve found no connections to the Hood, but I suspect a copycat in any case. What is good for the goose, is good for the gander, if you get my meaning. He seeks power and influence and will do anything to get it. The Thunderbirds and your brothers stand for both.” She paused, composing herself just a little. “He has a bloodthirsty record, John. I feel negotiation will not give us the result we need.”

He silently agreed as that record scrolled past his eyes.

His eyes tracked back to the holographic tableau, head tilting in thought. It was like a game, pieces laid out on a board.

John’s shoulders shifted and his eyes narrowed.

Okay, you bastard.

Let’s play.

-o-o-o-

Gordon shoved away the hands that yanked him from the hole, his eyes grabbing for information on his brothers. Scott was pale, eyes staring at a limp Virgil strung between two of the assholes. His brother’s pain as they had forced him through the opening...

His eyes landed on Alan, crumpled in the dust.

His feet skidded in the dirt as he landed beside his little brother. One of the men grabbed at him, but Gordon shoved him off.

Whispered. “Allie?”

“Gords?” It was a rasp. So much meaning in one word.

“Hey there.” Gordon ran a vitals check and found exactly what he expected. Alan needed a hospital asap. “You hang in there, okay, bro?”

“Hang-ing.” Blue eyes blinked up at him. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” It was a lie. He had a hole in his shoulder that hurt like hell and he was in need of a hospital almost as much as Alan.

Virgil cried out and Gordon’s head shot up to find the asshole next to Scott prodding Virgil’s ribcage. A blur of motion as Scott rounded on the guy and sunk his fist into his face.

Gordon shot to his feet, ready to move, but it was over before it had begun. The two men holding Virgil dropped him, the engineer falling with a whimper and a groan, and grabbed Scott.

A gun nudged Gordon under his chin. A hand wrapped around his bicep and the intent was clear.

Alan was trying to sit up.

“Stay down, Alan.”

“But, Virgil-“

“Down!”

-o-o-o-

It was only stubbornness keeping Virgil conscious. Breathing hurt. God, it hurt. Something had shifted in his chest and was screaming at him. Another something was broken in his left shoulder. His medical training listed possibilities, but his comprehension was poor.

And they kept hurting him.

Why?

God, why?

When Scott rounded on the source of Virgil’s misery, his only thought was blessed relief as he fell. Contradictory thoughts soon followed involving worry for Scott, but it was all blanked out as his body whited out when hit the dirt.

He lost everything for a moment, there was only pain, but comprehension returned to find his big brother being hit repeatedly, “Sc-t!”

A foot was spared for him and he screamed.

So much screaming.

He curled up, desperate to protect himself.

Scott gasped as each punch hit home.

And the world began to roar.

A familiar roar.

His girl. His girl.

He opened his eyes to find his ‘bird airborne and moving in their direction.

She was beautiful.

So beautiful.

-o-o-o-

It was worth it.

The bastard spat out a tooth and no small amount of blood and Scott felt the tiniest of triumphs. His attention had moved from Virgil to Scott.

Objective achieved.

“You’ll regret that.”

Probably, but it was worth it. The two assholes who had held his brother wrenched Scott’s arms behind his back, exposing his belly for what he knew was coming.

He tensed his abdomen.

The fist hurt just as much as he expected.

And again.

Again.

The kick in his shin was a little unexpected and he stumbled.

But at least the bastard wasn’t hurting Virgil anymore.

Thunderbird Two fired up.

The man’s attention was drawn to the massive cargo ship and Scott took a moment to gather his strength.

John. Brains? Probably John. This was it.

TB2 roared, her VTOL launching her into a low hover.

“What are you doing?!”

Scott pinned him with his eyes. “Not a thing.”

“Hold him.” But there was only so much the man could do as Thunderbird Two turned towards them and accelerated. Four hundred and six tons of green and angry machine barrelled onto the site with the intent to mow down everything in her way.

“Hold him!”

The asshole pulled a gun, but there was only so much steel in his henchmen.

Cahelium is stronger than steel.

Thunderbird Two swooped low towards the soldiers and the two men holding him cut their losses and ran. Scott took a step towards their tormentor, but the gun was still sure in his hand. “Stay where you are.”

To Scott’s right, the Pod suddenly came to life, its dirt-covered claws charging in their direction.

Men scattered.

The air began to vibrate, Two’s VTOL heating the atmosphere as she loomed.

But the bastard held his ground, the gun still aimed at Scott.

Several of the men shot at Two, but her hull deflected the attack. One man went down, victim of a ricochet.

Two grew as massive as she was and those still standing ran.

“STOP!” The gun barrel was rammed into Scott’s left nostril as the man grabbed him. “Stop, or he dies!”

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s priority was Alan.

He threw himself backwards, causing the man behind him to lose his balance. A sharp turn and Gordon dug his foot in the man’s face.

Three others dove for him and Gordon was hard put to keep them at bay. One pulled a gun and the aquanaut sent it flying, but the other two pulled theirs and he knew he had lost. “Okay, guys, let’s keep this calm-“

A sudden blast of hot air, a hiss of familiar engines and his sister leapt out of hazy air, fury in her expression. The two men didn’t stand a chance as she whipped around and almost decapitated them with her feet on the way down.

Gordon’s fist was then free to remove the remaining problem from the equation.

“Tin.” His voice was hoarse. “Glad you could join us.”

Her green eyes fixed on him, only spinning to punch another soldier on approach.

“STOP!” The man’s commanding voice was heard even above the roar of Thunderbird Two as he grabbed Scott and shoved his gun in their brother’s face. “Stop, or he dies!”

Two stopped where she was, but didn’t land.

Tin took a step towards her eldest brother.

The gun cocked.

-o-o-o-

It was as if a scene on the holovid was playing for him. People running, The approach of his beloved green ‘bird, her roar in his bones.

Scott held at gunpoint.

Scott.

His big brother.

A gun in his face.

Virgil stared at him, the man’s fury so evident, Virgil was surprised the gun barrel hadn’t melted.

“And if this one’s death isn’t enough to convince you, I can easily fill his brother full of holes for extra entertainment.” He gestured at Virgil.

Scott held at gunpoint.

“What do you want?”

Virgil blinked. That was Kayo’s voice. When did she arrive? His thoughts were sluggish and he was finding it hard to connect things together.

The gunman was gesturing again, yelling something about Virgil’s ‘bird. He was staring somewhere off to the right.

Scott’s eyes flickered worriedly in Virgil’s direction for just a split second before once again narrowing in on his assailant.

Thunderbird Two was hovering behind them.

His beautiful ‘bird.

Virgil blinked again.

He was slumped on his left side, moving hurt like hell and it was slow.

Another blink and he reached for his remote. Breath hissed out between his teeth.

A flick of his fingers...they were shaking, god, they were shaking. Concentrate. Scott, the controls and his ‘bird all blurred a moment.

He clenched his jaw.

Focus.

A flick of his fingers and he deployed Two’s forward grapple cannon. Targeting.

Green.

Slow blink.

Green.

Fire.

-o-o-o-

 Part Seven

[toxikku]

Ducktales Switched AU: Masterpost !

I was asked to make a masterpost pertaining to my feelsy AU and figured considering how far it’s come, it was needed!

Brief summary: This is an AU where Scrooge and Magica’s roles have been swapped. Gladstone takes the place of Lena after Scrooge saved him from the House of Lucky Fortune, whilst a shadow child called Lena takes the place of Magica’s niece. Magica lives in the mansion with Lena, Webby, Mrs. Beakley, and her brother-turned-raven, Poe. Scrooge’s family is of magical heritage, including Donald and his boys who are currently estranged from the old miser after a terrible accident involving Della Duck. The unlucky duck avoided Duckburg all their lives up until the kids hijacked and sabotaged the boat to visit out of curiousity. And then the shenanigans began.

Now the core aspect of it is out of the way, more information under the cut! Biographies may vary in length (and key events) as I am still figuring out concepts. As a result, I may make edits occasionally! If you have any further questions, even about characters I’ve already talked about or have YET to talk about, please shoot!

The official tag for it is #ducktales switched au, until further notice!

CHARACTERS:

Magica De Spell: The richest duck in the world, Magica is a well reknowned figure in the world, running huge companies as well as owning a considerable amount of land. Her estate used to belong to the one and only Scrooge McDuck, until she bought it out after his disappearance. She does adventure in her spare time (and has done in the past, crossing paths with Scrooge AND Goldie), though is quite a busy business woman so rarely has time for her domestic life. Extremely eccentric and a little chaotic, but she does get the job done. Has dabbled in magic before, but after her brother was turned into a raven, doesn’t much do so anymore.

Scrooge McDuck: An infamous warlock of his time, Scrooge McDuck was a former treasure hunter and magical artefact collector, jolly and passionate. He ventured the world with his nephew and niece gathering items which slowly corrupted his mindset, much to the worries of Donald. He became power hungry, possessive, and stuck in his own decisions - and that ended terribly when Della Duck tried to lead him away from the life of corruption. A reflex stray of magic ended in disaster, and in one day, both relatives left him. Grieving over the loss of Della and how it was all his fault, he left behind his estate and relocated to Mt. Vesuvius, then spent the following years lost and searching for a way to get Della back, no matter the casualities. His first real attempt to get her back was thwarted by Magica De Spell, and he was trapped in his own dime for five years up until the events of the Shadow War.

Lena De Spell: Magica’s ‘niece’. After fleeing numerous boarding schools, Lena turned up on Magica’s doorstep and wound up adopted. She was created during the fight between Magica and Scrooge, much like in canon, only this time around, Gladstone was there to take her place. Magica took her in partly out of guilt and responsibility for her creation, and they’ve been together ever since. Lena rarely gets to see her aunt much, and Magica’s spoilings don’t really help this - though that does change eventually, around the time she met these three weird kids. Lena’s connection to Scrooge is something Magica does stress over though...

Webby Vanderquack: Lena’s best friend and local conspiracy theorist. Not much different from her canon counterpart, she gushes over the De Spell family’s history, much to the irritation of Lena who frankly could care less. With how busy Magica is, Webby and Lena are constantly together, and go on adventures with Gladstone Gander, the triplets, and the entire family if they’re lucky. Family dictionary, and her world totally wasn’t shaken when she discovered Scrooge McDuck’s belongings in the manor.

Gladstone Gander: Scrooge’s lucky adopted and non-magical nephew. At some point before Scrooge was shadow-fied, Gladstone was saved from the Lucky Casino by his uncle. In exchange, he agreed to help Scrooge out without reading the fine print (binding contracts are never good). After Scrooge and Magica’s battle, Scrooge’s shadow attached to his, and the rest rolls out as you’d expect. He eventually becomes involved in the De Spells’ lives, trying to retrieve the number one dime for his uncle and earn his freedom. Unfortunately, his growing attachment to the family means his luck doesn’t really work with him, at least for Scrooge’s goals. Becomes quite protective of Lena and Webby (and usually stands up to Scrooge because of them), and develops awkward feelings for Magica.

Has no idea what Scrooge’s actual motives are, and Scrooge is hesitant to say them in case Gladstone rebels. Not that he doesn’t eventually anyways. Come the Other Bin, the goose has enough of his uncle’s orders but that ends badly for him, and the freedom in the Shadow War is temporary. Cursed a shadow, but that doesn’t stop him protecting the kids, which is his end - least in waking life. Stiiiiill pondering who his shadow gets attached to.

Donald Duck: Scrooge’s magical nephew and your typical bad luck magnet. Before the incident with his relatives, he ventured the world while studying magic under his uncle’s wing. Lived in Duckburg until Della’s disappearance, then left with the boys, constantly on the move for a new home (and job).  Wary about the usage of magic after what happened to Della, though hesitantly taught the boys what he knows (at least the bare minimum). Occasionally traveled with his friends, José Carioca and Panchito, and didn’t return to Duckburg until his curious nephews hijacked the boat and stranded them there. Spends most of his time looking for a new job to fix the boat. Fixed up the boat over the course of season 1, but it wound up getting broken again by its end. Magica offered his family to stay come season 2 in thanks for the battle against his uncle.

Della Duck: The missing mother. She ventured with her uncle and brother, though unlike them wasn’t that invested in magic. Della focused on practicality, and although she was a talented witch at a young age, she ultimately lost interest and wanted to tackle everything hands on. She disappeared before her children were born, sucked into a portal to the underworld after trying to confiscate an artefact from her uncle’s grasp and being hit by a stray bout of magic. As far as everyone knows, Della is long dead. Her memorial can be found at Castle McDuck, and her family visits it often.

Huey: An incredibly bright child with a knack for reading; takes to spellbooks like a duck to water. Typically the nephew most knowledgeable on spells and if you need a magic dictionary, then he’s your guy. Has about as much potential as Donald when it comes to magic ability, but he’s still learning and as a result his spells vary in strength. Into science and idolizes Gizmoduck, finding the practicality of science and technology fascinating.

Dewey: Darts right into danger just like his mother; Dewey has had accidents with his spell casting, and accidentally snapped his wand at a point (those are expensive to replace)/ His spellcasting has pretty good strength for a boy his age... until you realize it has zero handling. Until he can get a lid on it, his spells are pretty unstable and the wand doesn’t help things. Despite its defects, however, only Dewey knows how to somewhat work it because he’s had it so long. Dewey headed the ‘let’s sabotage the boat while Donald is sleeping and go to Duckburg’ plan.

Louie: The lazy triplet has a lot of tricks up his sleeves. Spells are usually pretty tame as he has a tendency to just use them for house chores, but out of all the triplets, he has the strongest magical capability. The downside is he’s just never motivated to push himself that far. As such, he has a habit of getting into the most trouble - and since he’s still building self confidence, fear isn’t the motivation he needs.

Poe de Spell: A duck cursed to be a raven by Scrooge McDuck; he was transformed into a raven during Scrooge’s final confrontation with Magica. Generally acts as her sister’s advisor of sorts, wary, wise, but still as snarky as in the OG Ducktales. Acts as a Zazu to Lena, in that sense, but cursed teens are always able to evade a watchful eye. He’s a raven the entirety of Season 1 before the wizard, Donald Duck, is able to turn him back after the events of the Shadow War.

Launchpad McQuack: The family driver/pilot - Magica admires his positive and smashing energy and wouldn’t have any other person to drive her to and from her destinations.

Goldie o’Gilt: Scrooge McDuck’s old flame; she had history with the warlock before he took a turn for the worse. Their relationship was about as you’d expect until the incident, then it grew colder with every encounter because Goldie’s rivalry was intrusive to Scrooge’s plans. She had no idea what incited this change. Attended a party and ran into another old rival: Magica De Spell, and they ventured to white agony plains together (where Goldie was reminiscent of the days with Scrooge, though she said little about it to Magica).

Mrs. Beakley: Agent 22 - used to work with Scrooge McDuck, and soon as his housekeeper until Della’s disappearance and his leave. Signed up for the same job with Magica de Spell, awaiting her former boss’ return and to keep an eye on his belongings.

Duckworth: The manor’s ghost; previously served under Scrooge McDuck before his disappearance. Along with Mrs. Beakley, is currently guarding the warlock’s belongings. Extremely loyal to Scrooge in general, but due to the bonds he’s made with the people around him, that loyalty is a tad strained. Unlike in canon, he actually stayed behind before the events of the Shadow War.

STILL TO COME:

Fenton Crackshell:

Gyro Gearloose:

Downy & Fergus

AND A BUNCH MORE. PROBS.

LINKS:

REFERENCES:

Scrooge

Donald.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

Poe De Spell.

LORE:

The Scrooge sketch that started it all - This was just a random idea I came up with one day; I loved role switch AUs, especially when they’re with antagonists and protagonists.

Initial Magica Concept - Later adapted the design to better fit the design in the reboot.

General PSA about the AU - 1 - Not everyone changes drastially; they’re just adapted.

General PSA about the AU - 2 - About the general storyline.

McDuck Family Lore - 1 - The McDuck family are one of magic, Gladstone being the exception as he is adopted. Della died due to a magical accident and Donald was unable to save her.

De Spell Family Lore - 1 - About Magica’s relationship with Lena and her characterisation in general.

De Spell Family Lore - 2 - Information on the raven, Poe de Spell, and Lena.

Poe & Gladstone - stuff about Poe’s personality and fate, with a bit about Gladstone.

Lena’s Existence in the AU - shadow child, ye.

Donald - 1 - Initial Donald design; pretty basic and eventually got changed.

Donald - 2 - Doodle of that boy.

Scrooge - 1 - Doodles; Scrooge’s infamy is pretty well known and he won’t stand for family members getting in the way of his goals.

Donald and the boys - 1 - Donald teaches the boys magic... but only with restraint.

Donald and the boys - 2 (+Gladstone meta) - Slightly scrapped concept; Donald was stranded in Duckburg with the boys instead of constantly traveling the world across the season so he and the boys would be more involved with the plot.

Donald and the boys - 3 - and where they’re living.

Donald and Della’s childhood - they were so smol.

Della’s Scarf - ouch.

Dewey’s Wand - 1 - it broken.

Dewey’s Wand - 2 - but he knows how to use it.

The Triplets & their involvement - I still love this idea so much.

Scrooge and Gladstone - 1 - An old concept I suppose; I’m honestly thinking about scrapping this as ‘marriage’ takes a little too long for Scrooge’s liking and the concept just irks me a little.

Scrooge and Gladstone - 2 - Gladstone trying to casually divert attention to something else does not work in the slightest.

Scrooge and Gladstone - 3 - Summary of how Scrooge’s quest to save Gladstone and get his backup plan for the fight against Magica went.

Scrooge and Gladstone - 4 - Decided to mess with a different kind of perspective.

Voice Musing - I saw stuff in the tags it had me thinking emoji.

Scrooge and Gladstone - 5 - lore galore in the tags, btw.

Scrooge’s relationship with Goldie - talks a bit about her debut ep.

not canon but HOW DARE YOU ANON - scrooge and goldie hurt me.

Gladstone’s interactions with the kids - 1 - Lena is generally suspicious but Webby is painfully open.

Gladstone’s interactions with the kids - 2 - Lena is a suspicious child wary for Webby’s sake. Also I am called out for having too much Gladstone in this AU. Looking at this list, I can confirm I am trash.

Gladstone’s interactions with Magica - 1 - spoilers: he’s a dork.

JAW$ redraw but it’s Gladstone and Scrooge - I spent so much time on this but it was really worth it. He likely would have had the friendship bracelet Webby gave him but I was too burnt out to draw that section.

JAW$ doodles (Lena, Gladstone and Scrooge) - in which a teenager is baffled and shocked this guy would save anyone but himself.

Other Bin Doodles (Gladstone ft. Lena) - Some sketches I did after rewatching the Other Bin; Lena and Webby both get turned into dolls in this one.

Other Bin suffering - goose boy sad, save him.

Gladstone and Magica content (ft. Lena) - someone asked for Magicstone so I delivered.

Fenton & Gyro - some general stuff and their relationship with their boss.

Mrs. Beakley’s role in the Switched AU - I don’t talk about her enough tbh.

Scrooge’s old personality and his relationship with his niece and nephew - meta is so fun to write out but ouch.

Scrooge’s Motives & About Della - was rather painful to write about.

Scrooge and Donald - 1 - Did you know Della’s scarf used to be whole?

Shadow War Sketches - 1 - Man I really was on a field trip with these.

Shadow War Sketches - 2 - in which Gladstone perishes.

Shadow War Sketches - 3 - got to work with good expressions with these.

Shadow War Sketches - 4 - veeeeery proud of these.

Fake Shadow War Screenshots - got asked to edit suffering and I delivered.

Fake Triplet Screenshots - edits of the children.

Fake Scrooge Screenshots - I still don’t think green suits him tbh.

Fake Magica screenshot - she.

Shadow Gladstone and his fate - This... was dark.

Fenton and Scrooge - Took place after the Shadow War, I guess, while Scrooge is grieving.

This is a serious AU - yeah... i got nothin to say.

Inspiration - I’m a nerd, go figure.

Fanfiction WIP - who knows when I’ll finish it, but it’s in the works.

Scrapped Visual Novel - Maybe? Idk, depends if I ever get time for it.

Misc. Sketches - [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] [x] 

Misc. Asks - [x] [x] [x] [x]

Headcanon commentary - [x] [x] [x] [x] [x]

BEAUTIFUL ART BY BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE:

domiinon:

Scrooge

Scrooge again and I am sobbing

All the Scrooges need hugs tbh

THIS LOOKS SO AMAZING?? LOOK AT IT??

scrooge support squad for all the angst we put them through

KJGNJFDNGDJ THEY ALL LOOK FABULOUS

bloosume:

Scrooge

fini-mun:

The End

kats-kreations:

Last Christmas aka kat breaks my heart

[javistg]

Ethan’s Adventure

This lovely artwork is by @white-dandelion-seeds​ who requested a birthday drabble for her sister.

Hope you like what I came up with. 😊

For the birthday girl: I hope you have a wonderful day! ❤️

Prompt: Canon compliant story about a toast baby and Haymitch’s geese. 

Ethan’s Adventure

Ethan Mellark stood on the tips of his toes and peered over the fence into Haymitch’s backyard.

His gray eyes narrowed as soon as he found the gaggle of geese which had woken him up with their cranky honks in the middle of the night.

“Nuisance,” Ethan whispered, pouring all his anger into the word Haymitch usually used to talk about his geese.

At almost five years old, Ethan didn’t know exactly what the word nuisance meant but, judging by Haymitch’s tone, it wasn’t something good.

He had never understood why Haymitch complained so much about his birds. But, after hearing them last night, the boy was starting to believe that, maybe, it had something to do with the fact that they could keep the entire neighborhood up with their shenanigans.

Unaware of Ethan’s annoyed scowl, —or perhaps unconcerned— the fat birds waddled about, stretching their long necks in the warm sunshine as they grazed.

Their fluffy plumage gleamed —white as a spring cotton cloud— under the golden morning light.

Ethan sighed, already letting his irritation go. No matter how loud they were, the geese were the prettiest animals he had seen up close. For the longest time, he had longed to run his hands over their wings.

Touching the soft down Haymitch gave Momma to fill cushions and comforters when the birds molted was one of his favorite things. The small feathers were as warm and soft as a caress, and Ethan imagined that the long feathers on the geese’s wings would be as smooth as the beautiful silk dress Momma wore on New Years’.

But, as much as he wanted to reach out and touch them, he knew he wasn’t allowed.

Momma said the geese were dangerous. Her face always turned serious when she reminded Ethan to steer clear of them. “I know you think they’re pretty, but they’re just as big as you are, and they’ve got sharp teeth inside those bills. They’re not our pets, Ethan. Just leave them be, OK?”

Ethan always nodded –he could tell Momma wasn’t playing around-- but he wasn’t sure her words were true. Yes, he had seen the teeth —Haymitch had shown him once when his parents weren’t around to scold him— but he couldn’t believe the geese would ever hurt him.

How could they when they always seemed so happy to see him? They all waddled over to the fence to greet him with happy honks whenever he went by.

Which was more than he could say about Whiskers, the family cat Willow had found hiding behind the bakery once.

Come to think of it, Whiskers wasn’t very fond of the geese either.

Willow said it was because he had snuck into their garden once –back when he was a kitten—and one of the geese had stomped on his tail.

Ethan was sure it had been an accident. Haymitch’s geese were rowdy, but they weren’t mean. Still, Whiskers never went inside the fence, and if the geese ever came out –which they sometimes did—the cat kept his distance.

Unlike Momma, --and Whiskers, apparently-- Papa didn’t think the birds were dangerous, but he didn’t like them much either. He called them thieves.

Papa was always telling Haymitch to lock them up and was quick to blame them whenever a loaf of bread went missing.

Momma knew better, though. “They feed on grass, Peeta,” she’d say, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “They might peck here and there for breadcrumbs, but they don’t need to sneak into our kitchen to take a whole loaf.”

Momma’s teasing always made Papa huff and puff in response.

Ethan didn’t like it when his Papa was upset, but the thought of a fat bird waddling at full speed through Victors’ Village with a loaf in its bill always made him laugh. He would have loved to see one of the feathered thieves in action!

After some more grumbling on Papa’s side --and some more teasing on Momma’s-- the conversation invariably turned to Haymitch, who was the most likely culprit.

Papa’s forehead would crease the way it did when he was cross but, as soon as he mentioned stepping out to give Haymitch a piece of his mind, Momma put her hand on his cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Ethan didn’t know what secrets his parents shared when they acted like this, but Papa’s protests invariably turned into a soft hum when Momma whispered to him. Their hushed conversations always ended with laughter and a kiss.

Ethan didn’t care much for kissing, but he liked it when his parents laughed. It warmed his chest from the inside; made him feel safe.

If Ethan’s parents were happy, everything in the world was right.

Except, this morning, things were not right.

Ethan scrunched up his face in confusion. Something was definitely up. It was odd enough that Haymitch’s geese had kept him awake during the night, but now they were ignoring him!

Letting go of the fence, Ethan stomped toward Haymitch’s front door. He knew it was early, --his grouchy neighbor preferred to stay in bed until the sun was high in the sky-- but he didn’t care. There was a mystery here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

With the fierce determination he had inherited from his parents, Ethan climbed the steps to the porch, closed his little hand in a fist, and knocked the way Papa did: loudly and without pause.

He was still pounding on the door when it swung open, and a bedraggled Haymitch appeared at the threshold.

Before Haymitch could say anything, Ethan spoke, “What’s the matter with your geese, old man?”

Haymitch’s eyes snapped open. Unlike his mother, the boy was mostly sweet-tempered. “Hey! What’s with the attitude, Kid?”

“They kept me awake all night!” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, his gray eyes dropped to the floor, and he scowled. “And now they won’t even talk to me.”

Haymitch ran a hand through his hair. It was sticky with sweat and… Well, he hoped it was just sweat. Crouching down, he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Kiddo. They’re just a bit tired, that’s all. Wanna see something neat?”

Intrigued, Ethan looked up. “Yes!”

“OK, follow me.” Haymitch stood up and closed the door, using the motion to stretch his back. The geese weren’t the only ones who were tired this morning. With Ethan at his heels, he walked to the kitchen.

Before going in, Haymitch stopped and turned to the boy once more. “OK, grab on to my legs, walk behind me, and don’t let go. Understood?”

“Yeah, but--,”

“No, no. No buts. If you want to see this, you have to do as you’re told. Stay behind me at all times.”

Ethan pouted. He wasn’t satisfied, but he was much too curious to challenge Haymitch at this point. “Understood.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, don’t make a sound. Think you can do that?”

Holding on to the legs on Haymitch’s pants, Ethan nodded.

Haymitch went into the room, carefully adapting his strides to Ethan’s short legs. The pair moved past the kitchen table and kept walking until they reached the entrance to the laundry room. Instead of going in, Haymitch stopped.

Intrigued, Ethan peeked from behind the victor’s legs to see what was further ahead.

His eyes popped open, and he gasped. Remembering Haymitch’s instructions, he tightened his hold on the victor’s pants.

A goose and a gander sat on the floor just a few steps away, right in front of the washing machine. Between them, protected by the grown birds and a soft, worn blanket, two newborn goslings napped.

Ethan leaned forward, pressing his face to the side of Haymitch’s legs as he tried to get closer without alerting the geese. The babies were so small he was sure they could fit in Haymitch’s hands! They were nowhere near as beautiful as their parents --they had no feathers, and their bills were gray-- but the little family seemed peaceful and content.

Ethan knew he had promised to keep quiet, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Can I pet them, Haymitch?” he whispered.

“No!” Haymitch hissed. Before the geese could react to their intrusion, he turned around and carried Ethan out of the room and back to the entrance hall. “Not right now,” he said once they were out of earshot. “But I’ll tell you what, when they’re a little older, I’ll let you. And when you grow up a little bit more, I’ll let you pet the bigger ones too. How’s that, Kid?”

Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Crouching down, Haymitch placed Ethan back on the floor. “Now, scoot along! I haven’t slept all night, and it’s time for my nap.”

Ethan scrunched up his nose. “Are you going to sleep like that?”

Haymitch looked down at his clothes. He hated to admit it, but the kid made a good point. He looked like he had gotten into a bathtub without undressing first.

His wrinkled trousers were dripping at the cuffs, and there was a brownish stain on his shirt that looked suspiciously like bird droppings.

How did that get there, Haymitch wondered, stretching the fabric to inspect it. “I’ll take a shower first. How’s that?”

“Good. You…” Ethan twisted his lips the way his father did when he was looking for the right words to say. “You sort of stink.”

“Alright!” Haymitch opened the front door. “Now get out of here! And don’t come back until tomorrow, you hear? We all need some rest.”

Walking backward, Ethan stepped onto the porch and waved. “Goodnight, Haymitch!”

With a chuckle and a nod, Haymitch closed the door.

Ethan rushed into his house. In his eagerness to share the happy news, he let the front door slam shut behind him and kept running until he reached the kitchen.

His Papa was there, standing by the stove. The scent of melted butter and cinnamon filled the air, and Ethan’s stomach rumbled in response. Papa was making French toast!

“Morning, Papa!” Ethan pulled out his usual chair and sat down.

“Morning, E!” Papa looked up from the pan. “You wash your hands?”

“I did before I went out.” Ethan inspected his palms. Everything seemed to be in order. “I haven't touched anything,” he grumbled.

“Where were you, little one?” Papa placed two toasts on a plate next to a spoonful of fresh fruit and doused them with maple syrup.

“Over at Haymitch’s.”

Papa looked up; blue eyes worried as he carried the plate with toast up to his son. “This early?”

“I wanted to see what was wrong with the geese.”

Papa took a knife and fork and began cutting the toast into bite-sized pieces. “You heard them last night?”

Ethan nodded. That was old news, though. “But guess what, Papa?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna have to lock our doors from now on.”

Papa stilled his movements and gave his full attention to his son. “We are?”

“Yup!” Ethan stabbed a piece of toast with his fork and smiled. “Cause we got two new thieves in the neighborhood!”